Chapter twenty-nine
The Battle of Baz Apédnapath
They passed many little settlements, mostly poorer than the ones at the northern end. They passed the practitioners of self-sufficiency, where terraces had been hewn into the cliff face and piled with precious soil from above. Many vegetables, fruit and nut trees were growing in these terraces, watered from cisterns in the rock filled by rainwater from the cliffs above. Shelley, seeing the greenery, was filled with a longing to see open countryside again and feel the grass under her feet, and Goldheart sighed, thinking of the Valley of the Artists where Azure waited for her.
Late in the afternoon, as the golden sunlight was fading from the Canyon walls, they came to the Miners’ settlement, where the blue-veined cliffs were honeycombed with mines, and sparkling white diamonds were found in abundance, and also the rare blue diamonds of Aeden, found only in Baz Apédnapath. These were called Avalazüra, Blue Apples. They were also known as Avlastrabel, the Blue Applestar, because of the five-facetted cut often used, echoing the five-pointed seed cavity of the apple.
At the Miners’ settlement the people were different: confident, well-fed, and proud. They had laughed at the runners’ talk of an invasion, and said to them, ‘Off with you! We are well-armed, and they are cowards, those Pessimists on the other side. Pathetic Dreamcasters! They would never dare to cross over to attack us. We have strong armour and sharp swords. And good guard-dogs!’ The diamonds flashed from gold rings on their hands, and some of the dogs that growled at their side wore collars studded with sharp diamonds. All wore mindbolt-deflecting silver helmets, Shelley noticed, and silver chain mail under their rich silken garments. Clearly they knew of the danger to their minds, however much they despised the Aghmaath. But Shelley did not like the look of some of them: they stared at her with dark eyes. She wondered if any were secret converts, and a chill ran down her spine. Worriette stared out from Rilke’s arms, and her teeth chattered in fear. She did not at all like the look of the miners’ dogs.
They came to an inn. Over the heavy doors hung its sign, a life-like carving of a snarling, leaping dog, of the breed the miners favoured, thick-set like a bulldog or a tracker Dagraath. Its eyes were Avalazüra which glowed deep blue from within. Around its muscle-bound neck was a glittering collar encrusted with diamonds, some in the form of sharp spikes. Worriette shrank from the carved dog in terror, until Rilke whispered to her: ‘It won’t hurt you, it’s made of wood!’
‘Korman,’ said Goldheart hesitantly, ‘perhaps we could stay the night at the Diamond Dog? There’s no sign of an attack yet. And if there is one, we are close enough to the South Gate to make a run for it. Also, they have wonderful music and dancing here, or so my father used to say when he thought my mother wasn’t listening! He used to come here to buy diamonds to cut and polish in his workshops. I would always beg him to take me, but he never did.’
‘It is a risk,’ said Korman dubiously. But he had begun to doubt whether an attack was imminent, and pitied Goldheart. He guessed what it meant to her to flee the only home she had ever known – and go into the wilderness even further away from Azure. Now Rilke was begging to be allowed to rest – and eat. ‘We’ve been just about running to keep up all day long, you’ve been walking so fast, and Worriette’s exhausted,’ he complained. ‘And so am I,’ he added under his breath.
‘All right, we will go in, and see what we shall see,’ sighed Korman, and they went inside.
The Diamond Dog was the closest thing Shelley had seen in Aeden to a seedy bar on Earth, such as Westerns portray. There was already a band playing, and the women dancers were lusty and the men threw diamonds to them. The women would catch them in their mouths and wink at the men. Some of the miners asked Shelley her name, and asked her to dance. Shelley felt very shaky, and was about to reply that she didn’t know any dances, when Korman approached and frowned at them. Seeing his glittering eyes and the big hand resting on the hilt of his great sword, they backed away. After that, Korman paid the innkeeper and took the children off to their beds, while Goldheart stayed to drink and watch the dancing, and forget her sorrows. But she brushed off the men who gathered around her asking for a dance, even when they offered her costly diamonds that flashed like blue ice. She was dreaming of Azure.
Outside, the lights along the Canyon glimmered, until one by one they were extinguished as midnight approached. Then a dense fog arose from the lake below and wreathed about the cliffs, until the chasm was bridged by a river of cloud so dense that it seemed a light-footed person might have walked on it. Out of the depths of the Canyon came the slow mournful drumbeat of the monks of the bottomless lake.
In the dead of night, after the music in the Diamond Dog had died away and the revellers had gone home to bed, and the drums in the depths were silent, a dog began to howl. Soon it was joined by another, and another, and soon all the guard dogs were howling. Some of the diamond miners stirred, cursed the dogs, then rolled over and slept on, secure behind their locked doors.
But not all the miners were asleep. Now the streets began to fill with silent figures, waiting for a signal. They were the miners with the dark staring eyes that Shelley had noticed. When all were in their pre-arranged places, they stood silently. Even the dogs were silent now. Then there came a cry: ‘The Void!’ It echoed all along the far side of the Canyon. Then answering cries came, ‘The Void!’ and out of the dark caves giant crossbows were wheeled to the cliff-edge, shooting black grappling-hooks which trailed thin but strong ropes in graceful arcs over the dark chasm. They landed with a clatter on the street outside the Diamond Dog. The silent waiters sprang into action, hauling on the ropes until a swaying rope bridge spanned the chasm. They made it fast on stone piers. Dark warriors began to cross the swaying bridge, shuffling in single file. And all up and down the Canyon, other bridges were flung across, and more dark warriors hurried over.
Far back along the Canyon, in the Flying Unicorn, Ted the barman stirred. He had been keeping vigil behind the bar, fingering his blunderbuss and drinking a lot of Applegate cider. He had felt they were coming, and if so he wanted to go down fighting and avenge his father. If Korman was right and there was an invasion, there was little chance of victory, he figured. He knew the people of this place too well: they would argue and bicker, but do nothing. They had been doing that all evening at the bar… ‘Nar, I’m sick o’ running,’ he said to himself drowsily, ‘This place is ’ome now. I’m not goin’ anywhere. If they come, I’ll take at least one o’ them with me.’ He patted the oiled barrel of the blunderbuss.
There was a sound at the inn door. The bolts gave way with a creaking of levered oak. A cold mist came in the open door. Then the first of the Dark Ones came for Ted, but he was ready for them. He pulled the trigger and there was a deafening explosion, and a thud as something heavy fell to the ground. The others pulled back. Then, as Ted tried to reload, a voice spoke, cold and hard:
‘We have come for you, Ted. You are wanted. First for endarkenment – the Void awaits you. Then for death. We will plant one half of your body to feed the rebirth of Rekhab, whom you shot in Applegate, and the other to feed Menhak, whom you shot tonight.’ The cyclopean eye flicked open, glittering in the darkness, piercing Ted’s mind with cold fear which ran down his spine and almost stopped his heart. He gave a strangled yell and shakily stood to ram the charge down the barrel, but a mindbolt from the eye came seething at him and the weapon dropped to the floor as he mumbled, ‘It’s gone dark! I can’t see!’ and tottered out from behind the bar into their waiting arms. ‘Do you wish never to see again? Tell us where Korman the Traitor is staying, and we will spare your eyes – for now,’ hissed one of the Aghmaath. The Amber-digger had already told him about the Guardian with the great sword and the girl who was with him. Hithrax would be pleased. There was something about Korman that incensed his leader…
The sound of the blunderbuss woke the Traders outside, and horns were blown. Soon all those who were prepared to fight were awake, and up and down the Cany
on answering horns were blowing, manning such defence-posts as there were, and people were running in the dark waving swords and axes. The bravest of the defenders ran to the rope bridges where the Dark Ones were crossing, and the swordsmen got ready to fight any who got across, while the axemen hacked at the tough ropes. The Dagraath came baying and snarling across the bridges, and were met by the bravest of the guard dogs. Dagraath to dog they fought in pairs with dreadful ferocity, some falling into the fog-filled abyss, their jaws still locked onto each other’s throats. But the Dagraath soon tore the dogs to pieces, and ran into the streets, baying for more blood.
The mist was now billowing up from the river of cloud in the canyon below, hiding the other side. Some of the Aghmaath’s bridges fell and swung back into the Canyon, and crashed into the cliffs, sending most of the attackers tumbling into the fog below, where their cries were extinguished long seconds later when they hit the cold waters of the bottomless lake.
But on most of the bridges there was a power not to be fought off with swords: Aghmaath mind warriors who rose up out of the mist, silently raised bony hands and sent the defenders reeling in a dark dream, plunging off the cliffs or stumbling into the arms of their attackers.
Then the people cried out for help from any who knew the defence of the mind. Some of the Mind Monks came forward, and did battle with the Aghmaath. One, Mandala Mindshield, overcame his opponent and cut down the bridge on which he had stood. But there were many other bridges already cast across the chasm, and most of the monks were no match for the enemy, never having been trained by real warriors for real battles. Also their minds had been infiltrated by the Dreamcasters for years, so many fell to the Void in the moment of trial, and were quickly led away for endarkenment.
So, before the golden sun of Aeden rose over the Canyon, the exodus began. Women and children, young men and old, began to heed the words of the runners sent by Korman, and made for the South End and the gates that led to the slopes of Baldrock, though they had never before left the Canyon and feared the mountain. Some of them wailed, ‘It is the Haunted Mountain! We will all die in the trackless wilds that lie about its feet!’
And others cried, ‘We would be better off with the Aghmaath. At least they will feed us. Perhaps the Apples of Peace are not so bad.’
So there was confusion, and waves of people went this way and that.
At the first clanging of the grappling irons hitting the streets, Korman had woken, alarmed, but unsure what the sound was. Looking out the upper window of the inn he saw the fog in the Canyon. ‘The mist in Shelley’s dream!’ he thought. Then he saw the ropes already spanning the gap, and the dark figures hauling on the ropes. He held the hilt of Arcratíne and said a rapid Guardian prayer to the Concept, and a prayer of his own to the Lady. Then he roused the others. Soon Shelley, Goldheart and Korman were running down the stairs of the Diamond Dog, rousing the occupants as they went, followed by Rilke, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, clutching the terrified Worriette in one hand and his fishing rod in the other.
‘Make for the South Gate!’ cried Korman as he left them and ran towards the nearest rope bridge.
Shelley turned to follow him. ‘Let me help!’ she cried.
But he whispered urgently: ‘Go now! You must not be captured! It is you they are after. You will be safer in the crowd. If I do not come, follow Goldheart to Baldrock. Seek out my brother Hillgard, and tell him from me, “My oath falls on you: to bring Shelley the Kortana safely to Ürak Tara!”’
She looked at him for a second, burst into tears, and ran after the others.
Korman strode out onto the bridge just as the dark warrior standing on it cast his mindbolt. It wreathed about Korman’s silver helmet and silver body shield, then scattered in pale snaking shapes that faded into the mist. Korman held up his staff, and a silver-golden light was all about him, making the mist glow. The Aghmaath clutched the handrails and swayed as if in sudden deadly doubt.
‘The Lady says: Awake from the dark dream, and live!’ called Korman. But the mind warrior stopped his ears, stepped over the side of the bridge and toppled into the abyss.
A shrill voice screamed from the other side, ‘Shoot the wizard! Shoot the wizard!’ A plump boy, perhaps no more than twelve, was standing by the huge crossbow, shouting himself hoarse. He was dressed in black robes. The crossbow operators hesitated, afraid of the light about Korman.
‘Come to the light!’ cried Korman. ‘You are not one of them!’ But the boy raised his hand in the Traveller war-sign, fingers curved like a cat’s claws.
‘I am Gareth of Kor-Edartha, maker of engines, adopted son of Hithrax. He told me about you, Korman of the Withered Arm! You’re a foul traitor. You were taught the secret of the Void, but betrayed it to join the evil Order of the Dragon!’
‘It is true I was indoctrinated, just like you. But there is a better way…’
‘I’m not indoctrinated!’ screamed the boy, ‘Shoot him!’
This time the operators obeyed, winding the winch tighter and tighter to load the massive crossbow, then turning handles for horizontal and vertical, aiming it at Korman’s heart.
‘Hurry up!’ cried Gareth, stamping with impatience as the weapon slowly turned. He taunted Korman: ‘Father told me about you, Korman of the withered arm! Can’t draw your sword, can you? How can you save the so-called Kortana now? I know her, she’s no saint. She was once my so-called sister in the other world!’
He cackled horribly as Korman opened his mouth in shock and amazement. ‘Yes, I was Mark, her “brother”,’ he said sarcastically. ‘She was a spoilt brat. But we’ll catch her, and then we’ll teach her a lesson! Ha-ha!’ Gareth put his hand to his neck and made a choking noise, rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Korman was sick to his stomach. But he stood fast, holding his staff high, and the light grew and grew. Then he cried out in joy as the form of the Lady appeared between himself and the boy. She was dressed in sapphire blue, standing with arms outstretched in a wall of golden thorns which burned with fire but were not consumed. The light made a golden halo about her in the mist. The men at the crossbow covered their eyes. The endarkened do not fear ordinary fire, but this was numinous fire, Arxphare Orbalax, the Flame Unquenchable, and they quailed at the sight. ‘The witch of Avalon!’ they cried. But they fired the crossbow. The great bolt shot like a bullet straight at Korman’s heart. But when it passed through the apparition of the Lady in the thorns it was deflected, and it soared flaming into the dawn sky, where it disappeared in a trail of ashes. ‘Gareth’ gaped in wonder and dismay, then turned and fled back into the dark tunnel. Korman, still gazing at the vision of the Lady, backed away slowly. The vision faded and the bridge erupted in flames. He turned and ran, scrambling off the bridge just as the two halves fell flaming into the mist.
All up and down the Canyon other fires were burning as the dark invaders scattered the remaining resistance and seized the courtyards, and the icons and treasures of art and of literature were tossed onto bonfires and destroyed, and the bodies of the Seekers of Truth who had resisted were also cast into the fire. But most of the people they took prisoner when they flung themselves down and begged for mercy; and always their new masters asked them, ‘Where are the Edarthan child Shelley and the accursed wizard Korman?’