Prisoner of Fate (35 page)

T
hey heard the thundermakers booming in the distance as they had the first day in the valley. For Chase, Swift and Wahim, the sound confirmed that they were being hunted and had to keep moving east through the foreign land to escape, but for Meg the sound meant something much more sinister.
The Seers will learn I’m alive
, she reasoned grimly,
and it will all start again.
She also saw how the others stared at her now that they knew who she was—a look of disbelief and uncertainty, the expression worn by sceptics who could no longer trust their personal world views nor accept the new view because it came with an incomprehensible mix of impending doom and improbability.

They pushed through the lush Shesskar-sharel forest along the foot of the valley, deliberately avoiding contact with the local people by skirting villages, keeping off worn tracks and sending Whisper scouting ahead, the rat rushing back to warn Meg whenever a meeting with Shesskar warriors was imminent. Twice that morning, as they headed north and north-east, slowly climbing the eastern slope, they were almost surprised by Shesskar messengers, and later in the day they had to hide from five parties of armed warriors
hurrying west towards the river. ‘The Shesskar will keep the Kerwyn busy,’ Swift noted.

‘A pity,’ Meg murmured. ‘They’re using bows against thundermakers.’

‘It
is
Shesskar land,’ Wahim reminded her. ‘They’ll make the Kerwyn pay a high price for their intrusion.’

By midafternoon, they had climbed a good distance above the valley and the sound of the thundermakers had become sporadic. Rain clouds crowded the mountain peaks and the first spots kissed their skin as they passed through gaps in the forest canopy. Aware of her increasing hunger, Meg called the party to a halt by a narrow, fast-flowing creek. ‘I’ll hunt for food,’ she said. ‘Gather berries, fruits, seeds and fungi, but don’t eat anything unless you’re absolutely sure it’s safe.’ She turned to Wahim and asked, ‘How well do you know what’s good to eat in the forest?’

‘I remember some things,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I wasn’t a hunter. Neither was my father.’

Meg smiled. ‘Help however you can. Whisper and I will find something to cook. I’ll meet you back here. Stay alert,’ she warned.

Alone in the forest, the birdsong seemed amplified as she searched for provender. She stumbled upon a gully smothered with blackberry bushes and joyfully filled a small pouch in her bag, ignoring the scratching thorns. Mushrooms, pale white with flesh-coloured flutes, were growing in sun-kissed circles like the fairy rings she remembered from her mother’s stories, so she eagerly brushed aside the rich earth and gathered them. She spied more yellow fruit on a broad-leaved bush in a glade and picked a sample, studying it in an attempt to recall what she’d found to eat when they were escaping from Shesskar-sharel so many years ago.

And for no apparent reason, at that moment a memory of A Ahmud Ki returned. She remembered
stumbling upon him in a glade similar to the one in which she now stood, trying to conjure his magic on a pile of rocks, becoming infuriated and desperate when he realised that he’d lost the power he once might have had.
Why am I thinking of him
? she wondered. ‘I pushed you from my heart a long time ago,’ she murmured to the air. ‘I looked for you but you weren’t there any more.’
I can’t love a dream
, she conceded.

Pressure on her leg drew her eyes down to Whisper.
Hurry
, the rat urged.
Bad.

What
? Meg projected to the rat and received an image of a man with a thundermaker.
The Kerwyn
, she thought.
Where
?

Follow
, Whisper ordered and scampered into the foliage.

Two hundred paces on, kneeling behind a huge log with Whisper, she peered through a screen of saplings at three young men in red uniforms who were squatting around the prone body of a Shesskar warrior. Blood covered his right shoulder and arm, and she assumed the warrior was dead, but when his head moved she realised that he was a prisoner.
Leave
, she told the rat.
Warn others.
As she glanced back for a last look, the undergrowth to the right of the soldiers parted and a solitary figure with cropped red hair leaped out, stabbing the nearest man in the back. In a brutal blur of ruthless motion, Swift killed all three men before they could react or cry out, and then she bent over the Shesskar warrior.

‘Swift!’ Meg whispered harshly, rising warily from cover. Swift turned, knife ready to strike, blood smeared across her face, but upon seeing Meg she lowered her weapon and waited for the old woman to join her. She was suddenly thrown off-balance as the Shesskar warrior kicked her legs from under her and sprang to his feet. ‘Stop!’ Meg yelled in Shesskar. ‘Friends!’ The
warrior wheeled and glared at her with dark, furious eyes. ‘I am Meg Kushel, friend of Sherunda, ahtim of Ashante-Jatia,’ she said, approaching with her arms extended and her palms upward. ‘We can help.’

‘Eshan needs no help from white parasites!’ the warrior snarled, shifting and taking up a defensive stance as Swift rose, her knife raised.

‘Put the knife away!’ Meg ordered.

Swift glanced at her. ‘Not until I know what this bastard is doing,’ she replied angrily.

‘This is his land,’ Meg informed her. ‘This is the ahtim from whom we’re meant to ask permission to pass through.’ Swift hesitated, but Meg’s silent steady stare made her lower her knife, though she kept a firm, wary grip. ‘I’ve heard of you,’ Meg said to Eshan, who was eyeing Swift. ‘Sherunda told me to find you when we crossed the river.’

‘Sherunda is dead,’ Eshan replied bitterly. ‘Your friends cut him down with their thunder-and-fire spears.’

‘They’re not our friends,’ Meg replied. ‘They want to kill us.’

‘Then face your fate,’ Eshan ordered, as he swayed unsteadily. ‘You bring death among the Shesskar when this is not our matter.’

‘We didn’t mean to bring death here,’ Meg told him. ‘We only meant to pass through your land to Ashua, nothing more.’

‘So I see,’ he said, casting his eyes over the dead soldiers. He straightened as if he was determined to show his strength to Meg, but then he sank slowly to his knees and keeled over.

Meg came forward and touched his neck. ‘He’s passed out,’ she told Swift. ‘Help me shift him into the bushes. Then we have to hide the bodies. There may be more Kerwyn closer than we thought.’

Eshan accepted the water and drank, and when he was finished he explored his shoulder and chest again before gazing critically at Meg. ‘Only a sorceress could do this.’

‘I thought Shesskar didn’t believe in magic,’ she challenged.

‘We believe in what we see to be true,’ he replied.

‘I am blessed with an ability to heal,’ she explained.

‘No one can heal like this,’ he argued. ‘There is no sign of the wounds, no scars.’

‘Believe what you see,’ she told him.

‘I owe you my life.’

She smiled as she handed him a portion of cooked meat from the small fire that Chase tended. ‘You weren’t dying so you do not owe me your life, but I do have a favour to ask, if you will grant it.’

‘You want to cross my people’s land,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘I will arrange it,’ he agreed. ‘I would take you personally, but the men who hunt you are still searching and I must ensure that they are stopped. I will send my brother, Maktir. He knows the best path through the Sky Mountains.’

Maktir, tall and wiry like his brother, was a younger warrior and Meg sensed that, while he was dutifully honouring his brother’s commitment to lead the strangers out of Shesskar-sharel, he was quietly angry at not being allowed to hunt the foreigners in the red jackets who carried the thunder-and-fire spears. Maktir moved quickly along the winding paths up the mountain, almost leaving the four companions behind in his haste to reach the entry to the pass, and he was silent, unwilling to be pressed into any form of conversation even when Meg tried to coax him.

By dusk, they reached the entrance to a broad shallow pass that was full of vegetation and Maktir spoke for the first time since starting the trek. He stood before Wahim, dismissing the rest of the party by turning his back to them, and said, ‘This is called the Passage to the Old Ones. You will find plenty to eat and drink and no one will stop you passing through. There is a village a short walk in and you might reach it before the moon rises if you walk quickly. The ahtim there is Nashuta. He is a very old and wise man and you must treat him with respect because he has seen more of this world than any Shesskar.’ Without ceremony, Maktir turned and walked back into the forest.

‘Where’s he going?’ Chase asked.

‘End of the tour,’ Swift remarked.

While Wahim explained Maktir’s message to Swift and Chase, Meg looked for Whisper and the rat emerged from the undergrowth after a few moments, chewing a large insect. She squatted at Meg’s feet like an obedient pet as she crunched through her meal. ‘We’d best eat as well,’ Swift remarked, eyeing the rat.

‘No,’ said Meg. ‘We’ll push on to the village. The more distance between our enemies and us the better.’

‘I’m exhausted,’ said Chase.

‘You can sleep when we reach the village,’ Meg told him, and she headed into the pass, Whisper scampering in her wake.

‘I’m not so sure this was a good idea, to come with her,’ Chase muttered wearily.

‘There’s no turning back now,’ said Swift, and she waited for Wahim to join them before they trailed after the mysterious old woman who never seemed to tire.

The last Shesskar village in the mountain pass allowed them to rest overnight and supplied them
with fresh provisions. The ahtim, Nashuta, a wizened little man, with fewer strands of white hair across his pate than fingers on his hands, gave them advice for travelling the Ashuak countryside before they departed. ‘Once it was a great empire, long ago, when my people also were mighty warriors. They fought the Ashuak armies. Great Shemzuka the dragon-eater was my ancestor,’ he told them proudly, and he listed Shemzuka’s lineage to demonstrate his status in the Shesskar world as Shemzuka’s descendant. ‘The Ashuak Empire is no more. Where there were great cities and armies, now there are people like us, simple people who keep their herds and live in small communities. Some will speak Shesskar. They are the traders. You will have to learn the Ashuak tongue with all its harsh sounds like the snarl of a wildcat and the hiss of a dragon. It is not an easy language to learn and it is not easy on the ear, but the Ashuak are proud of their tongue and you must respect that. Find the traders who can speak Shesskar and they will teach you what is right to say in Ashuak.’ He told them how to journey to the old ruins of the capital. ‘Beyond the highest of the Moon Lakes, the most northerly one, you will find a river coming from the east. The Ashuak call it Khvech Vaath, the Dragon River. That is the river to follow. I’ve walked it in my youth. After eight or nine days, you will come to a lake called the Dragon’s Eye and beyond that, about another day’s journey, you will find what you are seeking. It is a desolate place.’

When Nashuta finished his storytelling and sharing of wisdom, the morning was already old and Meg was keen to leave. She warned Nashuta that they were being followed, fearing that the Kerwyn soldiers might track them into the pass. ‘These men with spears of thunder- and-fire, I’ve heard of them,’ Nashuta told her. ‘They
will not trouble us. Men like these live beyond Shesskar-sharel. You have not been through here. Nashuta will tell them that and they will listen to me. Go. You have never been here.’

The eastern vista as they started to descend the slopes of the Sky Mountains was spectacular. At the foot of the mountains, a verdant forest ran to the shores of three large lakes, linked by canals, and the water glittered bright blue, like mirrors of the sky. Beyond the lakes, the land settled into a gently rolling plain, punctuated once towards the north-east by a cluster of peaks before the plain continued sweeping east, north and south to rise again into mountain ranges. Dotted across the view were dark patches of human settlement from which thin trickles of smoke rose. ‘It’s a huge land,’ Chase remarked as he surveyed the Ashuak countryside.

‘Now you see why it became an empire,’ Meg told him. ‘Protected by mountains, rich land with forests and rivers and plains—what more could the Ashuak have wanted?’

‘So why did it collapse?’

‘Greed,’ said Meg.

‘But they would have been wealthy enough, surely?’ Chase argued.

‘Not greed for money,’ Meg corrected. ‘Greed for power. Selfish power. It’s what everyone wants—the power to do whatever they like.’

‘I don’t want power,’ said Swift. ‘Let the greedy keep it.’

Meg smiled at the assassin. ‘That would be a good thing if it meant the greedy ones would leave us alone. But that’s the whole problem. They won’t leave the rest of us alone. To have real power means having power over everything—even power over you and me.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Chase complained. ‘Why would anyone want that?’

‘Because the greedy believe it can be done,’ said Wahim.

Meg turned to the Shesskar, surprised by his contribution when he normally just listened to their conversations. ‘
That
is the real problem,’ she said, nodding to him.

‘Let’s go,’ urged Swift, bored with the talk, and she began the descent, the others following, each locked in their personal thoughts.

H
is Eminence, Seer Scripture, did not approve of his colleagues’ idea, but he had little choice. Seated in his chair, wrapped in his blue robes, his long white hair loose about his shoulders, he scrutinised the three Ranu ambassadors opposite to him with dark inquiring eyes, wondering what political machinations they were capable of orchestrating and to what degree they posed a threat to the Jarudhan priesthood’s plans. The three men, wearing traditional Ranu white robes with black waist sashes, their hair and beards short and immaculately groomed, olive skin exposed only on their faces, hands and necks, had a presence that Scripture found offensive. He knew they did not believe in Jarudha or any god of consequence, and so they were condemned to die when the Demon Horsemen cleansed the land, but he saw in them an expedience that would serve Jarudha’s purpose and for only that reason had he agreed to be present at the clandestine meeting.

Seer Word cleared his throat and continued the discussion in the Kerwyn tongue. ‘Formalities aside, we are impressed by your—invention,’ he said. ‘How do you make metal ships float?’

The middle Ranu ambassador, a neatly bearded, hawk-nosed individual who introduced himself as Kal-Ahmud Habar, leaned forward and replied, ‘It’s a principle our inventors call displacement. The weight and shape of the ships displace the water and the ships sit in the trough created by the displacement.’

Word raised an eyebrow and looked at Seer Creator, only to discover to his chagrin that Creator was nodding wisely. To Word, the explanation made no sense at all. ‘Impressive,’ he repeated, feigning understanding. ‘I’m certain that we have much in common.’

‘We do,’ agreed Habar, ‘which is why we accepted your invitation to this meeting without your new king’s awareness. It seems we have mutual interests regarding the future of your nation. Perhaps we can put aside pleasantries and get to the point. We are expected to return shortly to our vessels.’

Word looked at Scripture who scowled irritably. He also acknowledged his colleagues around the table before he said, ‘We have reason to believe that what you were promised at the meeting with our new king will not be carried out according to your wishes. Inheritor is a treacherous man, like his father, and while he appears to be cordial and willing to consider your offers for open trade markets and political alliances, in fact he is already moving an army from the north to—how can I put this?—to bring pressure to bear on your nation.’

Habar raised an eyebrow and spoke quickly to his ambassadorial partners in Ranu. He returned his attention to Word and said, ‘Interesting news. We know of the army of which you speak. We have long had people in your kingdom who have kept us informed of certain important matters. Our understanding was that the army’s purpose was to quell an insurrection.’

Word nodded. ‘That was its original purpose, yes, but now that you are here the army is returning. All we can say is that you would be unwise to trust Inheritor. He is not a man of Jarudha and he is his father’s son.’

‘And what would you propose instead?’

Scripture interrupted. ‘The second son, Prince Shadow, is the man with whom you should deal.’

Habar turned to Scripture, noting the subtle differences in the man’s blue robes that suggested authority and rank. ‘And why is that?’

‘Shadow is Jarudha’s chosen disciple. He is a man of strict moral virtue and he will keep his promises,’ Scripture replied.

Habar noted the strength in the older man’s voice and in his unfaltering gaze, and gave an approving smile. He turned to his companions and again they conversed briskly in their native language. To Scripture, Habar said, ‘Thank you for your counsel. In my nation, the Ithosen are our wise men, descendants of the holy ones of old, and it is said that “The counsel of an Ithosen is worth the advice of ten thousand men”. We will consider your counsel and discuss this matter further, and we will return with our answer.’ The ambassadors rose together and bowed their heads politely. ‘Please excuse our haste. Our president is keen to hear what has transpired in our visit to your lovely city,’ Habar explained. ‘May your day be always in sunlight.’

Word gestured to Seer Creator, who immediately ushered the ambassadors from the meeting chamber in the temple into a hallway where the ambassadors’ bodyguards were patiently waiting to escort their charges to the palace parade ground. When the ambassadors were gone and Creator returned, Word waited for discussion to settle. ‘So,’ he said, inviting comment.

‘Was it wise to speak so indiscreetly to strangers?’ asked Seer Prayer. ‘What if they take what has been said to the king?’

‘This is why I did not like the idea,’ said Scripture sourly. ‘These are shrewd political men with no fear of Jarudha. They will assess what has been offered and then they will give up to their enemies the men they do not choose. Why would they choose us?’

‘We have three things they desire,’ said Word.

‘And what are they?’ Scripture asked.

Word paused for effect and said, ‘We have control of the euphoria, we have a potential king who will embrace them, and we have inventions that will interest them.’ He looked at Creator.

‘The ambassadors are keen to learn about the airbirds we have been developing, the ones that are heavier than air,’ said Creator. ‘And I’ve told them of our plans for manufacturing enlightenment.’

‘You should have asked my permission first,’ Scripture interrupted. ‘This is bordering on heresy.’

‘We had very little time,’ said Word. ‘The Ranu met with Inheritor and he told his brothers what they were seeking. They intend to establish trade here, but, according to Shadow, Inheritor is worried that they have longer term intentions.’

‘We have done these things before,’ said Law. ‘Kings and queens have come and gone. This was Shessian land once. Now, it is Kerwyn. Next, it might be Ranu.’

‘Next, it is Jarudha’s land,’ said Word.

‘It has always been Jarudha’s land!’ Scripture reminded them.

The Seers murmured agreement. ‘Then we must take whatever risk is needed to ensure our plans are not sidetracked by the worldly issues of would-be rulers,’ Word argued. ‘The Ranu will give us a vehicle for Shadow’s succession.’

She was grateful that King Inheritor had graced her with an audience, but she travelled to the palace by a circuitous route in the company of her bodyguards because she instinctively knew her life was at risk. She knew that Shadow knew she had the canvas bag and that she suspected him of plotting to dethrone Inheritor, and that she was meeting with Inheritor. Shadow had already sent word to her for another meeting in a note that promised her more favourable news than what had been discussed at their last meeting, but she chose to meet with Inheritor first. Whatever it was that the bag contained, her grandfather had charged her with the responsibility to get it into safe hands. She was still sceptical regarding the tale of the Demon Horsemen, even after her visit to the old woman in the bookshop who had known her grandfather as a young man, but she did not trust Shadow or the Seers and she was beginning to suspect that they were behind the troubles plaguing her euphoria business since her last meeting with Shadow.

Waiting outside the king’s audience chamber, she paced the tiles nervously, watching for Shadow or the Seers.
Shadow probably already knows I’m here
, she decided, and rued her misfortune to have become entangled in royal politics. She flinched when the pageboy invited her to enter the chamber, her mind full of the threats and possibilities her situation had created.

‘Mrs Merchant,’ Inheritor said, smiling, as Crystal entered. ‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t see you last time, but I was caught up in recent matters.’

‘I understand, Your Highness,’ Crystal replied. She glanced over the room, noting the small windows for privacy, the tapestries adorning the walls and three guards on the three entrances to the room.

‘Take a seat,’ Inheritor invited, indicating two red chairs situated around a low table near the hearth. A wire-lightning lamp dominated the table, its shade Kerwyn red and the base marble grey.

Seated, Crystal assessed the new king. Where his father, Hawkeye, had been square-jawed, bearded, rugged in the Kerwyn manner of a warrior, Inheritor was refined, effeminately featured, as if he’d acquired his mother’s looks. He still had broad shoulders, suggesting that a potentially powerful warrior could be created from the man, but he conveyed the impression of an educated and cultured being, and the sense that he would be a compassionate king. With his dark hair trimmed and clean-shaven, he was neither handsome nor unattractive, and in the street she doubted anyone would give him a second glance, but she liked what she saw. ‘I will have to be brief,’ he began as he sat. ‘Matters of state are urgent, as you might guess. What is it that you want to say?’

Crystal blinked. She’d rehearsed her words going to sleep and walking to the palace, but suddenly they were lost. She swallowed to give her time to compose her thoughts and said, ‘Your Highness, I have something to give to you—from my grandfather.’

Inheritor smiled. ‘Your grandfather?’

‘He was a Seer, Your Highness, Seer Sunlight. Your father put him in the Bog Pit on charges of conspiracy and heresy. He died there this year.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘It wasn’t your doing,’ said Crystal, ‘but he asked me to give you something that only you must have, not your brother Shadow.’

Inheritor’s smile faded and Crystal paused. Had she misjudged the man? ‘Go on,’ the king said.

‘It concerns the Seers and the Demon Horsemen,’ Crystal said slowly, gauging Inheritor’s reaction, but
apart from the faded smile his expression remained set. ‘My grandfather said—he said that there was a plot involving the Seers and your brother seeking to usurp your right to the throne. It all has to do with the Seers being able to release the Demon Horsemen. I don’t fully understand it,’ she concluded.
I’ve probably just condemned myself to the Bog Pit
, she ruefully decided.
Am I that much of an idiot
? She watched Inheritor’s face for a flicker of emotion, but the king simply stared at her—no, she realised, he was staring
through
her.

Inheritor blinked and drew a breath as if he was coming out of a trance. His blue eyes focussed on Crystal and she felt a cold shiver at the back of her neck. ‘So where is the thing your grandfather asked you to give to me?’

‘I have it safely stored,’ Crystal replied.

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know. It’s inside a strange canvas bag.’

‘And what makes it strange?’

Crystal was impressed by Inheritor’s skills in masking his emotions. Her knowledge was that the generally held popular opinion was that Inheritor was the softest prince, the most trustworthy and good-natured prince, but the man sitting before her was a refined master at controlling what he wanted other people to see. ‘It can’t be opened and nothing seems able to cut through the canvas.’

‘Interesting,’ Inheritor remarked. ‘So why is it so important that my brother doesn’t get it?’

Crystal was regretting her decision to visit Inheritor. His line of questioning seemed aimed at drawing every detail from her so that he could more effectively administer his judgment of condemnation. For an instant, she considered lying, or withholding details, but her instinct overrode her logic and her heart told her that her grandfather was not mad. If he believed
Inheritor could be trusted then she would take the risk. ‘The bag contains the only object that can destroy the Demon Horsemen if the Seers ever release them. That’s why they are desperate to get it back and that’s why your brother mustn’t get it.’

‘But you would give this thing to me.’

‘I loved my grandfather. I never believed that he could have done what he was accused of doing, and now that I know about the bag I understand why the Seers conspired to have him locked away to die.’

Inheritor nodded slowly, and said, ‘How do I know this isn’t some complicated plot by you to avenge your grandfather’s death?’

Crystal faltered. The consideration that Inheritor proposed hadn’t entered her thoughts at any point in the entire episode from the time the thief arrived at her house. ‘I—’ she stammered, and forced herself to regain her composure. ‘I don’t work like that,’ she said. ‘Besides, as I said before, you had nothing to do with my grandfather’s death. Even your father probably didn’t know the truth—only what the Seers told him. I have no cause against you.’

‘But your grandfather had one against my brother,’ Inheritor interposed.

‘Because of his involvement with the Seers,’ Crystal emphasised. ‘They are the ones who threaten you, Your Highness. Your brother is a pawn in their endgame.’

Inheritor rose from his chair and walked slowly across the room, meditating on what he’d heard, while Crystal observed him, waiting for him to decide her fate—and his own. He turned and ran his hand across his chin and then his forehead, and then looked directly at Crystal. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said with a strange calm quality in his voice. ‘There’s no news in telling me that my brother covets the throne. Even my father believed that he would be a better king.’ He shook his head
slowly. ‘As for the Seers, they are always plotting.’ He walked back to take his seat. ‘You have been candid with me. I will be with you. I know the stories about the Demon Horsemen. We were all taught them because our grandfather insisted we all embrace the Jarudhan faith as part of our assimilation into the Shessian culture. Father was less enamoured of them, but he acknowledged their support of the throne and gave them licence to do as they pleased. My brothers, well, they have varying degrees of faith, depending on how it serves their needs. Shadow, though, he’s a fanatic. If he was king, he would turn the kingdom into a model Jarudhan society and we would all suffer. So, you see, you haven’t brought me news that I could call subversive or treasonous. What you’ve brought to me is something much worse and I have to decide where I will make my stand.’ He stopped and lowered his head, running a hand through his manicured, dark hair. When he lifted his head again, he said, ‘Bring me the item.’