What Was Forgotten (33 page)

“If they’re going to kill us… we would like it to be here. On our land. Our home.”

Zayd knelt again. “You can still save them… those that can still be saved. Make the sacrifice that I made, Sera. The sacrifice my people made. It runs deep, but we still have each other, and we still have our memories. Whatever you think of it, it’s better than the nothingness you’re running towards.”

“That won’t happen,” Sera said. Her tone for the first time carried the weight of regret instead of the defiance that had always been there until now.

“Because of the Raan Dura.”

Sera nodded. “Do you know… is it here?”

“I don’t know what it looks like, so I wouldn’t even know if I was holding it.”

“It’s a thing of beauty, but not the kind of beauty that men and women of this world could create. It is made of the purest silver… like no silver you have ever seen before. Simply by looking upon it, you would know in your soul that it is an object too perfect to have been created by mortals. It is a circular, with small circles set atop one another until, at its zenith, a jewel, black and flawless, like the night sky in which Aulvennic, the Guiding Star, made his home.”

“Sera, why didn’t you tell me this?” Zayd asked. The seer’s smile faded.

“Why does it matter? It is gone.”

Zayd looked at his feet, not sure of what to say. He had seen it before.

And it was with them in the fort.

Walrend had ordered a small dais constructed for the next day’s executions. The questioning of Willar Praene and those of the Ninth Regiment who were deemed to be complicit in his mutiny – which was everyone – had been swift and brutal. Muffled screams were heard throughout the fort all afternoon and into the evening, and even though there was no sympathy for traitors amongst the soldiers of the Fourth Regiment, hearing the proof of torture was enough to put them all into somber spirits. Soldiers hammered planks of wood into place without speaking to one another, wondering, as they drove the nails home, if similar tools were being employed against the warriors of the Ninth.

Once the dais was finished, everyone seemed to ignore it. Soldiers walked wide around it. No one looked at it. The screams were enough of a reminder; they did not need another. The interrogation stopped at nightfall, when the fort slumbered. It nearly elicited a smile from Zayd, how predictable it was, when he thought about it: of course Walrend, not one to disobey his own rules, would stop maiming the Ninth at nightfall.

Still, though, standing at the base of the dais, with the only sound coming from the wind caressing the forest outside Ten Tower’s walls, Zayd thought he could hear screaming. He shook his head, trying to jar the echoes loose.

He looked around the towers of the fort, seeing his men silently patrolling the walls, going from one walkway to another, or stopping in a watchtower to relieve whichever Tauthri was there, who then took a turn on the walkways.

In the night’s quiet, bereft even of the sounds of forest creatures, Zayd knelt at the foot of the dais and prayed to Xidius for guidance. He thought back on his encounter with Walrend that day, after he had spoken with Sera.

“New orders?” Walrend had asked, stupefied, striding eagerly towards the makeshift prison where the Ninth were being held, unaware of what approached. The commander was flanked by his lieutenants, who seemed just as eager to begin interrogating the mutineers. “New orders to do what?” Zayd tried his best to keep pace with Walrend, and jostled alongside him, much to the annoyance of the lieutenants.

“To put the monolith underground,” Zayd said.

“Put it
underground
,” Walrend said, as if repeating Zayd would make his request more reasonable.

“Yes, sir. To bury it.”

“I see no reason to do that. Is there a reason, captain?”

“It needs to be cleansed, commander. By a cleric. There is something within it that has an especially strong link to the Beyond. It’s the reason your men, Vard and Bailern, acted out in such a way that the En Kazyr had to –”

“The answer is no. If it needs to have a cleric purge its link to the wickedness of this place, then that is what will happen, but it will happen in Lycernum. Not here. The general is a patient man, but I will not test that patience by further delaying his wishes. Least of all, I will not give the impression that I am the same sort of man as Praene, who looks upon shiny treasures and suddenly starts dreaming of ways to make them my own. No, indeed. There is a supply caravan arriving tomorrow, and they will take the monolith the rest of the way, and I will be rid of it and happier for it.”

Zayd had felt the same sinking feeling, the distinct sensation of failure, while he watched the commander walk away as he had felt when Cohvass – or whatever inhabited him – had betrayed their presence in Praene’s camp. Walrend’s mind was made up; what else could he do? He certainly could not stop the monolith from being taken.

Finishing his prayer and rising to his feet, he could not help but look over to the north-western wall of the fort where the laden carriage sat next to the stables, awash in the light of nearby torches. From a distance, three guards watched the carriage from the edge torchlight, standing half in darkness.

Canvas still covered what Zayd knew to be underneath, and as he became aware that his glance had become a stare, he felt a cold wind at his neck and saw it rustle the covering, taunting, threatening to pull it back and expose what was underneath. He pulled his attention away, focusing again on the dais in front of him, on the wooden block, a grisly altar, that would tomorrow be soaked through with blood.

Zayd walked towards the guards who saluted him as they approached.

“You’re relieved,” Zayd said, returning the salute.

“Doesn’t seem that we’ve been at it that long, sir,” one of the guards said.

“It’s true, we didn’t start long ago, I don’t think,” another agreed.

“You can stay out here for longer, if you like,” Zayd said, “but the giant will be out for his watch soon. Any moment, really.”

The guards shot each other quick looks.

“Bloody Beyond, I’m not going to get in his way. You two can stay out here, but I’m not keen on having any of my bones broken tonight!” The guard walked away at a brisk pace, followed closely by another.

The third went to follow but stopped and slowly turned back, as if he thought he had heard something incredible.

“Are you here to serve?” the guard asked, his voice hoarse and quiet. Zayd stepped towards him.

“Get
out
of there!” he hissed, trying to sound as threatening as possible. But the guard, a young man with round features and big eyes, simply smiled. It was a grotesque sight, an expression made by something that had never made it before. “Why not me?” Zayd asked. “Why not use me as your vessel?”

The guard, still smiling, tilted his head to the side. “There is no need. You are to serve. Unite the keys. It is Velskotahn’s will.”

Zayd nodded. “Very well. I will serve… I will unite the keys.” His heart pounded. Zayd flexed a hand, ready to draw his blade. But the guard turned and began to walk again, taking a few unsteady steps before stopping and looking around once more. Zayd could tell the young man’s senses had returned… and that something had left. Shaking off his confusion, the guard jogged off into the darkness.

Zayd exhaled and slowly looked back towards the carriage, imagining the invisible evil which he knew surrounded it. He imagined ghostly fingers at his neck and hollow eyes watching him…

If they had not stumbled upon the monolith, maybe Praene would never have been tempted as he was. Much would be different. Gavras might still be alive. Barrett might still be his enemy. But wish as he might, he could not undo what had been done, and thinking that Praene could be something other than what he was would not save him. Whether it was the presence of the monolith that stirred something already within him or if it brought him to treason all on its own made little difference; it did affect men somehow. Zayd was certain. Thinking of the danger of the monolith and its phantoms reaching Lycernum, Zayd approached it, a blade in hand and intention in his mind.

The sounds of supply wagons and orders being shouted carried through the forest for everyone in Ten Tower to hear, and Zayd drummed his fingers anxiously against his leg. Several soldiers lifted the large crossbeam – a roughly hewn tree trunk – out of its rests so that the north gates of the fort could swing open.

The supply convoy took just over an hour to unload and to be stowed away. At seeing the size of it, Zayd thought it would have taken at least twice as long, but Walrend’s men executed the task with precision and the discipline of a military maneuver. That Walrend himself was there inspecting nearly every wagon helped keep them focused.

The men who had brought the convoy – one of the Empire’s mariner units – had a brief respite after their march to Ten Tower. They had their midday meal with the rest of the Fourth and exchanged news from their respective fronts.

“This might be one of the last times we resupply,” one of the mariners said.

“The war isn’t over. Not until Vaetus defeats the Shields,” a soldier replied.

“That could be soon. Could be that it’s already done. We were resupplying another regiment close to the front, five days ago maybe. They said that the general found where the Shields were camped and was marching there. So it could be that those slippery fools have finally met a righteous end.”

“I’ll believe it when I see their heads piled high.”

They went on, but their chatter drifted into the background as Zayd thought about what he had heard. The mariner was right; if Vaetus managed to corner and defeat the Shields then surely it meant the war could formally be considered over. Neither Vaetus, though, nor the emperor would declare it at an end with enemy still in the field.

Zayd thought about Sera and what she might think, how she might feel, if she were to hear what was being said. It would undoubtedly be the final blow to her and her kind. She had said as much already, that there was no hope left for her people, that it was only a matter of time before they were gone. It might be true, but Zayd did not believe she had truly accepted that. If he handed the Raan Dura to her, he knew she would try to save them. There was still hope, as there had been hope for the Tauthri……

When they had finished the meal, the mariners organized outside north gate, arranging their convoy in marching order. Talazz, impossible not to be noticed, waited ominously next to the dais, resting his unsheathed greatsword against his shoulder. The spotless steel gleamed in the midday sun so brightly that it seemed as though the blade itself was made of light.

Walrend’s soldiers were assembling as well, some watching the mariners as they readied to depart, but many more eying the dais in grim anticipation. Zayd glanced over to the wall next to the stables, looking at the carriage and its canvas-covered charge. Commander Walrend was there giving orders to Drusidus, the mariner captain, while a pair of horses was being bridled. In just a few minutes they would be taking the carriage out towards the coast and from there straight to Lycernum. Zayd walked slowly around the soldiers by the dais and tried to block out their murmurs as Walrend continued to speak to Drusidus, catching only fragments of what was being said.

“…only those you trust… not look under the canvas, or tell them what is underneath… Vaetus will hold
you
responsible for its safe delivery to Lycernum…” Drusidus, a short yet broad and muscular man, nodded intently at everything Walrend said. When the commander finished speaking, the gruff captain gave him an enthusiastic salute. Zayd’s fingers continued to tap restlessly against his leg as the commander motioned for the carriage to be brought into line in the caravan. Zayd hoped that the captain at least had the discipline not to peel back the canvas to see what was underneath.

The mariner convoy exited the fort with few paying them any attention; all eyes had become focused on the dais as the prisoners, about thirty in all, were marched in a single line towards it. A few jeers and shouts were hurled at the traitors, but Zayd only watched the convoy as it left. Even when he heard the unmistakable sound of Talazz’s sword biting through flesh and into the thick wood block underneath, he did not take his eyes away from the fort’s north gate as it closed.

The buzzing of flies did not abate at night. The blood-soaked dais stood mostly intact, though splinters of wood sprayed outward from its centre. Talazz had proven too effective and had quickly whittled away the wooden block on which the traitors had to rest their heads before they were struck off. The block had to be replaced twice before the last prisoner had died. The dead were then taken outside the fort’s high walls and burned on a pyre in a clearing. Zayd thought Walrend would save the heads for some gruesome display. “This ground will be stained red for days,” he had heard the commander mutter. “That is enough of a display.”

Clouds concealed every star. The air hung heavy, promising a storm, but there was no wind, as if the night was holding its breath for Zayd. He held his breath, too. From his post in one of the southern watchtowers he surveyed the fort. Besides the Tauthri, only a handful of guards were awake, keeping watch by the gates at the north and southeast points of the fort. A few wandered the perimeter, half-heartedly checking for anything amiss. When one of them passed below Zayd’s tower, he descended the stairs to the ground without making a noise.