Pilgrim (59 page)

In the distance, a woman screamed. The sound was cut off halfway through.

“The gates have fallen,” ProudFlight said, and Goldman felt cold fear slither through his belly.

“Gustus!” Drago yelled, “continue with the evacuation! Herme! Follow me!”

“What can we do?” Herme said, running after Drago as he rushed through the door.

Once outside their progress slowed. The hallways of the palace were full of people moving towards the enchanted doorway, and Drago, Herme, and the feathered lizard which had followed its master, had to push bodily though.

Its crest was held high, and it had ruffled out its feathers so that it appeared a third again as large.

“What can we do?” Drago said harshly. “Not much, save protect these people as well as we are able.”

WingRidge caught up with them. “Do you want me to take the Lake Guard away from their duties helping those trapped?”

Drago shook his head. “Their only hope is to get through that doorway as fast as they can. WingRidge, if you serve me as you say you do, then
get those people through
!”

WingRidge nodded curtly, then vanished among the crowd.

“And what are
we
going to do, Drago?” Herme asked.

“Against several hundred thousand maddened beasts? Well, I don’t intend to hold them off single-handedly, if that’s
what you thought, Herme. Come on! No time for detailed explanations.”

And what
would
he do? Drago thought as he and Herme jerked to a halt in the courtyard of the palace. Outside the courtyard gates they could see the streets seething with a mass of animals and as they watched several sheep, a goat and a half-grown bitch ran inside the gates, snuffling carefully about the shadows.

He could draw another doorway—but where could he send them? Wherever he chose, he would risk a mass of them escaping into Spiredore…and that thought did not bear thinking about, not with thousands of Acharites passing through each minute.

“Drago?” Herme prompted. One of the sheep had spotted them, and stood completely still in the centre of the courtyard, staring.

Its lower jaw fell open and it drooled.

Somewhere in a distant street a man screeched in horrified surprise, wailed in agony, and then fell silent.

“
Drago?
”

The sheep took a step forward, and then another one.

Drago’s hand tightened about the staff, but he called forth no enchantment.

What should he do?
Gods, but he wished he’d not sent Katie back to Sanctuary!

The sheep suddenly launched an attack. It leapt forward, wailing, its teeth bared, bloody foam frothing from its mouth. Its movement attracted the attention of the other sheep, the goat and the bitch, and they, too, slunk slackjawed towards where Drago and Herme stood in the doorway.

“For gods’ sakes, man!” Herme said, grabbing Drago’s arm. “
Get back inside!
”

In answer, Drago seized Herme, pushed him back through the door, and pulled it shut.

In the same instant the sheep reached him, and in one
smooth movement Drago brought the staff around and cracked the sheep over the head with it. The lizard sunk its teeth into the wool at the sheep’s throat and began to shake the creature.

Drago flinched as bloody foam from the sheep’s mouth splattered across his face, then, coming to an instant decision, altered his grip about the staff, and then drew a symbol in the air.

The lizard, still with his jaws locked into the sheep’s neck, struggled to raise a foreclaw, but Drago grabbed it.

“No.”

The sheep convulsed, and bloody specks flew through the air. Drago ducked his head to try and avoid them, and then fell to the ground as the goat leaped over lizard and sheep, its teeth snapping a bare handspan from Drago’s face.

The goat hit the closed door with an audible thud, landing on its side on the stone step and rolling heavily against Drago.

Drago struck it a heavy blow to the head, and had raised the staff again when he—as every other living creature within Carlon, sane or not—halted transfixed.

A heavy voice sounded over the city. It was thick and menacing, and sounded as if it spoke through…water.

Attend!

Both sheep and goat stopped struggling, and the other creatures in the courtyard froze.

Attend!

Drago slowly raised himself to his feet. He put a hand on the lizard’s head, and it released the sheep, standing itself and looking about. Every creature they could see had stopped in its tracks. Eyes were narrowed, ears cocked, heads tilted to one side.

Listening.

I command you, attend!

No-one noticed Drago’s lips moving very, very slightly.

The pig had been about to attack Goldman and ProudFlight when the voice sounded.

It stopped some three paces from where both men huddled against a wall, ProudFlight with his sword drawn, and turned very slightly towards the Lake side of the city, listening intently.

I command you, attend!

“What is that?” ProudFlight said, shaking his head slightly.

Goldman tilted his head and spoke very, very quietly into ProudFlight’s ear. “It is an enchantment.”

Faraday had also halted. The room she stood in was packed with people about to move through the doorway, now standing still and confused.

As Goldman, she recognised the voice for what it was.

“Quick, go through!” she said, putting her hand in the small of the back of the person standing next to her and pushing none too gently. “Quick, or the people behind you will die!”

The line began moving again.

The brown and cream badger raised his snout from the remains of the old woman he’d cornered coming out of a doorway, and snuffled the air.

I command you, attend!

Like Goldman, Faraday and the other two women now also herding their charges through the enchanted doorways with renewed urgency, the badger recognised the voice as a sham. An enchantment, although he was not sure of the mechanics or origins of its making.

No! No!
he commanded,
Do not attend. This is
—

He got no further. A clutch of cows hurtled about the corner and knocked him against the wall.

They did not stop, nor even look at their commander.

They were attending the voice.

Within moments the majority of the animals and demented humans which had invaded Carlon were dashing
back the way they’d come, slipping and sliding in their haste to obey. Some ran straight into burning buildings in their haste, re-emerging on fire, and setting fire to their companions thronging the streets leading back to the main city gates.

No! No!
the badger cried, but it was too late, they would not listen to him, they were desperate…desperate…desperate…and the voice became more insistent, far more commanding.

They were running for the Lake to attend the Maze which
surely
was about to rise at any moment. There was something in that Maze that the animals knew they would adore, venerate, worship, and which they were sure would adore them in return.

And now it called!

Run! Run! Run to be the first among the ranks lining the Lake!

The badger gave up trying to reason with the mobs fleeing through the streets. He communed with the Demons, letting them see with his eyes what was going on, letting them hear what was ringing through the cinder streets of Carlon.

He struggled to his feet and trotted down an alleyway, thinking to take a shortcut through to the main avenue leading to the gates, when he ran headlong into a man wearing a short white robe and one of the birdmen, a sword in his hand.

“What a nasty mind you have,” Goldman said to the badger which had skidded to a halt a bare pace from him.

The badger hissed, and sent everything he saw and heard back to the Demons.

Drago opened the door revealing a disgruntled—and extremely bewildered—Herme.

“What was that voice?” Herme said. “Attend
who
?”

“A sham,” Drago said shortly. “And one that will not last for long. Herme, this city has become an oven. Within half an hour no-one will be able to survive within its limits. If there is
anyone left in this quarter of the city, then get them to the doorway
now
!”

As Herme huried off, Drago spared a moment to look about him. The ancient Icarii palace had thus far survived the flames, and Drago wondered whether, like the hidden city of the Minaret Peaks, it could survive just about any disaster relatively intact.

Well, if it survived this fire, it would find itself sheltering a dark master indeed. The feathered lizard rubbed against his legs, and Drago smiled a little and rubbed its head.

“Did you enjoy the taste of sheep, my friend?”

The lizard grinned.

The badger growled as ProudFlight advanced a step.

“Mind, young man,” Goldman said, “this one is particularly nasty.”

In truth, Goldman was intrigued. He found that he could see inside the badger’s mind, or, at least, understand some of the thoughts that were chasing themselves about the badger’s head.

“Wasn’t that a clever enchantment?” he said, his tone condenscending. “And a clever, clever badger to be able to see through it.”

A shifting mass of shadows loomed behind the badger’s eyes, and Goldman abruptly realised that there was
more
intelligence and knowledge in those eyes than he’d originally reckoned with.

“Who are you?” a voice hissed from the badger’s mouth.

Goldman licked suddenly dry lips. The voice was horribly reminscent of the voice that Drago had conjured up, and Goldman realised he was speaking to one of the Demons.

Which? he wondered.

“Sheol,” the voice hissed, and the badger squatted a little and urinated on the cobbles.

“And a fine good afternoon to you, Mistress Sheol,” Goldman said pleasantly. “And now…if you’ll excuse me…”

He began to step about the badger, but then felt
something
reaching out from the animal, something that promised frightful agonies if it reached him. He gasped, stunned, but just as he felt the power touch him ProudFlight plunged his sword into the nape of the badger’s neck.

The power dissolved instantly, and Goldman relaxed in relief. He raised his head to thank the birdman, but ProudFlight simply grabbed him and hustled him back towards the building—now leaning precariously to one side—where glowed their enchanted doorway. When they finally attained the chamber, Goldman suddenly, desperately, remembered the cats, and he turned back to the door leading to the corridor.

“What are you doing?” ProudFlight yelled.

“The cats—”

“The cursed cats can look after themselves.
Get through that door now!
”

Goldman grabbed the birdman’s arms, meaning to shove him to one side, but the birdman was much stronger than he, and in the full pride of Icarii youth, and Goldman stood not a hope against him.

The last thing he saw as ProudFlight shoved him through the glowing door was the ceiling collapsing in a shower of sparks and flaming debris.

The Demons sat their mounts, thinking. What was that, who was that, the badger had spoken to?

There had been a power in him. Something unexpected and, while the man had not been able to use it effectively, the potential was enough to fret at the Demons’ minds. They shared their visions and thoughts with StarLaughter, thinking she might be able to explain it.

But StarLaughter shook her head, just as puzzled.

Desperate to solve the riddle, the Demons then allowed WolfStar to share what they’d seen.

“What is it, this power within this man?” Sheol asked.

But WolfStar shook his head. “I do not know,” he said, and then grinned. “But I think the StarSon is gathering to his side his lieutenants for the battle.”

For that he paid. Dearly.

T
he chamber was still crowded as the evacuees Herme and his men had found within nearby tenements filed through the doorway, but even so Drago felt the arrival of Goldman and the Lake Guard who’d been with him.

He turned in time to see them step through air that appeared to ripple slightly, as a still pond that shelters deep secrets. It was the first time Drago had witnessed how Spiredore nonchalantly inserted someone into the spot they’d named.

“Well?” Drago said.

“Everyone we could find in our quarter has been moved through the doorway,” Goldman said, patting a pocket in his robe where he’d stored the folded doorway.

“Everyone
alive
,” ProudFlight said.

“Except the cats,” Goldman muttered.

“The cats?” Drago said.

“They disappeared when we were leading the last of the Acharites through,” ProudFlight said. “Goldman feels he should have saved them.”

Drago put a hand on Goldman’s shoulder. “They were not your responsibility.”

Goldman nodded unhappily, and Drago tightened his hand momentarily.

“Were you responsible for the bells, Goldman?”

Goldman managed a small smile, glad of the change in topic. “A good idea, was it not?”

“Yes,” Drago said. “But if you’d told me about it sooner it might have saved everyone some trouble.”

“I am an aging man, Drago, and the weight of my years has addled my wits.”

Drago snorted, then addressed ProudFlight. “Split the Lake Guard you have with you into three and then use Spiredore to go aid Faraday, Gwendylyr and Leagh.”

ProudFlight nodded and turned aside.

Drago walked over to the window, and Goldman joined him. His face sobered as he looked outside. Carlon was eating itself up. Most roofs were well alight, and walls and floors crumbled under the heat and the weight of collapsing beams. Many streets were now impassable, or completely inundated with piles of glowing rubble.

Goldman blinked back tears, his distress over the cats exacerbated by the sight before him. Carlon was his home, yet far more than just a “home”. It was a place of vibrant life and laughter, of tender love and the exquisite pain that love brings, and the very heart of a realm.

Yet here it was dying, and Goldman could barely tolerate the screams of nails tearing from toppling walls and stone exploding centuries old constructions.

“We must rebuild,” he said. “We cannot let Carlon lie in ruins.”

Drago took a moment to answer, and when he did he did not look at Goldman.

“Carlon will never be rebuilt,” he said. “This is a final death.”

Goldman was about to protest when he realised the depth of sadness on Drago’s face. He bowed his head, took a deep breath to bring his emotions under control, then looked out the window again.

He could not bear the agony of the city, and so Goldman looked further out to the tens of thousands of
creatures massed about the Lake. For the first time in months all their attention was on the water rather than Carlon itself.

Some were paddling about in the shallows, some swimming over the shadows of the rising Maze, all were concentrating on what they thought was the voice of Qeteb speaking to them from the heart of the Maze.

Even as he watched, the voice sounded again.

Obey me, and I will give you all you desire.

Goldman glanced at Drago, noting the very slight movement of his lips.

“That is a deft enchantment,” Goldman said.

“It will not work for very much longer,” Drago said. “Already some animals are becoming…‘disenchanted’,” his lips twitched, “and are turning away from the Lake. Their master is taking his time, it seems, about granting their every wish.”

Drago leaned out the window and surveyed the street immediately below the palace. “Nevertheless, it has given my three girls—”

Goldman noted with some humour the proprietorial way Drago said “my three girls”.

“—time enough to complete the emptying of their quarters.”

“I ran into a badger,” Goldman said, “a most ingenious badger. I found…”

Goldman paused, again wondering at the depth of experiences that now suffused his being. When would he find the time to fully explore it?

“I found that I could see inside its mind.”

Drago looked at Goldman. “Really?”

“Aye. And most disturbing it was, too. This badger
knew
the voice was a trick, but could not persuade his comrades to believe him.”

Goldman paused. “He was a special badger, and I spent a moment or two talking with him.”

Drago’s eyes narrowed. “That was dangerous, my friend.”

Goldman nodded. “That badger’s mind connected directly to the Demons. One of them, Sheol, spoke to me through the badger’s mouth—”

“What! What did you tell her?”

“Nothing! But…”

“But?”

“But I think she realised that I was, ah, something ‘other’ than she, or her companions, had ever expected to encounter.”

The Demons must be truly worried by now, Drago thought. When they’d destroyed the Star Gate, they had thought to have destroyed the most powerful well of enchantment in Tencendor—the Star Dance. All the power that remained was that which emanated from earth and trees, and that the Demons knew they could deal with once Qeteb was resurrected.

What they had never known—what
no-one
had known—was that the Star Dance lived on within the craft, and literally within the land itself.

Well, very soon they were going to work it out.

But not before…gods! not before he had a chance to get into the Maze. Without understanding why, Drago understood that whatever else happened, he had to enter the Maze before the Demons did.

How far away were they? Far enough, he hoped.

“Drago?”

Herme’s voice broke into his reverie, and Drago looked at the Earl.

“There are perhaps a score of people to bring up the stairs and send through the doorway,” Herme said. “And then we will have done all we can for this section of Carlon. And not before time. Every building surrounding this palace is afire.”

Drago put a hand on Herme’s shoulder. “I thank you, Herme.” He looked beyond Herme to where Gustus and Grawen stood. “And you. Ten thousand at least owe you their lives.”

“Nay,” Herme said quietly. “They owe
you
their lives, Drago.”

“Well…Herme, your family?”

“They are among this final score to come through,” Herme said.

Drago nodded. “Good. WingRidge? Get everyone through this door as fast as you can. Herme, take the men you have with you, and follow your family through to Sanctuary. Wait for me there.”

“And you?” Herme asked.”

“Goldman, WingRidge and I will wait in Spiredore for the others to complete their tasks. And then…”

“Then?”

Drago shrugged. “Then I will follow what my heart tells me, my friend.”

For Faraday, Gwendylyr and Leagh, the situation was growing ever more desperate. Both the fires, and whatever stray animals who had not responded to the enchanted summons, were closing in like a nightmarish net, and yet the people continued to stream towards the houses where the women had erected the doorways.

Faraday, like the other two women, had lost a little of her serenity. Smoke and biting cinders choked corridors, making eyesight difficult, and control almost impossible to enforce. Faraday strode up and down the lines of people in the corridors leading to the doorway chamber, trying to keep them calm, but finding it difficult to keep composed herself when her lungs felt as though they were afire and her voice was lost amid her coughing. She was reduced to simply grabbing people’s clothing, urging them along as fast as they could go—and yet trying not to create panic—and patting faces and shoulders in an effort to generate calm.

But no-one could retain a convincing facade of calmness in this degree of calamity. Without exception children were screaming their fear and panic; parents were crying and
shouting, young men were pushing and shoving, and girls sobbing and collapsing in sorry heaps on the floor and tripping others up.

“What’s happening?” Faraday shouted to the Lake Guardsman who suddenly loomed out of the smoke at her shoulder.

“There are thousands more below in the streets!” he yelled, “and more still moving through falling debris and burning buildings to get to us. Ye gods, Lady Faraday! We are never going to get them all out before this goes up completely!”

“Do your best,” Faraday shouted. “Do your best!”

Hopelessly inadequate words.
Utterly
inadequate…but what else could she say?

A youth close to Faraday suddenly convulsed, screaming in jerky breaths, and everyone within hearing distance dissolved into complete panic—had the fire leapt through the walls? Had the Demons finally arrived to run amok through their midst?

Were the rats back?

“Calm down!” Faraday screamed. “Calm down!”

But the panic in her own voice did nothing to ease the panic of others, and within heartbeats the entire corridor became a mass of pushing, shoving, screaming people, all determined to get to the doorway and achieve their salvation at their neighbours’ expense.

Faraday was pushed and pummelled herself. She tried desperately to think of something she could do—surely there was some kind of calming spell her re-found Acharite powers could give her? But she could not think in the midst of this frenzy, she could not
breathe
amid this madness, all she could feel and realise was that she was being consumed, sucked into the trampling stampede of elbows and feet and—

Silence.

A shudder ran through the entire corridor, and Faraday
swore she could feel it run through the entire building and then sweep through to the crowds in the streets below.

She slowly got to her feet, straightening her robe and rubbing an upper arm where it had been badly bruised.

Drago’s cats were kneading their way along the corridor—that was the only verb Faraday’s numbed mind could come up with, but it entirely suited the cats’ actions. A dozen mongrel courtyard cats were climbing over the mass of people halfsitting, half-lying in the corridor, their paws enthusiastically kneading flesh as they went.

And as they went, people smiled, stroked the cats, and passed them on to their neighbours to be kneaded and loved in return.

Faraday stared, wide-eyed, her lips slightly parted. A cat brushed by her legs, butting his head against her knees, and she bent down to pat him. A deep rumble of purr met her hands, and the cat moved on to the next person.

Faraday remembered something Drago had told her on their long trip north. His childhood spent in utter rejection, totally unloved…save by Sigholt’s courtyard cats. They’d accepted him and loved him and given him their total friendship, for no price, and without caring that he was the most reviled creature in Tencendor.

And now here they were again, spreading love and friendship, and somehow imparting hope and joy. People rose to their feet and without prompting moved quietly and quickly through the corridors—now miraculously almost cleared of smoke—towards the enchanted doorway.

The Lake Guardsman appeared again at Faraday’s elbow. “It’s remarkable,” he said in a low voice. “A short while ago I would have said we’d never get these crowds through in time. Now, I think we’re going to do it with time to spare.”

Faraday nodded, but did not speak.

Instead her eyes, bright with tears, followed the progress of the last cat in sight, a rangy ginger tom, as he rubbed his way through the forest of legs surrounding him.

Gwendylyr and Leagh had had similar experiences. No matter the efforts they’d expended trying to keep people calm, as the fires had drawn hotter and closer, and stray, maddened animals attacked those people moving through streets towards doorways, panic spread. Theod and Zared both thought they were about to again lose their wives: Zared was especially worried as Leagh was pregnant. And yet, just as panic erupted into a potentially deadly hysteria, the cats had appeared, happy, loving, utterly relaxed, and within heartbeats their joy and serenity communicated itself to the crowds.

Nevertheless, both Theod and Zared were heartily glad when their wives had shooed through the last refugee, Lake Guard member, whatever Alaunt they had with them, and had stepped through into Spiredore themselves and folded down their doorways.

Leagh was the last one to close her doorway, and just as she reached to fold it down, the cats came bounding through and thundered down the stairs in Spiredore in some mad feline chase until they were lost in its twisting gloom.

Leagh took a deep breath, recovering from the start they’d given her, then folded down the door. Then she stood as if uncertain, holding the glowing cube of light in her hand, a tear running down her face.

“Why so sad?” Zared asked, wiping the tear away. “We have rescued most people.”

Leagh held up the cube of light, her face illuminated in its glow. “Beyond this,” she looked at the cube, “Carlon lies a-burning. We could save the people, Zared, but we could not save the city.”

“A city is only its people,” Zared said, his voice gentle.

Leagh shook her head slightly. “Carlon was ever more than that, Zared.”

“Leagh…” Zared did not know what to say, but Leagh blinked away her tears and pocketed the cube of light.

“Drago,” she said, and then led Zared down the stairs before them.

Drago was atop Spiredore. It was close to late afternoon now, the hour of despair well past. He stood at the western parapets, his hands resting on the stone, the wind ruffling his hair and clothes, watching Carlon burn.

It was both a dreadful and an awe-inspiring sight. The entire city was afire. Flames leapt skyward through wreaths of grey and black smoke, and yet, right at the peak of the city, the ancient Icarii palace stood unscarred and unlit.

Drago wondered at its purpose. Why was it being saved?

Directly below was Grail Lake. The Maze was very slightly more visible than it had been earlier in the day, although it was still deep. Creatures continued to line the Lake’s shores, but now they were less certain. The voice had not spoken for an hour or more, and both the patchy-bald rat and the brown and cream badger were dead.