The Jalakh Bow Read online

  He didn’t waste any time and he did it well. While Ampelios was still kneeling, he launched a massive swing of the blade which cut the head clean off the shoulders. Belwynn turned away at that point, and many in the crowd screamed and cried out.

  She looked up. Clarin was looking at her.

  ‘Is that justice?’ he hissed.

  What did he want from her? It was horrible, did that make it wrong? She wasn’t sure what she thought.

  ‘Don’t pretend there are easy answers, Clarin,’ she said. ‘Leniency and gentility allowed Straton and Ampelios to escape and look where that got us. A bloody battle with hundreds of deaths. I don’t want that to happen again.’

  ‘Treason?’ Clarin said, pursuing the issue. ‘He was imprisoned here when the Knights took the capital by force, he escapes and fights for the heir to the throne, and that’s called treason? I know treason when I see it, and I’d use that word for someone else.’

  Belwynn looked around them. ‘Be careful what you say, Clarin, for Madria’s sake.’

  ‘Or else I’ll have my head cut off? I don’t understand, Belwynn. What has happened to you that you defend him like this? Why are you here, when Soren and the others are away looking for Madria’s weapons?’

  ‘Is that what this is, Clarin?’ she retorted, hearing her voice rise with anger and trying to control it. ‘Attack Theron so that I will fall in love with you instead? It doesn’t work like that.’

  He looked at her, a stunned expression on his face.

  ‘I think I’ll go,’ he muttered, sounding defeated. ‘If this doesn’t open your eyes, nothing will.’

  ‘I think that’s best.’

  She watched him go for a while, then walked away herself, keen to get as far away from the scene as possible. Before she realised where she was going, she found herself walking up to the gates of Heractus Castle. The guards let her in and she took the familiar route up the tower steps to Theron’s room.

  She knocked on the door. There was a rustle and he opened it.

  He stared at her, a haunted look in his eyes.

  ‘I saw,’ she said simply.

  ‘Oh,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t want you to see that.’

  He walked over to his bed, wearily taking a seat. ‘I’m sorry. You may hate me for it. But if we didn’t do that, demonstrate the consequences of rebellion, it would never stop. An endless civil war where we tear ourselves apart, with the Isharites waiting to finish us off.’

  Belwynn took a seat next to him.

  ‘I know all about civil wars,’ she said.

  He looked at her. It was a look of raw gratitude.

  ‘Thank you. For understanding. I never want to do that again.’

  He flopped down, putting his head in her lap.

  She stroked his hair, looking down at her knight.

  You would, though, she said to herself. If you had to, you would do it again.

  Joined

  XII

  HIGH-PRIEST WULFGAR of the Temple of Toric would not have been Edgar’s first choice to conduct his wedding. But he was the leading prelate of South Magnia. He wasn’t the most spiritual of men either, but there was some benefit to that. He had kept the ceremony mercifully brief and to the point. After exchanging rings, and sharing a kiss, Edgar and Elfled could turn to face the congregation in the Temple as man and wife.

  Applause and cheers met them. On one side of the circular central chamber sat the South Magnians. Edgar’s best man, Wilchard, grinned over. Leading noblemen such as Otha of Rystham and Aescmar occupied the front rows with their families. Behind them, those less titled such as Oslac, mayor of Halsham, and Ulf the smith had been found room. On the opposite side of the room the front row was occupied by Elfled’s family. Her brother Cerdda, Prince of North Magnia, with his wife Irmgard. Their mother, Mette, had also made the trip. Behind them, foreign dignitaries, from as far as the Brasingian Empire, had come to witness the union.

  For it was a love match, Edgar was sure of that. But it was also, he knew, political. The rival families of Magnia were uniting. And, should Cerdda’s marriage remain childless, any children that Elfled gave him would perhaps one day lay claim to both parts of Magnia.

  He shared a look with his new wife, her dark ringlets of hair spilling over her white dress, and he knew he had never been this happy. But he also took a moment to acknowledge those who were not here. His father, Edric, dead these four years, whose statesmanship had paved the way for this marriage. His mother, too frail in body and mind to make the journey. Ealdnoth, his trusted adviser, and Leofwin, his rock of a bodyguard, both killed in Barissia by the bastard Salvinus. The same man who had dared to invade Edgar’s realm and desecrate this very temple. No. He would think no more of him today.

  Holding hands, Edgar and Elfled led the congregation out into the large temple complex. Toric had blessed the day with bright spring sunshine. They all gathered outside, everyone keen to have a word with Edgar and Elfled before they were called into Wulfgar’s hall for the feast.

  First was Coen, Duke of Thesse, not the kind of man to wait politely for his turn. With him was Frayne, the Midder chief who had fought with them against the Barissians. Edgar introduced them both to Elfled.

  ‘Ah!’ she said. ‘The heroes of Lindhafen! I have to thank you for keeping my husband alive last year! I would love to hear all about the campaign. Edgar never talks about it.’

  Both men beamed at the prospect of recounting their war stories. Elfled was very good at all this; much better than he was. Edgar detached himself and located Walter, the new Duke of Barissia, who was standing with Russell, a soldier from Morbaine who was here on behalf of Duke Bastien.

  ‘Congratulations,’ both men said as he approached, before they each shook his hand.

  ‘Your new wife is stunning.’

  ‘Thank you, Lord Russell.’

  ‘You didn’t stand a chance,’ Walter added.

  Edgar laughed, turning to Russell. ‘I wonder when the new Duke of Barissia will be caught? Surely the most eligible man in the Empire?’

  Walter made a horrified face.

  ‘Ha, you look just like Farred when I mentioned the idea to him.’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Walter. ‘I had been hoping to see him here.’

  ‘He’s too much of an adventurer to stay here, I’m sorry to say. He travelled with the Sea Caladri fleet north.’

  ‘I see. I hope he finds success. Freeing the Lantinen would be a welcome development.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more,’ said Russell. ‘The Kharovians are a menace to all of us.’

  ‘How is Duke Bastien?’ Edgar asked Russell.

  ‘Bastien sends his apologies. The duchess is very close to her due date and he wants to be there for her.’

  ‘Of course. Please pass on mine and Elfled’s best wishes. And,’ he said, turning to Walter, ‘I must ask about news from the north.’

  ‘Bad news, I am afraid. We know that Siavash has won control over the Isharites. We had let ourselves hope that a civil war might occupy the enemy for some time. Gustav reports that a great battle took place in Haskany. The Haskans were defeated, Queen Shira killed. Arioc’s army was defeated there too, though he may have escaped. Siavash has restored Haskany and Persala to his empire. It can only be a matter of time before the Drobax are sent south again. They may be sent to Kalinth, or to the Krykkers. But we must prepare for the monsters to return to Brasingia. As we speak, my men are getting Burkhard Castle ready in case we must defend it again.’

  Edgar nodded solemnly. He had to ask, though the answer couldn’t help but sour his mood. The silence after Walter had spoken hung around him, urging him to offer his aid in the coming conflict. But he wasn’t going to do that. Magnians had shed enough blood in the Empire last year. They had helped to defend Burkhard Castle, and they had helped to defeat Emeric. Baldwin now had a united realm with which to withstand the Isharites. This time Walter and Coen could lead the Barissians and Thessians north should the need arise. Su
rely that would be enough to withstand the new Lord of Ishari?

  Siavash’s shadow, occupying the body of the dead Haskan, had climbed into a wagon, been given a guard of elite mounted Isharite soldiers, and driven south-west towards Kalinth.

  The journey gave Siavash a chance to get used to the experience. When he slept, his shadow lay unmoving—but not asleep, for shadows didn’t know sleep. If a noise or movement alerted it, Siavash would wake, full of confusion until he realised what was happening. When awake, he tried to get used to managing his own affairs, while controlling the shadow’s movements at the same time. Gradually, he became able to control both bodies, so long as neither required too much effort. When a job required his full attention, the shadow was left to slump on the floor of the wagon. After experimenting in such a way, he realised that once the shadow was active in Kalinth, he would be forced to stay in his rooms so that he could properly concentrate on its mission. It was a frustration, but would perhaps be worth it once the shadow got to work.

  The wagon reached Masada, the fortress that the Kalinthians and Krykkers had taken the previous summer. It had been reinforced and was now fully garrisoned by Haskans. A servant of Diis named Harith was also stationed here. He reported to Siavash alone, and his presence helped to ensure the loyalty of the Haskan soldiers. Siavash was delivered to him, with written instructions. The Isharite broke the seal, looking from the words on the parchment to Siavash and back again, until his eyes widened.

  ‘My Lord,’ he stuttered, getting to his knees. ‘It will be an honour to serve you.’

  ‘Your service will be remembered,’ said Siavash, speaking in a stranger’s voice, the voice of the dead man he inhabited. ‘Now, waste no time.’

  None was wasted. Two horses were saddled immediately. They rode south, crossing the border into Kalinth. They had to be careful now, since this area would be patrolled by Kalinthian Knights. Siavash, his real body all the way in Samir Durg, decided it was best to sleep for the rest of the day and move again at night. His Haskan body was left to lie on the hard ground, eyes open and staring. Before sleep took him, he caught Harith glancing at the living corpse in horror.

  That night they moved through the Kalinthian countryside, looking for a victim. Harith argued that the isolated farmsteads were less favourable, since their inhabitants were more alert to danger. The small villages, where many families gathered together, gave them a false sense of security. Siavash accepted this and waited on the outskirts of such a village as Harith approached a house.

  Harith climbed onto the roof, where he pulled out an area of thatch, before dropping inside. Time passed and Siavash heard nothing, waiting patiently.

  Harith emerged from around the corner of the house, obviously having exited from the door. He was walking backwards, dragging a body behind him. When he reached Siavash he let it drop to the ground. Siavash could see that it was a young man, not yet fully grown into his body. As instructed, the wound was in the chest, and could be easily hidden.

  Siavash concentrated, forcing his shadow to leave the body of the Haskan. His shadow resisted. But it had already been detached once before, and this time it left more easily. Willing to find a new home, Siavash was able to insert it into the new body. He stretched, flexed his hands, moved his limbs, before standing up.

  Harith was staring at him, jaw wide open in awe.

  ‘You have done well,’ said Siavash. ‘I will continue alone now. Show me the way.’

  Harith nodded, visibly reasserting control over himself. He pointed in the direction to be taken.

  Siavash wasted no more time and began walking. It would be wise to leave the vicinity of the village as soon as possible.

  He turned at a noise. Harith was riding away, back to Masada, holding the reins of the second horse. Siavash could just make out the dark shadow of the Haskan soldier that had been left on the ground. He turned back, and resumed his journey.

  Siavash walked through the night. As the sun began to rise, he found a secluded spot to lie his new body down in so that he could sleep. He awoke at midday and resumed his journey.

  He came upon a road, which suggested that he was going in the right direction. Making his shadow follow the road was easy. It needed no food or water or rest. He passed some travellers going the other way. They mostly called out a greeting, to which he responded in kind, never stopping to talk further and arouse suspicions.

  In the middle of the afternoon he heard the clip clop sound of a horse and cart from behind. He moved to the side of the road to let it pass. The driver stopped the cart.

  ‘Ayup, young man,’ the driver called out. ‘Where to?’

  ‘I’m going to Heractus,’ Siavash replied. Where else would he be going?

  He could see the driver looking him up and down, especially his lower half. What is he looking at? Siavash wondered.

  He looked down and saw that his shoes and the bottom half of his trousers were caked in mud. He had to be more careful about his appearance if he wanted to avoid attention.

  ‘I was walking during the night,’ he said.

  Perhaps that would satisfy the man’s curiosity. If not, he would kill him.

  The man grinned. ‘Hop in the back.’

  Siavash looked at him blankly, before turning to look at the cart. It had four big wheels with a wooden box made of rough planks of wood.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to the driver. He placed one foot on a spoke of the rear wheel and then clambered over the side into the box. He moved aside some bags of grain and vegetables to make himself a space and sat down, before banging on the side of the box.

  The Kalinthian farmer called out to his horse and the cart began to rumble onwards.

  The farmer was waved in through the gates of Heractus. Siavash, ensconced in the back of the cart, wasn’t asked a single question. It wasn’t just the security that was lax; the walls and defences of the city were ludicrously weak. If the Drobax were sent here, the Kalinthians would be crushed. But Siavash intended to break them without the need to waste an army on the task.

  He familiarised himself with the layout of the city first. He knew much about his targets already. He knew that pliable King Jonas had been replaced with a more stiff-spined regime, who had dared to invade Haskany. He knew all about Soren’s group, of course: his sister; Madria’s priestess; and the others. They had been busy on Madria’s behalf, collecting her weapons, engineering the death of Erkindrix, all the while protected by the treacherous Pentas. They were in league with the Kalinthians and Siavash knew they might still be here.

  He located the castle, and determined that was where the political leadership governed from. He located Madria’s Temple, where her priestess and the rest of her followers worshipped. These, then, were his targets. And in a city where he seemed free to go where he wished, it dawned on him how impossibly easy this was going to be.

  When he saw the woman and the girl a thrill ran through his body. He knew her. She had been in the Throne Room of Samir Durg, with Pentas. He followed them as they walked from the castle down into the city centre. He decided to speed up and walk past them, taking a surreptitious look. He reassured himself that she couldn’t recognise him, because he wore the face of an unknown Kalinthian man.

  There was no doubting the resemblance. This was Soren’s sister, an individual he had wrested from the Magnian’s mind during his imprisonment in the Tower of Diis. He remembered Rostam striking her to the floor in the Throne Room. It was the one victory that worthless man had ever enjoyed, may Diis take revenge on his pathetic soul.

  She had obviously recovered from that episode. If she was here, then it was more than likely Soren was too. Siavash exulted at the possibilities. He could take her body and kill Soren with it. And what of the girl, presumably her daughter? A small body such as hers could make a very useful assassin, perhaps. No-one would suspect her.

  He stopped walking and then turned, waiting for her to approach. But she had stopped to talk with a man. He was powerfully buil
t, doubtless a warrior, perhaps a leader here. Siavash edged closer to listen.

  ‘It’s a strange logic I admit,’ the man was saying. ‘But with the Isharites having regained complete control of Persala, Zared believes this is the best time to return to his homeland. Their armies will be moving elsewhere. He thinks if I go with him, I have a good chance of finding it.’

  ‘If you trust him, Clarin.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘It’s just, wouldn’t it be better to wait for Soren?’

  So, Soren isn’t here. Where have you gone, Soren, I wonder?

  ‘Zared thinks that he and the other Persaleians will have contacts there who can help me. The Persaleians might trust me when otherwise they wouldn’t. It honestly feels like the best chance to get the Shield now, before it’s too late.’

  I see, Siavash said to himself as realisation dawned. They are after the Shield of Persala. A very useful conversation to have stumbled onto. This soldier will find he won’t be the only one looking for it.

  ‘I just wish we were parting on better terms,’ said the man she had called Clarin. ‘I’m sorry about the way I’ve acted—’

  Suddenly, the man stopped speaking and swung around to look straight at Siavash.

  ‘Can I help you, son?’ he said, an angry frown appearing.

  ‘Er, no. Sorry.’

  Siavash turned away, flustered. So stupid to have been caught out like that! He walked away towards the centre of town, feeling their eyes on his back as he went.

  They know this face now, he berated himself. I can’t let them catch me out a second time. I must get a new one.

  To The Rock

  XIII

  GYRMUND STOOD OUTSIDE THE WALLS of the Jalakh Temple again, this time waiting for both Moneva and Soren to return. The wizard had insisted on looking inside, in case he could interpret what Moneva had seen differently and find some clues, if not the bow itself. If he didn’t, they were stuck for ideas.