There, in the Chamber of the Moons, Carlon had prepared a reception for Zared that was only slightly less restrained than the street welcome.
On the dais sat a throne, a perfect replica of the ancient throne of the Acharite kings. Leagh stared at it in amazement – how long had they been preparing for Zared? The throne was the patient work of a master craftsman, several masters, for exquisite wooden carvings had inlays of gold and silver and scatterings of precious gems.
How had I never known? she thought to herself, still dazed, as Zared took her arm and led her to the dais. How had I never known?
Zared would not use the throne, saying it could wait until he was crowned, but he stood on the dais, Leagh at his side, Herme, Theod, Goldman and Sandmeyer slightly behind him, and received the well-wishers of Carlon.
First there were representatives from the guilds, all of whom knelt before Zared and promised him their support.
The city militia stood forth and did likewise.
Representatives from each of the major blocks of Carlon came forward, some with their wives and children, and proffered their support.
And from the nearer rural areas came the rural guild masters, there, as all the others, to offer Zared their wishes and their loyalty.
Leagh was a little amazed that even the rats had not sallied forth from their sewers to pledge their allegiance as well.
“Prince Zared,” Goldman finally said, standing forth so that he could address Zared. “Have you any doubts as to the loyalty of your people?”
“No, good Goldman,” Zared said softly. “This is more than I ever dreamed possible.”
“Do you have any doubts as to their wishes, my Prince?”
“No, Goldman. I do not.”
In a dramatic gesture, Goldman dropped to one knee, put a hand over his heart, and dipped his head in obeisance.
“Zared, will you accept the loyalty of your people? Will you accept the wishes? Will you assume the throne of Achar?”
There was utter silence in the chamber, and Zared looked slowly about, not only at the people who waited for his answer, but also at the chamber itself that had witnessed so much violence and death during Axis’ war with Borneheld.
“I was born to the throne of Achar,” Zared said, his voice ringing to the very peak of the brilliant blue-enamelled dome itself, “and so I will assume it.”
The chamber erupted. Goldman waited until the noise had died down, then he looked at Leagh. “And will you accept the wishes of the Acharites, Princess?”
She stared at him, then Zared leaned across and took her hands, turning her to face him.
“Will you be my wife, Leagh?” he said. “Will you be my Queen?”
She looked at him, studied his face, and knew she had no choice. “Yes, Zared,” she finally said, “I will be your Queen.”
49
Caelum Amid the Ruins
Caelum had viewed the disaster of Kastaleon for a full week, and yet still he could hardly credit his eyes. The castle was a ruin – no longer smoking perhaps, but the piles of cold, useless stone were as painful to gaze upon as the burning wreckage had been.
What remained of his command was still camped about the ruins. Six hundred men, many still abed from their injuries. Straggly tents, ragged horse lines, and morale that was as damp and grey as the moat most had been forced to swim through to survive. Beyond the camp site, thousands of sad mounds stretched into the distance. Graves. Reminders of the treachery Zared had visited on him.
“How could he have done it?” Caelum muttered, but no answer occurred to him as it had not occurred to him every time he’d asked himself that question over the past week.
He turned from his useless contemplation of ruins and camp and walked towards a tent set aside from the others. A guard outside saluted as Caelum approached, but Caelum noted the guard’s eyes slid away, refusing to meet his.
Lingering grief for his comrades, Caelum told himself.
He lifted the tent flap and entered. It was dim inside, too cool, and Caelum thought about asking a servant to light the brazier. He half turned back towards the tent flap, intending to ask the guard to fetch someone, then thought better of it and lit the brazier himself.
“Caelum?”
Caelum closed the brazier hatch. “You’re awake, Askam. Did the herbal brew not work?”
Askam struggled into a sitting position on his bunk. “The pain has dulled, but my left hand itches abominably. Ah!” He spat into a corner of the tent. “The ghost of this arm haunts me, Caelum! Will it never leave me in peace?”
Caelum sat down on a stool close to the brazier and watched Askam warily. He did not know the words needed to comfort the man, but he suspected that Askam would accept no comfort. All Askam wanted was revenge. Revenge for his castle, revenge for his arm. He had lost more weight in the past week than Caelum had thought possible any man could do. The skin hung grey and slack from Askam’s bones, his eyes were red-rimmed with pain and exhaustion, and the fingers of his remaining hand constantly trembled. His breeches were stained by wear and the exudate from the crusty bandages about his torso.
Askam could hardly bear the pain when the bandages were changed and, to Caelum’s knowledge, they had not been touched these past three days.
There was a sweet stench in the tent that could not entirely be explained by the fragrant wood burning in the brazier.
“You should rest, Askam, perhaps eat more. And someone should surely clean your –”
“I will bite off the hand of the person who dares touch me!” Askam snarled, and Caelum reflexively jerked back on his stool.
“Askam –”
“I will flay the skin from Zared’s body with my remaining fingernails for what he has done!”
To that Caelum had nothing to say.
“When do we move? What else of mine has he seized?”
“We cannot move while you still lie so weak, Askam.”
Askam lurched to his feet. He swayed alarmingly, but threw off Caelum’s concerned hand and managed to find his balance.
“I can ride, Caelum. And it was not my sword arm that was stolen.”
“You can hardly stand,” Caelum said carefully. “And the lack of your left arm will severely hamper your sword balance.”
“I can fight! When do we move?”
“I have not yet –”
Whatever Caelum was about to say was halted by a movement outside the tent, an exclamation of surprise, and the lifting of the tent flap.
Axis SunSoar, God of the Star Dance, entered the tent.
Caelum gaped at him, then enveloped him in a huge hug. “Father!”
Axis briefly returned the hug, then pushed Caelum back.
He looked almost as grey as Askam. “By all the stars in creation, Caelum, what has happened here?”
For eight days the Star Gods had talked, argued, and studied the black stain in the universe as also the slight taint that each felt in their powers. What to do, and how?
Finally they’d decided that Caelum had to be told what was happening. If the saving of Tencendor rested on his shoulders, then he needed to be informed.
Thus Axis had materialised just outside Kastaleon, focusing his Song of Movement on the faint tug of his son’s blood.
When his vision cleared from the enchantment, the sight that met his eyes caused him to cry out in shock.
The destruction appalled him. He’d had no idea of any war being fought on Tencendorian soil. He, as his companion gods, had been so consumed by the problem of the TimeKeeper Demons he’d paid no attention to the daily travails of Tencendor.
Besides, Caelum now ruled, and Caelum needed to be left alone to rule as he saw fit.
But what in the name of all Stars had happened here? There were graves…thousands of them! For the first time in a week all thought of the TimeKeeper Demons and their potential for utter disaster had fled from Axis’ mind.
Now Axis grasped his son’s shoulders, as worried by the pallor of his skin a
nd the dark circles under his eyes as he was by the destruction and death outside. “Caelum? What has happened here?”
But it was not Caelum who replied.
“Your brother,” Askam almost spat the word, “has committed such treachery that this land has not seen in decades.”
Axis ignored him, his eyes still locked with his son’s. “Caelum?”
Caelum glanced at Askam, then took his father’s arm and steered him outside.
Askam made as if to follow, but faltered at the first step and sank back to his bunk again. He muttered Zared’s name as his head hit the pillow, and even he was not sure if the word was a curse or a promise.
“Zared had seized Kastaleon as part of his quest for the Acharite throne –” Caelum began.
“What?” Axis exploded, then subsided as he noticed small groups of men turning to stare at them.
Damn Zared into a thousand pits of fire! Damn Rivkah for breeding him!
Caelum nodded. “Even with the mention of the throne, Father, it seems that the hatreds of the past have flared into war. Zared claimed that the human populations felt slighted, that they needed their throne back.”
“Stars,” Axis muttered. “Was all I fought for in vain? Had he no thought?”
He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “What did you do?”
“I raised five thousand men and came here to personally supervise his expulsion. But…”
“But it did not go well for you, did it, my son? I assume Zared does not lie in any of those graves.”
Caelum hesitated, then shook his head. “We approached stealthily. I hid the force under cloak of enchantment –”
Axis glanced sharply at him.
“– and I thought us to be safe enough. The castle was quiet. I thought Zared and his men asleep. But as we entered the courtyard…once most of us were in…”
Caelum turned to his father and shared with him the vision and experience of the explosion.
Aghast, Axis halted him. “You led your men into a trap, Caelum! Did you not think to send scouts…make sure all was as it seemed before you blithely marched your entire force inside?”
Caelum flushed. “All seemed well, Father! How could I have suspected such foul –”
“As easily as Zared anticipated your approach, Caelum! Why were you not more careful?”
Axis took a deep breath, averting his eyes from his son’s face. “Did you not think to parley first?” he asked in a quieter tone. “Zared would have talked. His seizure of Kastaleon was just a theatre to gain your attention.”
“What? Look at this, Father!” Caelum waved a hand at the ruins. “Is that ‘talk’?” He turned to the field of graves. “Are they ‘theatre’?”
“I might have done the same had I heard a force of five thousand approached, Caelum!” Axis snapped. He paused, and collected himself. It was no use expending his anger at Zared on his son.
“You are right,” he said. “He should not have gone to these extremes. Where is he now?”
“Ah, he, ah…” In the first shocking aftermath of the explosion Caelum had not thought to determine Zared’s position, and in the past two or three days he had been so plagued by his nightmares it seemed that whenever he blinked he saw the point of the sword screaming down towards his heart.
Gods, why hadn’t he acted quicker? How was it that Drago could so destroy his mind from whatever hole he’d secreted himself in?
“You have sent farflight scouts to search him out, Caelum…haven’t you?”
Caelum licked his lips, then wished he hadn’t. “I left half of the Strike Force in Sigholt, the other half in Severin.”
“Severin?”
“I thought it best that, at the least, Zared could lose his seat of power for his treachery in seizing Kastaleon.”
Axis only just managed to stop himself from swearing. “You have started a civil war, Caelum!”
“It was not I who started it!”
Axis stared at his son, fighting back the words. A parley, open discussions about whatever grievances Zared had, and restitution to Askam for the seizure of Kastaleon would have solved the entire problem. But, no. Caelum had felt the need for dramatic action. Had he not taught his son better?
And he had just marched his entire force into enemy territory without scouting first?
Axis turned away, pretending a careful study of the ruins. How could he revile his son for the actions he’d taken? Caelum had no experience of war, and little of diplomacy. The now-dead Duke of Aldeni, Roland, had warned Axis many years ago that peace did not breed good kings or war leaders. Well, Axis hoped that Caelum would learn from this experience.
Stars knew he was going to need it.
“Caelum,” he said quietly, facing his son again, “Zared is not the only problem you and Tencendor must face.”
Briefly he told his son what WolfStar knew about the Sacred Lakes and the TimeKeeper Demons. He did not tell him that WolfStar claimed Caelum was the only one who could battle against the Demons. That Caelum did not need to hear right now.
What Caelum had heard was bad enough. He stared at his father. “Tell me the implications of the TimeKeepers’ approach!”
“They will destroy our power, Caelum. Already they blot out the Star Dance from a tiny portion of the universe. If they get close enough to the Star Gate then they will cut out the music of the Star Dance completely.”
“But that will mean…that will mean that all Enchanters in this land will lose their powers! Every…every…” Caelum stared at his father, not able to say it.
“And every Star God, Caelum. Every Star God.”
Caelum shook his head, trying to comprehend this torrent of bad news. No wonder the problems he’d been experiencing with his own powers. And it would only get worse? He tried to imagine life without the ability to hear or use the Star Dance, and found he could not do so. “Why do they approach so fast? Why now?”
And even as he asked the question, he knew. Drago. Drago had taken the Rainbow Sceptre through the Star Gate to these Demons!
Yes, Axis answered in his mind. “He leads them,” he continued in his speaking voice, “no doubt in some plan to finally wrest control of Tencendor from you. Stars knows he was ever ambitious!”
“Father,” Caelum whispered, “have you dreamed of the hunt recently?”
“No. Why?”
Caelum told his father about his dreams, about being hunted through forest and plain alike by the horseman dressed in his enveloping dark armour.
“It is DragonStar,” Caelum said, “and always he hunts me down, and always he impales me on his sword.”
His eyes were haunted, terrified. “Now Drago leads Demons to destroy us. Drago’s infant pact with Gorgrael was the least of his horrors, wasn’t it, Father? He will never rest, never, until he can kill me.”
“Caelum, listen to me.” Axis took his son’s shoulders and forced him to meet his stare. “We will prevail. We have time to prepare. The Demons are far off yet.”
Axis could feel Caelum trembling beneath his hands, and his power could detect the memories rushing through his mind. Stars! He had not realised Drago exerted such a hold over Caelum.
“Caelum? We will deal with this.”
“Yes. Yes, you are right.” Caelum straightened and subdued his doubts. “But first I must deal with Zared.”
“Yes.” It will give you experience, Axis thought. Experience and confidence.
“Do whatever you think best, Caelum.”
“I’ll battle it out, then,” Caelum said. “Zared has lost the right to parley.”
Axis frowned, then nodded. “If your judgment tells you that is the right course, then take it.”
Then he caught himself. What was he thinking? Was he about to sacrifice his brother in order to hone his son’s skills? But Caelum had been right to say that it was Zared who’d started this. Zared had drawn the first blood.
Was Tencendor worth a brother? Axis had to stop a grim smile. He’d killed two b
rothers already to accomplish his dream. The death of another to preserve it was no great sacrifice.
Was it?
“If you need advice, Caelum, never hesitate to ask.”
Whatever doubts Caelum had exhibited earlier had now apparently vanished. “I will deal with Zared on my own, Father. Zared is my problem. But,” his mouth quirked, “Drago is something I may need a little help with. With him, and with these Demons, I do invoke your aid.”
Axis smiled, and put his arm about Caelum’s shoulders. “Go deal with Zared, and then we shall scheme to put Drago away for an eternity.”
50
The Shadow-Lands
At first Zenith moved easily through the shadow-lands. Every night Faraday came to her, took her hand, and encouraged her further south. The journey was painless through shadow-Skarabost. They left the forest quickly – for the shadow-Minstrelsea was an unnerving place to remain – and travelled the great grain plains of Skarabost. Insubstantial men and women tilled the fields and the vegetable patches, their every movement slow and deliberate, their eyes always turned away from the two women who moved among them.
Once they reached southern Skarabost, Zenith found her steps increasingly painful. It was Niah’s unconscious mind, Faraday explained, throwing up defences against Zenith’s approach.
“It will become ever more painful,” Faraday said, and Zenith turned her head aside. Painful or not, she was determined to recover her body and her life.
Their journey slowed. Each night they covered less ground, even though Faraday bent every art and skill and encouragement she could. Night by night, step by step, the pain increased.
“What are these shadow-lands?” Zenith asked one night to keep her mind occupied with something other than the pain.
“The world of dream is as real as the world of waking, Zenith. But few know of its existence. Even when they dream, they barely skirt about its edges.”
“How did you know of it?”
Faraday was silent a long while before she answered. “You do not know how I was transformed back into human form, and I do not think I am able to explain it all to you. But a force such as I have never known seized me, changed me, and enriched me. Over the past two months I have explored my new power, and one of the avenues it opened for me was into the shadow-lands. Zenith, that is not much of an explanation, but it is the best I can do.”