Heartwood (51 page)

They ran out into the Baillium and down the centre road, ankle-deep in thick mud. The rain was close to torrential, coming down in sheets, and visibility was poor. Still, Chonrad could see the dark-armoured Komis warriors spilling out onto the grass, more and more of them, and already there were dead on the ground, the wounded crying in agony as the fight continued around them.

Without stopping, the three of them ran straight into the battle, Valens limping as best as he could. Chonrad had the brief thought that he should have told Valens to stay behind in the Porta, before all thoughts fled his head and instinct took over. Almost immediately, he found himself face-to-face with a Komis warrior, and he began to swing his sword, cut, thrust and parry, his superior strength and experience showing quickly as he beat his opponent to his knees, ending his life with a thrust in the gap between his arm and chest armour.

Even as the warrior fell, Procella grabbed his arm, saying urgently, “We must get to the entrance – we have to close the doorway and cut off their reinforcements.”

He nodded, following her as she fought her way through the melee towards the Barracks. In the background, someone had started to ring the Castellum's bell, and its loud peal cut through the cries and shouts of battle as if sounding the deaths of all those yet to fall. He ignored it and hacked his way through, following the slim form of the Dux as she forged a passage through the warring bodies.

Finding themselves at the Barracks, they were unable to push any further, the surge of Komis too great to get past. Fighting back to back, they kept trying, however, and when suddenly there was a lull in the influx of invaders, they took the opportunity to push through the doorway into the ground floor of the building.

Immediately, Chonrad could see where the secret entranceway was; a huge hole in the floor had opened up, and through it more Komis were spilling like ants out of an anthill. He looked at their black hair, their eerie golden eyes, and thought of Gavius and his friends being tortured by these people, and anger overwhelmed him. With a roar, he hacked his way forward, Procella at his side, warriors falling around them as if they were merely cutting their way through a field of corn. His superior strength and their combined experience made them more than a match for the Komis who, disorientated by their long walk in the dark, were an easy target.

Reaching the hole in the floor, Chonrad saw a large iron handle emerging from the stones at the side. Procella nodded as she saw him looking at it. “Push it.” He did so, leaning on it with all his weight, and suddenly, the handle shifted and the stones grated, and the steps that had led downwards into the dark lifted to close up the tunnel. Once the entrance was closed, he sat on the handle as Procella dragged a heavy oak chest across the floor. Together, they lifted the chest and heaved it onto the handle at an angle.

“They will have trouble opening that again,” said Chonrad with feeling.

Procella nodded, hair plastered to her head with rain and sweat. She was breathing heavily, but her eyes were bright as stars and suddenly he felt a surge of desire for her. Before he could think twice about it, he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, cupping the back of her head with a hand. She did not pull away, and when he drew back he saw amusement on her face.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“You are the most accomplished knight I have ever met,” he said. “You are brave, strong and beautiful with it.”

Her face flushed, and he wondered if she had ever been told she was beautiful before. She met his gaze openly as she said, “You should have been a Militis. It was a great, great loss to us, when we turned you away.”

It was probably the highest accolade she could have given him, he thought. “Thank you,” he said with a smile.

“And thank you for saving my life before,” she said. She shook her head so drops of water fell onto the floor. “I know I was ungracious. I am just not used to being saved.”

He opened his mouth to reply but, at that moment, someone appeared at the door. They looked over, seeing Solum leaning heavily against the doorpost. They could see immediately by the look on his face something was wrong.

“What is it?” Procella demanded. “Is it the Castellum? Is the Arbor all right?”

“It is Valens,” he said.

 

V

Dolosus froze on the spot and looked around him warily, assessing his situation. It was clear to him immediately there was no way he could escape from the room. All the exits had been barred, and the guards that lined the walls did not look like half-trained commoners dragged in from the streets; they were well-armoured, muscular, alert soldiers, comfortable and able in their own environment, whereas he had no weapons and was still getting used to the way his body moved under the water.

The way out of this situation was not to fight, he realised. He was going to have to think of another solution.

He turned his attention back to the leader, who was waiting patiently for some reaction to his words. Dolosus looked him up and down, noting the strength in his arms and back, the noble way he held his head.

Gradually, the leader's words sank in.

“Your what?” said Dolosus, thinking he must have misheard.

“My son,” confirmed the large warrior, his green eyes burning into Dolosus's. He held out a hand to a doorway on the back wall through which Dolosus could see a small anteroom. “Come with me, and we can sit and talk a while.”

“I am going nowhere until you explain what you meant by that statement,” demanded Dolosus. His heart pounded inside his watery skin. He knew the leader was talking nonsense, but still…

The warrior nodded. “I am Thalassinus, High Lord of Darkwater. And you, whom Heartwood calls Dolosus, were born Damaris, the product of my union with a female of Anguis some thirty-five years ago.”

Dolosus stared at him. The use of the name he had borne until he was twenty-four years old shocked him; only Valens knew it and had changed it when he welcomed him into the Exercitus.

He had heard the stories all his life about the water warriors who came ashore to mate with the women, but had always thought it just that, stories; even after Nitesco's speech about the origin of the Darkwater Lords, he had never suspected it to be true.

And he had never suspected he would be the product of such a relationship.

“I do not believe you,” he said instinctively. “How do I know if what you say is true? You could be saying this just to distract me from my goal. You think because I came late to Heartwood, I will be easily swayed; you know I am dissatisfied there and think that means I will turn traitor. You are wrong.”

Thalassinus nodded. “You are wise to be cautious. I would not expect anything less from my son.” He motioned once again to the antechamber. “Let us go and sit and talk about this properly. You are probably hungry, too, and there is food in there.”

He walked away, disappearing through the door into the chamber. Dolosus cursed but knew he could do nothing but follow him. Though he had scorned the High Lord's words, deep inside he was curious and wanted to hear more.

He followed Thalassinus across the floor, feeling the eyes of the guards upon him as he swam. He looked over, wondering if their gazes would be mocking, or scornful, but in them he read only respect. Shivering, he swam through the loop in the coral that served for a doorway, and entered the antechamber beyond.

Unlike a room in Anguis, the chamber did not have furniture as such. The seats were made from more coral, as was the table, and there were no cupboards or chests with ornate crockery and ornaments. However, the walls were intricately carved and decorated, painted with gold and silver and blue, work that must have taken several artists years to complete. Dolosus marvelled at the workmanship as he swam up to join Thalassinus, who was reclining on a couch, nibbling at a skewer of sea vegetables. “Please,” said the High Lord, indicating Dolosus should join him. There was nobody else in the room apart from a couple of quiet servants, who did not look up as Dolosus entered.

Dolosus let his body sink onto the couch next to Thalassinus, but did not eat. Although he was hungry, he was afraid the food might be poisoned, or laced with a sedative at the very least, and he wanted to keep alert and ready to flee at any moment.

“You do not believe me,” said Thalassinus, finishing the skewer and throwing it over his shoulder, where it floated gently until one of the waiting servants caught it. “How can I convince you?”

“I do not know,” said Dolosus. “What proof do you have?”

Thalassinus beckoned to one of the servants, who brought forward a flat silver mirror. The High Lord placed it on the couch between them and indicated for Dolosus to gaze into it. “Look,” he said, and passed his hand over the glassy surface.

Dolosus looked. For a moment, he saw nothing but the reflection of his own face. Then his features blurred, as if he was actually looking into a pool of water and someone had dropped a stone into it. Slowly, the surface stilled once again, but this time it was not his reflection he was seeing, but a scene featuring people he recognised. He gasped. He could see Nitesco, Procella, Chonrad, Fulco, Solum, Terreo and Hora, and behind them the golden sand of the beach from which he had vanished into the water. Procella was talking, and in his mind he heard her words: “Why did it work for Dolosus and not the rest of us?”

And Nitesco's reply: “I do not know, but there are seven elementals still in the cauldron; Dolosus made the transition of his own accord.”

The picture swam again, and then there was only his reflection staring back at him, the confusion evident on his face. He looked up at Thalassinus. “I do not understand. How could I make the transition without the water elemental?”

“Because you already had one within you,” said the High Lord, his green eyes gleaming in the pearly light from the lamps. “I planted the seed of one within your mother, and it has remained inside you ever since, waiting for its chance to return to its origins.”

For a moment, Dolosus could think of nothing to say. The thought of a water elemental lying dormant within him all his life was abhorrent to him. And yet… somehow, hadn't he always known there was something wrong with him? That a seed of evil lurked inside him, and there was nothing he could do about it? At least now it made sense.

Thalassinus was frowning. “There is nothing ‘wrong' with you,” he corrected, leaning forwards intently. “And it is not ‘evil'. This is who you are, Damaris; you cannot deny your heritage. I know you have always felt misplaced, as if you do not belong up there. This is why: you were destined to be at my side. My son. My rightful heir.”

Dolosus pushed himself away from the table and swam agitatedly in front of the High Lord. “This does not make sense! How do I know the vision you just showed me is the truth? How do I know the elemental within me has been there all this time – that it wasn't just placed within me on the water's edge?”

Thalassinus just smiled. “You know, Damaris. You know the truth. You have always known. You have never fitted in and have always felt yourself to be an outcast, different from everyone else.”

That, at least, was true. He swam around the edge of the room, trying to think, then suddenly realised what he was doing. Was it a coincidence he had felt so comfortable in his watery skin? That he had adapted so easily to the form of a water elemental? Obviously, part of that must be due to the fact that he had regained the use of his arm, but even if he took that into account… Had he slipped into the role too quickly, too easily?

He looked at the Darkwater Lord, who was watching him with a small smile on his face. He could not think of him as “father”. “Why have you not informed me of this before now? Why have you chosen this moment to reveal the secret?”

Thalassinus shrugged. “It was out of my hands. Once I went back into the sea, I had to wait until Darkwater called you.”

Dolosus frowned. “You must be able to breed amongst your own people. You must have other sons.”

“Yes, many.”

“Then why me? Why am I so important?”

For the first time Thalassinus showed impatience, pushing himself upright and swimming over to face Dolosus. “Because you have a foot in both worlds, of course. You understand the ways of the earth elementals. You, Damaris, are the key to Heartwood!”

“I see,” said Dolosus quietly. “You want me to betray Heartwood; open its doors for you.”

Thalassinus smiled. “We will take Heartwood with or without you, my son. The tides are rising; in three days' time, they will be at their peak, and we will invade. If you wish to help us, that will be a bonus. If not, I understand. But your rightful place is still beside me. My other sons have always known this city will one day be yours. And I know you were unhappy on land. You felt weak with your arm removed and hated the fact that people took pity on you. You felt alienated and frustrated with your life. Here, you can be whole once more.”

“How do you know what I felt on Anguis?” said Dolosus hoarsely.

“I have been watching you, of course. We are in every sea, every river. You just cannot see us.” He smiled at Dolosus. “Come with me; let me show you what I mean.”

He swam out of the door and Dolosus followed him, not knowing whether or not he wanted to see what Thalassinus wanted to show him. They swam along a passageway and up through a series of highly decorated coral loops. Passageways led off to the left and right, but Thalassinus ignored them, taking him instead straight to the top.

When they reached the summit, they swam out of the final loop onto a small platform. Above them, the ceiling of the cavern – the underside of one of the Gantlos Islands – shimmered with stones and gems set into the rock like stars. Thalassinus swam to the back edge of the platform and held his hand out to Dolosus. “Look.”

Slowly, Dolosus moved to the edge and looked down. He gasped. There, as far as the eye could see, were Darkwater soldiers readying for war; some drilling, some practising with swords and other weapons, too numerous to count.