The Forgotten War (93 page)

No, she would never be clean again ever. She did not know if she could even be close to a man again. Right now, the thought repelled her. It was Trask’s fault, she thought. He had taken
something honest and true-hearted, if not totally pure, and despoiled it, broken it, turned it into something rotten. There was only one way she could help herself get back to what she had once
been, to find redemption after the horror she had endured, to become Cheris again.

Sir Trask had to die, and die by her hand alone.

No one moved. Wulfthram and his companions stared at the black priests, who stared right back at them. The phantoms also remained in place, a coldness radiating from them that
made Ceriana shiver. At last the great silver-clad figure rose slowly from his throne, the phantoms parting to let him pass. Before they could divine its intentions, Ulian decided to speak, praying
silently that his mastery of their tongue was sufficient for the task.

‘Hail to the guardians of Atem Sezheia! I am Ulian, a scholar of the humans travelled here along with their nobles to address Dureke, your leader, on a matter of importance to us
both.’

At the mention of the name the creature stopped. No words came from it yet they all heard them, and somehow understood them. It was the glacial, disdainful whisper Ceriana had heard several
times earlier that night, only this time it carried the potency of a striking snake, venomous and charged with hostility.

‘How does a human know my name?’

Ulian continued nervously, and as he did so the phantoms approached him and began to move around him. As they did so, some raised their arms and brushed him with their spectral fingers, and
every time he was touched it was though a shard of metallic cold steel was thrusting deep into his skin.

‘As I say, I am a scholar and have learned your name through research, although I have heard nothing of the necromancy you must have practised on your companions to raise them in such a
form as this.’

A phantom stood directly in front of him and stopped; he could discern features in the near transparent flesh covering the skull. Its eyes had the blue of a mountain lake and were looking at him
more with curiosity than hatred.

‘We have had access to many arts you savages could never learn or master. Tell me, how long is it since we made our home down here?’

Ulian swallowed; the phantom in front of him had not moved.

‘Over seven hundred years.’

The expression of the phantom gazing at Ulian changed; he could see the weariness of an eternity of waiting in its eyes. The suffering caused by lifetimes of nothing but stillness, down here in
the dark, watching and watching, and then failing in its duty to protect the items placed in its trust.

‘Is it really that long?’ Even Dureke sounded weary. ‘It has passed so quickly. Tell me, human, why have you come here? Are you the thief who has taken the stone?’

‘No.’ Ulian could think of nothing else to say. The phantom moved and he could see Dureke regarding him, and those with him.

‘I thought not. Then why are you here?’

‘We have come to return that that was taken from you.’

Dureke remained motionless. Then he reached over his shoulder and slowly pulled forth a blade that must have been strapped to his back. It was possibly the largest sword Ceriana had ever seen, a
full six feet of frosted white metal. The blade steamed as he held it, a steam of intense cold.

All this time the black priests stood and watched, not saying a word. Now, however, the tall man – Luto, if Ceriana remembered correctly – nodded to his companions and one of them,
the man she had seen in Thakholm all that time ago, moved slowly away from them. He went and stood by a small barrel placed under one of the torches. She spotted another three of these barrels
located at equal distances along the wall.

‘You are saying that you have the stone?’ Dureke’s voice seemed to take on an ever-deeper, more menacing tone.

Ceriana stepped forward, fighting against all her natural instincts that were telling here to turn and run and not to stop until her lungs burst.

‘I have the stone, right here.’

The reactions of the blue-eyed phantoms were extraordinary; they started to move, to swirl around her and the room. They did not walk as such; rather, they floated or hovered, the pale light of
their legs and feet either not touching the ground or actually descending into it. could they move through stone walls? Ceriana wondered. How could one combat such spirits?

Wulfthram spoke guardedly to her, not looking at her, his eyes fixed on Dureke in front of him.

‘You are wearing the amulet; they cannot see you, though I think they know you are here.’

Dureke hissed and raised his sword with his mailed hands.

‘We sense the presences of others, the wearers of xhikon. It is a metal that negates magic; it makes its wearer unclear to us but we know they are here. When the stone was taken from us we
slept, unaware of what was happening. Now we have awoken, we search for the stone and slay those who stand before us.’

‘Including the people of the village? They were all innocent in this affair.’ Wulfthram held his sword in front of him, pointing it at Dureke.

‘Humans that dwell within or around the confines of Atem Sezheia cannot be called innocent. Our people died so they could seize our lands and settle here. And unless you have the stone, it
is now your time to die.’ He stepped towards them, hefting his mighty sword; alongside him the phantoms started to close in around them.

‘Wait!’ Ceriana shouted, not knowing if they could hear her or not. Without thinking of any consequences she pulled the amulet off her neck and handed it to Wulfthram. Then, holding
the stone in the upturned palm of her outstretched right hand, she walked towards Dureke.

Within seconds her mind was alive with images – a gargantuan yellow eye, slitted like a lizard’s, the dusty floor of a great city of stone, the hoarse clipped cries of dozens of
winged shadowy shapes swooping low over her head. Her hand holding the stone started to glow, her veins, arteries and the blood pumping through them visible to the naked eye. Luto the priest
started towards her but the blades of Wulfthram and Haelward blocked his path. He stared at the warriors with a cold ire.

‘Can you drain the power of this stone?’ she asked plaintively. ‘Free me from the grip it exerts?’

Dureke lowered his sword until its point touched the ground. He held out his other hand to her, palm upturned. Understanding, she placed the stone into the mailed nothingness that his hand had
now become.

‘Put the xhikon back around your throat’ was all he said.

Wulfthram handed it to her and she took it swiftly, placing it back in its original position. The second she took it from him, her hand returned to normal, pink skinned with a tiny wrist and
thin delicate fingers.

Dureke, with all the delicacy of a mother cat carrying its infant in its jaws, returned to his throne with the stone. As they all watched, the silver chain and fitting in which it was housed
appeared to turn into vapour and disappear; soon it was only the stone that remained There was a socket at the top of the throne’s high back. He placed it in there where it fitted perfectly.
It ceased to glow and looked little more than an enormous ruby, secure in its housing.

Dureke sat back on his seat.

‘I know how the stone’s power can be drained,’ he said, ‘but it will not avail you. Zhun has determined your destiny already. You, human child, are a prodigy. You have a
sensitivity to the stone’s power that I have seen only in a very few of my own kind. It is too late for you; the bond between you and Draigezhed, the Fire Dragon, is so strong, you no longer
need the stone for it to continue. It can only be held in check; it cannot be reversed. Wear the amulet every day for the rest of your life or you and the Draigezhed will become a symbiote, two
bodies with a single spirit. It will become more like you; you more like it. You will cease to be truly human.’ Dureke rested his head in the palm of his right hand.

‘You can no longer be considered our enemy. The stone has been returned. You may leave with your companions. The
siselo
, the creature you passed to get here, has fed, and will not
trouble you again.’

‘Then there is nothing that can be done for her? Nothing at all?’ Wulthram spoke, his voice sounding both frustrated and concerned .

‘Nothing.’ Dureke sounded emphatic. ‘Among our people she would be revered, one with a direct contact with Zhun’s first creatures. For us it is a great gift, not a curse.
We honour her.’

Ceriana looked at the ground. A single heavy tear fell and exploded among the dust at her feet.

Wulfthram spoke. ‘We cannot leave just yet. Your stone is not safe here. The people who removed it in the first place will do the same again. They are here waiting to do just that.’
He had noticed that the black priests were all wearing the same amulets that Ceriana wore, so after speaking Wulfthram took two steps backward, grabbed the priest standing next to Luto, tore the
amulet off his neck and threw it to Haelward, who caught it deftly. He then threw the man to the ground.

The man got to his feet, his hand clutching his throat, feeling for the protection that was no longer there. His eyes fully expressed the dawning horror of his predicament. He turned towards the
tunnel and started to run but only went a couple of steps before stumbling and falling. He had got back on to his knees, his mouth wide open in fear. Then the phantoms struck him. One passed right
through his body leaving a frosty rime on his face, hair and cloak; he stood and tried to run again but another phantom went through him and another and another. Each time this happened the
phantom’s body would pulse a blood red colour, just once, just briefly, but each time this happened the man got whiter and whiter until finally he stopped moving completely. Dozens of
phantoms continued to run through him until finally he could no longer be seen and just a column of glistening white frost remained where the man had once stood.

‘So you see, Dureke,’ Ulian said. ‘These people will never give up. The stone must be drained; unless it is the case that, now that the lady has used it, it cannot be used
again.’

‘Ordinarily it would be so. But the child possessor is so powerful she no longer needs the stone. Another could use it; another creature could be found and bonded with.’

Luto smiled knowingly. He seemed unconcerned at the death of his colleague. The object of his quest was but a few feet away from him, and he had all the time in the world.

‘Then,’ said Ulian, ‘its power must be drained, if that is at all possible.’

Dureke stood again and came slowly towards them.

‘It can be done,’ he said, ‘but its power can only be drained into a living vessel. The two opposing life forces in one body neutralise each other, destroying both of them. The
body dies and the stone is drained simultaneously.’

Luto’s smile grew broader. ‘You are saying,’ said Wulfthram, ‘that someone has to die?’

‘Indeed,’ said Dureke ‘It is the only way.’

Luto spoke slowly. ‘We knew this of course. Do any of you wish to trade your life to stop me?’

‘How is it they cannot hear you?’ Ceriana asked him shrewishly.

‘I have not revealed myself to them, unlike you. Everything I do is shielded from them. They know we are here. You are speaking to us, after all, but we are as easy to trace for them as
smoke in the wind.’

It appeared that he was speaking the truth. The phantoms were passing around him, even through him, but they seemed to have no idea where he was; unlike Ceriana, who felt their blue eyes
piercing her like a lance. She reddened slightly and in a tiny voice that she felt was not even her own she said.

‘I will do this ritual. My life is blighted for ever anyway. Wherever this stone is it will be my curse until I die. The Gods appear to have deemed it so, and my life seems to be forfeit
to them. I am ready for this.’

‘Artorus’s holy teeth you are!’ Wulfthram interposed himself between her and Dureke. ‘Say that again and I will send you to Xhenafa myself!’

‘I don’t think any of us would accept that, my Lady,’ Haelward said quietly, keeping his knife firmly pointed at Luto. ‘If you go through with this then we have all
failed you.’

‘It would not work with the girl. ’ Dureke said. ‘She and the stone are as one; her soul is not an opposite force and could not negate its power. If she has offered herself for
the ritual then her bravery and willingness to sacrifice herself to protect others again marks her as special. I suspect that the blood of our people flows in her.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Ulian, ‘no sacrifice needs to be made. Maybe these priests can be prevailed upon not to try and seize the stone.’

‘You mean,’ Wulfthram said with a wolfish smile. ‘we should kill them. I have no problem with that, though they be unarmed.’

‘I was thinking rather that we should try to reason with them,’ said Ulian sheepishly. ‘Though you obviously have the final say in the matter, there must be something that can
be offered to them to make them cease this mad enterprise.’

‘There is nothing,’ said Luto. ‘We live for one thing and only one thing, to bring the ancient gods of the elves back to this Earth, for them to pronounce judgement on the
foulness and decadence of its unworthy populace, to purge the realms of men, to cleanse them and let them be reborn under the rule of their new gods, pure and unsullied. Our lives are secondary in
all this. By all means kill us here, but there will always be others to follow us; as long as the stones exist we will pursue them. We have taken nearly a millennium to start locating them and this
age will be
our
age – the time of the return of the true gods and the end of the empires of men and their false religions. Make no mistake, we will take this stone eventually, even
were it buried under an eternity of stone. I will tell you this: one of our brethren has already raised a dragon in the east of your country, and shortly he will purify the lands there. We will
raise a dragon in the west. Whether we do it today or next year, or the year afterwards, is immaterial. It will happen and when the Great One destroys the undeserving in your lands the slaughter
will be terrible. We will watch with joy as it feeds, devouring the filth infesting your lands, sparing neither children nor the infirm nor the elderly. And we will worship the Great One, praise
him for his divine justice and rebuild the new country he has made.’