The Serpent Bride

  Ishbel wanted to leave this place. All the joy of the land had gone since the death of her child and the growing malevolence throbbing across the Lhyl from DarkGlass Mountain.

  There came a soft sound from the corridor outside her chamber, and Ishbel’s head tilted slightly in that direction, glad to be distracted from thoughts of the pyramid.

  Soft voices. Isaiah, talking with the guards.

  Ishbel smiled, pleased. He had come to take her to bathe.

  The door opened, and she looked at him. “Isaiah.”

  Unusually for Isaiah, he was wearing very little jewelry—just some small gold hoops in his ears and a bangle about one wrist, and his great mass of black braids had, like her hair, been left to swing freely about his shoulders and back.

  He smiled, just a little, and it struck Ishbel then that Isaiah was a sunshine man, a man of the light, whereas Maximilian had always been so much of the shadows.

  “I had hoped you’d still be awake,” Isaiah said. “I’m sorry I am so late. We can still go to bathe, if you like, or…” He sat down on the low couch with her, their bodies touching in a score of small places, and Ishbel knew then that his “or…” held a number of possibilities.

  What should she do? Isaiah had always left open the possibility that their “marriage” could be whatever she wanted, and he had never hidden his desire for her.

  “It has been dark for hours,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. Invasions are finicky things to arrange.” He reached out a hand, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind one of her ears, and let his fingers linger a moment on her skin, caressing.

  Ishbel hesitated, then leaned her head, very slightly, against the pressure of his fingers. Maybe he would be a comfort for her.

  “We will be leaving in the morning,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I know this journey back to your homeland will be difficult for you. It is possibly not the way you’d hoped to return. I’m sorry it must be at the head of an army, at my side.”

  “I am not so sorry to be going home at your side,” she said, very softly. She wondered if she was doing the right thing, if succumbing to Isaiah’s seductions would cause more problems than it might solve.

  But he was so comforting, and she found herself longing very much for the reassurance of a man’s arms about her, and the solidity of his body curled about hers at night.

  Perhaps if she went to Isaiah, she would forget Maximilian.

  He, surely, had forgotten her.

  “Then I am most pleased at that,” he said, and cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.

  This night, when his hand encircled her breast, she moved in toward him, rather than away.

  “Frankly, I thought Isaiah would have put you in complete command of all his forces by now,” Ezekiel said, draining his wine cup. “It is a wonder I have a job left at all.”

  Axis laughed, and refilled both their wine cups. They were in Ezekiel’s quarters, and had been for the past hour, sinking ever more deeply into a slight inebriation. Although Axis had spent time with Ezekiel and several other of the generals previously, this was the first time he’d spent such a companionable evening with him.

  Companionable, but they were both still wearing their swords.

  “Isaiah offered me a command,” Axis said. “I refused.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “You thought it might be a stepping-stone for me to greater things? A generalship, perhaps?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “And the minds of Morfah and Kezial and Lamiah and Armat, too, no doubt.”

  “Indeed. Why did you refuse the command?”

  “It was tempting, Ezekiel, I won’t deny that, but I did not want to lead men against the kingdoms to the north.”

  “A conscience, then.”

  Axis smiled. “And that’s not a good thing for a general, eh?”

  Ezekiel tipped his head in a vague response. “And so you will be moving north with us?”

  “Yes. I may not wish to command, Ezekiel, but I do not want to be left behind.”

  “Then watch your back, Axis. Lamiah and Armat particularly resent you. And fear you, which is even more dangerous. You are too close to Isaiah, and they worry about your connection to the Icarii assassin.”

  Axis wasn’t quite sure where to start with that little speech—there was so much to think about, and address, within it. “You don’t resent me, Ezekiel?”

  “A little, but not fatally.”

  Axis laughed in genuine amusement, and decided he both liked and trusted this man. “I was not responsible for that assassin. I am not even convinced he was Icarii. There was something about him…”

  Ezekiel arched an eyebrow.

  “Ah, I don’t know,” said Axis. “I can’t put a finger to it. Just a…strangeness. Ezekiel, will you tell me something?”

  Ezekiel retreated only a little into wariness. “Perhaps.”

  “I have been here a year now, and I have yet to hear of the debacle of the Eastern Independencies. What happened, Ezekiel? I know enough of Isaiah to know he is a more than competent commander. Considering the forces he has to command and what I have heard are the inadequacies of the Eastern Independencies…”

  “The campaign to take the Eastern Independencies,” said Ezekiel, “was Isaiah’s first major campaign. It should have been a walkover.”

  “But…”

  “All went well. Isaiah led a vast army toward the Independencies. There were a few skirmishes. Then, on the night before what would have been a—and probably the only—major battle with the deeply inadequate forces of the Eastern Independencies, Isaiah disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  Ezekiel gave a small shrug. “Was taken. Kidnapped, if you like. It was a massive embarrassment for his security guard. He was in his command tent, late at night. Alone. The tent was ringed with armed men, all awake and alert. The men later said they’d heard the sound of a scuffle inside the tent, and as some tightened the ring about the perimeter of Isaiah’s tent, others rushed inside.

  “Isaiah was gone. Vanished. It was inexplicable. Ah…shetzah!” Ezekiel cursed, waving a hand about in the air as if somehow the air could explain it all, and Axis could see that the kidnap still troubled the general.

  “You couldn’t find him?” Axis said.

  Ezekiel grunted. “We searched, the entire army searched, and we could not find him. He was gone a month.”

  “And the Independencies’ army? They…”

  “Laughed at us. I swear we could hear them from several miles distance. Then they packed up and went home. They did not fear us.”

  “They didn’t have him?”

  “We sent emissaries, but their generals swore they hadn’t taken Isaiah, and we were forced to believe them.”

  “You didn’t attack?”

  Ezekiel hesitated. “No. We didn’t. The Independencies’ generals said the ground itself was infested with evil spirits, and that if we attacked them then we’d vanish as Isaiah had.”

  “And you believed them?”

  “You weren’t there!” Ezekiel snapped. “And it wasn’t so much a matter of attacking the Independencies to see if we could recover Isaiah…ah, Axis, you know us, and you know the way our society works. Everyone with claim to a fistful of power lusts for the throne. So…once we’d established that Isaiah was well and truly gone…”

  “The Eastern Independencies were forgotten for the moment as various generals vied for the throne.”

  “Yes. We fought among ourselves. It was not our proudest moment, Axis. There we were, in the middle of a vast, arid, gods-forgotten plain, and Isaiah’s army descended into madness as general fought against general and company against company. Scores were settled, rivalries decided, and one of my comrades, General Thettle, finally managed to seize control. It was a bloody, stupid, inexcusable mess. Tens of thousands died.”

  Axis was so astounded he could not comment. How could
such undiscipline, such sheer stupidity, have not witnessed the fall of the Tyranny well before now? He had to silently congratulate whoever had taken Isaiah…they’d known just how easily the Isembaardian army could be brought to its knees.

  “It took a month,” Ezekiel continued, “but Thettle got what he wanted. We were in desperate straits, almost out of supplies, vulnerable, but at least we had a tyrant again. Thettle had himself crowned and anointed in the middle of the bloodstained plain. I…I…was the one to slip the golden collar of command about his shoulders. I stood back, and Thettle walked forward to receive the acclaim of the assembled soldiers, and…”

  “And…” Axis was on the edge of his seat by now, his wine forgotten.

  “Isaiah appeared out of nowhere…out of nowhere, Axis, and walked up to Thettle and struck his head from his body with his sword. Then he took the blood-soaked golden collar from Thettle’s corpse, draped it about his own shoulders, and announced we were going home.”

  “I…what…where…”

  Ezekiel grinned wryly. “That just about mirrors the reaction of the entire army, Axis. We were all stunned, speechless, desperate to know what had happened, where Isaiah had been, who had taken him…and he told us nothing. He simply ordered the army home…and home we came. He has never spoken of that month since, where he had been, what had happened, who had taken him.”

  “Do you think he’d managed it himself? Scared of the impending battle, perhaps?”

  “Isaiah has never been a man to be scared of battle, Axis. Besides, there was no escape from that tent. Whoever took him had power of some sort.”

  “Isaiah…the other night…with the Goblet of the Frogs…”

  “Isaiah came back changed, Axis. He is a different man to what he was once. Before the Eastern Independencies campaign Isaiah was a mirror of his father, short-tempered, brutal, viciously ambitious. Everyone was terrified of him. But that’s not the man you know, is it?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t know what happened to him, Axis, but Isaiah now is vastly different to the Isaiah who first took the throne. And, to be frank, I think I am even more scared of this one.” Ezekiel gave a grunt of humorless laughter. “Sometimes we probe him, Axis, as you saw, but then he does something, and it reminds us of the look we saw in his eyes when he strode out of thin air and took Thettle’s life, and we back off.”

  He paused. “Armat is the only one who wasn’t there. Who didn’t see that look. He is the one to watch, Axis. He is the one who will make the move on Isaiah eventually.”

  They had made love, somewhat cautiously, and very gently, and now Ishbel lay sleeping in Isaiah’s arms. Isaiah eased himself away from her, and then out of the bed.

  He lifted his head and, as he had done so much this past fortnight, and as he had done ever since he had come to live at Aqhat, he looked out the window to where he knew DarkGlass Mountain rose on the far side of the river.

  Then, not pausing to clothe himself, Isaiah left the chamber.

  Ishbel opened her eyes as soon as he had gone.

  She lay there for all the hours that Isaiah was away, and wept very softly. She wished she hadn’t slept with him, for all she had been able to think about while they had made love was that he was not Maximilian.

  She had thought sleeping with Isaiah would be a comfort to her, but in reality all it had done was drive home to her how much she missed Maximilian. How much she wanted him.

  It was, she thought, a truly pitiful time to realize just how much she had loved Maximilian.

  Too late now. Too late for everything.

  He went down to the river, knowing this would be the last chance in a very long time—perhaps forever.

  He bathed ritually, as he always did, cleansing himself within the pure waters of the Lhyl.

  Then, still wet, he crouched in the shallows and looked up at DarkGlass Mountain in the distance.

  Kanubai was within. Not yet strong, but born.

  When he did grow strong, as he surely would within a few months at the very least, Kanubai would be viciously strong.

  He had been born of the blood of the child of the Lord of Elcho Falling, the only one now who could save this world, but whose task was now grown infinitely more difficult.

  And as for DarkGlass Mountain itself, Isaiah swore he could feel it watching him. Like Kanubai, it also needed to grow strong, but once it was strong…

  Isaiah didn’t like running away from Kanubai, or DarkGlass Mountain, but he also knew he had no choice. No one was ready to confront either Kanubai or the pyramid. No one, not even himself or Lister, had the power.

  Not this time around. He and Lister had exhausted themselves when first they’d pushed Kanubai down into the abyss. Chaos would not allow himself to be trapped so easily as he had the first time. Now Chaos had an ally who completely altered the balance of power between him and Light and Water.

  Sighing, Isaiah looked down to the river water. He spoke to it gently, wishing it well, saying good-bye, and promising to return if and when he could. He begged it to be strong, and to endure, and to hope that with fortune and fortitude it would again one day ring with the Song of the Frogs.

  Isaiah paused a while, weeping, then he reached out both hands, cupping them just above the surface of the river, and he spoke a phrase in a strange, guttural language.

  For a moment, nothing.

  Then a frog broke the surface of the water, and sprang into Isaiah’s cupped hands. Another one broke surface, and likewise leaped into Isaiah’s hands, and then another, and another, and another.

  Soon the surface of the water was boiling with frogs as they leaped frantically into the river god’s hands. As soon as they had made the leap successfully, they bounded up his arms where, one by one, they faded and vanished as they were absorbed into Isaiah’s body.

  When Isaiah finally made his way back to the palace, the river was empty of the Song of the Frogs.

  He went to Ishbel’s chamber, kissed her, apologized for not being there when she woke, then went back to his own quarters where, reverently, he packed the Goblet of the Frogs into the saddlebags he would carry with him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Eastern Plains, Gershadi

  Jelial, Lord Warden of the Eastern Plains Province of Gershadi, could not credit what he saw. His mind simply would not process the information. He sat his horse, growing colder by the moment, staring ahead at what had been his home base, the castle and town of Hornridge.

  It lay in smoking ruins. These tumbled ruins might have been a stark black scar against the snow-covered plains save for one thing—it was covered in something gray, and red, which undulated as if it were a sea of pale insects.

  “Skraelings,” muttered his lieutenant, sitting his horse alongside Jelial.

  He and his party of fifteen armed men had been away for six weeks, attending court at Hosea to discuss the escalating military conflict with the Outlands. Jelial had returned to Hornridge mainly to marshal his forces to join Fulmer in his push south against the cursed Outlanders, who were pushing north and threatening to lay siege to Hosea.

  Now it looked very much as if Jelial might not have any forces left to marshal.

  In fact, it looked as if there was not very much left at all.

  “Skraelings?” Jelial whispered. He could see it was Skraelings. There was a small herd of them not fifty paces away, snuffling around in the remains of a pig herder’s hut and pens, but his mind still could not comprehend the enormous numbers of them that it must take to completely cover Hornridge and the surrounding countryside for miles about.

  It reminded Jelial of something he’d seen as a boy when his father had taken him to hunt the snow deer that lived in the borderlands of the Frozen Wastes. Every year the snow deer migrated south to the rich pasturelands of the lower Sky Peaks in massive herds of million upon millions of animals.

  That was what this sight reminded him of, save the migration consisted of million upon millions of Skraelings.

>   And they were heading south.

  “My lord!” his lieutenant hissed, and Jelial looked to where he pointed.

  Out of the mass of Skraelings investigating the pigpens came a man. Dressed entirely in black, and with a black cloak billowing out behind him, he appeared to be crossing the snow toward Jelial and his party with supernaturally long strides.

  Jelial—as did all his men—drew his sword.

  “I will not harm you,” said the man, halting a few paces away from Jelial.

  He was of striking appearance, exuding power and confidence, and even though he appeared unarmed, Jelial knew that if it came to blows, even a thousand men at his back, bristling with weapons, would not protect him against this being.

  “My name is Lister,” said the man. “I am Lord of the Skraelings.” His mouth twisted a little, and his light brown eyes glinted. “As you can see, I command considerable strength. Hornridge is gone, Jelial. Your family is gone—”

  Something tore apart in Jelial’s chest, and he thought it was probably his heart, breaking.

  “Eaten,” Lister said. “Consumed. The Skraelings are hungry, I am afraid.”

  Jelial tried to speak, but couldn’t. Incomprehension and grief had utterly swamped any anger he may have felt.

  “Everything is very bloodied at Hornridge,” Lister said, his voice quiet now, his eyes fixed on Jelial. “Quite congealed, in fact. I wouldn’t even attempt an entry, if I were you. My boys remain hungry, and Hornridge could get bloodier still.”

  “I…” Jelial said, and could get no further.

  “We’re heading south,” Lister said, one arm sweeping out in that direction, making his cloak billow and heave in the wind. “As far as we can go. I have a massive army—”

  Jelial wondered why he called it an army and not a herd. His mind, now utterly shocked, kept trying to return to the memory of the migrating herds of snow deer.