Dark Heart Part 40

The hour was nearly over. Sena had proved herself skilled indeed, bringing Conal twice back to life after their intense, almost agonising, first coupling.

'I practise with my brothers,' she'd said as they caught their breath the first time. She had smiled wryly and he'd a.s.sumed she was joking. Hoped. But then she had inflamed him again and he'd put the comment to the back of his mind.

Where a magician sat like a toad on a lily pad, watching the activity through inscrutable eyes. There seemed to be no voyeuristic intent in the presence, just patience, a quiet waiting for the preliminaries to be dispensed with.

It brought to mind his first time, in a brothel in Remenoir, a morning's ride north of Yosse. He'd been persuaded there by a friend, his name now forgotten. The friend had insisted on hiring two women and the largest room in the house. There had been two beds, but instead of getting down to business himself, his friend had first watched Conal's clumsy attempts at ridding himself of his virginity. The priest flushed at the memory.

'Oh,' Sena said. 'Are you ready?' She c.o.c.ked her head. 'I don't think we have time.'

The door opened, and for a terrible moment Conal imagined Stella stepping into the room. He had been so consumed by the lovemaking he'd not considered barring the door. In an instant fear cycled to guilt, and the priest realised anew what he'd always known: he was not worthy of her. Nor of his calling.

'So,' said Martje, 'you have kept yourselves occupied while I have been away, yes?' Her eye ran over them both, their naked bodies, the rumpled bed. 'Good. Plenty of energy here for a witch to harness. Sena, your arm.'

Ah, I think she knows the Rite of Entrapment, said the toad in the back of Conal's head. Excellent. She requires a woman's invigorated blood, which she will take from her daughter's arm with the aid of a tapknife. And she requires something from you.

What does she want from me? When were you going to explain all this?

The girl gave a cry as her mother slid the point of a narrow blade into her arm, just above the elbow. Instantly blood began to flow.

You fool, said the magician. You ought to have asked her-not that she would have told you the truth. The Rite of Entrapment has serious consequences for those who enact it. The subject of the incantation is paralysed, yes, for as long as the enchanter wishes; but so are the others involved in the ritual. When the fluids are mixed Sena will be rendered immobile, as will you, as your energy is stolen for use in the spell. Martje will utter the incantation-it is long and complex and so will take her a while-and then will herself become paralysed. She can then have one of her sons kill the subject while she looks on. When the subject dies, she is released, along with Sena and yourself. Of course, the Undying Man cannot die. She will content herself with watching as he is tortured over the long years, while you moulder in some dark room, no doubt. Perhaps she might even practise her technique on you. Cruel to her daughter, but the thirst for vengeance clearly runs deep in this family. Martje believes you do not know this ritual, because you told her you were not that kind of priest. Fortunately for you, I am.

What does she want from me? Conal shrieked in his mind. He began to struggle: maybe he could stop this! But his muscles were suddenly not his own, and he could not move.

Stay still, the magician said. This witch may yet solve one of my problems.

Please, tell me! What does she want?

She already has it, the magician answered.

It took Conal a moment longer to understand, but what Martje was doing to her daughter made it clear. In moments the matriarch had two vials of liquid in her hands.

A sudden thump sounded from somewhere in the house.

Martje's head snapped in the direction of the noise. 'Ssss,' she said. 'He knows what I'm doing.'

How does my being paralysed and tortured help you? Conal screamed.

If my goal was purely to see the Undying Man endure the sort of pain and suffering I have endured, I would cast you aside without a moment's thought, came the reply. But I need more than that. Martje cannot kill him, and I need to see him dead. So I will prevent you from suffering the full effects of the spell, and this will mean the hold she will have over the Undying Man will be only a temporary one.

After a glance at the door Martje lifted both vials. With a guttural cry she cast them on the floor, where they shattered.

What do you mean, full effects?

The matriarch began intoning something in a strange language seemingly made up of cacophonous cries, clicks and whistles. A screech like the forceful bending of a thousand metal hinges filled the air. Conal leapt to his feet, intent on flight. A blinding flash turned everything white, and he fell to the floor beside Sena, unable to move anything apart from his eyes.

Filling his field of vision was the girl's frozen face, wearing a mocking grin. Filling his ears was the grating sound of the incantation. And filling his mind was the sound of the magician's laughter.

The Destroyer took Robal's initial blow on the left forearm. The blade bit at an angle, deep enough to strike the bone. He has bone, at least. Robal had half-expected the man to be made of smoke.

He bore the sorcerer down, crashing with him into a tall wardrobe. He had to disengage, make s.p.a.ce to take advantage of his sword. Mistake. Should have had the knife in my hand. Hah, should have had three hands. The sword spun from his grasp.

Something clubbed him in the face, taking him on the left cheek, knocking him onto the bed. For a moment he lost his footing, and the Destroyer was on him, face against his neck, teeth poised either side of his artery.

He blinked.

Hah. He doesn't even have one hand.

Robal jerked his head right, and the man's teeth scored his neck. He bucked the Undying Man's body off and pushed himself to his feet.

He faced an apparition from his deepest nightmares.

Lenares' stone had done its work, there could be no doubt. The Undying Man had no hands: it had been a handless stump that had taken him under the eye. The urbane Heredrew had gone and in his place stood a hairless, misshapen horror. Its orange skin appeared as though it had been slowly melted over an open fire. One eye hung half out of its cracked and weeping face, as though held there by a cord. Sinews taut as bowstrings seemed barely to be holding in blood and bone.

For a long moment Robal stared at the man.

'Has Stella seen you like this?' he asked eventually.

The figure spat. 'Once,' he rasped.

'What did she say?'

A pause, filled with heavy breathing. 'I did not ask her.'

'The water of life did this?'

The Destroyer pushed himself to his feet. His forearm bled freely. 'Kill me,' he said, 'but don't pity me.'

Robal drew his knife. 'You're the immortal enemy of our civilisation,' he said. 'Reason enough to kill you.'

'Yes. But I am your civilisation's only hope, so your G.o.d believes, as does your queen. Reason enough to keep me alive.'

'Stella Pellwen is in love with you, to her ruination. Why should I let you live?'

'I could have slain you the moment you entered my room, before you brought the stone too close. Why did I let you live?'

'Slain me how?' He knew the man wasn't lying.

'Frozen your blood or warmed it. Boiled your brain in its pan. I'm extremely familiar with the inner workings of fragile bodies, Robal. Perhaps I'm about to receive a brief glimpse of the inner workings of my own.' He smiled, a hideous grimace. 'Come then, friend. Show me your knife.'

'Why didn't you kill me?'

'Because I wanted to talk with you. And because I was...distracted.'

'Was that you making the noise?' Robal thought carefully about what he'd heard. 'Sobbing?'

'I have already said I don't want your pity,' growled the Destroyer. 'If you wish to end my life, do it now. I am defenceless. If not, leave me to think; or, better yet, stay with me and help me plan. There are a great many things brewing tonight.'

Robal gripped his knife more firmly. Whatever might be brewing, whatever Stella wanted the Destroyer to do, the world would be a better place without this man. He took a pace forward.

The Undying Man threw himself backwards with complete recklessness, landing on the bed, then tumbling onto the floor behind it. Robal made to follow, but it was too late. His opponent was now outside the stone's influence, at least enough to resume his illusory body. And undoubtedly regain access to his magic.

More noises out in the hall. The guardsman ran for the door, his thoughts now on escape. The Undying Man leapt onto the bed, trying to keep his distance. The door handle rattled. Robal drew back into the shadows, and the Destroyer lay down as if asleep.

The door opened, letting in light and a shadowed figure, then closed again.

Conal felt their hands on him. Though he had lost all movement he retained every sense. They lifted and dragged him across the room and out into the corridor. His elbow struck the door frame; the pain blurred his eyes.

She is skilled, this witch, said the toad. Such a waste.

What's going to happen to me? Conal asked. He'd be begging for an answer soon, he had no doubt.

I'm very interested to find out. Will they do anything to you? Will they take you to the room in which they hold the Undying Man? I'm hoping for both, to be honest.

You want me to suffer?

Make a better man of you, said the magician. It did for me. Of course, I don't wish on you the suffering I've endured. At least, not until I've finished with you.

What have I done to deserve this? I've never been a bad person!

But you've been a fool, and that's all it takes.

Was that Stella emerging from a bedroom back down the hall? He thought he'd glimpsed her face. He sincerely hoped she had not glimpsed his.

Into another room, this one bare of furnishing save a single long bench. His porters dropped him gracelessly to the floor. Again the pain coupled with deep humiliation and fearful helplessness. Sena, however, they propped up on the wooden bench. Then they dragged him over and placed him in front of the bench, so that those come to see the spectacle could use him for a footstool.

Had his tear ducts been working, he would have wept at the indignity of it.

'Heredrew! Are you there?' Stella's voice.

Robal willed himself to complete stillness.

'Kannwar!'

'Over here, dear one.'

She approached the bed. 'There's some sort of commotion in the hall. I heard a screeching noise, then there were sons and daughters everywhere, along with servants. I wondered what was happening.'

'I am expecting a move against me tonight,' the Destroyer replied casually. 'This may signal it.'

'Perhaps I should come back later, then,' she said quietly. 'To tend the bodies broken by your cruelty. Or remain here and watch. If we are lucky, we might see them succeed.'

The guardsman, his own plan ruined, lifted his head at Stella's words.

'No,' the Destroyer said, and Robal could hear a note of anxiety in his voice. 'Speak to me now.'

'I've been thinking,' she said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. 'After your display this afternoon, I'm no longer certain we should continue following you north. Go back to Andratan, by all means, but we will not follow. I do not believe the Most High has entrusted his plan to the likes of you.'

Robal let his breath out slowly. This would be every bit as good as his death. Better, because the rejection comes from her.

'Have you discussed this with your fellows?' came the Destroyer's tempered response.

'No,' she admitted. 'But I doubt they feel any different than I. Killing that boy was entirely gratuitous.'

'Was it now? Let me tell you something, monarch.' The last word was clipped, the only concession to the man's temper. 'You respect Lenares of Talamaq almost to the point of veneration because of her skill with numbers. If that is so, you should pay attention to me. I employ statisticians on Andratan, people who collect and a.n.a.lyse numbers relating to a large number of things. They estimate that the judicious culling of criminals and the disobedient actually saves hundreds and thousands of lives every year. If it is not done, they argue, rebellion rises and wars claim families, towns, cities and even countries. What I did this afternoon, Stella, ought-according to those in my employ-to be considered humane.'

She snorted. 'Death and misery can't be dealt with in the aggregate. Leith and I often debated this, though no matter what conclusion we came to we would never have slaughtered people in order to make them an example to others. We preferred to invest in education and wealth rather than in soldiers and hangmen.'

'Just so. And I understand that investment is currently funding rebellions in Piskasia and Favony.'

'The situation is somewhat more complicated than that,' she said, her voice rising.

'Indeed. But Bhrudwo has a long history of structure and obedience. Any lessening of control will promote anarchy.'

'And so you govern by fear.'

He shrugged his shoulders.

'There's something you should know about the death this afternoon,' he said.

'There's nothing more I wish to know. I will withdraw now, and bid you goodbye. Perhaps we will offer a final farewell tomorrow morning.'

She went to rise but, as Robal watched, struggled to move. 'What have you done to me?'

'I extended the courtesy of allowing you to remain in my room uninvited, and listened as you gave your message. Now you will listen to mine.

'The boy is not dead. Simple magic cushioned his fall; infinitely more complex magic sank him into the deepest unconsciousness. He breathes but seldom now. Should I wish it, however, he will arise within minutes of my releasing the spell. No death, no injury, no harm done.'

Stella's objections seemed to tumble over each other in her keenness to express them. 'No injury? But-what of the family's grief? The blow to their honour? How can you say "no harm done"?'

In the shadows Robal nodded his agreement-though the Destroyer's revelation had shocked him.

'For the sake of everyone in the district, this family needed reducing. You were in Sayonae yesterday: did it strike you as a particularly wealthy town? Why is the wealth concentrated here at the Umerta steading? Who has suffered as a consequence? Judging by yesterday's behaviour, every time this family believes itself wronged the members ride into town and deliver their own brand of correction. I have diminished them in the public eye, and made things a little better for everyone. Maybe, if I read it right, even for some members of this family.

'And yes, before you raise it, there will be a cost. The boy can't remain here after he returns to consciousness. I'll command him to leave the Fisher Coast. In fact, I suspect he has relatives in the Hanseia Hills who would take him in.'

The figure raised itself onto one stump-arm, Robal corrected.

'That is how Bhrudwo is governed,' the Destroyer said, his voice tightly controlled. 'The ignorant, not in possession of all the facts, judge my decisions and call them evil. Harsh, yes, I'll concede that, but not evil.'

'So you torture and kill and call it good.'

'If the arithmetic works, yes.'

Stella had begun to cry. 'There was a village in Bhirinj.' She sniffed. 'You remember it, on the long march westward. What happened there-how could you ever justify it?'

'Stella, I have lived two thousand years. Must I now recall and discuss every motive, every reason, for every action? Listen, my dear. I had an army comprised of factions who were still technically at war with each other. My actions at that village, coupled with the burning of the Red Duke, brought unity to my army and prevented the same thing being perpetrated in every Falthan village. It saved thousands of lives.'

But it smeared the souls of all who took part, Robal wanted to shout. A hundred, a thousand, a million people ought to die to prevent such a thing happening again!