Assail

CHAPTER XV

They were only a short distance up the wide sinuous serpent of ice when Kyle halted. Blustering snow obscured the distance. He could just make out tall spine-like ridges of iron-grey rock that rose as barriers far to the east and west.

Fisher came to his side. ‘What is it?’

‘I can’t walk away.’

‘I told you — they’re safe. The farther from here the better.’

But Kyle couldn’t shake the feeling that he was betraying the Losts. It felt wrong, just turning his back. Even if they didn’t want him to follow. ‘No. I have to go back.’

Cal-Brinn joined them. ‘They’re closing. We must keep moving.’

Kyle shook his refusal. ‘We should go back.’

Cal-Brinn’s already wrinkled and burnished features creased further in a frown of consideration. After a moment, he dipped his head in assent. ‘It is early yet, but I was going to have to tell you that we of the Guard cannot continue in any case. There is something pushing against us, so I must send my people back to find Stalker and Badlands. Will you accept this?’

Kyle clasped the amber stone at his neck. It was warm in his chilled hand. ‘I should go. They are my friends.’

‘Your loyalty is to be commended, but it is you our pursuers want, not us. And the Losts are our friends as well.’

He released the stone — the numbness from the bitter cold had gone from his hand. ‘Very well. I just feel … that I have let them down.’

Cal-Brinn inclined his head once more. ‘They would be angry if you showed up. Now, go.’ He motioned for Fisher to hurry him along, then turned to his company. ‘Jup, Leena, attend me!’

The bard took Kyle’s arm and urged him onward. ‘You and I must speak for the Myrni and the Losts above,’ he said, his breath steaming.

Kyle tried to bring his brows down to show his confusion, but his face was too numb. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that any survivors will have been driven to the highlands, just like us. There will be a meeting of the families such as has never taken place.’ He waved to Jethiss, who waited ahead.

Kyle glanced back, still reluctant to go. Cal-Brinn now walked alone, his hands clasped behind his back. His long coat of armour kicked up snow as he pushed through the drifts. ‘A meeting? What for?’

‘To decide what to do.’

They caught up with Jethiss, who was carefully prodding the hidden ice with a broken branch he’d picked up when they had run across the dry stream bed. Kyle was grateful for this, as the great serpent of cerulean ice heaved and groaned as if in constant pain. Explosions of cracking ice would shudder beneath them, sounding up and down its length. The snowstorm and dark clouds obscured the way ahead, but it appeared to be steepening.

Night gathered as they walked, but shifting curtains of lights provided some illumination. They seemed to wreathe the heights, and they reminded Kyle of similar veils he’d seen in Korel, above the Stormriders. He thought they were some sort of manifestation of the manipulations of energy, whatever the source. They tramped on; Jethiss showed no need or inclination to pause. Kyle glanced back often down the sweep of the great serpent behind. Once or twice, through the gusting snows, he thought he glimpsed slim dark figures arrayed across the ice, tatters of cloth whipping from their shoulders.

They reached a plain of ice that lay like a plateau beneath a low bank of black clouds. Through gaps in the clouds he glimpsed a series of slim pinnacles, all bare ash-grey jagged rock: the peaks of this easterly range of the Salt Mountains. Then Fisher gestured ahead to where a group of dark dots marred the pristine silver expanse of blowing snow.

As they neared, the group resolved into four individuals, one sitting cross-legged in the snow, the other three lined up before him. They were a martial group, tall, in leather armour. Closer now, Kyle noted how young the three were, and that the sitting one, an older fellow, was impaled upon a wicked-looking spear.

Jethiss halted and Fisher stepped up to the fore. He raised his hand, calling: ‘Greetings! My name is Fisher and I speak for the Myrni. This is Jethiss, of the Tiste Andii. Kyle, who speaks for the Losts. And Cal-Brinn, of the mercenary company the Crimson Guard.’

The middle lad raised his hand. Kyle saw fresh scarring where a thrust had taken his right eye. A thick bearskin cloak clasped by a large bronze brooch humped his shoulders. ‘Welcome. I am Orman. This is Keth and Kasson. We speak for the Sayers.’ The lad half turned to the silver-haired elder. ‘This is … was … Buri.’

Fisher’s gaze, snapping to Kyle, was wide with wonder. ‘Buri in truth?’ he breathed, awed.

‘Indeed. It was he who summoned the ice-barrier anew.’

‘And who did this to him?’

The lad’s jaws writhed with suppressed emotions. ‘I did,’ he finally ground out, his voice ragged.

‘And why?’ Fisher asked softly.

‘Because he asked that I do so — to seal the invocation.’

Fisher was nodding. ‘I see. That must have been a … difficult … thing to do.’

With his one good eye, Orman was studying Fisher. ‘You give the name Fisher — not the Fisher, the bard?’

‘Yes.’

The Sayer was obviously quite impressed: he took a deep breath. ‘My father spoke of you. We are honoured.’

Fisher inclined his head in recognition of the compliment. ‘Any others? The Heels? No Bains survived?’

Orman shook his head, saying in a bitter tone: ‘The Bains are gone.’

‘Then we must decide upon our course of action.’

The Sayer glanced back to exchange a look with his two fellows. ‘How so? It is over. We can reclaim our Holdings.’

‘The Holdings are beneath rods of ice. But more to the point, we are pursued.’

‘Pursued? The outlanders?

‘That would be a simple matter. No, I speak of another enemy.’

The lad started in recognition. He exhaled a steaming breath in wonder. ‘The old enemy?’

Fisher nodded. ‘Aye. Our Army of Dust and Bone — the T’lan Imass.’

‘I know them only as the Undying Army.’

‘Close enough.’

‘But,’ Orman gestured back to the corpse of Buri, ‘the invocation was completed — this was his purpose …’

Fisher advanced until he could press a hand to the lad’s shoulder. ‘I know. And it has been successful. But some it seems are resisting enough to advance. Or a Bonecaster, one of their shamans, has come. In any case, we must flee.’

The Sayer lad appeared almost shattered by the suspicion that he had done what he did for nothing. Kyle could not help but step up as well, saying, ‘It is working — few are coming. We will escape, I’m sure.’

‘Someone is coming now,’ Jethiss announced, staring south. Kyle spun, his hand going to the grip of the white blade tucked in his belt.

Two tall figures emerged from the blowing snow, a young man and woman. Everyone drew weapons. Kyle took a few hesitant steps; he knew the one with the great bunch of wild curly hair. He raised his hand. ‘It is the Heels.’ He ran down to meet them. ‘Baran, welcome!’ He took his hand. The lad smiled behind the rime hardened round his beard. ‘Cull or Yullveig?’

The smile faded and Baran shook his head. He turned, pointing, ‘We aren’t alone.’

Kyle squinted into the gusts. Thin figures approached. Their tattered leathers and cloaks snapped and lashed in the wind and he shivered — for a moment he thought them Imass. They closed, and to his astonishment he recognized them … Shimmer, Blues and K’azz of the Crimson Guard. And with them a fourth person, a young girl, of obvious Iceblood heritage.

K’azz came forward. He walked bowed, as if struggling beneath a great weight. Kyle was shocked by his condition: emaciated and haggard, cheeks grey and drawn. The man was hardly more than skin and bone. Yet fire flashed in his eyes and he offered up a warm smile. ‘Kyle of Bael lands,’ he said. ‘It is good to see you.’

Kyle took his hands, found them frozen into rigid claws. ‘What by all the gods …’ he wondered aloud. ‘Why are you here?’

Shimmer approached and he embraced her, flinching when he found her skin as cold as the snow. It even held the same silvery paleness. ‘Kyle,’ she said. ‘We hear great stories of the white blade.’ He could only laugh as he gripped Blues’ hand.

Then he remembered, and invited them on. ‘Come. There is someone you must meet.’

He watched while they wearily trudged towards the rest of the gathering. The girl crossed to stop at Erta’s side. He watched as Cal-Brinn took a few faltering steps towards them, then ran, kicking up snow, and they embraced, the four, all together.

He went to join Fisher and Jethiss while the group spoke in low tones. To his eyes it was an oddly subdued reunion. Then he noticed the tears running down Fisher’s cheeks, his lips clamped as against a moan. In a moment the man lurched away, hugging himself.

‘What is it?’ Kyle whispered. ‘Are you sick?’

He jerked his head savagely, his eyes clamped closed. Then he seemed to master himself and raised his head to the ash-grey clouds above, the falling snow, blinking back tears. He offered Kyle a wounded smile. ‘Only now do I see it. Only now.’ He glanced back to the four Crimson Guard. ‘It was before me all this time, yet I failed to see.’ He raised his face to the dark sky once more, drew a rasping breath. He clenched the bag holding the instrument at his side and raised it to press it to his brow as if he would break it. ‘There are no words,’ he groaned. ‘No words for this song.’ He staggered away into the gusting snow and playing lights of the shifting banners above. Kyle moved to follow, but Jethiss caught his arm.

‘Leave him. All he needs is time.’

‘Do you know what he speaks of?’

The Andii shook his head, his narrowed gaze upon the mercenaries. ‘No. But the higher we venture I am beginning to see more and more.’ He raised his chin to the heights above. ‘I see that we are not alone.’

Kyle squinted to where the dark peaks reared naked and jagged high above. Movement pulled his eyes down. A single large figure was closing upon them; it looked to possess the height and narrow build of a full-blooded Jaghut. It wore tanned old leathers, trousers and a long jerkin. As it closed, the Sayer lad, Orman, let out a gasp of recognition. The newcomer was a Jaghut woman; she limped with one stiff leg. Laces of stones shone at her neck and hung woven in her wide mane of hair.

‘You!’ the Sayer lad exclaimed.

This newcomer offered him a small quiet smile. ‘Yes. Well met, Orman Bregin’s son, of the Sayer.’

And the lad actually knelt on one knee before her, saying: ‘Great Mother.’

Mother? Kyle wondered. Then, in turn, the Heels knelt, and then the Myrni girl. If Fisher were here Kyle imagined that he might actually kneel too. Then it struck him — he ought to as well. This creature’s blood flowed through his veins.

‘So few,’ she whispered, an edge of anger hardening her voice. She crossed to Buri’s corpse, still upright, impaled, covered now in a fine layer of snow. She rested a hand upon his bowed head, then walked round to take hold of the spear that pinned him to the ice. She yanked, and the weapon slid free. The slick, wet haft steamed in the chill air. She raised the weapon, studying its length. ‘It has been a long time,’ she murmured.

For a time no one spoke, until Jethiss broke the silence, saying, ‘It is not safe here.’

The Jaghut elder tilted her head as she looked him up and down. ‘You, I did not see.’ She glanced to K’azz. ‘Nor you.’ She limped to Orman and extended the weapon. The lad’s face actually wrinkled in loathing, but none the less, he took it from her hands. ‘But you are right,’ she said. ‘We must go higher.’

Kyle squinted to the south: he could just make out small dark shapes pushing through the field of white: a broad line of them that seemed to extend all the way across the ice-plain. He began backing up. ‘They are coming,’ he said, though he was sure they all knew.

‘This way,’ the elder said, and she started up the slight incline that led to the peaks.

The three Sayers followed with the Heels and the Myrni girl. Kyle and Jethiss came after, followed by the four Crimson Guard, who spread out as a laughably slim rear guard. They climbed the shallow rise. The snowfall thinned, as did the ground-hugging clouds. Looking back, Kyle was amazed to catch glimpses of the level tops of the packed cloud cover below looking like the calm surface of the ocean itself, extending off as far as he could see.

The wide face of the nearest peak closed before them, dominating the north. It appeared to consist of nothing more than jagged rock cliffs and heaps of broken talus. Their boots crunched upon loose stones as they climbed. His chest burned now; he felt as if he could never catch enough breath.

Past the snowfall, higher on the rock slope they climbed. Ahead, Fisher straightened from among the boulders to await them. As the woman limped onward, swinging her leg awkwardly as she came, he called down, ‘Come no higher.’

She paused, glanced back briefly and answered: ‘They will not relent.’

The lines of the bard’s mouth appeared graven in stone. His grey-streaked long hair whipped in the strong winds and his gloved hand was upon the grip of his Darujhistani longsword. ‘Go east or west. Hide anywhere but here.’

The elder continued to close. ‘You would draw a weapon upon me?’

‘If I must. You mustn’t disturb what lies above.’

‘What lies above is our only chance of escape.’

The bard’s features appeared ready to crack. He gasped as if in pain: ‘There are other ways.’

Kyle’s own hand went to the blade at his belt as he saw how the Sayer lad’s fists tightened upon the spear, and the two with him prepared to draw their longswords.

The elder shook her head as she advanced right up into sword-range. ‘Will you draw upon me?’

Some terrible emotion shuddered through the bard and his face broke as he groaned, defeated. His hand fell from the sword grip and he slumped to the rocks to sit hunched, his head in his hands.

The elder passed him. She rested a hand upon his head for a time, as in blessing, then walked on. When Kyle reached him he extended a hand. At first the bard refused to raise his head. But then he held up a hand, which Kyle took to pull him upright.

‘There is no dishonour here,’ he told him.

Fisher shook his head, fierce. ‘She is a fool if she thinks she can control them. Or dictate terms. No one can.’

‘We shall see,’ Jethiss said. His gaze was on the heights, where a blasting wind punished the bare rock above.

‘The same goes for you,’ Fisher told him.

A peculiar smile came to the Andii’s lips. ‘I merely have one simple wish.’ And he passed them, climbing once more.

The Crimson Guard reached them. Kyle noted how the bard regarded them now with a bruised look in his eyes of which the mercenaries seemed oblivious. Blues carried his sticks in his hands and he gestured back with them. ‘They’re gaining and there’re too many of them.’

‘Our guide believes she has a secret weapon,’ Fisher spat, hugging himself.

‘Well, we’d better find it damned soon,’ Blues grumbled. He urged them on.

Kyle almost groaned himself as he forced his legs to move. Dizzy spells came and went and he had to rest, sitting a few times, until one of the Guard appeared to chivvy him along. He had no idea how long they’d been climbing, though the sky was clear now and he could see that it was late in the afternoon. He felt as if he’d been wandering across the entire mountain range for an eternity.

*

Shimmer found that she climbed in a fog, even though they had left the mists and snow of the cloud cover far behind. Above, the Jaghut elder, the obvious matriarch of all these northern clans, led the way. Her distant descendants followed. The ex-Guardsman Kyle came after them, filled out now to a rangy, fierce-looking plainsman and fitting bearer of a storied blade. He kept fitting company as well; the strange Andii, and the legendary bard.

K’azz had them spread out to serve as a rear guard. She could not stop peering over to Cal — just to make certain he really was still with them. What a shock it had been, finding him. The man hadn’t appeared much different, only more careworn than before. Yet she must have changed; she saw the distress of it in his eyes when they embraced. And his shock upon seeing K’azz’s condition couldn’t be hidden from any of them.

‘The others?’ K’azz had asked, and he had replied: ‘Waiting below,’ and that had been the extent of the conversation. Then they fell in together and it was as if nothing had intervened and no time had passed at all — though in truth, nearly two decades had come and gone.

She climbed. Rocks clattered and shifted beneath her ratty broken boots, and she wondered how it could be that so much time could have disappeared without her noticing it. Perhaps, she reflected, that was how lives went by. Long or short, they ran out like sand through your fingers before you could even think of closing your fist; and by then it was too late, and the sands were gone.

A shout snapped her head up. A warning from Blues. She turned, drawing her whipsword all in one motion.

They faced a closing skirmish line of T’lan Imass. Some forty in all. Cal-Brinn had his longsword out, Blues his sticks. K’azz stood with arms crossed.

Two Imass approached from the line. One wore the rotted hide of a northern white bear. Necklaces of bear claws rattled about his withered neck. The other was squat and bore a trim of white hair about its skull, tied with what looked like stones or shells.

‘Stand aside,’ the white bear one whispered, his voice carrying as if he yelled.

‘Remember your manners!’ K’azz answered, startling Shimmer with the sudden new anger in his voice. ‘I would know who speaks!’

The lead one’s features, dried and withered, almost conveyed surprise. He inclined his head in assent. ‘I am Ut’el, of the Kerluhm T’lan Imass. Who is it that knows the old formulas?’

‘Well met, Ut’el. I am K’azz, of the Crimson Guard. Know that we will not allow you to pass.’

‘You will be brushed aside,’ stated the Imass next to Ut’el.

‘You may try,’ K’azz invited.

One of the line advanced, whispering, ‘Enough talk.’ It swung its long chalcedony blade at K’azz, who stepped inside to block the arm, twisting. Bones snapped like dry branches and K’azz took the weapon while kicking down the Imass.

The entire gathering of T’lan Imass became utterly motionless, as did Shimmer, watching but not believing. How could that have happened? How did K’azz do such a thing?

After remaining frozen for a time, Ut’el tilted his ravaged head and whispered in a voice like the wind scouring the rocks: ‘Who are you?’

‘Greetings, old enemy!’ came a bellow that made Shimmer jump. It was the Jaghut, coming down the slope, awkwardly, stepping sideways. Her descendants were arrayed before her, spears lowered and swords readied.

Fisher and Jethiss accompanied her.

Ut’el straightened in obvious recognition. ‘I did not think to see you again,’ he answered. He pointed a withered finger to the lad, Orman. ‘That is my spear you hold.’

‘You deserve it,’ Orman grated. He raised it to throw.

The Jaghut reached out and lowered the spear-point with her hand. ‘There will be no hostilities. We are in the shadow of the Forkrul.’

Ut’el turned his flat dried mien to right and left. ‘I see them not. They sleep — as is their nature.’

‘Dare you risk that?’

He waved to encompass everyone with her. ‘Dare you?’

She crossed her arms. ‘We are at stalemate, then.’

The Imass edged his head beneath its bear skull in the faintest of negatives. ‘I think not. You yet have everything to lose. While we … possess nothing.’

‘I believe you will find that you are wrong in that, Ut’el,’ K’azz said, loudly and suddenly. He lowered his head a touch to indicate the lower slope. Ut’el and the one with him turned. An instant later, all the Imass turned as well.

Shimmer peered past them: what looked to be four more T’lan Imass approached. She could see nothing in this — four more meant nothing as there were already too many to withstand. Yet what of K’azz and his defeat of one? There was something in that — some hint of an idea that, for some reason, she could not bring into focus. Something that made her look away from her commander.

The four proved to be two obvious T’lan and two living women — one old, the other of middle-age. From the manner in which the two T’lan followed the older woman, Shimmer thought her the leader, though the other woman, dark and wind-tanned, stood apart.

To Shimmer’s astonishment, the gathered T’lan Imass knelt to one knee before the old woman in her worn tanned leathers and necklaces of turquoise and green jade. Ut’el, the leader, knelt as well, murmuring, ‘Summoner. You honour us.’

‘You are?’ she demanded.

‘Ut’el, Bonecaster to the Kerluhm.’

The woman turned from him to rest her attention upon the other Imass. This one stood firm and impassive beneath her hard gaze. ‘Lanas,’ the woman said at last, and there was no welcome in her voice.

The Imass dipped her head, the teeth and stones woven into her remaining white hair clattering in the chill air. ‘Summoner.’

From what she’d heard of events in south Genabackis, Shimmer now understood this Summoner to be Silverfox, a living Imass Bonecaster — the first in millennia. And born, it was said, to fulfil their Vow. This must be so, she decided, as she noted how Silverfox ignored the Jaghut matriarch. Yet the surviving Iceblood, the Heels and the Sayers, were lined up before their ancestor, ready to defend her. Standing apart was the small grouping of Kyle, Fisher and the Tiste Andii. It occurred to her that, being from this region, Kyle might also be a target of the Imass. She signed to K’azz: Shall we defend?

He answered: Wait and see.

After studying this second Imass, and perhaps communicating some soundless message, the Summoner dismissed her. In passing, her gaze fell upon K’azz and Shimmer saw how it fixed there. The woman started, almost stunned, it seemed, by what she saw. An entire gamut of emotions crossed her wrinkled, sun-burnished features: surprise, disbelief and amazement, followed by near horror and stricken grief.

K’azz, for his part, simply lowered his head as if in shame.

Recovering her bearing, the woman tore her gaze from K’azz to face the Bonecaster. ‘You have done well, Ut’el, to sustain so many against the pull of Phellack. For that I salute you. But I must ask: what is it you believe you will accomplish here?’

‘I merely serve the demands of the Vow, Summoner.’

Silverfox answered, her voice hard: ‘I decide what does, or does not, serve the Vow, Bonecaster.’

Ut’el bowed his head, acknowledging her authority. ‘Forgive me, but all was set out ages ago. It is our legacy. It is all we Imass have left to us.’

‘All you have …’ Silverfox echoed, wonder in her voice. She turned on the one named Lanas. ‘I see … My apologies, Ut’el, I had thought you Kerluhm deliberately blind. But I see that I was mistaken.’ She closed to stand directly before the female Imass with her copper-capped incisors and ravaged torso of countless sword thrusts. ‘You, Lanas Tog, have withheld the gift of the Redeemer.’

‘Time for that afterwards, Summoner,’ Lanas answered, her voice faint and dry as falling leaves. ‘There will always be time … afterwards.’

‘What does the Summoner speak of, Lanas?’ Ut’el demanded.

‘You will not show them?’

The Imass remained immobile in her defiance.

Silverfox turned to Ut’el. ‘I speak of a gift that is not mine to give.’ She invited one of the Imass with her to stand forward.

Ut’el nodded his welcome, murmuring, ‘Greetings, Pran Chole of the Kron.’

Pran answered: ‘We honour the Kerluhm.’ He held out empty open hands that were no more than bundles of sinew-wrapped bone. ‘Tellann is suppressed here, Ut’el. May I offer a gift that was given us, unbidden and unlooked for, in lands beyond these?’

The bear-head hood covering Ut’el’s head dipped as he gave his assent. Pran advanced to press his hand to the Bonecaster’s forehead. It seemed an instant later that the Kerluhm Bonecaster snapped backwards as if having received a blow from a hammer. He raised his hands to his face and studied them. His sockets were empty pits, but it seemed to Shimmer that open wonder and amazement filled his features. ‘Who gave the T’lan Imass this gift of hope of a realm for our spirits?’

‘We name him the Redeemer.’

At that, the Kerluhm Bonecaster appeared to flinch, stricken by pain. He bowed to Silverfox. ‘I can do naught but strive to honour it,’ he murmured, his voice even more faint and breathless. He turned to the one named Lanas, who waited, immobile, her incisors bright in the hard light of the heights. ‘You knew of a realm where we might find peace after the Vow … yet you withheld it?’

‘We each sought to serve the Vow in our own way.’

The Bonecaster shook his lean desiccated head beneath its hood of curving bear fangs. ‘I thought such hope long gone from us, Lanas. Yet it lives again and I repent of my despair. Think on this during your ages-long imprisonment.’ He swept his hand and the Imass dissolved into a scarf of dust that the wind immediately scattered across the snows.

Ut’el turned to Silverfox. He knelt on one knee. ‘We of the Kerluhm offer ourselves to your judgement, Summoner.’

Silverfox laid a hand upon his bear headdress. ‘There can be no punishment worse than that which the T’lan have already endured tenfold, Ut’el. Stand with me. The Kron and the Ifayle welcome the Kerluhm.’

Ut’el stood and he and the two other Bonecasters grasped one another’s forearms: Pran Chole, and the other Shimmer now recognized as Tolb Bell’al, whom she had met on an ice-floe during their journey to Jacuruku. The Summoner, she noted, looked to the other woman, the short powerful one with hair like a long black mane that whipped in the wind. This one stood rigid, her arms wrapped tightly about herself, her cheeks wet. For an instant she appeared familiar to Shimmer; a ghost memory of having seen her before drifted across her awareness, only to waver away. Somewhere — she’d seen her before — she was certain.

As if summoned, this woman now strode towards her. An unreasoning urge to flee grasped Shimmer’s throat. She couldn’t breathe and she felt the hair rising upon her arms and neck in terror. Something awful is coming, she realized. Yet her feet in their frayed boots remained frozen to the ice, her lips numb with cold, and her arms heavy — so very heavy.

The woman faced Shimmer and K’azz and Blues and Cal-Brinn, lined up as they were to challenge the Kerluhm should they attack. Yet there was no hint of challenge in the woman’s wind-darkened features. No, what horrified Shimmer was the sadness there, the open compassion in her dark eyes.

The woman said to Silverfox, over her shoulder: ‘One more task awaits you before we may go, Summoner. One I do not envy you.’

Silverfox drew a heavy shuddering breath. Her hands closed to pale fists at her sides. ‘This is not my burden, Kilava,’ she answered, resolute.

The woman named Kilava closed her eyes for an instant, let her arms fall. ‘But it is.’ She added, ‘I’m sorry.’ Yet to whom she was apologizing was unclear to Shimmer.

Swallowing through her dread, Shimmer addressed K’azz: ‘What is this?’

The man was holding himself rigid. His hollowed cheeks and bruised sunken eyes made him look so very ill. Was this what they were speaking of? That he is near to death? ‘I’m so very sorry, Shimmer,’ he answered, his voice choked and ragged. ‘This wasn’t what I wanted — please believe me.’

‘What is it, please?’ she begged.

Silverfox seemed to drag herself to stand before them, flanked by Tolb Bell’al and Pran Chole. She studied them each in turn and the anguish in her eyes terrified Shimmer. ‘The Crimson Guard,’ she murmured, nodding to herself. ‘If only we had met earlier. I would have recognized it immediately, K’azz.’

‘You are the Summoner,’ he said, his voice hardly more than a groan.

‘Yes. So the task must fall to me though I wish it otherwise.’

Something in what they were saying made Shimmer dizzy; the thing lurking behind their words threatened her so much she thought she would lose her reason. She raised a hand, pointing to Kilava. ‘I have seen you before …’

The woman nodded. ‘Yes. Once. The day of your Vow — Shimmer, is it? That day your Vow touched upon Tellann and so I came to witness.’

Touched upon Tellann … the words spun like a destroying whirlwind in Shimmer’s thoughts. Echoes of their Vow washed over her. Eternal opposition …

The woman addressed K’azz: ‘What do you think lent power to you Avowed? Sustained you all this time?’

K’azz nodded, his eyes downcast. ‘I knew. For some time, I have known.’

Silverfox gently raised a hand and pressed it to K’azz’s forehead. ‘Though it brings me terrible pain to do so, I welcome you, K’azz D’Avore, Commander of the Crimson Guard.’

Tolb Bell’al inclined his ravaged skull. ‘We of the Ifayle are also saddened, yet we welcome you gladly. Long has it been since we have welcomed a new clan among the T’lan Imass. We offer our greetings to the K’azz T’lan Imass. The Red Clan.’

‘Gods above and below,’ Shimmer heard Blues moan.

‘We thank you,’ K’azz answered, the words jagged with suppressed pain. Then he turned to her, took her hand — his fingers so cold. ‘I’m sorry, Shimmer … please …’

But she hardly heard him. The thing in her mind was close now. The truth she did not want. It all made sense now. Now she knew why she’d run from this knowledge. Avoided it at all costs. Why she’d refused to see it. She understood, and could see the truth of it. Her hand rose to press against her chest where, weeks ago, a blade from the Sharr attack had struck, and she knew. She finally accepted that for some time now — she’d been dead.

With that giving up to the fact, that yielding, came darkness and nothing more.

*

When Shimmer collapsed into her commander’s arms the man gently lowered her to the ground and the others, Blues and Cal-Brinn, knelt with him next to her. Kyle could only wonder on the shock of such an unveiling. The Crimson Guard Vow — a curse in truth, just like that of the T’lan. He shook his head at the horrifying injustice of it. Then jerked, startled, as the Jaghut elder raised her arms, calling: ‘Summoner! We have delayed here too long.’

Silverfox spun from the kneeling figures, sudden panicked awareness in her face. ‘T’lan guard us!’ she ordered.

The ranks of the Kerluhm came clattering forward across the rocks to form a broad defensive circle around the Crimson Guard and the Jaghut elder and her descendants.

Fisher, Jethiss and Kyle pushed forward into the circle. Moments later the Icebloods, the three of the Sayer, and the son of the Heels, joined them.

Beyond the nearest boulders and debris of this high shoulder, all round them, there rose ash-grey shapes from among the fallen rocks. Kyle had never seen them before, but he immediately knew them for what they were: the slate-hued, thin and elongated shapes of the Forkrul Assail. He also knew at that moment that it was unlikely that they would get off the mountain alive.

The alien figures remained immobile, as if carved of stone themselves. The Imass waited, obsidian and flint swords readied. Kyle drew the white blade and to his astonishment — and extreme discomfort — saw the attention of the Forkrul shift to him as their slit eyes all moved at once.

Jethiss moved to confront them but Fisher snapped up a hand to grasp his arm, pulling him back. ‘Not yet,’ he murmured, ‘if you must at all.’

The Andii eased backwards, acquiescing to the bard’s urgings — at least for now.

The Forkrul then raised arms to point up the slope to a higher ridge of stone. Kyle glanced up to see two there waiting. Stones crunched as the Jaghut elder passed through the circled Imass. She paused then, looking back to them. ‘One from each of us gathered here must come,’ she said. The words troubled Kyle in that he sensed something deeper behind them. Something profound and ritualized.

Further steps sounded over the stones as Silverfox stepped forth. With her came Kilava and Pran Chole. The Sayer youth, Orman, joined the Jaghut elder, the wicked-looking spear cradled in his arms. The matriarch gestured, inviting up Jethiss. He turned to Fisher, who nodded, and in turn reached out to pull on Kyle’s arm. Kyle resisted. ‘There are enough,’ he said.

‘No. The white blade must come. I understand this now. This is no accident, Kyle. This is why we are here.’ Fisher peered about, his eyes widening. ‘Great Abyss,’ he murmured, ‘Four. We are four again.’ He pressed his sleeve to his face, daubing away a sheen of sweat. ‘Gods guide us!’

Not understanding the bard’s words, but granting the man’s urgency, he relented, and followed up the slope.

Here, two Forkrul, no different from the others as far as Kyle could discern, awaited them. They stood tall, equal even unto the Jaghut, on gangly strangely jointed legs that looked able to bend backwards, with frail-looking thin arms, and long pinched heads. Oddly, each face bore a vertical scar, or suture, that ran from chin up to sloped skull. Kyle was not fooled by their frail appearance. He knew that they faced a great danger here, and not only they: all in this region faced destruction should these Forkrul bestir themselves.

One tilted its head, studying the Jaghut. ‘You trouble us again,’ it said.

‘Through no choice of mine,’ she answered.

‘False,’ broke in the other Forkrul, its voice as harsh as cracking stone. ‘You chose.’

‘Do you dispute this judgement?’ the first one asked.

The Jaghut sighed her assent, then, raising her chin to regard them more closely, asked: ‘What do we call you?’

The first inclined its head as if to grant the appropriateness of the question. ‘That you ask reveals you are aware that names are irrelevant among any community of unadulterated Assail. All are equal. However, when communicating with you lesser kinds we adopt titles as we understand you require such props. Therefore, you may name me Arbiter, and this one Penance.’

‘Very well,’ the Matriarch answered.

‘So,’ Arbiter spoke again. ‘You trouble us though you know we could cleanse this landmass as we have others before. Do you dispute this?’

She clenched her lips in distaste, but nodded her curt agreement. ‘Cleansing would avert further irritation,’ put in Penance.

‘You Forkrul,’ Silverfox suddenly announced. ‘Your conceit is matched only by your arrogance.’

Arbiter fixed its slit eyes upon her. ‘Of all parties present, you Imass bear the greatest weight of guilt.’

‘Do you dispute this guilt?’ Penance demanded.

Silverfox’s aged features paled. She exchanged a look with Pran Chole, then cleared her throat warily. ‘If you mean the Vow, then, no. I do not dispute this.’

‘The hostilities between you and the Jaghut is what we reference,’ Penance clarified.

Silverfox pointed to the elder, outraged. ‘They started the war!’

‘Provocation matters not,’ said Arbiter. ‘What matters is you Imass broke the ancient founding of the peace.’

Kyle tensed as Fisher stepped up. The bard raised his hands, saying, ‘And we are four now, gathered here once more.’

Arbiter tilted its head once again. ‘Four?’ Its gaze fell upon Jethiss and it let out a long hissing breath. ‘Ah. I see. The K’Chain Che’Malle are for the most part gone from the lands. Yet a new race now stands among us. Dare you pledge to a new founding of the peace?’

Jethiss turned to study Fisher for a time. Kyle was oddly reassured to see the man’s hands shake slightly as he rubbed them down his thighs. He took a deep breath. ‘Yet there are other races …’

‘True,’ Arbiter acknowledged. ‘But they have not moved together in all-out hostilities against other kind. As all of us gathered here have.’

‘We never did,’ the Jaghut elder corrected.

‘So you insist,’ Penance answered brusquely. ‘Yet here you are.’

Arbiter raised a hand for silence. ‘I sense that while the others may not be here … they may have cast a vote.’ To Kyle’s horror the Forkrul pointed a crooked finger directly at him. ‘You — child of the Imass. You bear a potent token. Would you bring it forth?’

Kyle shot an uncertain glance to Fisher, who nodded his encouragement and gestured him forward. Stepping up, Kyle drew the white blade. He offered it grip first.

To his astonishment, the Forkrul shied away from the weapon and waved it aside with a disdainful flick of its fingers. ‘Not that thing of chaos. We speak of the token at your neck.’

Now Kyle flinched back, confused and shocked. Not the stone — anything but that. He clenched his free hand to the amber at his neck, sheathed the white blade. He shook his head. ‘I’ll not give this up.’

‘It speaks well that you will not. May we examine it?’

Kyle glanced again to Fisher. ‘On the understanding that he does not relinquish it,’ the bard said.

‘Of course,’ Arbiter answered, sounding almost irritated. ‘It would be of no value otherwise.’ It held out a long-fingered hand.

Kyle snapped the leather thong and handed over the modest token of polished amber — the one thing he had left of his time with the giant Ereko. The Forkrul held it in its palm, closed its eyes for an instant, then peered up with a strange new expression in its alien face. ‘We were almost as brothers, you know,’ it said. ‘We regard ourselves as children of the earth. It is … surprising … that you should carry such a gift from the Thel Akai.’

‘Speaking for the T’lan,’ Silverfox announced, ‘we pledge to a peace between us.’

A long silence followed this as even the Forkrul seemed at a startled loss. ‘You so swear?’ murmured Penance, a dangerous note in its voice.

Pran Chole bowed his head to Silverfox and she nodded her grave agreement. ‘We so pledge.’

The Forkrul extended its hand and Kyle took the necklace. ‘What of the Jaghut?’ it asked.

The woman motioned the Sayer youth, Orman, forward. The young man adjusted the patch on his eye and stepped up with his spear held straight. He thumped its butt to the stones, saying, ‘We so pledge.’

‘And the Tiste Andii?’

Jethiss nodded solemnly. ‘I believe I have been sent here to make this pledge. And to ask of you a boon …’

The two Forkrul exchanged a glance. ‘We will adjudicate that in time,’ answered Penance.

‘As to this new founding of the peace,’ intoned Arbiter, ‘we Forkrul pledge our honouring.’ It gestured curtly and the many Assail scattered among the rocks clambered quickly up the slope. All in eerie silence.

Kyle examined the modest lump of amber in his palm. Did you know, Ereko? Was this why you left this behind? Yet how could you know? Perhaps it was a hope only; a seed cast into the future with the hope that it would find the right conditions, the right soil, to germinate. He retied the lace about his neck.

‘Well done,’ Fisher murmured low to him. The bard sounded infinitely relieved. ‘The giving of that stone is a tale I would have you tell.’

‘It is a sad one.’

‘Of course. All the important ones are.’ Then he turned away, his breath catching, and Kyle glanced over: Jethiss now faced the Forkrul. Fisher was at his side in an instant, taking his arm. ‘You need not pursue this,’ he hissed.

‘I wish to,’ the Andii answered, quite calm.

‘It is perilous beyond your grasp.’

‘My memories are slowly returning, Fisher. I believe that this will complete them.’ The Andii offered a crooked smile. ‘Finding out who you are in truth is always a perilous undertaking.’ He faced the Forkrul. ‘I ask a boon.’

Arbiter nodded. ‘Speak.’

‘Once, we Andii were blessed by the protection of a powerful champion and weapon. A storied blade. Now he and it are gone. I ask of you Forkrul a weapon worthy of us Andii. Worthy to protect us. Will you grant me this boon?’

The Forkrul glanced to one another once again and Kyle intuited a great deal of communication was exchanged in each of these moments. They broke off the gaze and Arbiter turned to Jethiss. ‘We shall fashion for you a blade worthy of you,’ it answered.

‘I accept,’ Jethiss said even as Fisher drew breath to cut in with a shout.

‘No! That wording. I fear that wording. There is something there. Some hidden danger.’

The Andii merely let out a long exhausted breath. ‘It is too late. What is done is done. Now we shall see what the Forkrul can provide.’

In answer, Arbiter curled its thin fingers, inviting Jethiss onward. ‘Come.’ The Andii followed the two up the slope. Eventually he disappeared from sight behind a boulder.

Fisher sat heavily among the rocks. He hid his face in his hands. ‘I fear we shall never see him again.’

Kyle eased himself down next to him, sighed his utter weariness. ‘We shall see.’

Footsteps sounded and a shadow loomed over them: Kyle squinted up at the Jaghut woman and Orman with her. ‘You will await your friend?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘He is a fool to ask anything of the Forkrul. They are vicious, cruel, and amoral.’

‘Then it is best we do not disturb them,’ Fisher observed, sharply.

The Jaghut woman tipped her head to him. ‘I have a modest abode nearby. I will bring you some food and blankets.’ She limped off. The stones rattled and crunched beneath her sandals.

Kyle studied the young man, Orman. ‘You will return to your people?’

He leaned upon the tall spear, touched self-consciously at the patch over his eye. ‘Yes. When the ice melts — and Mother assures me it will quite quickly — it is my wish that we should build a new Greathall where we shall all reside. All we Icebloods. The blood-feuds and vendettas between us, I hope, will be things of the past.’

‘A worthy goal,’ Fisher said.

‘You will always be welcome in our hall.’

‘I shall look forward to such a visit in the future.’

‘And you too, Kyle, friend of the Children of the Earth, and wielder of the white blade.’

‘I thank you.’

‘Until then,’ and Orman bowed and headed down the slope, thumping the butt of the spear loudly to the stones as he went.

Fisher let out a heartfelt breath. ‘That spear makes me as uncomfortable as your sword.’

‘There is something primal about it. And it is an Imass weapon, after all.’

Silverfox approached with Pran Chole and the woman Kilava. Kyle and Fisher scrambled to their feet to bow to her. ‘Summoner,’ Fisher welcomed her.

She waved off their formality, addressed Kyle. ‘Thank you, White-blade. I do not know what it is you carry, but somehow it tipped the scales in our favour. I am not naïve enough to believe that the Forkrul have hearts, but perhaps it touched something within them. A sense of nostalgia, maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘In any case, you have my gratitude.’

‘I think of what I carry as friendship,’ Kyle said.

‘Friendship?’ She brushed back her wind-tossed hair. Kyle was struck by the unexpectedly girlish gesture from such an apparently aged woman. ‘Would that they could understand such a thing,’ she murmured.

‘You are off?’ Fisher asked.

‘Yes. We head south. I would gather up as many of the T’lan as I can, then we shall continue our search.’

‘Your search?’ Kyle asked.

‘Yes. I will find them all, friend Kyle. And when I have found them they will know the gift of the Redeemer and I shall release them. None shall be left behind.’

Fisher bowed once more. ‘I wish you success.’

Pran Chole gave them a nod, dipping his deer headdress. ‘Farewell. Or not. Perhaps we shall meet again.’

‘Perhaps,’ Kyle acknowledged.

Last came Kilava. The short powerful woman now carried a half-smile on her lips. ‘That went far better than I had hoped or expected. Well done, Whiteblade.’ She faced Fisher. ‘Bard. Good to see you again.’

‘And you, Kilava.’

She leaned forward and planted a light brush of a kiss on Fisher’s cheek, then walked off. Kyle watched her go, astonished, then returned his wondering gaze to the bard.

‘You were once …’

Fisher sat once more, sighing, his hands hanging loose over his knees. ‘Another time, Kyle.’

They were alone now with the moaning, gusting wind. The thick deck of clouds churned below, effectively cutting off the world beneath. It seemed to Kyle that here among the frigid peaks they were in the realm of the gods. The day was cooling: the sun had descended behind the cloud cover to the west.

He blew upon his hands to warm them and knew that without his Iceblood, his Jaghut heritage, he would be frozen stiff.

Fisher opened the satchel at his side and withdrew the stringed box, the kantele of the Losts. He examined it to make certain it hadn’t been harmed.

‘Will you play?’ Kyle asked.

He shook his head. ‘No. Too cold.’ He wrapped the instrument and gently returned it to its case.

‘What tale will you tell of what has occurred here?’ Kyle asked.

The bard nodded profoundly. ‘Ah yes. That is the question.’ He extended his legs straight out before himself and crossed them at the ankle, meshed his fingers over his chest. ‘One mustn’t feel constrained by the facts.’ He shot Kyle a sideways glance. ‘Poetic truth is a higher truth, you know. Names and events must be changed to disguise the mundane — and invariably disappointing — truth behind.’

Kyle smoothed his now long and drooping moustache, smiling. ‘Of course. In other words, you’ll make up what you want and claim that’s what happened.’

‘Of course. Now, tell me the tale of your finding of this stone.’

Kyle eased back among the rocks as best he could. He shot a glance high above, searching for any sign of Jethiss, then pulled his cloak tighter against the wind. ‘Well … I didn’t find it. It was given to me. Left behind by a friend.’