Mordraud, Book One (69 page)

‘
Or perhaps... on the brink of death...?’ he wondered, trailing behind the pair, so he could go on staring at them undetected.

***

“I can’t stand any more of this rain.”

Dunwich
was sitting outside the door to his house, on the steps. He’d lost the keys to the entrance and his manservant had already bolted the back door. He was waiting for something to happen. He didn’t know what. The sickly sun to venture out, from behind clouds that had been spewing water since he’d returned from the front. Or another stabbing on the corner, on the opposite side of the street. The third, or fourth. It was unclear whether the latest one had been a mugging. A rape perhaps. He hadn’t wasted much time on finding out.

Cambria
was in a piteous state. As if the rain had made its people mouldy.

“
Sooner or later, someone will open the door to me.”

He was in no hurry to go in the house – he had
little better to do inside. He was just waiting to be summoned again. His injury had healed well and he felt in pretty good shape. He couldn’t wait to move about a bit. The healer had said the gash had been a neat one, with no trace of infection. He’d never seen a wound like that before, not when he assisted soldiers returning from battle.

“
Lucky...”

He was talking to himself. It was
silly, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. He grew unbelievably bored in town. The vile weather had entirely annihilated the local markets, the open-air theatres, musical performances and strolls in the park. The grass was sodden, like carded wool. The roofs ran with trickles of grey water. If those were mere secondary effects of the Long Winter, Dunwich wondered how they managed to survive inside it. A horrific nightmare that he too had contributed to making, albeit setting out from a totally different idea.

“
It wouldn’t have gone much better for Eldain... if they’d done it my way – we’d have won by now.”

In
stead, those accursed Arcane experts had holed themselves up at the Cambrian borders and had started staging the chanting. It had been more simple than envisaged – Dunwich was stunned. He’d placed his trust in them taking much longer to develop it. Yet they had been very efficient. A few months of seclusion, while the Empire’s men traced out the boundaries on the maps that would be used to identify the space to be brought into resonance. He knew where they were: a property belonging to the Arcane, east of the capital, on route to the Rampart. He’d seen it a couple of times as a boy, with Seneo. A refined farming estate, with well-established vines and olive-oil production of a supreme quality. It had served in better times as holidaying and relaxation premises for the school’s masters, and was then left unoccupied as of a few years earlier. The front was too close by, so nobody dared go down there without very costly escorts. Now shut up inside were the capital’s best chanters, along with the harmonies experts, and they’d got down to practising.

A w
onderfully destructive outcome.

A
choir was an entity with a very unusual voice. Made up of multiple resonances, each oriented towards its own perfection. From the cluster that was created emerged an entirely new harmony, in turn capable of striking resonance with an immeasurably greater force. If every resonance with the world was oriented towards cold, towards the foamy form of a cloud bred and shaped by the chanters’ concentration, then the end result was that the skies themselves covered over, the winds changed, and warmth dissolved into an unnatural iciness.

A choir that would certainly go down in history, considered Dunwich as he muttered in the dark courtyard. He hadn’t been invited to take part, for which he was partly relieved. Even if he failed to grasp the decision. After all, he’d been the one to suggest the possibility. Asaeld had probably objected, he told himself. So he wouldn’t lose his best man. A gesture he wasn’t sure if he appreciated or not.

“
Everything alright?”

Dunwich
suddenly lifted his head. The street was shadowy and silent. He stretched his arms and walked to the gate. There was a man outside, beyond the railings. He was wearing the Lance plating. A muscly affable young man. Dunwich didn’t recognise him straight away. He did however wonder what a Lance was doing outside his home, at that hour of the night, alone.

“
Dunwich, won’t you even say hello?!”

The voice was familiar.
Denor, he thought, in amazement. That lad who’d been studying when he was living with Seneo. He used to hang out with Lisea and a young man whose name escaped him.

He set aside his initial doubt
s and opened the gate.

“
Denor, I haven’t seen you for ages!”

“
Sure, we live in two different worlds now,” he answered, smiling and shaking his hand. “You’ve gone places... I know everything about your success. You’re a celebrity!”

“
Things have gone well for me, I can’t deny that.”

“
You wouldn’t think so, from the way you speak.”

Dunwich pointed to his side where he was wounded.
“I’m nowhere near the Rampart, because I was injured in battle. I don’t much like staying here.”

“
Some would swap places with you on the spot, I’m sure you know that... Even I’d be happy to,” replied Denor, slackening his powerful handshake.

“
Are you stationed at the Rampart?” Dunwich burst out in surprise. “I’ve never seen you.”

“
I’m in the supplies section, you the raids,” Denor promptly answered.

“
Tell me how things are with you. Are you still living with Lisea?”

Denor
’s expression murked over and he looked elsewhere.

“
No. There was... an accident.”

“
What sort?” Dunwich inquired absent-mindedly. He was struggling to recall her face. It was startling how he’d cut all ties with his adolescence in Cambria, he told himself sadly. The moment of weakness annoyed him. When at the Rampart, he had far more testing problems to deal with.

“
Something serious...” Denor sibilated. “I’d rather not talk about it. And you? I thought they’d have had you taking part in the Long Winter chant.”

“
No, they kept me out of it,” Dunwich replied in embarrassment. He wondered what had happened to Lisea, but avoided touching the subject again. “The Arcane chanters are doing it all on their own.”

“
Excluding someone as skilled as you, well... that’s just crazy.”

“
To be honest, I’m not that bothered. I’m not the greatest fan of what they’re doing...”

They weren
’t topics to expand on out loud, considered Dunwich. But he was chatting with another Lance, and a subordinate for that matter. Denor was an old friend, and he’d never seemed a malicious man to him. “The Long Winter’s inflicting serious damage for us too. Not what was envisaged, I’d say.”

“
Perhaps they’ve chosen the wrong place to set up the choir – maybe the resonances don’t come out clearly enough near Eldain’s territories...” Denor suggested.

Dun
wich was doubtful on in. “I shouldn’t think so. The Arcane summer residence is a stone’s throw from the borders with the Rampart... The problem must be something else.”

“
The run-down villa? I didn’t realise it was still in use,” Denor burst out, staring at Dunwich.

“
The spot’s good. I’d have chosen it too,” he replied, smacking his lips as he pondered on what was going awry. Maybe the area that had to be brought to resonance was so large the full effect sought couldn’t be achieved. “I’ve always said to Asaeld the best way to attack the Rampart would be a decidedly more targeted assault. With Lances and chanters working together.”

“
Hmm, yes...” Denor murmured. “You’re probably right. What does Asaeld think?”

“
He supports the Long Winter, even if he’s not as amenable regarding the strategic plans coming from the Emperor’s circle. But what can you say – orders are orders.”

“
Yes, there’s no question on that,” confirmed Denor, shaking his hand again. “It was lovely seeing you again, Dunwich. I’ll be off to my barracks now. Speaking to you has taken a weight off my heart...”

“
A pleasure for me too...” answered Dunwich, disoriented by the young Lance’s enthusiasm. They said goodbye and Denor set off at a very brisk pace.

Dunwich
was reflecting on that chance meeting in the night, when he heard the door bolt pulled back. Somebody in the house had got up to begin their work. He left the courtyard and knocked, occasionally looking at the deserted street over his shoulder.

Asaeld
stood waiting before the Emperor’s high-backed chair. Loralon was conversing with a messenger. He glanced out of the large window overlooking the roofs of the old town. It hadn’t rained all morning. A rare event. Unique even in all those months of torment.

“
I’d like good news from the front, commander.”

“
That’s what I bring, Your Majesty,” Asaeld responded, with a curt bow. The messenger trotted off. Loralon got up and approached his captain. They were the same height, but the Emperor seemed less than half his size. Scrawny, with a long thin neck, and a chin as sharp as his nose. Asaeld smiled with a submissive air. In his eyes, an iciness not even the Long Winter could equal.

“
Go on then, tell me. Make me happy.”

“
We carried out an assault inside the Rampart, inflicting a sensational blow.”

“
Excellent!” Loralon burst out. He moved over to the long table where the map showing the Imperial borders was rolled out, and he pointed to the Rampart.

“
How far have we pushed in? Have we captured any strongholds?”

“
No, we withdrew.”

“
You’re joking, I hope!” Loralon furiously tapped his finger on the small symbol for the rebel’s wall. “We won but we pulled out?!”

“
Exactly. It’s all a part of our victory strategy, sir,” Asaeld replied, unflustered. “We devastated their defences. They’re done for. We just have to wait another month or two now.”

“
We can’t wait any longer!” Loralon yelled indignantly. His forehead was curiously pale, contrasting with his hollow cheeks veined with red.

“
The people are in revolt. The storehouses are empty and the fields are now unusable. We must put an end to the Long Winter and make a direct attack. And that is an
order
!”

“
You see, my lord...” Asaeld moved closer to the Emperor and, with a humble yet resolute air, indicated on the map the line marking the extent of the Rampart. “We’re already working on an assault. But manoeuvring the troops to the right positions takes time. Here, here... and here...” Asaeld showed him spots on the line that didn’t coincide with anything marked. The Emperor was finding it hard to follow Asaeld’s explanation, so quick were his movements.

“
These are the points where I’m concentrating our forces. After which, passing through there...”

Swift as an arrow,
Asaeld traced out an arc cutting the Rampart in two. It was an extremely convincing gesture. An act of strength and unfailing confidence.

“
By crossing in this way, we’ll seize not only the Rampart, but Eld too. We still need the Long Winter for a little more time, unfortunately... It’s just a small question of patience, sir.”

“
Can you assure me we’re nearing the end of all this?! That we’re on the verge of winning?!”

“
Certainly. No doubt about it.”

Loralon s
traightened, vexed, took his finger off the map and began walking towards the window. Not only had the rain stopped, the sky was also brightening. The light attracted the Emperor to the glass. Asaeld was about to follow him, when the door to the chamber banged open. Two extremely breathless Lances entered. Asaeld halted them, while Loralon turned round, annoyed by the intrusion.

“
What’s going on?! Couldn’t you have waited for a more appropriate moment?!” hissed a livid Asaeld.

“
Commander, on the horizon...” panted one of the two. “We saw dawn this morning...”

“
And so?! Have you gone raving mad? I’ll have you whipped until you bleed, you oafs...” muttered Asaeld.

But
he stopped straight afterwards. He said nothing more. He looked at the Emperor, who was loitering in bewilderment, awaiting an explanation. The two Lances went on staring at him in utter fear.

Dawn. They
’d seen the sun rise in the east.

“
Your Majesty, I have to set off at once. It’s an emergency.”

“
What is going on?! I wish to know!” Loralon exclaimed in frustration. Asaeld turned towards him, holding back an irate sneer.

“
Eldain’s rebels may have located our chanters.”

***

“Rain...”

Mordraud
spread a hand and felt the heavy drops fall on his shoulders already weighted down by the frost. He gazed at the skies in amazement. The weather was suddenly changing. Not much earlier, they were toiling through torment, then the temperature had unexpectedly risen and the snow was melting even before it landed on the ground. The plain was patched with white blotches, and islands of black decayed grass could be seen in between. Behind them, the East was enveloped by the fury of the Long Winter. In front of them, the weather had changed.

They
’d gone into Cambrian territories.

“
How far is it?!”

Saiden
looked at the horizon and rocked his head.

“
Half a day on foot.”

“
Only?!”

“
Yes, the choir’s set up a short distance from the areas affected by the chanting.”

“
But do you know that because you can hear them?!” Mordraud asked him. The milder climate, however disgusting it was, had cheered his mood. Gwern was at his side, absorbed in his attempts to hear something that wasn’t there, in that rain-swollen air.

“
It’s a combination of factors,” Saiden replied. “Have you hit on the right concentration, Gwern? We’re near now. It should be easier for you.”

“
No, blast it all! I still can’t hear anything! I can’t get into the right frame of mind. I don’t know what to seek out...”

Instead of reprimanding him,
Saiden showed a fleeting smile. As if he were already certain he wouldn’t succeed. Yet straight afterwards he gave him a pat on the back to encourage him. “Even if you don’t manage it, you’ll see that just trying will be exceedingly useful to you. I’m sure of it.”

“
If you say so, maestro...”

“
From here on in, be ready, Mordraud,” Saiden told him. The young man placed his hand on his sword hilt and looked about, swallowing in concern. The time had come to see if he was still able to fight.

“
Explain to us what we’re supposed to do.”

“
When we’re there, we’ll assess it. We don’t know at the moment where they’re concealed. I can only see the spot.”

Saiden
didn’t notice, but Gwern tilted his head in surprise. See, he thought. He didn’t say
hear
. He believed he would have to try and strike resonance with the winter chant, yet this was something else, which his teacher had never mentioned before.

They picked
up their pace again, with Mordraud helming the group, weapon in hand and shoulders hunched. But when the snow disappeared entirely, making way for the paved road and the abandoned fields, Mordraud stopped, thoughtful.

“
Perhaps we should wait until evening, so we reach the chanters in the middle of the night,” he suggested, making a couple of quick calculations on his fingers. “We’re too visible here, in broad daylight.”

“
Excellent idea, Mordraud,” nodded Saiden. “Let’s hide here while we’re still some distance away. We’ll tackle the final stretch under cover of the darkness.”

They
stopped at a bulge in the road. They lit no fire. They didn’t wish to draw attention to themselves from afar. And even if they had wanted a fire, there was no dry wood anywhere. It was all sodden and crumbling. “The winter seems to be giving them some pretty problems too...” Mordraud smirked. “More than I’d even hoped for.”

They spen
t a few hours snoozing while smothered by the rain. Saiden only pretended to doze, as he was concentrating far too hard on keeping an eye on the way Gwern’s Flux behaved. Even while he was asleep, the light never stopped. It was constantly striving to bond with his brother. Mordraud noticed nothing. It was unsettling to see his outline perfectly devoid of Flux, like a cut-out on a web of light that, to Saiden’s eyes, marked out the landscape and the horizon. Soon, he thought, he would reach the goal of that trip. He’d already decided what action to take. He wanted to draw on the opportunity to drive Gwern to show more.

‘
How many guards will there be? In any case, I must return with Gwern, both, unharmed... I’d better be ready to make my getaway with him.’

When it came down to it, it wasn
’t absolutely vital for the Long Winter to finish. It was more important to trigger Gwern’s reaction. It shouldn’t be particularly hard.

Suffice to place those two in mortal danger.

‘I have to be careful to keep myself an escape route.’

They set off again at the agreed time. The last stretch of the journey was comfortable and easy, compared to the snow
y nightmare they’d waded through. The night was dark and impenetrable. They advanced on the road until Saiden ordered them to follow a path slipping off through clumps of brambles and a reed-bed crossed by a bulging gurgling stream. The pillar of Flux pointing to the spot where the choir was assembled was finely interwoven. To his eyes, it shone like a molten flow of stars. The brothers, instead, saw nothing. Gwern was still striving to find the right tune to strike resonance with the source to the Long Winter. Better for him to try in vain, Saiden told himself. While he didn’t know exactly what he was dealing with, he preferred that compact mystery on legs not to develop too much power. He was also very interested in Mordraud, but he had to set priorities, and Gwern offered a Flux form that was a little less
impossible
. He would have to forsake something, he reflected, to move ahead in his observations.

After
a short walk along the path, they reached a clearing edged at its end by the wall to an estate.

“
We’ll hide and see if it’s garrisoned by anyone.”

“
Are they holed up here?!” Mordraud asked, tensely squeezing the hilt of his sheath-clad sword.

“
Yes, inside the villa.”

Mordraud
exchanged glances with Gwern. The boy shrugged. He still hadn’t heard or seen anything. He wondered if he could trust Saiden’s words. And what if it were a trap, he asked himself in concern. He might not be able to protect Gwern. Best leave him outside.

“
Don’t even think about it. I’m coming in too.”

“
I’m not kidding, Gwern,” Mordraud retorted, in a hiss. “You’re staying outside.”

They were lying on the ground.
Mordraud peeped a glance at the villa’s low walls. No guard in sight. He did however notice slit windows. It was certainly manned. He saw Gwern get up slightly and roll over to Saiden’s side, but the teacher subdued him instantly.

“
Keep down, will you!”

“
Maestro, can you hear the resonance inside there?” Gwern inquired of Saiden anxiously. It was dark, and a fine drizzle was falling. Different from the usual pelting downpour. The residence was enveloped in sodden silence.

“
Yes...” he muttered in puzzlement.

“
I’ll try and move closer...” Mordraud burst out. He was about to get up but Saiden stopped him. “Wait. Just wait a moment...” he whispered.

Mordraud
slumped himself back on the floor, cursing. They had to do something. They couldn’t just linger there doing nothing till dawn. Besides the slit windows, Mordraud had also picked up on the menacing presence of the Imperial guards. He was alone. He had bet everything on Saiden, that he’d know what to do to break off the Long Winter chant.

T
o the last he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to risk his neck alone.

He signalled to
Gwern to stay calm. He’d come up with a plan to keep him out of trouble.

He had to try
to get in alone, to distract the guards. Perhaps that way Saiden would be free to intervene.

“
I’m going in.”

“
No, Mordraud, stay here!” cried out a distraught Gwern. “Let’s hear what Saiden wants to do...”

The
two brothers turned towards the tutor. They hadn’t noticed he’d stood up. He was walking at speed towards the wall. His hands placed calmly in his pockets.

“
He’s about to do something!” Mordraud blurted. He shoved Gwern’s head into the mud and crouched at his side. “Keep down!”

His
brother whined something with his mouth embedded in the earth. Mordraud half-shut his eyes, awaiting the chanting. He’d witnessed the powers of harmonies in battle, and was utterly terrified of them. He was expecting another blast from one moment to the next, and a flash of flames from Saiden’s hands.

The teacher reached the closed door
lodged in the walls, in silence. He pushed it effortlessly. He was chanting nothing at all.