Blood's Pride (Shattered Kingdoms) (2 page)

The fisherman stood on the beach, brandishing the spear that he had used countless times to pluck food from the waters; now it had tasted blood of a different kind. The fisherman gazed up at the temple, flushed with hope as he picked out the white-robed figures gathered on the roof, standing in a line along the edge high above the beach, lit by the moonlight for all to see. The bedraggled defenders raised a cheer, and fists were brandished in triumph.

When the first body plunged into the sea, sending up a column of white foam, the fisherman blinked. When the second body fell his eyes opened wide, and he stared in horror. The ashas – their protectors – were killing themselves.

We learned later that the ghostly invaders, the Dead Ones – Norlanders, they called themselves – watched with equal
amazement as one by one the priests stood on the edge of the cliff and leapt into the sea. The long voyage from their frozen homeland had been fraught with dangers, but the pathetic, disorganised resistance of the Shadari had restored their confidence in this venture. Already they were picturing the mines they would dig to extract the black ore, that miraculous substance which had brought them to these unsuspecting shores. Already they could smell the sulphur from the smithies where they would smelt the ore into metal laced with their own pure blood. Already they could feel the great swords in their hands, swords that would obey their owners’ thoughts as well as their hands: the secret property of the black ore only they had learned.

One by one, the drums ceased beating. The silence of the Dead Ones was complete.

‘There he is,’ she told Jachad, in her ageless, sexless, expressionless voice.

Jachad stopped beside her and dropped his pack down onto the desert sand. He followed the gaze of her eye across the grey sweep of the dunes and isolated clusters of rocks and on up to the mountains in the east, where he saw a black shape winging its way towards them from the great square shape of the temple. Each majestic sweep of the creature’s wings etched an arc against the silvery predawn sky. Its long tail snaked out, piloting like a ship’s rudder, while the needle-sharp claws on its hind feet raked the air. Mounted on its back on a broad leather saddle was a figure draped in a shimmering white cloak.

‘Well, I certainly hope that’s him,’ Jachad responded pensively, ‘because if it’s not, we’re in real trouble.’ With a practised flourish he unwound the gauzy scarf from around his head and ran a freckled hand through his shock of bright red hair. Then he turned to his companion, frowning. ‘You’re sure you want to do it this way?’ he asked.

In place of an answer, she reached into a hidden pouch
inside her grimy multi-coloured robe and brought out a small bundle swaddled in a scrap of red cloth.

He said, ‘You can’t even be sure he remembers—’

She tossed the bundle to him.

‘Careful!’ he cried, snatching the object out of the air and clutching it to his chest. He held it there for a moment, pressing it against his heart. Then he unwrapped the package with nervous fingers and held the contents up in front of his eyes. The cork of the little glass bottle was still sealed up tightly under a thick layer of wax, and the bottle was half-full of a syrupy dark-red liquid. Jachad sighed with relief.

‘You could at least tell me if it works,’ he groused, looking over at her. She wore her cowl low over her face, but he could see the faint glow of her silver-green eye. ‘If he’s fool enough to try it himself, I’d feel better if I knew it wasn’t going to poison him.’

‘You’ll both have to take your chances.’ She turned away and left him behind without a backwards look, resuming their eastward trek towards the Shadar alone.

‘This won’t take long. Don’t get too far ahead,’ he called after her. But the stillness of the desert deadened his words and if she heard him, she made no sign.

Jachad called up an oily film on the palm of his right hand and flicked his fingers over it to spark up a little fireball, not much bigger than a marble. He worried it between his fingers. He knew it was in his own best interests to avoid a confrontation now, but he still felt a little cheated. It was sure to come sometime, and when it did, he wanted to be there.

Her long strides had already carried her some distance away
by the time the beast dropped to a graceful landing among the rippling dunes and its rider extricated himself from the complicated harness. Jachad forced himself to turn his attention to his Norlander client. The tall man wore the cowl of his white cloak down around his neck and his gloves tucked into his sleeve; he wouldn’t need them until the sun crested the horizon. True to form, his long white hair was pulled back and bound with a leather cord and the hilt of an enormous broadsword rose from behind his right shoulder. But Jachad also noticed that his pale skin lacked the slight iridescence – like a fish’s scales – that his people, the Nomas, had always admired in the Norlanders, and that the flesh under his luminous silvergrey eyes sagged as if he’d been losing sleep.

‘King Jachad?’ rasped the Norlander.

‘Lord Eofar,’ he answered, smiling. He opened his right hand and the little fireball snuffed itself out in a wisp of black smoke. ‘It’s good to see you. You got my message, I see.’

‘I did. Thank you,’ replied Eofar. His features remained so still, his face so rigid, that Jachad found it hard to believe his lips could move at all. The words he spoke fell to the sand like lead weights, devoid of any life or expression. It was no mystery why the Shadari still referred to them as ‘the Dead Ones’ even after all these years. ‘I didn’t expect you to come personally.’

‘Oh, but this is a very special commission. Plus, I had some other business out this way.’

‘Don’t your people need you?’

Jachad laughed. ‘I would have thought you knew by now not to take my title too seriously. We Nomas need a king about as much as a snake needs a pair of boots.’

The Norlander took a moment to unhook a waterskin from his belt and take a long drink, then he put his hand to his throat and massaged it. ‘It’s very dry out here.’

Jachad knew what Eofar expected, but even though this transaction would earn more than his tribe had seen in the last half-year, he still hesitated. ‘We can speak Norlander, if you prefer,’ he forced himself to say.

Eofar answered at once, only this time his words made their way directly from his mind to Jachad’s without any of the mechanics of sound. Jachad wouldn’t have minded so much if that had been the extent of it, but everything Eofar felt came along with the words: an assaultive jumble of relief, anticipation, anxiety, excitement, fear, and a host of other emotions too subtle to name, all accompanied by swirling colours and strange images. For reasons no one really understood, some people – most notably, the Shadari – couldn’t speak Norlander at all: the words and emotions simply didn’t register for them. In Jachad’s opinion it was one of the few ways in which they were fortunate. He pressed his knuckles to his temples and tried to stay focused. Surely the Norlanders did not experience each other with such intensity; life would be unbearable.

he answered finally.

Eofar assured him.

As a rule the Nomas kept themselves well informed, but somehow the caravans had missed this important bit of information. he amended tactfully, trying hard to project nothing but mild concern. The Norlanders apparently had no trouble lying to each other, but he could never be certain of carrying off even the most innocent of deceptions – and in this case, he had no wish to share his feelings about old Governor Eonar with his only son.

replied Eofar cheerlessly, his distress coming across like a splash of muddy ochre.

The sooner the better
, Jachad thought to himself. At least, he
hoped
it was to himself.

said Eofar, but his emotions were so murky that Jachad felt this subject was even less to his liking than the last.

Jachad asked briskly. With a suitably dramatic flourish, he produced the little bottle and held it up between his thumb and forefinger. it to see into the future. Many speculate that the ashas took it when your people invaded and the visions somehow drove them to their famous leap. I can’t verify any of that, of course, but I will guarantee you that this is the absolute genuine article. As far as I know, it’s the only bottle to be had anywhere in the world.>

Eofar’s eyes shone more brightly as he examined the merchandise. he complained, but his attempt to feign disappointment was laughable; his desire was reaching out like a pair of grasping hands.

Jachad shook his head apologetically. He felt Eofar’s dismay and pressed his advantage.

The words dropped like iron ingots, dark and hard. He reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a fat little purse. His words tailed off.

Jachad scratched his head and desperately tried to conceal the fact that he had been prepared to take twenty-five. Finally he said brightly,

Eofar’s surge of relief nearly knocked Jachad backwards. He wrapped the little bottle back up in the scrap of cloth and held it out with a smile. Instinctively Eofar reached for it. His hand came close enough for Jachad to feel the chill radiating from his skin before they both remembered themselves and pulled back.

Jachad apologised quickly. He deposited the little package carefully in the sand between them. Eofar picked up the bottle and left the purse lying in the same spot for Jachad to retrieve.

He flipped opened the purse and tossed a coin to Eofar, who caught it neatly in his pale hand.

Eofar ruminated as he undid the clasps of his cloak and carefully tucked the bottle into the pocket of his shirt.

he said lightly.

Jachad answered, trying to mask his impatience with extra good cheer. They’d had this conversation before, and his answer was always the same. The bargaining had gone as well as could be expected up to this point, and now he wanted Eofar to leave so he could catch up with his companion. He certainly did not want to waste his time defending his people’s customs to a Norlander yet again. It was bad enough that once he reached the city he would have to contend with the open hostility of the Shadari, who even after twenty-odd years still blamed the Nomas for failing to come to their aid against the Norlanders.

He began walking casually towards Eofar’s triffon, fervently hoping Eofar would follow. he continued.

said Eofar, following Jachad to his mount. She lifted her massive head from between her front paws and sat up as they approached. Jachad patted her coarse fur, examining the small, round ears protruding from tufts of longer fur, the deep eye-ridges and long snout. With the ashas’ secret passage in and out of the temple lost to history, the triffons were the only way to come and go, and Jachad was forced to ride on one of the creatures each time he came to negotiate
with the governor for the garrison’s supplies and sell trinkets to the soldiers. He had grown accustomed to it over the years; the last few times, he had even opened his eyes.

Eofar said as she bent her short legs slightly to make it easier for him to mount. He buckled himself into the harness and took up the reins, then stopped suddenly.