02 - Taint of Evil (25 page)

“No,” Bruno replied, shivering. “I feel like death.”

“Make the most of it,” Stefan said. “I imagine this is the only rest we’ll
get.”

Bruno coughed again, a dry, rasping sound. “My throat feels like I’ve been
drinking dust,” he complained. “Is there no water in here?”

Stefan explored the narrow cell in the darkness. Aside from the two thin
blankets on the floor, there was nothing but themselves and four bare walls.

“Not so much as a drop,” he said. “But if they’re going to get any work out
of us, they’ll have to bring us something.”

Sounds of life—or what remained of it—were beginning to drift from other
cells nearby. Men crying out in pain, begging for food or, more often, simply
water. Men pleading against their captivity, and cursing the name of
Sigmarsgeist. There was no way of telling who or what they were. Half the cries
sounded barely human, but that was hardly surprising. They might equally be
friend or foe, but they had a new common adversary now. There was a bitter irony
to the path that the fates had chosen for Stefan and his comrades.

After a while the cries ebbed away. There was a clattering of iron from
somewhere outside the cells, as the gates by the entrance were opened. Footsteps
followed—it sounded as if guards were moving down the length of the
passageway, stopping for a few moments by each door before moving on.

“Food?” Bruno suggested, hopefully.

“Perhaps,” Stefan agreed. He tugged again at the length of chain shackling
his wrists. “Whatever they’re up to, there’ll be little chance of escape until
we can get rid of these.”

The footsteps reached the door of their cell. Light from a lantern flooded
through the iron grille, washing the walls a sickly yellow. Stefan waited for
something to appear through the narrow slit, some bread perhaps and—if the
gods were merciful—something to drink. But instead he heard a key being turned
in the lock, and then the cell door was pushed open.

Two figures stood in the open doorway. With the light of the lantern shining
directly into his eyes, Stefan could not properly make out either of them. One—a man wearing the scarlet tunic of the Red Guard—was carrying what looked like
a tray of food. The second man took the tray then turned to the guard.

“Leave us for a few minutes,” he said. “We’ll see whether a little honest work
has loosened their tongues.” Once he had dismissed the guard, the second man
stepped inside the cell, and drew the door closed behind him.

As the lantern was lowered to the floor Stefan looked up and saw that the man
bearing the tray was Rilke. Among all the people he might have imagined, this
was surely the worst.

“What’s this?” Stefan demanded. “Come to gloat?”

Rilke squatted down until he was face to face with Stefan and Bruno. There
was a look on his face that Stefan had not seen before. Tentative, almost
apologetic.

“Actually,” Rilke began, “I’m here to help you if I can.”

“Yours is the kind of help we can do without,” Bruno told him, coldly. “What
did you have in mind? Poison in our food? Thanks, friend. We’ll take our chances
in the mines.”

Rilke’s response was to lower his voice until it was barely a whisper.
Without understanding why, Stefan realised that he was trying to make sure the
guard outside the door could not hear him.

“I’m sorry,” Rilke went on. “Sorry that I didn’t come to you sooner. But I
wasn’t sure I could trust you.”

“Trust us?” Stefan asked, incredulous.

Rilke got up and checked the door. Apparently satisfied, he turned back and
sat down. Perhaps even close enough, Stefan noted, for him and Bruno to
overpower Rilke, shackled or not. But something in Rilke’s tone convinced Stefan
he should hear the man out. “I had to be sure that your story—Erengrad, and
the aftermath—was true. I couldn’t risk revealing myself to you if it wasn’t.”

“Revealing yourself as what?” Bruno asked, curiosity creeping into his voice.

Rilke looked directly at Stefan for a few moments. “You said you had the
confidence of the commander at Erengrad, Gastez Castelguerre. Did he mention a
name to you, the name of an order pledged to wage a secret war against the
hidden forces of Chaos?”

Now it was Stefan’s turn to hesitate. He knew the name. Castelguerre had
spoken it to him in the last days at Erengrad. He had asked Stefan to join that
order in their eternal struggle against the dark powers. Stefan had refused, not
because that battle was not close to his heart, but because he had his own
battle, his own quest that he must first complete. Since that day Stefan had
uttered the secret name to no man other than Bruno. The last few days had seen
plenty of unanticipated reversals. But to speak those words now, and to the one
man that he had counted above all as his enemy, seemed an act beyond reason.

And yet there was something in Rilke’s voice, in the expression in his
focused gaze, that Stefan could not bring himself to disbelieve. More to the
point, if Rilke already knew of the existence of the order, then little harm
could come from uttering its name now. Rilke waited, patiently. He seemed to
understand the magnitude of the decision Stefan was trying to make.

“He mentioned a name,” Stefan said at last. “But I will not betray that
confidence by speaking those words.”

Rilke nodded, and smiled. “I am glad to see your sense of loyalty undimmed.”
He looked over his shoulder, scanning the corridor beyond the cell. Then let our
transaction be that I speak that name unto
you,
Stefan Kumansky. The name of the
order is the Keepers of the Flame.”

Stefan expelled a breath, heartened and astonished in equal measure by
Rilke’s disclosure. “If you’re telling us that you are in some way connected to
the order, then what in the name of the gods are you doing here?” Stefan
demanded.

Rilke raised a finger to his lips. “quietly,” he urged. “All you need to know
is that Konstantin and his sister came to the notice of the Keepers long ago. I
was sent here to learn more of their plans, their intent. To do that, I had to
be able get close to the Guides, and earn their absolute confidence.”

“You’ve done that, all right,” Bruno muttered darkly. “Why should we believe
him, Stefan?”

“Whether you believe me or not, there’s no time to answer all of your
questions now,” Rilke insisted. He glanced round at the door. “There’s no chance
of your escaping from the cells,” he said. “Konstantin was adamant. Nothing I
can do will get you out of here now.”

“So,” Stefan asked him. “What are you here for? Just to offer apologies?”

“Today you will be taken to the mines,” Rilke said, speaking quickly now. “They
are a terrible place, and few who go there ever return alive.”

“More good news,” Bruno said, sourly. “Our path to damnation awaits.”

“But they can also be your salvation,” Rilke insisted. “The ore needed for the
foundries is being exhausted faster than it can be dug out. The Guides are
forced to mine ever deeper to find new seams. Far below ground, many of the
shafts meet with ancient tunnels and passageways, part of the old city that
existed long before. That is your chance of escape.”

Footsteps sounded again outside the cell. The guard was coming back.

“I will find you in the mines,” Rilke whispered. “Somehow I will fashion the
opportunity to get you out. It may not come this day, nor the next. But you must
be ready, for there may be one chance only.” He got up, taking the lantern from
the floor.

“Wait,” Stefan whispered urgently. “You said you didn’t believe our story.
What changed your mind?”

By the light of the lantern, he saw a terse smile pass across Rilke’s face.
“The proof I needed is here,” he began, “It—” Before he could finish the door of
the cell swung open. The guard eyed Rilke warily.

“You’ve been a while,” he said,
natural deference weighing against the irritation in his voice. “Thought I’d best
check.”

“Very wise,” Rilke said, patting the guard upon the shoulder. “But no need for
concern. I’m finished with these wretches.”

He looked round, and kicked the tray of food further into the cell towards
Stefan. “Enjoy the comfort of your cell whilst you can,” he advised. “I assure
you, after an hour in the mines it will seem like paradise.”

The chart spread out in front of Bea mapped Sigmarsgeist in its known
entirety. The healer looked at it one final time, then drew a deep breath and
turned towards the dark mouth of the Well of Sadness. Within moments she was
locked away in her private contemplation of a world invisible to the mortal eye.
Inside her mind, she had flown the palace, flown from Sigmarsgeist, had been
transported to a place where no living soul dwelled. A place where there was
only light and dark, and the ebb and flow of pure energy. There was no judgement
here, no right or wrong. Here the boundaries between good and evil were all but
indistinguishable. The future presented itself to Bea as a churning, vacant sea.
Everything was possible; no outcome was yet pre-ordained.

Bea focused her inner gaze, then imagined herself falling into the fathomless
sea of light, searching for one single stream amidst the swirling flow of
energies. She spread her arms wide and let the energy channel through; a bright,
pure force surging into her, filling her with a divine, all-knowing power. Bea
held on until she thought she could bear no more, then sprang back, her eyes
wide open and her body locked tight.

Anaise stood over her, eyeing her like a predator watching its prey. There
was a look of almost manic desperation on her face.

“Well?” she demanded. “What did you see? Did you find the source?” She caught
hold of Bea, gripping her wrists so tightly that the girl cried out in sudden
pain and alarm. Anaise backed off immediately, and allowed her features to
soften.

“I’m sorry, Bea,” she said, contritely. “I’m letting my feelings take control
of me. But I can sense that we’re so close now. So close to the source of Tal
Dur. I must know what it was that you saw.”

Bea nodded, but took a few moments longer to compose herself. The power she
had just experienced had shocked her. Whether for good or for ill, it was a raw,
brutal force that would not be easily tamed. For a moment, she found herself
wondering if, after all, the elemental powers of Tal Dur were a secret best left
undiscovered. But that, surely, could not be so. Through all her life she had
grown up believing in the redeeming waters. To deny that now would be like
denying her very existence. She hesitated, looked up at Anaise, and smiled,
apologetically.

“It was different this time,” she began. “Much more powerful.”

Anaise smiled. “And do you know why?” she asked. “It is because of you, Bea.
You are the channel for the energy flowing back into the city.”

Bea pulled back, nervously. “No,” she said. “This is not my doing. I can sense
the growing powers of magic. But I have not created it. This isn’t my doing.”

Anaise clasped Bea’s hand. “Do not deny your powers, nor your destiny,” she
implored her. “The time is all but upon us. I must know what you were able to
see.”

“I saw—something,” Bea said, tentatively. “Something very strong.”

“Go on,” Anaise urged her. “Was it here, beneath the citadel? Show me upon the
chart.”

Bea looked down at the chart spread out below her. The lines drawn upon the
parchment depicted lanes and streets, passageways and sunken shafts drilling
down below the surface of the city. It was nothing but a visualisation of the
known, material shell of Sigmarsgeist, and as such meant nothing to the healer. But whatever mystic force had touched her had gifted
her with a temporary glimpse of second sight. Beneath the literal charts she saw
another map, one that charted the flows of the unseen energies below. She passed
her hand across the surface of the parchment, tracing the paths of invisible
lines. Bea repeated and retraced the motions several times, before turning back
to Anaise.

“There are lines that intersect deep below the citadel,” she said. “The waters
that once flowed through their channels carry great magic energies.”

“The confluence,” Anaise whispered. “Tal Dur.”

“No,” Bea said, surprised by her own certainty. “The healing waters are close,
very close. But I cannot sense them below Sigmarsgeist itself.”

Anaise bit upon her lip, and scrutinised Bea carefully. “Are you sure?” she
asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, “but if Tal Dur lies close, you
could find it, couldn’t you?”

Now Bea hesitated. Part of her felt emboldened, blessed with a new certainty.
Tal Dur had touched her; the waters had called to her, beckoning her to them.

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Perhaps I can find it. Yes, give me time, and I can
find it.”

“You’ll be given everything you need,” Anaise assured her. “We shall be
sisters, you and I. Sisters bonded by the healing powers of Tal Dur. Together,
there will be nothing we cannot achieve.”

Bea smiled, weakly. She had a sudden sense of something draining from her
body. She clutched hold of Anaise’s hand to steady herself.

“Bruno,” she muttered, “and Stefan. I must see them.”

“And you will,” Anaise promised. “But first—” she held Bea out at arm’s length
and stood back to appraise her. “Look at you. Your face is so drawn and pale.
I’ve put you through an ordeal, it was selfish of me to push you so hard.” She
drew her arm around Bea’s shoulder and started to lead her away. “I’ll find a way
of getting you to your friends,” she said. “But first you must rest a while.”

She snapped her fingers. A maidservant appeared in the doorway.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Bea replied, wearily. “Perhaps I should rest?”

“Of course you must.” Anaise beckoned the servant into the chamber, towards
Bea. “And don’t think of anything else until you have done so.”

As soon as Bea had been escorted from the room, Anaise closed the door behind
her. She waited, alone, in the room for a few moments more, then summoned the
waiting guard into the chamber.