Dancer's Lament: Path to Ascendancy Book 1 (51 page)

All that changed, however, when the stupendous swelling of power blossomed from far above and all five mages dropped their own preparations to peer upwards in awed astonishment. Even when Silk couldn’t imagine it possibly intensifying any further, the upwelling continued to grow and surge. It doubled, and redoubled again, utterly beyond any capacity he had dreamed any mage could possibly channel or sustain.

The unthinkable might drove him to clutch his head in agony; dimly, through blurring vision, he glimpsed Smokey falling to his knees. He fell as well, only just catching himself on one hand. His head hanging, he saw red droplets pattering to the polished white marble flags beneath him and he touched his nose to find warm wetness there as blood flowed freely. Somewhere, out of his vision, Mara screamed in wordless protest.

A renewed burst of puissance drove him to the floor where he lay, hardly able to hold on to his consciousness. He felt as if he were pinned beneath the mightiest cataract in the earth and all those tons of water were pounding down upon him. He lost awareness while holding his head to keep it from bursting and giving vent to his own soundless scream.

He awoke being shaken, and turned over to blink upwards at the giant Koroll. The other mage handed him a cloth rag. ‘Thyrllan . . .’ Silk groaned.

The giant nodded. ‘A dose of the might of the Tiste-kind.’

Silk wiped the thickly caked blood from his nose, mouth, and chin. He slowly and carefully pushed himself to his feet. Dizzy, he peered about, squinting. Smokey and Mara were rousing themselves; Ho stood aside, waiting, appearing little the worse for their exposure to the cataclysmic power. Silk felt a surge of resentment for that.

He staggered over to the Hengan mage. ‘We must go to her now.’

Ho nodded and headed for the tower door. The long climb up the circular stairway was an agony for Silk, because of his weakened condition, and because Ho insisted upon leading the way, and lumbered like a dozing bear. He examined nearly every step as he went; Silk fumed, urging him on, hand cradling his head. ‘Would you hurry?’ he hissed for the twentieth time.

‘She either lives or not,’ the older mage answered gruffly. ‘We must be careful – who knows what stresses this has placed upon the structure here.’

Indeed, the white marble of the tower was too hot to touch, and still seemed to glow, but all the more reason to reach Shalmanat. Silk growled and resisted beating his fists on the man’s broad back.

After four more turns of the tight climb Ho announced, ‘We are close.’

When Silk reached the step he found a stain of black flakes upon the polished white stone. He touched his fingertips to it and brought it to his nose. He smelled the iron tang of dried blood.

It was a thread of spilled blood descending the heated steps, drying as it came. Silk pushed the wary Ho onward with a hand on his back. They found the uppermost door open a fraction and Ho pushed it wider. His breath eased from him in shock and Silk pushed past him. The room was black with soot as from a ferocious fire; the furnishings lay as ash scattered about the floor; the very stone around them ticked and crackled with cooling; the radiating heat drove Silk to shield his face.

She lay half out upon the viewing parapet, naked, her clothes a mere dusting of white ash. Silk ran to her. A sickle blade of some white stone lay next to her. Silk was sickened to see blood still running from each wrist, a trickle now. She had slit both.

He tore his shirt and set to binding the wounds. Ho crouched next to him. ‘Sacrifice . . .’ the man murmured, awed. ‘I’d thought it sorcery but I was wrong. This is a religious invocation. The cult of the Liosan. Elder Light.’

‘Shut up and help me.’

‘I will carry her.’

Silk acceded to that – the man was far stronger than he.

Gently, the burly mage eased her up to cradle her in his arms. Blood formed dried black trails from her nose and mouth. Perhaps the movement pained her for she stirred then, blinking, and Silk was shocked to see the orbs of her eyes all deep crimson – shot through entirely by blood.

Ho started down the stairs, but Silk lingered. He leaned out of the parapet, careful not to brush the steaming hissing stone, and peered over the city. Mist still obscured most of the river and streets, but from what he could see the ice sheet was breaking into slabs and these bumping their way down the flow. The streets remained empty, citizens and soldiers alike stunned and shocked by a demonstration of power utterly unprecedented in any living memory.

Of course now he understood. Now he could see her reluctance. Not only the awful weight of this loss of life, but the possible cost of her own.

And from this point onward she had certainly lost the love of the people here. In exchange she had won their fear.

Steps sounded behind and Smokey joined him at the viewing terrace. He too glanced down, then shifted his gaze to him. ‘We have to salvage what we can.’

Silk nodded, his mouth dry. ‘Yes.’

Smokey started down, gesturing him to join him.

*

She found him lying in the shallows. A steaming husk hardly recognizable as a human, or humanlike, form. Smoke still plumed from his pitted scorched flesh. When she lifted him up he whimpered like an animal in agony. She raised her aspect to cool him while she held him in her arms, and though he was twice her size she carried him easily, like a child.

His breathing slowed as her power worked upon him and his eyelids fluttered open. Recognition focused within his tawny gaze. ‘Sister Night,’ he whispered, his voice breaking. ‘I sensed an Azathani near. I did not know it was you.’

‘Quiet now, Juage. Do not strain yourself. I have you.’

His cracked bleeding lips spread in a wry smile. ‘Still a friend of us foolish kind, are you?’

‘Hush now.’

She carried him to an abandoned cottage and set him down within, then went to the gaping doorway to keep watch. They were on the south shore, not that distant from the Kanese encampment, but she did not think them at risk – not now, at any rate. There ought not to be any more patrols or excursions coming out of that camp. Not any longer.

Instead they were no doubt breaking everything down in a panicked rush, loading their wagons, carts and mules and slogging off southward before any vengeful Hengan sally could be organized. Chulalorn himself had probably already departed, bundled into his personal carriage, surrounded by his cavalry elites and bodyguard.

If he’d survived, that was. Her impression was that he had. His kind usually did.

Perhaps it was the heat, but a light drifting rain began to fall across the landscape of trampled fields and burned-out crofts and sheds. It was a rain black with soot and smoke, as if the very sky had burned. Later in the day Juage stirred, groaning, and she came to sit cross-legged, studying him. The stink of roasted flesh had no effect upon her. His eyes opened once more and he turned his head to regard her. The light rain hissed down around them, dripping from gaps in the broken slate roofing.

‘Why do you involve yourself in this stupidity?’ she asked.

‘Sadly, I have no choice. The grandfather found me and released me. In return he asked for service to his family. Unfortunately, I had no idea he possessed such an extremely large family.’

Sister Night eyed him, dubious. ‘Come now, Juage. A Jaghut compelled by a human?’

Juage attempted a shrug, and hissed in pain. ‘Well . . . very nearly. In truth I am here for the same reason as you. Power draws power, does it not? Something is going to happen here and I know you sense it also.’

Sister Night nodded, conceding the point. ‘In any case, you were a fool to move against the Protectress.’

He shook his head, wincing as the burned flesh of his neck split apart. ‘Come, come. You did not expect this either.’

She nodded again. ‘True. But you must have known she was Liosan . . .’

‘Yes, I sensed that, of course. But a priestess of the cult? Able to unveil true Kurald Thyrllan?’ His tone turned chiding. ‘Admit you were as shocked as I.’

The barest of smiles pulled at her severe mouth. ‘I was . . . surprised by the . . . extravagance of it. I admit that. No doubt she is in even worse shape than you.’

He chuckled. ‘No doubt.’

For a time she listened to the rain drifting down in thin sheets. ‘And now?’

‘Now I must play my role – and keep an eye on these lands.’

She pursed her thin lips. ‘And if Chulalorn were not to have survived the attack . . .?’

He shook his head once more. ‘Now, now. Did you not swear not to involve yourself in such matters? And in any case, there is an heir.’

She gave the smallest of shrugs. ‘
I
made such a vow, yes.’

His amber eyes narrowed to slits as he regarded her. ‘Sometimes I suspect you are even more devious than T’riss.’

She rose. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about. But what I can say is that since you are so incapacitated I suggest you rest here for a day or two to recover.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I suppose I do need to recover my strength.’

‘Indeed. Take care, then. Farewell – for now.’

‘And fare you well, Sister Night.’

She bowed and stepped out into the thin misty rain.

WHEN SILK AND
Smokey pushed open the doors to the entrance hall they found it deserted. The remaining Kanese troops had fled. Though exhausted, the two mages headed south. Down at street level the carnage was infinitely worse than appeared from the distance. A chain of fires burned all along the course of the Idryn, on both the south and north shores. The Protectress must have performed a miracle in containing the coruscating power of the river, but warehouses and tenements crowded its banks. Many of these now burned uncontrollably and threatened to engulf the city in a storm of fire and destruction far worse than anything Chulalorn had planned.

They made for the walls of the Inner Round overlooking the Kanese-held Outer. They imagined that any counter-offensive would originate from here. A focused assault on a certain gate, or section of the curtain wall. Koroll, Ho and Mara had headed for the worst of the blazes. Mara, Silk knew, would be invaluable in collapsing burning buildings and shifting wreckage, while Ho and Koroll could treat those caught in the flames.

He and Smokey would keep watch against any counter-offensive. Not that he personally expected to be much help as he couldn’t do anything with his Warren until he’d had some rest. But he could stamp out panic and rally the Hengan troops. Not that he expected a counter-attack. Not after passing the burned human wrecks who had dragged themselves off the river and now wandered the streets begging for help, or simply mewling in unutterable agony.

Enemy soldiers would normally be cut down without hesitation, but most of the Hengans recoiled from these horribly wounded monstrosities. Silk, too, could do nothing to help when he passed them where they lay reaching to him, or standing motionless in the middle of streets and alleys, stunned by overwhelming pain.

When they reached the Inner Round wall they separated, he taking the right flank, and Smokey the left. Silk found the soldiers all gawking northward towards the Idryn, hidden now within billowing clouds of black smoke. Despite his own fatigue, he roused himself, barking, ‘Watch the enemy!’ then made a show of pacing off, as firm in his step as he could manage.

Once he had them back at their posts, he kept up a roving review, stopping to ask after any movement from the Kanese. As morning reached towards noon, he took the time to rest at each guard tower. He hoped to reassure them with his presence, though he was under no delusion regarding his usefulness in any assault when in fact he could barely remain on his feet.

He paused at one post for a ladle of water to wash the awful taste of the smoke from his mouth and here he noticed a young Hengan pikeman who kept craning his neck to the north. Silk gave him a look. The fellow touched his forehead. ‘Sorry, sir. Did you see it?’

‘See what?’

‘The flames ’n’ such.’

‘No, I actually didn’t. I was indoors.’

‘Like the sun’s own glare. The Wrath of the Goddess.’

‘The what?’

The lad ducked, touching his forehead once more. ‘That’s what our sergeant called it.’

‘Ah.’

The lad’s hands, Silk noticed, were sweaty on the haft of the pike. ‘Is she mad at us?’

Silk blinked, quite taken aback. ‘I’m sorry . . . mad?’

‘Angry, you know. ’Cause we lost the Outer.’

A band of tightness clenched Silk’s chest and he had trouble drawing breath to answer. When he spoke there was a strange thickness to his voice. ‘Not at all. She’s proud. Proud of what you’ve done. Very proud.’

The lad’s brows rose in surprise. ‘Really? I don’t think we’ve done so well.’

‘Well, you have. That army out there has fought for decades. No city or principality has stood before them. They haven’t lost a war yet. But we’ve held them back. And that’s saying something. You can be sure of that.’

The young pikeman didn’t look entirely convinced, but he smiled just the same. Silk gave him a nod and continued on. As he walked, his hands clasped behind his back, he wondered whether that was even true. And did he really believe it?

He decided that he did. Chulalorn’s was a hardened professional army inherited from his father, while these Hengans relied mainly on citizen militia to guard their walls. The city’s standing army was a paltry force; by far the majority were labourers, craftspeople, cobblers or shop-owners. They were terrified, out of their depth, yet brave enough to stand the wall. They were of course defending their own; their children, their loved ones, their property. But he would not discount their courage for all of that. What better reasons to fight?

Certainly not at the behest of some self-seeking king or prince. Though sadly that always seemed to be the case. He leaned into a crenel and watched the rooftops and streets of the Outer Round before him. All was quiet; deserted even. Of course the Kanese weren’t organizing an attack. It would be outrageous. An insult even, given the sacrifices already made.

Yet he would keep watch. He had his duty as well. And perhaps these men and women would draw some measure of reassurance from his presence – given the horrors of the morning.