The Faithful and the Fallen: Ruin Part 36

Maquin tried to open his eyes but the light was blinding, painful. He gave up.

Where am I?

He moved his hands, or tried. A finger moved, slightly. Maybe.

I'm lying down.

The sound of gulls filtered through to him, a gentle breeze upon his face.

Ripa. I'm in Ripa.

Slowly he became aware of a presence close by, the sound of breathing. A stirring in the air. A hand touched his face.

A door creaked, footsteps getting louder.

The hand on his face disappeared.

'My lady, how is he?'

'The same. His fever burns.'

I know that voice. Fidele. It felt nice to hear her, a comfort.

Footsteps approached, a cool, dry hand on his brow. Fingers probed the pulse in his neck.

'Alben, how long can he survive like this?'

'He should be dead, my lady. I have not seen anyone cling to life through a fever this severe or that lasted this long.'

'I've done all you said water, goat's milk, the herbs you mixed all dripped through linen into his mouth.'

'Others can do this, my lady. Lamar has been asking for y-'

'No. This is where I choose to be.'

'As you say. But . . .' He fell silent.

Wise man. No point arguing with her.

'The good news is his gut wound seems to be healing. It is rare, but it can happen. Now, if he could just beat this fever.'

'He can.'

An indrawn breath.

'My lady, you should prepare yourself.'

'No. You told me that a ten-night gone, and yet he is still here.'

'But look at him. There is little more than skin and bone left of him. He has fought hard, but unless this fever breaks . . .'

'He is the strongest man I have ever known. In flesh and in spirit. He will beat this.'

'Perhaps. If he is as strong as you say then he has a chance. But I must warn you, my lady, it is very slim. If he is a fighter . . .'

Fidele snorted. 'He is the definition of the word.'

'I shall call in before sunset.'

'Thank you, Alben. I do not mean to sound ungrateful.'

'You do not, my lady. You stand vigil over a friend who straddles the line between life and death.'

The door closed, footsteps receding.

A hand closed about his. Squeezed.

'Live, d.a.m.n you.' A soft breath brushed his ear.

The Ben-Elim was staring at Maquin; it felt as if he was staring into him, viewing his soul.

'You have a choice to make,' the Ben-Elim said. 'Most who reach this place have no choices left to them. A rare few do. You are one of them.'

'What choice?' Maquin breathed.

'Go forward, or go back.'

Something moved behind the Ben-Elim, beyond the bridge, a figure forming in the mist. Maquin frowned, something familiar about it. He froze, not believing his eyes.

It was Kastell. He was as Maquin remembered him, a shock of red hair, face pale, freckled. They stared at each other.

The sight of him set a flood of memory loose within Maquin, coursing through his body like heady mead in his blood. The day he had sworn his oath to Kastell, so many years ago, standing upon a palisaded wall within sight of Forn Forest. Carrying him from his father's hold as it went up in flames, giants chasing them, bellowing their war-cry, silhouetted by flame. Joining the Gadrai. Walking into the catacombs of Haldis, fighting side by side. Maquin felt tears wetting his cheeks.

He called out, dropped to his knees. 'I am sorry, my friend. I have failed you, Jael still lives.'

Kastell stared at him, head c.o.c.ked to one side.

'It was not your fault,' Kastell said, the words sounding like wind rustling through dead leaves.

'I swore an oath to you,' Maquin said, tears blurring his vision.

Other figures appeared around Kastell the first bent and twisted, like a wind-blasted tree. He had not seen him for a score of years, but Maquin knew him instantly. His da. Beside him there was a woman, a warm smile upon her face; his mam. Another man, broad and red-haired. Aenor, his first lord, Kastell's da. They all stood at the bridge's edge, watching him. Maquin felt his heart lurch, a longing flow through him to be with these people.

'Join us,' they said. 'There is peace here.'

'Peace?' Maquin breathed.

'Have you tired of the world of flesh?' the Ben-Elim asked him.

'Tired? Aye, I am tired. Of the pain, of fighting, always, of the blood, the misery. I am tired of failing.'

'Is there aught you would return to the world of flesh for?'

Maquin opened his mouth, lips forming the word 'No,' but then he hesitated. He closed his eyes, images forming in his mind. He saw Jael plunging his sword into Kastell's belly, the moment frozen forever, seared into his brain. He remembered being taken by Lykos. Being branded, forced into the pits, his humanity stripped incrementally away. Jael and Lykos, their faces floating in his mind's eye, merging, separating. Rage coursed through him, cold yet burning.

And then another face, a woman, hair of jet flecked with silver framing pale, milky skin, a warm smile from red lips. Fidele. Somehow she had made him feel human again, something more than a trained animal. A voice echoed through his mind. Live, d.a.m.n you, it said, and something else rose up within him, battling with the rage that consumed him, warring for his soul.

He opened his eyes.

The Ben-Elim towered over him, flaming sword held loosely, wings flexing.

'You must choose,' it said. 'Go forwards or go back.'

He climbed to his feet, wiped the tears from his eyes. Kastell and the others were standing as still as the stone carvings in Haldis, watching him.

'Peace,' Maquin breathed. Then louder, 'I shall see you again. One day. But not yet.'

He turned and strode back across the bridge.

Maquin opened his eyes, blinking in the light. He moved his head. He was alone. Slowly he grew accustomed to a flood of sensations. His fingers tingled, his back ached. Everywhere aches. His throat was dry, constricted. He opened his mouth, felt his lips tighten, skin pulling close to cracking. After a while he tried to sit up and managed it on his second attempt. A jug of water sat on a table beside him and he poured half a cup and sipped, the effort draining him. He looked about, saw that he was sitting on the only bed in a s.p.a.cious room. A single chair rested beside the bed. It was dark; a window opened onto the bay of Ripa, stars flickering into life on a velvet canopy.

The door creaked open and Alben entered. He paused when he saw Maquin sitting up, then looked over his shoulder and said something. Footsteps echoed, fading quickly.

'Welcome back to the land of the living,' Alben said with a smile.

'How long?' Maquin said, his voice a dry croak. He sipped some more water.

'Twenty nights. You should be dead.' Alben put a hand upon Maquin's forehead, then held two fingers to the pulse in Maquin's wrist.

'Lykos?' Maquin asked. The Vin Thalun was suddenly all that Maquin could think about. He had an overwhelming urge to find a knife and sheathe it in Lykos' heart.

'We are under siege. You remember the attack on the tower?'

'I do.'

'We fought them back. They have ventured a few sorties against our walls since then, but nothing has come as close to success as that first attempt.'

Fidele appeared in the doorway. She froze when she saw him sitting there. She smiled at him, and he smiled in return, feeling a flutter in his belly as he did so.

'I knew you wouldn't die,' Fidele said, crossing the room to him as Alben left. Tentatively she reached out, her fingertips brushing the back of his hand.

Memories flowed, sharp and vivid. Standing on a bridge, one of the Ben-Elim before him. You have a choice to make.

'I was standing upon the bridge of swords,' he breathed. 'One of the Ben-Elim stood guard upon it.'

'You have been racked by fever for almost a moon. You have had many dreams,' Fidele said. 'Fever dreams.'

'It was no dream. The Ben-Elim, he gave me a choice. Go forward or go back. I wanted to cross over, to be with my kin, my friends. To find peace.'

'Why did you come back, then?' Fidele asked him.

'Three reasons. Three people. Jael. Lykos. You.' He paused and looked up into her eyes. 'Two for vengeance. One for love.'

She stared at him a long, timeless moment, then she leaned forwards and kissed him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

RAFE.

Rafe stared across the river at the wall of trees on the opposite bank.

'The Darkwood,' Braith said beside him, with something close to real affection in his voice.

And beyond it Ardan. Home.

It had been a long journey, two moons of hard riding on Halion's trail.

And now they were just a few leagues away. It was a strange feeling after being away so long.

The dogs were down by the bank, worrying at the mud and silt that edged the estuary.

They'd follow Halion's trail right into the water if they could. Best scent hounds I've ever known.

'He crossed here, then,' Rafe said. It wasn't a question. Hoof prints had churned the mud, then led off north. Halion hadn't ridden the horse, though. His footprints led right up to the water's edge. And even if they hadn't been there, Scratcher and Sniffer's behaviour was enough for Rafe.

'Aye,' Braith said.

'Why did he turn his horse free?' Still got a long way to go once he gets to the other side, if Rhin was right. Better to swim his horse across.

'He must know the Darkwood. Too dense and overgrown to take a horse through. Nearer to the giantsway it's easier going, more open. But not here. He could've crossed further upriver, but every step takes you closer to Uthandun, and that's one place he'd want to stay clear of. They'll have patrols out. He made a decision, chose caution over speed. Besides, he can always steal another horse once he's in Ardan.' Braith shrugged. 'It's what I'd have done.'

I thought my da was a good huntsman, but Braith, he lives it.

Rafe looked dolefully at the river. It was wide and slow, only a league or so before it spilt into the sea. 'We're going to get wet, then.'