Shadowgod (39 page)

“The immediate problem,” Bardow said heavily, “is how to forestall any panic among the city's populace, or even how to keep the story from leaking out.”

“Cannot be done,” said Yasgur. “Someone will talk, someone will realise that something is being concealed and rumours will breed like maggots in dead meat. I think that you are going to have to lie…”
“Lie?”

“Skillfully and loudly, ser Bardow. Announce that the Emperor has been sent to a secret, safe location on the Cabringan coast, then later explain away our searching as pursuit of enemy spies.” He pointed at Bardow. “And since we know the boy's destination, we could send someone after him.”

Bardow raised his eyebrows. “Despite the five hour advantage they have?”

“They are six, one of them is lame and they have only four horses. One man on horseback could catch them, and I know of one who could.”

As Yasgur got to his feet and pulled on his fur-trimmed cloak of black, the Archmage sighed. “You're right, Lord Regent. I shall see to the announcements tonight, if you despatch one of your soldiers after our errant sovereign.”

“Good,” Yasgur said, opening the door, letting in a stream of chilly air. “Till morn.”

The door slammed behind him, shutting off the cold. Bardow stared levelly at the place where Yasgur had stood, thoughts slowing from lack of sleep yet still harried by fears and doubts beneath which his own despair gaped like a waiting maw. A short time before the questioning of Tauric's Companions, he had conversed with Medwin through mindspeech and heard at last the full tale of the failed invasion attempt and the terrible destruction wrought on the city, Scallow. But he was most deeply struck by the disappearance of Gilly, captured by the enemy and now seemingly lost, perhaps dead, and Keren who, Medwin was sure, had yesterday reached the coast of Honjir alive but today could not be found or traced at all.

One by one we fall
, he thought sombrely.
Even fate and chance seem to be against us. When will it be my turn, I wonder? - perhaps I should ride out to the old fort and await the end there, sword in hand
…

He smiled sadly as his responsibilities and burdens made a little procession through his mind. The last of them was the sword of melded powers, scarcely begun despite hopeful trials yet offering a faint glimmer of hope.

And after the loss of Keren, Gilly and now Tauric, he needed all the hope he could find.

* * *

Atroc was waiting in Yasgur's outer chamber, sipping a hot beaker of mulled wine and examining some of the tribal spears adorning one wall when the Mogaun prince entered, attended by a scribe and two pages. Seeing Atroc, Yasgur sent the servants away to an outer room then closed the door and crooked a finger at the old man. Atroc gulped the last of the wine, set the beaker on a low stand then followed him through drapes and onto the balcony.

This side of the Keep of Night looked south across a narrow jumble of low roofs to the wide, torchlit battlements of the city wall. Beyond and above, the night was a solid darkness out of which snow came in gusts and swirls. But Atroc spared little attention for the surroundings, aware that Yasgur was full of grim determination.

“Can you guess why I wanted to see you here, old man?” the Lord Regent said.

“The Emperor's untimely disappearance, my prince?” he said.

“Yes.” Yasgur scowled out at the darkness. “Insolent child allowed himself to be snared by some lackey of the Shadowkings promising him the power of some lost and forgotten god. When word gets out, the city will heave with rioting, whatever Bardow and the High Conclave do.” He leaned closer to Atroc. “Defeat is in the air, old friend, and the time of severance is almost upon us.”

Atroc met his gaze. “What would you have me do, my prince?”

“The man we spoke of before, the one who brought the message, has a room at an inn called the Three Dukes which is near the Bridge of Hawks, on the Old Town side. Find him and tell him that I agree to a meeting and as soon as possible. Tell him that I wish to meet out from the harbour, ship to ship.”

Atroc nodded, privately amazed at his own calmness at these cold preparations for betrayal. Part of him felt that Yasgur was wrong, that the die was not yet cast, the battle not yet lost, but he knew his duty and would not break his self-forged loyalty.

“Your will is my command, master,” he said. “But to avoid recognition, perhaps I should wear something over these fine garments of mine!”

Yasgur laughed. “I'll dig up something from the chests in my chamber. Also, on your way out find Ghazrek and tell him to attend him immediately. I have a task that only he can be trusted to fulfill.”

“Your commands are iron, Great Firespear,” Atroc said, bowing his head.

When mask becomes face,
Sharpen your wits.
When face becomes mask,
Sharpen your sword.

—Jefren proverb

Cold and weary, excited and fearful, exultant and prepared, Tauric was all of these as he, his four Companions and the Skyhorse priest once known as the Armourer entered the snow-covered ruins of Nimas on near-spent horses. Morning mist veiled the white surrounding countryside and made the gouged and burnt-out buildings of the town seem pale grey. The roofless shell of the Fathertree temple was visible as a wide, shadowy cleft in the rocky outcrop at the market cross.

Tauric had visited Nimas once before, in his fourteenth year, when the Duke of Patrein took him to the annual High Day of Lights. This was a celebration to mark the end of the harvest and the first day of winter – people came from all over Khatris and the neighbouring lands, bringing lanterns of every kind, made from parchment, cloth, leaves and bark, wood and metal. Suspended on great, curved frameworks, they were kept alight throughout the night and following day of the festival. His memory of that time was golden, and he could never forget the fantastic multitude of glowing shapes and forms, especially a well-guarded set of tiny lamps from Tymora, each made from slivers of diamond, emerald and riveril.

On that visit, Tauric had gained entrance to the temple as the Duke's son, but was kept from seeing the sacred sanctoral by a tall, richly embroidered screen that surrounded the chalern dais. Now he would enter it as emperor, bringing the promise of new power, new beginnings and a new empire. He thought of the small sheaf of notes he had brought with him from the palace library in Besh-Darok, and could only feel the folded shape of them beneath his cloak and armour and shirt, next to his skin. Late yesterday afternoon he had shown them to the Armourer who glanced at a couple, nodded and handed them back.

“Your pursuit of the Skyhorse creed's hallowed history is commendable and gratifying, your majesty,” he had said. “It may be that some form of incantation will be required when we reach the sacred shrine, yet I believe that the ancient powers of the Skyhorse will recognise you as the rightful heir and confer their glories upon you.”

For all that this pronouncement was pleasing and reassuring, Tauric had wanted to ask the man's opinion on specific aspects of those scribbled chants and invocations, particularly one which mentioned 'the blood of the Skyborn' in the context of a sacrifice. In the event, he had decided to wait until they were actually facing the sanctoral itself.

As the Armourer led them through the ruins of Nimas, Tauric glanced round at his Companions, Herik, Rowlg, Drano and Aygil. All seemed alert and looked fresher than Tauric felt, yet he suspected that some if not all had dozed off in the saddle at some point in the long hard ride from the coast.

Tauric stifled a yawn as they approached the town's market cross. Once this would have been a thriving centre of activity, even in winter, with drovers and flocksmen haggling over cold-weather prices. Tauric knew that the blanketing snow concealed the chill, ashen evidence of pillage but in his mind's eye he imagined all the wreckage cleared away, the homes and marts rebuilt, the temple renewed and rededicated to the Skyhorse…

When they came to the foot of the wide, shallow steps curving up to the temple, Tauric expected the Armourer to have them all dismount and continue on foot. Instead the priest urged his horse up the steps, so Tauric and the others followed on, Aygil with his standard at last unfurled, the pale blue banner with its embroidered crown-and-tree device draped over his mounts hindquarters.

They came to the front of the gutted Fathertree temple where Tauric dismounted along with his Companions. Last to climb down, the Armourer limped with his cane up to the wide entrance, a doorless gap in the knee-high, broken brickwork which was all that remained of the temple's once great frontage.

“This is where you enter, majesty,” the Armourer said, peering out from beneath his cowl. “And we will follow your lead.”

Tauric looked at the faces of his Companions and saw shining hope and the light of loyalty in every one. It humbled him and without hesitation he walked over to the entrance and stepped across the threshold.

From an ice-glazed notch up on the rocky outcrop, Ghazrek was able to look down into the ruined temple and out at the town. After a gruelling ride south to the gully near Crownhawks Wood then west by a little-known pass through the Rukangs, he had reached the outskirts of Nimas an hour or more ahead of the boy-emperor's party. Leaving his exhausted horse tied up in a tumbledown stable, he had hurried to the temple and clambered up to find this suitably well-concealed spot.

And later when Tauric and his people came into view and rode steadily through the ruins, Ghazrek had watched them in utter silence, his breathing controlled, his movements kept slow and restricted. Such stealthy caution was due to the masked soldier who was watching the new arrivals from a similar notch just yards away, unaware of the Mogaun officer's presence.

Ghazrek had watched them arrive on foot from the south half an hour ago and scatter throughout the town, concealing themselves in the ravaged buildings. Studying their efficient, coordinated movements he knew that these were soldiers from one of the Shadowkings' citadels and wondered who they were, where they had come from and whether they were similar at all to the dog- and wolf-men the Acolytes used as guards. Then three of them stole round to the rear of the temple outcrop, one of whom climbed up its side to hide himself near Ghazrek, much to his disbelief.

Wedged in the narrow, uncomfortable gap with ice water dripping on him, Ghazrek shivered and in his mind went over Prince Yasgur's orders again.

“The boy is on his way to the town of Nimas with some of his followers and a servant of the Shadowkings. They're going to the wrecked temple to carry out some ritual that the boy thinks will give him powers….but all he's going to get is captured or even killed. You have to get there first, grab the boy and bring him back. If that proves impossible, do what you can to protect him even if that means revealing yourself to whoever they send to take him. Above all, keep him alive.”

If there had been room, Ghazrek would have shrugged. Instead he grinned and watched the six newcomers leave tracks in the snow as they entered the temple.

When he climbed the few, snow-choked steps up onto the chalern dais, Tauric could see that the sanctoral's position at the very back of the temple had sheltered it from the worst of the weather. As he companions ventured down the stairs into the open chamber to start clearing out debris, Tauric turned to the Armourer.

“Will you come down with me, ser priest?”

“Nay, my lord,” he said. “Such a moment should be yours alone.”

Tauric smiled and took out his sheaf of notes. “Then I shall recite some of these old incantations to show my devotion to the Skyhorse.”

For a moment the priest's face was unreadable then he smiled thinly. “An appropriate and worthy decision, majesty.”

Exhilarated, Tauric laughed and descended the steep steps into the dank, dim sanctoral. His Companions had thrown out broken, rotten timbers and rubble light enough to be hefted, then pushed aside some larger pieces of masonry. Even in the poor morning light he could make out a few hints and details of the rich paintings that had once adorned these walls. Against the rear wall of the sanctoral, part of the temple's rear wall, were two square plinths set a yard apart, both having once supported a chest-high semicircular altar. Between them, rising no higher than Tauric's chest, was the hacked, moss-patched and blackened stump of a tree. Several fires had been set against or near it down the years, but as he looked closer Tauric could see bumps and irregularities that he recognised as chopped-off sproutings.

This tree never died
, he thought.
Truly, the roots go deep
.

“We will wait and watch from above, majesty,” said Aygil, taking up his banner which he had leaned against a wall.

Before Tauric could object, the Companions bowed then filed up out of the sanctoral. When they were back up on the chalern dais, spaced around the sunken chamber, Tauric approached the tree remnant, went down on one knee in the black, muddy grime and in a low, steady voice began to read from his notes.

At once a strange languour settled through his mind and a heavyness pulled at his eyelids, but he strove to keep his eyes focussed on the parchments he held. When he finished the first his sense felt befuddled, his vision blurred, and his balance uncertain as if the floor were about to tip him forward. But he turned over his parchment, determined to press on and especially now that the chamber was noticeably brighter than before. Then the Armourer's voice came from off to one side, just as Tauric was about begin another invocation.

“You can stop now, Tauric. Come up from there…”

There was an intake of breath from one of the Companions.

“But ser priest – look!”

Part of Tauric wanted to look round as the Armourer's limping footsteps hastened over, but all his thoughts were caught in an invisible web, somehow running between the words on the parchment, the words in his mouth and the treestump from which a pearly radiance was emerging in patches between the lichen and the charred bark. As he resumed, an angry voice spoke out: