The Twisted Citadel

  "But worse was the news that Isembaard has been overrun by some army of...wraiths. Everyone is concerned about their families. Myself included."

  Insharah paused to give Axis a sharp look. Insharah had a wife and children in Aqhat, just across the River Lhyl from DarkGlass Mountain where, apparently, this ghostly army gathered.

  "I can give you no assurances," Axis said, "save this small hope. The Skraelings loathe water. It will take them days, if not weeks, to summon the courage to cross the Lhyl. I hope that will give people enough time to evacuate."

  "Evacuate where?"

  "Either up through the Salamaan Pass or down south, to the Eastern Independencies."

  Insharah shook his head slightly. "If this Maximilian wants our loyalty, Axis, then he shall need to assure us that our families are safe. If we don't get that assurance, I cannot answer for how many men might decide to aid their families themselves."

  Axis nodded, understanding. He rested a hand on Insharah's shoulder, thanked him for his honesty, and moved on. He walked down to the area where Isaiah's generals had their tents. There were the usual activities going on that he would have expected: some empty dishes being carried out of Kezial's tent, while Kezial's body servant was busy washing his master's linen in a tub to one side of Kezial's tent.

  Axis moved toward Armat's tent--the youngest general was, in Axis' opinion, the most dangerous of them--when there came the sound of footsteps behind him. Axis turned about. It was a soldier that he recognized as one of Insharah's men, with a message that Axis was wanted at one of the horse lines.

  Axis strode off, missing the look of sheer relief that crossed the face of the guard outside Armat's tent.

  An hour after Axis had risen, Ravenna slipped quietly through the flap of Maximilian's command tent.

  If Maximilian wouldn't, or couldn't, repudiate Ishbel completely, then Ravenna needed to know it--and be able to plan from there. As in taking Maximilian into the Land of Dreams to show him the vision which haunted her, Ravenna knew she was likely pushing too hard, but she needed to do this badly enough to risk the consequences.

  Maximilian was asleep on a camp bed. Serge, one of the two Emerald Guardsmen who had accompanied Maximilian on his journey from Escator into Isembaard, rose from the stool where he'd been sitting by the brazier. Ravenna nodded toward the door.

  Serge hesitated, then left.

  She let out a small sigh. She still had enough influence for that, at least.

  Ravenna pulled a chair over to where Maximilian continued to lie sleeping, then put a hand on his shoulder and shook gently.

  "Ravenna?" Maximilian murmured, blinking sleepily and rising on one elbow.

  "Why are you cutting me off, Maxel?"

  Maximilian sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Look, Ravenna--"

  "What have I done wrong?" Ravenna knew as soon as the words were out that they were ill-advised.

  She wished futilely she could snatch them back.

  "Apart from trying overhard to run my life for me? Apart from trying to steal the Weeper, probably in order to force me to your wishes?"

  "Maxel, I know I shouldn't have tried to take the Weeper, but--"

  "Ravenna, at the moment I need to concentrate fully on gaining complete control of this army. There are hundreds of thousands of men gathered about this tent, and as many in the provinces behind us, all weaponed and ready for war, none of whom trust me. I don't have time--"

  "For me?" Damn it! Now she was acting like a hysterical tavern wench abandoned by her soldier lover.

  "I don't have time for your games, Ravenna."

  They stared at each other silently at that, and Ravenna wondered that such a distance could have opened between them in such a short time.

  It was Ishbel's fault. "I see Ishbel has found herself a bright new home," Ravenna said, referring to the tent she'd seen on her way to Maximilian's command tent. By the gods of dreams, such ostentation! "Did you give her that?"

  Maximilian had noticed the tent earlier when he'd gone out just before dawn. "No, I did not procure that tent for Ishbel. But she has every right to it. She is a Persimius, and central to both the raising of Elcho Falling and the fight against...whatever it is we face."

  Unlike myself, Ravenna thought. "You will need to make it clear to her that you will not take her back as your wife. You--"

  "Oh, for gods' sakes, Ravenna, stay out of this! Let it go!"

  "You know why I cannot do that."

  Maximilian rose, pulling on a pair of trousers with sharp, angry movements. "You are doing yourself no favors."

  "As neither are you." Ravenna stopped. "I'm sorry, Maxel. I shouldn't have said that."

  "Ishbel doesn't concern you, Ravenna. Leave her alone."

  Ravenna sat silently as Maximilian pulled on his boots and then a shirt and jerkin.

  "She will kill you, Maximilian," she said eventually.

  "Stay away from her. I can look after myself well enough." Maximilian sat back down on the bed.

  "Look, I am sorry if I have given you to understand that you and I...that we..." He stopped and sighed.

  "We should have talked about this a long time ago."

  Ravenna gave a short, humorless laugh. "You do not need to put it into words, Maximilian Persimius. I

  can see the lie of the land well enough. All I want for you, Maxel, is a bright future. I did not save you from the Veins only to lose you to that witch, Ishbel."

  Maximilian's eyes darkened at that last. "Is that what the child was for, then? Just another means to keep me from Ishbel? Another weapon to use against her?"

  "This child," Ravenna said, "is Elcho Falling's future."

  "Only if I recognize it as such," Maximilian said very quietly, then grabbed his cloak and left the tent.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The River Lhyl, North of Aqhat, Isembaard

  Hereward stood on the deck of the riverboat, arms wrapped about her upper body hugging her thin shoulders. Her dark hair blew into her eyes and across her face, obscuring her vision, but she made no move to tuck the strands behind her ears.

  Her black eyes stared straight ahead, almost unblinking.

  To the far bank.

  Skraelings seethed there, staring back at her, globules of saliva dripping from their jackal-like jaws, although she thought their teeth both more numerous and larger than a jackal's. Their huge clawed hands clenched, desperate for her.

  But they would not cross the water. They hated the water.

  The River Lhyl was all that stood between Hereward and a tearing, agonizing death.

  The Skraelings still panicked Hereward, still caused her stomach to clench in a twisted misery of fear and physical nausea, even though it had been weeks now since they had appeared on the riverbank opposite Isaiah's palace of Aqhat.

  Weeks since her, and Isembaard's, world had disintegrated.

  Hereward had lived a relatively good life within the palace. She was the result of a furtive, sweaty, and extremely hurried union between a slave girl and one of Isaiah's soldiers, but the who of that soldier meant Hereward had been freed at birth and had been given the chance at a responsible appointment within the palace in adulthood.

  Her father was Ezekiel, now the most senior general to the Tyrant Isaiah.

  Ezekiel had had very little to do with Hereward during her childhood. He'd been careful to ensure that she (and her mother) had adequate housing, and that Hereward had a good schooling. Ezekiel had taken greater interest in Hereward once she'd reached adulthood, and had secured her a position within the palace. By the time she'd reached her mid-twenties, Hereward had attained the position of kitchen steward, a pretentious title for the person who supervised the meals for the various departments of the palace: the Tyrant's private chambers; his wives' apartments (there were over eighty of them and Hereward could never remember all their names); the nursery where the Tyrant's many children were housed (Hereward didn't even try to count them,
let alone memorize their names); the myriad governors, generals, guests, scribes, bureaucrats, servants, soldiers, and slaves who lived in and about the palace. It was an exhausting job, but Hereward took pride in it. She was free, she earned a good wage, and one day, she hoped, she might have saved enough to open a tavern...in Sakkuth, perhaps. Hereward had had enough of the rigidity and formality of palace life at Aqhat.

  Then, everything had changed within the space of an hour or two.

  Isaiah had left to undertake his northern invasion many months earlier, Ezekiel with him. Palace life had quieted to utter tedium as over ninety percent of the people who had inhabited the palace left to trail behind the Tyrant. Most of the wives had left for the eastern cities, their children with them. There was but a handful of soldiers left. Servants and slaves had enough time to enjoy a siesta during the hottest hours of the day.

  And then one day...

  Hereward had been in the palace's vast kitchens. She spent a large part of her day there, talking to the cooks, planning menus, supervising the cartage of food from the kitchens to wherever in the vast palace complex it was needed. It had been a strange day, for everyone had been unsettled without being able to pinpoint a reason. If a servant dropped a spoon, then everyone jumped at the clatter, shooting dark looks at the unfortunate offender. Hereward could not concentrate on the menus--and there were so few of them, by the gods, surely she could manage this small task!--and kept having to ask the cook with whom she spoke to repeat what he had just said.

  For some reason, everyone kept looking to the windows.

  Just before midday there had come a shout from the outside.

  No. Not a shout. Hereward thought later that it had been a howl of sheer terror, the sound knifing into the bright midday sky.

  For an instant everyone in the kitchen froze.

  Then Hereward started to walk toward the door which led into the great courtyard beyond. Her legs felt leaden, every step an effort, and her chest felt as if a great hand had clenched about it.

  Somehow, Hereward understood very clearly in that moment that her life was probably either about to end or to change so utterly that she would wish it had ended.

  There was a great deal of commotion in the courtyard. People were grasping at the shoulders of others, asking them what had happened, what was wrong.

  Others pointed to the gates which led to the river, and covered their faces with their hands and wailed.

  Not wanting to, but unable to stop herself, Hereward walked toward the gates. She stepped through them, ignoring the people who brushed past her--either going in her direction to see what had gone wrong, or rushing back toward the palace, faces set in masks of horror.

  Hereward stopped some twenty or so paces the other side of the gates. From this vantage point she had a clear view of the River Lhyl, and the far bank, where stood DarkGlass Mountain.

  She stood and looked, unblinking.

  Her mind could not process what she saw. It tried to present to Hereward various interpretations, all of which she knew were incorrect.

  DarkGlass Mountain had not somehow become enveloped with every billowing white sheet hung out to dry in Isembaard.

  DarkGlass Mountain was not covered in a sudden storm of snowy thistle flower.

  DarkGlass Mountain was not burdened under a sudden and unexplainable invasion of white locusts.

  Instead, the glass pyramid was covered--crawled--with an undulating, horrific tide of gray wraithlike creatures. They were coming from the north. Hereward was vaguely aware that the far riverbank was covered with the creatures as far north as she could see.

  People were pushing and bustling about her. Hereward thought that some of them might be screaming, or shouting, or some such. She didn't really know or care. Right in this moment, all she could do was stare.

  Then someone said: What if they cross the river?

  Utter panic consumed Hereward. She racked in a huge breath, tried to expel it, and couldn't. She turned to run, but couldn't. Her legs just would not work.

  Then came another shout (or perhaps a whisper, Hereward did not know).

  Skraelings!

  Hereward knew of them. Every since the Tyrant Isaiah had brought Axis SunSoar back from the dead and into the palace, stories of Axis' life had circulated about the palace staff. Hereward had heard about the Skraelings. She knew of their horror.

  Skraelings?

  Somehow Hereward managed to force herself to breathe, and then she managed to take a step back toward the palace. Another breath, another step, and then she was running with everyone else, buffeted and bruised by the mass panic, her long black hair coming free of its pins and half blinding her.

  She didn't care. All she wanted to do was to get inside the kitchens and think.

  The kitchens were virtually deserted. Hereward sank down to her haunches behind the door, instinctively finding a hiding place. Her hands were buried in her hair, her eyes were staring, her chest heaved with her huge breaths.

  She didn't know what to do. She still could not order a single thought, let alone decide on a course of action.

  Jeqial, one of the cook apprentices, darted into the kitchen from outside. He ran into a side room where everyone stored their cloaks and outdoor sandals, then came out almost instantly, his cloak about his shoulders. He grabbed a hessian bag of root tubers that one of the gardeners had only brought in an hour previously, dumped the tubers onto the floor, then hurriedly filled the sack with a flask of wine, some bread, some fruit that was sitting on a serving platter to one side.

  Then he saw Hereward.

  "Hereward," he gasped, now twisting the neck of the sack closed and tying it with twine. "We have to get out of here."

  Where? she thought, unable to articulate the word.

  "We have to go!" Jeqial said. "Didn't you see what--"

  He stopped. It was perfectly obvious that Hereward had seen.

  "We have to go," he repeated more slowly, emphasizing each word.

  "Where?" Hereward managed to say.

  "I, ah...east. Far away."

  East? Hereward thought. East into the dry horror of the Melachor Plains? "Perhaps Isaiah will be back,"

  she said. "The army..."

  "They are months gone, Hereward. Perhaps they are dead. We need to get away from here now! If we stay..."

  If we stay... Hereward's stomach literally heaved at the thought of what would happen if they stayed.

  "They won't cross the water," she said. "The Lhyl will protect us. They--"

  "They will find a way to cross eventually," Jeqial said. "Stay here and die if you want, Hereward. I am going to live."

  And with that he was off.

  Gradually the kitchen staff returned. Some sat or stood like Hereward, stunned and unable to think or act. Others did as Jeqial, grabbing what they could and running...where, Hereward was not entirely sure, but running.

  After what appeared to Hereward a very long time, she rose, clutching at a table for aid in getting to her feet.

  She must have been crouched down for hours--her legs and back were stiff and cramped.

  "We have to aid ourselves," she said to no one in particular. "No one will come to help us."

  "Isaiah--" said one of the cooks, a man called Heddiah.

  Hereward gave a small shake of her head. "Isaiah won't come."

  "He has an army," said Ingruit, a vegetable preparer.

  "He and they are either dead or they have forgotten us," said Hereward. "We must shift for ourselves."

  "We need to leave, then," said Heddiah.

  "Yes," Hereward said.

  "East--" Heddiah began.

  "No," Hereward said. "Not east. Where in the east? Into the Melachor Plains? Into the mountains where live the bandits? In one we'd starve or die of thirst within a week, in the other we'd be murdered before the Skraelings had their chance at us. And in both, we'd stand no chance whatsoever once the Skraelings manage to get across the river. Have you seen how many of them there
are? Millions! Millions!"

  Hereward stopped, appalled at the note of hysteria in her voice.

  "No," she continued, now controlling her voice and trying to inject as much persuasion into it as she could. "Not east. Even if we were left alone, or if we survived the Melachor Plains, it would take us many weeks before we reached any kind of safety."

  "Where then?" said a woman called Odella.

  "North," Hereward said. "North, up the River Lhyl."

  "But the Skraelings are just across the river!" said Heddiah.

  "They can't touch us," said Hereward. "Not on a boat. We just don't touch the western shore...we can't touch the western shore, ever. Even if somehow, somewhere, the Skraelings manage to cross the river and surround us on both sides, they still can't reach us in the middle of the river. It is the safest place."

  There was silence as people considered her arguments.

  "We take a boat," Hereward continued, "and with the winds driving southwesterly we can tack upriver, many leagues each day. We can reach the north within...what? Ten days?" She actually had no idea, but no one contradicted her.

  "And then?" said Odella.

  "And then we go wherever is safest. By the time we reach the north we will have a better idea of what is happening. There will be news." How they were going to gather news and information when they were stuck in the middle of the river Hereward did not know. But there would be news somewhere, somehow, surely. "We can make a choice then. But at least it is far away from here. We cannot stay here."

  Now Hereward stood on the riverboat's deck, looking at the Skraelings hungering on the far bank. That terrible day in Aqhat seemed a year away now, although it had only been a matter of a few short weeks.

  The remaining kitchen staff had eventually agreed with Hereward that the boat north would be the safest and quickest, if the most terrifying, means of escape. They had commandeered a riverboat large enough to hold their party--some twenty-eight, counting spouses and children--and had set sail northward. Five or six of the men had river experience, and they quickly taught the others how to steer and set the sails so they could tack into the wind and sail north against the Lhyl's gentle current.