Healer's Ruin (10 page)

I'm not sure of that, my love,
Chalos thought.
You might lose heart. Me too. Even the Tarukataru Black Talon warriors, and their new Dauwark friends. All of us might one day break down and weep beneath the harsh whip of war. But not Jolm.

Somehow the healer knew this to be true. The lieutenant had survived into adulthood despite his afflictions, a remarkable feat in a society that cast its sickly babes off cliffs. The Krune took pride in physical perfection and considered any sort of deformation a profound weakness that could not be indulged. Yet Jolm had not only survived but had risen to prominence within a major tribe. Chalos could only imagine the strength of will that must have taken.

I hope the King knows the kind of enemies he may be making.

As if on cue, thunder broke to the west. The entire column froze and turned to face the mighty black mountains. Huge clouds of purple fire pulsed, the noise a series of deafening hammer-blows. Ten blasts sounded in perfect rhythm followed by ten more. Even here, miles away, the earth trembled, causing shadamar to adjust their footing.

'The King faces the Riln again,' said Mysa.

'Whose magery is that?' asked Chalos.

'Could it be the Ektan?' Samine pondered. 'It looks exotic enough.'

Carried on the wind was an eerie wail, a chorus of terror and woe. Squinting at the jagged line of silhouetted crags, Chalos saw another wave of concussive blasts lift a veil of powdered stone into the air. It was like watching a giant hand sift for gold. The layer of grit rose and fell, disintegrating before his eyes. And then he realised what he was watching. The astonishingly potent wave of magery was not lifting rock away from the surface of the mountains, but people. Thousands of people. They rose like flakes of ash blown by a godly breath and scattered as they fell.

'It's a slaughter,' Chalos breathed.

'It's a privilege,' Samine corrected him. 'Few have ever seen the Ektan. Fewer still have witnessed their true power. Those storms we saw as we passed through the Woodland, that was just Rovann slingers, mages like me clashing with the Riln. But this,' her eyes were wide and unblinking, reflecting the violet blooms of cataclysmic sorcery above. 'This is the power of the Ektan. There is nothing like it anywhere in the world.'

Even the Wielder – whatever he is – must balk at this show of might,
Chalos thought.
How could he not be pulverised to dust along with the rest of the Riln?

He thought back to that night in the forest when they had heard the mysterious Wielder fighting with the army in the mountains. For a time Chalos had entertained the notion that this Riln hero, with his prodigious abilities, might turn the tide against the warriors of the South. After all, he had single-handedly defeated a Flint Wizard and routed the Gilt Plates. But now, watching the Ektan pummel an army of Riln soldiers, he found it hard to believe that anyone could withstand the Ten Plains King and his horde of servants. Not even the fabled Wielder.

Is he up there now, dodging fire? Or has he fled?

There was another option, of course – that he had been killed already, just another speck flung from the mountains by the merciless barrage of unnatural thunder.

He could hear another sound, now. A clamour from deeper in the peaks. Rising steadily, gushing with its own power.
Cheering.
The army of the South had vanquished its foe. The battle was won.

Or so the King's men believed.

A sound like a whipcrack high in the mountains sent the whole of Jolm's force flinching. The cheering in the peaks stopped dead. For a dreadful moment all seemed to pause, suspended, time itself taking a breath. Chalos stared, his shadamar whining beneath him. To his right, Samine leaned forward intently, eyes narrowing.

'He's there,' said Mysa, awe in her voice. 'The Wielder!'

An almighty groan went up from within the rock, somewhere deep in the mountain's core. A second cracking sound split the air and a whole peak slid away, collapsing into black shards as it tumbled down the side of the mountain. A slate-grey cloud of dust billowed up, concealing the whole range from the eyes of those on the plains beneath.

Now pillars of light jabbed up from the mutilated rock, sweeping through the clouds like fingers seeking a grip. Then a strange song began. A voice that had not spoken for thousands of years broke into a plaintive croon as something long-buried began to stir.

'What's happening?' Samine gasped.

'He's raising an ancient spirit,' Chalos said, thinking back to his vigil on Hulker's Crag when he had wondered about what lay hidden within the mountains of the northern realm. 'One of the First Kings, a guardian of the world. Something that walked this land a million years before any Rovann drew breath.'

'Now this will be a thing to see,' said Mysa.

But they could not see much. Through the cloud of debris, tendril-like limbs were visible, thrashing in the air and then crashing down into the mountains. The song rose in pitch until it became a painful screech. Chalos winced and pressed his hands to his ears, as did all of his comrades – Rovann, Krune, sherdling and Dauwark. This was a voice no mortal was ever meant to hear.

The Ektan had opened up again. Flashing violet blooms erupted across the mountain range, flickering behind the dust. Something vast was heaving itself free of the rock and emerging into the afternoon light, but it was an agonizing rebirth. No sooner had the guardian awoken, its obscured mass came under constant assault. The Ektan showed no mercy.

'They're killing it!' Mysa said in a dry croak. 'Gods and bones, Chalos... they're killing a god! I did not think such murder possible.'

But the Ektan were not having it all their own way. The awesome tattoo of their magical blasts was becoming less rhythmic and less loud. Before long, the noise was staccato and sporadic, lacking in presence, and was becoming lost beneath the screech of the unleashed guardian. Chalos knew of the First Kings, of course, but he did not know much. They had watched over the world at a vulnerable time, protecting it from the covetous eyes of mysterious predators that dwelt in the night beyond the stars. Even those fiends had been no match for the magical power of the First Kings.

But countless ages had passed since then. The world was very different now. Its denizens knew all manner of sorcery.

And no people were more celebrated for their mastery of destructiveness than the copper-masked mystics of the Ektan.

The guardian was in its death throes. Perhaps it had been moments from death when it had first been buried all those millions of years previously, Or it had died piecemeal in its cell within the mountain, each century robbing it of vigour. Perhaps its violent emergence had been little more than a last gasp of defiance before it succumbed to permanent inertness. Its sinewy limbs, like twisting towers hazy in the billowing dust, were slumping back into the mountain. Its song was becoming ragged.

More flashes of light appeared now. A fusillade of fire and lightening had begun as the slingers of the Rovann took over from the exhausted Ektan. Though their magic was vastly inferior to that of the copper-masked beings, the slingers were numerous and their foe was already battered. Prone, the guardian was no match for them. It died beneath their assault, its song falling silent. The new cheer than sounded from the peaks was one of relief as well as jubilation.

'What was that thing, Chalos?' Samine asked. 'Even Sixt won't say.'

'He probably doesn't know,' said Chalos. 'The First Kings predate anything with a soul.' He looked away from the site of the mountain battle and closed his eyes. His temples throbbed from the noise and the bright light of the Ektan sorcery. 'Anyway, it's dead now.'

'But what followed in its wake?' Mysa whispered.

Chalos looked up but could not see anything through the veil of dust. However he could, just faintly, hear howls of fury and the sound of clashing steel. It seemed oddly dislocated as the sound travelled the miles of distance.

'The Riln have regrouped,' Samine said, surprise in her voice. 'They've charged back into battle. Even after everything the Ektan threw at them!'

'Why wouldn't they?' Chalos retorted. 'They're threatened with enslavement or eradication, after all.'

'You sound like you want them to win.'

He shrugged. In truth, he didn't care who won. Not anymore. He just didn't want to die in the struggle.

'I feel so helpless,' Samine said through gritted teeth. 'Sitting here on this damn shadamar when all I want to do is drown the foe in fire. My fingers itch. I can see the battle, but it's so far away...'

Chalos reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.

'I know,' he said softly. 'I keep thinking of all that death and pain. I can sense it, you know? Instinctively, I want to heal. To put those bodies back together. But as you say, it's far away. Even so, it's gnawing at me.'

She met his sad gaze and took a hand off the reins of the her mount to lay it over his. She squeezed his hand, soothingly, and smiled.

'We understand each other,' she said.

Sixt peeped out of the satchel on Samine's saddle, flicking his tongue at Mysa. The crow blinked down at the iguana and ruffled her feathers haughtily.

'You've got to be joking,' the crow said. 'I'm not that desperate!'

The iguana shrugged and retracted its head back into the warm confines of the satchel.

'It is time to use your bird again, little Rovann,' the Corporal had said, slapping Chalos hard on the back. The slinger had almost fallen from the saddle with the impact. Moments later, Mysa was wheeling through the air, upcleaving, becoming almost invisible as she flew.

'She'll be alright,' Samine said. Her shadamar was right next to the healer's and she was pressed against him, resting her head on his shoulder as her hand stroked his chest. 'She's regained her strength.'

'I know,' said Chalos.

'She won't dare go near the scene of the mountain battle, for fear of taking another Phaeron arrow,' Samine continued. 'She'll stay out of trouble this time.'

But Jolm did not want to know what was happening in the mountains to the west any more than he wanted to know what was happening in the mountains to the east. No, the Krune leader thought only of what lay ahead of them to the north. Somewhere up ahead was the Ruin, the cursed city that the lay at the heart of the Riln Plains. That was to be their bulwark. All they had to do was get there.

And what lies in wait for us?
Chalos mused.
Not the Wielder. No, he's licking his wounds in the mountains. Not the Riln army either. They died in the thousands up there, before the guardian was unleashed. Then they died in droves again, afterwards, as they pushed the Ten Plains King back up the mountain road.

The thought gave him some satisfaction. He tried to imagine the Ten Plains King fuming impotently as his Ektan collapsed from exhaustion and his front lines crumbled under that second Riln assault. It must have been humiliating.

He was also glad that the Wielder was miles from their position. The Riln hero would have his hands full dealing with the King's army. Surely he wouldn't detach himself from that engagement to chase down a few hundred Krune and the bruised remnants of the Gilt Plates?

Chalos noticed that the Corporal was staring at him, and at Samine, with curiosity. When Chalos met his gaze the Krune snorted and turned away, spitting into the grass.

He's jealous of us. We've found some comfort and joy in the midst of all this chaos. What does he have? Two things: his orders and his doom.

'What's the plan, Corporal?' he asked the Krune to break the uneasy silence as they waited for Mysa's return.

'It hasn't changed,' the Corporal said. 'We head for the Ruin. The Riln are afraid of it, by all accounts. They don't like to set foot in its streets. So we will have no competition for it.'

'So it's cursed..?' Samine muttered.

Chalos frowned to himself.

'Either something the golems planted to keep people away after they annihilated the people,' he said, 'or some remnant of the vile magic the city's mages were fooling around with.'

'Or a fairytale told to Riln children to keep them in line,' the Corporal scoffed. 'What can possibly lie in a city that has been dead for thousands of years that has not turned to dust?'

'What do we do once we are there?' Samine asked. 'Wait for Agryce and the Duke?'

The Corporal growled under his breath and his lips twisted into a sneer at the sound of the other lieutenant's name.

'We wait for fate to deliver a verdict,' he said. 'But whatever happens, we will have accomplished our mission, as befits the noble Tarukataru.'

Fatalism. The default mode of a soldier's mind
, thought Chalos.
He's nothing but an instrument. When things get too complicated, he just behaves like a component in a machine. He does his job and trusts everything else to luck, destiny and the gods.

'She's weaving west,' Samine whispered in his ear, squeezing his forearm as she did so.

Mysa had wheeled to the left, a tiny black speck against the slate grey sky. Bravely she passed close to the mountain range where the battle had raged, sweeping her gaze along its ravaged surface before ducking down and turning, flapping her wings excitedly as she head back to her master.

Chalos held out an arm like a hawker. Mysa landed on his wrist and flexed her long black wings, clacking her curved beak.

'Well?' the Corporal asked, impatient to hear news. 'What lies ahead, slinger?'

'You heard the man, Mysa,' said Chalos. 'What did you see?'

'A river cuts the land ahead, narrow and clear. Far beyond that, an army, rank upon rank of Riln. Men and women, some mounted. Bows and swords.'

Chalos turned to the Krune.

'She says there's a river up ahead...'

'The River Dun,' said the Corporal. 'The Gilt Plates say it's an easy crossing.'

'...and an army,' Chalos added, his mouth dry. 'The Riln are waiting for us to the north.'

'Numbers?'

Chalos turned to the crow and raised his eyebrows, already tired of the exchange. Sometimes he wished the bird could be heard by all and sundry. She could certainly hear everyone else.

'I did not stop to count,' the bird said. 'They fired a couple of arrows at me. For sport more than anything else; thankfully they are vastly inferior to the Phaeron! But if the purple thug wants an estimate, I would say ten thousand.'

'Ten thousand!' Chalos said, his mouth dry.

'Ten thousand?' the Corporal grunted.

'I think that's what he said,' Samine muttered sourly.

'Gods and bones and a belly full of blood!' the Krune growled. 'Well, it looks like the Riln left a host behind to bar our way to the Ruin. No matter, we'll crush them easily enough.'

'Ten thousand fighters?' Chalos said, incredulous. 'They'll swarm over us like ants on a wasp. We've no chance!'

The Corporal peered at him, curling his lips back to bare his sharp white teeth.

'We are Tarukataru Black Talon!' he roared. 'With Gilt Plates by our side, and a Dread Spear in our ranks!' He punched his gauntlets together. 'We will smash them!'

'What choice do we have, Chalos?' Samine said. 'Do we wait for the Duke to turn up with Agryce, and hope they don't put their swords in our backs? Or for the King, who is several days away, his elites already shattered by an encounter with an ancient demon?'

Now the Corporal raised his eyebrows. He was impressed.

'Ah, Dread Spear! You are wiser than you look.'

'We've grown cynical these past few days,' Chalos said.

'That is what I said,' the Corporal frowned.

'You don't trust the Duke either?' the healer pressed.

'He is Tarukaveri, like that coward Agryce,' the Corporal shrugged. 'I've never trusted the bastard.'

Ah, so he and Agryce are of the same tribe after all,
Chalos thought.
Yes, it all comes together now. Samine, you are indeed wise.

'They sent us forward to die, didn't they?' Samine asked. 'The Duke, following the orders of the Ten Plains King, sent us up here to die with the Gilt Plates and Tankanis.'

No reply came for several moments. The Corporal was staring at the western mountains which were still covered in a haze of dust. Chalos could have been wrong, but it seemed like the man wore a thoughtful expression on his weathered purple face. When the Krune spoke, his voice was soft, hushed for only those close by to hear.

'This has been coming for a long time,' he said. 'My proud tribe has never loved the Ten Plains King. Nor, for that matter, did Tankanis. The Flint Wizard thought he could outlast his monarch, for Flint Wizards can live for thousands of years, given the right circumstances. The King is a jealous man and it was inevitable that he would move against Tankanis. As for us, well, Jolm is a hero in our tribe. A mere lieutenant here, but in our homeland he is held in the highest esteem. The Duke was put in charge of all Krune by the King himself, but the Tarukataru do not like to serve a runt of the lowly Tarukaveri. Rebellion has always been a heartbeat away. The King has always known this, and when the opportunity to rid himself of threats presented itself, he did what he had to do.' The man shrugged. 'I'd have done the same, in his place. When you see a danger growing, you need to cut it at the root.'

'You don't feel betrayed?'

The Corporal laughed bitterly.

'I will die with my tribesmen,' he said. 'With honour. The Duke will die in his bed like an old whelp. I'd rather have my ending than his, little Rovann.'

'And what about us?' asked Chalos.

The Corporal thought about this for a moment then laughed, slapping the healer on the shoulder playfully.

'Don't worry! We will let you share in our glory!'

Mysa cocked her head at this.

'That's what you were afraid of, wasn't it, Chalos?' she said.

'Come,' said the Corporal, wheeling his shadamar about. 'Let us inform the lieutenant of the Riln and their so-called army.'

Chalos, Samine and the Corporal found Jolm further along the line, with Dolga. The leader of the Gilt Plates raised an eyebrow as they approached. Jolm gestured towards them with a flourish of his viciously spiked gauntlet.

'Ah, here is the slinger and his magical bird! Excellent,' the lieutenant said. 'Dolga, this bird is intelligent. It can speak to its master. But to him only.'

'A useful resource,' Dolga said, nodding slowly and scratching his scaly grey chin. 'Much akin to one of the King's own scryers.' A thin smile crept across his wide face. 'Full of surprises, this one,' he said, eyeing the healer.

That's what I am to them, a resource,
Chalos thought glumly.
Mysa is simply an extension of me. These leaders of men, they are used to weighing up the usefulness of another soul. Had I no healing powers and no Accomplice to command, they would have abandoned me in the Dallian Woodland, or slaughtered me with the Pavarine.

He was under no illusions as to the nature of his bond with the leader of the Black Talon, or with any of the Krune. As for the Dauwarks, his back was still sore from being crushed beneath Dolga's enormous frame and his cape was still daubed with dried mud.

'Lieutenant, we bring news of the challenges ahead,' said the Corporal with a curt bow.

'So, what is it, slinger?' Jolm asked, folding his arms. 'What stands between us and the Ruin?'

'Ten thousand Riln,' Chalos said simply.

'Is that all?'

For a moment Chalos thought that Jolm was being sarcastic. But then he remembered who he was talking to. The Krune would never joke about war. It was all he lived for. He was arrogant, true, but he was also a capable tactician and his men were expert killers. Jolm clearly believed that his men could take on a force that outnumbered them by almost ten to one. It helped that they now had a bunch of Dauwarks to swell their ranks.

'Yes, that's all,' said the Corporal. 'Just Riln soldiers.'

'Distance?'

Chalos glanced at Mysa.

'A hard day's ride,' he said, relaying the crow's words. 'They seem to be laying in wait, just beyond the scene of Tankanis's defeat.'

Jolm looked at the Dauwark leader. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them. Both men nodded.

'An hour's rest,' Jolm said to the Corporal. 'Then we ride. Dolga says there is a river between us and the site where Tankanis fell. We will make camp there tonight and tomorrow we will march for the Ruin. If the Riln bar our way then that is their ill judgement.'

There was a terrible finality to it all. Everyone simply nodded and then went about their business, the Corporal passing word to the other Krune officers and Dolga rounding up the Gilt Plates to give them their orders.

'Dread Spear,' said Jolm, who was now alone with the two Rovann slingers. 'I want you riding point with the Dauwarks. They will provide you with cover.' He leaned closer conspiratorially. 'We will need your magic now.'

'Yes, Lieutenant,' Samine said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

'And me, sir?' Chalos asked.

'Well, we may need your powers too, slinger. Should we meet this Riln army, watch the field for wounded and get them back on their feet. Until then, hang back until we tell you otherwise.'

Chalos nodded, wishing he could share Samine's zeal.

'They want to be the ones to take the Ruin,' said Samine. 'The Tarukataru are resigned to physical death in this war and are now seeking a kind of spiritual immortality in the annals of history.' She shook her head, her hair now bound in a severe bun, ready for battle. 'Imagine having that kind of courage.'

They were riding hard, covering the undulating plains with ease. Though the ground was hard and the ride juddered their bones, it was a joy compared to the chore of crossing the Dallian Woodland. A light rain spattered them, refreshing the ranks. Some of the Krune took to singing their harsh-sounding songs.

'Is it courageous to embrace death?' he mumbled. 'I think it's the height of cowardice. To simply abandon your instinct for survival because of seemingly hopeless odds is not bravery... it's fatalism.'

Samine laughed. It disturbed Chalos to see how her demeanour had improved with the prospect of combat.

'You really aren't the soldiering type, are you?' she asked.