The Unsound Prince Page 13

  Mudge smiled to himself. It was heart-warming to get such a confirmation of his own beliefs. He had always felt there was an underlying order to things, even if it didn’t always appear to be so, and it made it easier to accept the fact he was joined to the Stone for the rest of his life.

  He wondered what would happen when he died. Would it reappear in the Keep? Once more sealed away inside the dome atop the raised plinth?

  He could feel the Stone playing nearby, nosing around somewhere in the spirit world. Something unusual caught its attention, and its curiosity flared. It pushed against Mudge’s spirit senses, bringing the matter for him to look at.

  The world around Mudge faded as the Keeper Stone took him into the spirit realm. Then he realised he was outside the Keep. A sudden sideways movement followed. It felt like he travelled a long way. Then he was over the heart of the High Steppes.

  Mudge hovered above a gulley as a strangely cloaked figure manoeuvred its horse out from behind a Xaanian captain. He saw it challenge his father. To his spirit sense they both blazed in unmistakeable power. The dull reds and blacks of the strange creature on one side, and the pastel blues and faint smell of lightning round the Legatus.

  He wondered why they couldn’t see him, and concluded the Keeper Stone was shielding him. For that he was grateful. Then he felt a faint reflection of the emotional torment stirred up by the cloaked figure. His father, however, sat unmoved on his horse.

  Mudge smiled. His father had pushed the value of detachment onto him all his life. For the first time, he understood why.

  He saw the Legatus reply to the challenge, and the gyrating pyre of red and black energies round the cloaked figure was snuffed out in an instant. He saw the soul of the creature leave its body, and his father’s spirit energies follow it.

  They entered the netherworld, the place of transition at the threshold of the dead. Mudge followed the pastel blue and faint cinnamon trace left by the Legatus. There he saw his father fall before a hurricane of red and black energies. Something allied to the evil that had risen in Xaan.

  He couldn’t remember exactly what happened next, but he cut through the energies holding his father motionless in one supreme act of will. He remembered the Keeper Stone singing a song of protection, throwing up an impenetrable wall around him.

  He snatched up his father, and brought him back to the High Steppes in one tumultuous moment. Then he slammed the gateway to the netherworld shut. He saw his father’s spirit essence re-enter his prone body. When he left the Steppes his father was unconscious, but alive.

  The Stone showed him the good things they had done. How some futures for the League had closed, and other, much better ones, had opened. He felt the warmth of its satisfaction flow through him.

  Far below him League troops gathered round the unconscious form of his father. Mudge turned away, homing in on the Keep. He felt oddly useful, vindicated perhaps, as if a hidden belief in himself had been recognised.

  On the other hand, the evil in the netherworld saw him and his father as nothing more than inconveniences. Minor opposition to its plan to spread its rule across the face of the known world.

  Oddly, Mudge felt cheerful about the League's chances of proving it wrong, even if those odds were ten to one against. That feels like close to even odds, he grinned, as he descended toward the Keep.

  TEN

  Krell had many titles of honour, but like Ultrich he avoided ostentation when he could. His full name, without the titles, was Krell parvan d’Hart. His daughter’s name had been Direlli parvan d’Hart. When Ultrich married her, the Legatus had insisted his wife keep her Hill Tribes name. Krell had honoured him for that.

  Now Krell's daughter was dead, long dead in a hunting accident, but the bond between the High Chief of the Hill Tribes and the son he had adopted into his family remained.

  Ultrich swept into Krell’s camp, his Lancer escort reining up beside him.

  “You got to see some action,” said Krell appraisingly. He was always able to tell if the men had been tested in battle that day.

  Ultrich nodded, and slid off the back of his horse onto the ground. He gritted his teeth, and made a fair semblance of standing straight. It took a lot to ignore the burning sensation in his thighs and buttocks.

  Krell laughed.

  “Don’t want to admit you’re getting old, eh?” he chided. The Legatus looked rueful.

  “Are the herds inside the pass yet?” continued Krell, and one of the riders snapped a salute.

  “We passed the last of them on our way into camp, your Lordship,” he volunteered. “The Steppes are now empty. Except for the Xaanian dogs half a day’s ride out.”

  It was Krell’s turn to nod. He turned back to Ultrich.

  “You must come inside,” he said, and gestured toward his tent. Ultrich shuffled forward with what dignity he could muster, and the two men retired out of the heat of the sun.

  “How ready are your cavalry?” asked the Legatus, once he’d emptied a glass of the nomads’ spice tea. He started on another. Krell waggled one hand ambivalently.

  Ultrich understood the problem. The Hill Tribes were superb riders, but they were not used to working together. Krell had been trying to instil some discipline into his people, but the idea of moving as one unit was unnatural to them.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said the Legatus with a smile. “Just tell them to hold off until I give the word. We can rely on your chiefs to lead them where they’ll do the most good – when the time comes.

  “It’ll be a black day for those who get in their way!” he finished cheerfully.

  Krell nodded his agreement.

  Ultrich saw the bronze sketching Krell had commissioned of Direlli on their wedding day. It was hanging on one of the inner partitions, instead of its usual place beside the main entrance.

  He hadn’t expected to see it there, and his heart leaped momentarily.

  He had called her his heart. Even though ‘Hart’ in the Hill Tribes tongue meant something entirely different. Now he remembered how she’d kept him human. Especially during the early days, when an extraordinary effort had been required to bring the League together.

  Never a day went by when he didn’t miss her. He felt again the guilt that had haunted him since her death. She had been a superb horsewoman, like all her people. But on that hunt, on that day, the most unlikely of events had worked together to bring about her death.

  Regardless of how it had happened, he felt responsible.

  The guards announced two more visitors. One of Krell's nephews ushered Sergeos and Cinnabar into the tent.

  “May your people fare well in your absence,” said Krell. It was the traditional Hill Tribes greeting.

  Sergeos and Cinnabar pressed their palms together and bowed. They were acknowledging the blessing, and accepting the promise of hospitality it implied.

  “And may you travel safely when it is your turn,” they replied. It was the traditional response.

  Sergeos turned to the Legatus.

  “The Xaanians aren’t far off now. Shouldn’t we climb The Lion and get some idea of what we’re up against?”

  Rotor Valley Pass was guarded at its entrance by two imposing hills, The Lion and The Arrowhead. Further in it opened out into a wide, fertile bowl. The Lion was the taller of the two hills. It was from this vantage point that Sergeos wanted to assess the Xaanian progress.

  Ultrich smiled. He could feel Sergeos’ nervousness, but he wasn’t going to mention the spirit walker’s lack of battle experience in front of the others.

  “Plenty of time for that, my friend, plenty of time. Best thing to do before a battle is relax with your friends and family, and remind yourself what you’re fighting for.”

  Sergeos made an effort to calm himself. Cinnabar, on the other hand, seemed to be always relaxed. It was partly her natural aloofness and partly her guarded nature.

  “Try some spice tea,” offered Ultrich. “If I may?” he said, turning to Krell. He was asking
for permission to offer hospitality in his tent.

  Krell nodded, suppressing a smile at Sergeos’ jitters. He had his own problems with commanders who’d never seen action on such a scale before. He liked Ultrich’s relaxed approach to the problem.

  Later, as it was approaching dusk, Ultrich finally indicated to Sergeos it was time to take a look at the Xaanian army. Once they’d done that, they could think up ways of dealing with it.

  “You’re not going climbing now?” said Krell. “It’ll be dark when you get to the top.”

  Ultrich looked at him with a smile. Krell realised he meant to get there by doing things only spirit walkers could do. He raised both hands to forestall any explanation.

  “I don’t want to know!” he barked. “Take yourselves outside before you start mucking about with the natural order of things. I don’t want you to set the tent on fire!”

  Ultrich laughed out loud. The Hill Tribes were the most superstitious of the peoples in the Karnatic League, and they had the most trouble with the idea of spirit walkers. He hadn’t married Direlli to bring the Tribes into the alliance, but it would have been difficult to get their trust any other way.

  Krell was used to him by now, though he still had his moments.

  “Of course, your Lordship,” said Ultrich, bowing as he did so.

  “Don’t ‘your Lordship’ me,” growled Krell. Then he relented. “Come back from your little jaunt in one piece,” he added, in a more kindly tone.

  When the spirit walkers had gone, Krell turned to the bas-relief sketch of his daughter on the wall. He had noticed Ultrich’s moment of silence, and guessed what lay behind it.

  He wished there was something he could do for his adopted son, but such things were too complicated for him. He wasn’t much of an example either. Direlli’s mother had died relatively young as well. Her place in his heart had never been replaced by the wives and concubines he’d accumulated over the years.

  Sometimes he thought leaders without family commitments were better. They threw themselves into government, and defending the borders. Leaders who were happy at home seemed to have less time for those things, and they let the country get soft. Still, it didn’t seem fair for him and Ultrich to have lost their great loves so early in life.

  Not far out of camp, at the foot of the nearby hills, there was a discordant hiss. It sounded like a sheet of cloth being torn from top to bottom. A moment later three figures appeared at the top of The Lion.

  “No distraction this time?” asked Sergeos with a smile.

  “No distraction,” said the Legatus flatly. “I want the Xaanians to know we’re here. I want to see what their response is, what level of spirit activity we can expect when their army attacks tomorrow.”

  Sergeos looked around nervously. He hadn’t realised the three of them were going to be used as bait. The Scaffold Mountains behind The Lion, however, were reassuringly familiar, and the Karnatic Defence Force had already taken up positions either side of the pass. Twilight was fast approaching, and it was then the farsight of spirit walkers was at its best.

  All three of them reached out over the High Steppes, and homed in on the Xaanian army. It was a vast crescent of differing colours. Colours that seemed out of place on the dry Steppes. It looked as if fields of different crops had been sown in an odd pattern.

  Ultrich had seen armies preparing for battle before. It wasn't long before the blocks of moving colour began to make sense to him.

  The Xaanian mounted archers had set up camp on the flat plains to the right of the Pass. The right side of the battlefield would provide their horses with better footing, and that would suit their manoeuvrability.

  The Xaanian infantry were still streaming in. The first of them had just started to erect shelters. They would be attacking over the rougher terrain to the left of the pass.

  Ultrich’s attention was drawn to the centre of the vast array. It was clear the bulk of the enemy cavalry would attack from that point. Behind the cavalry Ultrich could see rows of infantry in detailed uniforms, with standards on long poles. That meant elite troops. The personal bodyguards of the Xaanian aristocracy, along with hand picked fighters from the ranks.

  In the middle of the elite troops were a number of wagons. Wagons that were heavily guarded. The decks of the wagons were piled high with partially dismantled structures. They didn’t make sense to Ultrich at first, but then he began to understand.

  They were war machines!

  He understood the ideas behind them, at least in theory. The right sort of machine could throw rocks long distances, or spew fire, or release many arrows at one time.

  Where had the Xaanians learned how to make such things? Had Ottar Bey been scouring old archives for ideas? Or had the evil that put him on the throne in Xaan already known how to make these machines? Ultrich picked the latter. Evil was timeless, and methods of destruction were never far from its mind.

  His eyes narrowed. These machines could not be allowed to cause mayhem among the League troops when the Xaanian army attacked.

  “Third quarter and high!” yelled Sergeos. Ultrich’s eyes flicked up and to the right. Something was catching the dying rays of the sun, and it was coming in fast. Cinnabar lit it up, sending glowing skeins of light wreathing about it, sketching it in. Then they could all see the enormous wings, long neck and rows of serrated teeth.

  “Chew on this,” said the Legatus savagely, and gestured toward it. It was a simple act that served to concentrate his mind. The winged nightmare began to arch in the air, even as it swooped closer.

  It opened its long, jagged mouth in a rictus of pain. One mighty downbeat of its wings lifted it over the three spirit walkers and into the air above the pass. Cinnabar and Sergeos put their efforts behind the spirit fire of the Legatus, and the creature burst into fire from the inside out.

  It fell out of the sky a blazing wreck. Shepherds watched as they tended their animals inside the pass. They made signs to avert evil as the great, flaming wreckage hurtled toward them. It burned out before it hit the valley floor, but they all felt the shuddering impact of what remained.

  Sergeos saw it slumped on the floor of the pass, far below them, and breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing could have survived that.

  The Legatus was already looking back over the High Steppes.

  He hoped there weren’t going to be any more surprises. Dealing with this one had used up a big chunk of his reserves, and there was a long night ahead. Sometime before tomorrow he would have to deal with the Xaanian war machines, and that wasn’t going to be easy.

  ***

  “What's been happening?” said Ochren anxiously, helping Mudge off the edge of the plinth. “I came down here after we’d finished breakfast, and there was some sort of guardian standing over you. I couldn’t see it, but if I tried to approach you I was pushed back. When I tried to force my way through it slammed me against the wall over there.” He pointed to the exact spot.

  Mudge realised his time in the spirit world had been longer than he thought, and the Keeper Stone had been protecting his body while his consciousness was out riding his spirit senses.

  “The horses have found us!” called Senovila happily from the top of the stairs. He hurried down to join them. It was clear his prize warhorses meant a lot to him.

  “I don’t know how they did it, but they were waiting for me when I went outside to collect wood for the Ranger cones. They still had the pieces for the cart on their backs too!”

  Mudge smiled. It must have been sprites that guided the horses here. Once again they'd done more than was necessary to fulfil the boon agreement. The cart would make the journey along the edge of the desert easier. It was a wonder the skinny, creaking contraption worked at all, but work it did.

  He stopped for a moment, puzzled. How had he known they were going to be following the edge of the desert north-west?

  Then he worked it out. He knew where they were going because of that damned spirit map in his head. The one that told him
where his enemies were. He could see the safest way to Xaan, and it was along the edge of the Scaffold Mountains until they petered out in the Endless Desert.

  Mudge followed Senovila up the steps of the basement to the Keep. The others were waiting on the first floor of the massive stone structure. Bear was looking better, if still pale. Bear came straight to him, and hugged him fiercely.

  “It seems I owe you my life,” he said with a grin.

  Mudge smiled. He knew Bear would have done the same for him. Anyway, it had been the Keeper Stone, more than himself, that had healed the Ranger.

  He clapped Bear on the back and moved past him. Then he addressed everyone. “Time to move, we’ve got a long way to go before nightfall.”

  They looked at him blankly. He told them about his plan to travel north-west along the Scaffold Mountains, and out into the desert. From there they would find a way into Xaan itself.

  Ochren looked disconcerted at the idea for a moment, and then he recovered his composure. He stepped forward to speak to the others, and it was clear he was speaking in his role as head Ranger.

  “We knew something like this might happen,” he said. “The Legatus told us to help Prince Rossi in any way we can, and that means in any endeavour he undertakes.

  “I think this idea of his comes under those orders!”

  He turned his head and whispered to Mudge in a voice all could hear, “Despite the fact it’s the most hare-brained, poorly-prepared, badly thought out plan I’ve ever heard in my life,” and set them all laughing.

  It did seem an outlandish plan, just to walk into the desert, but then they’d seen some pretty outlandish things on their journey already. These were extraordinary times, and they were caught up in forces beyond their ability to understand. It all came down to a choice between good and evil, and the survival of friends and families back home. With that at stake they would carry on, whatever the odds.

  The travellers dispersed to gather up their things. Ochren and Senovila set themselves the task of putting the cart back together again. After that Senovila checked the horses over and harnessed them to the light-weight contraption.