Sovereign

CHAPTER 8

His name was Captain Waylong and he was a sapper and a soldier; a sapper and a soldier for whom, exactly, was beyond him at the moment. As his company marched south past the border tree, a wideoak that for centuries had marked the meeting point of Haxus and Hume on this road, he pondered the strange turns and twists of fate. Only three months before, he and his company had swung past the same wideoak, part of a Haxan army on its way to invade Grenda Lear. Now he was part of a Chett army, nominally under the command of a prince of Grenda Lear, on its way to invade… well, Grenda Lear. Without understanding all the politics involved, he certainly understood the irony.

He wasn't so sure he understood his own feelings on the matter. He had been quite proud of being a Haxan, and almost as proud of his haughty and clever king, Salokan. After all, he had spent his whole life being a Haxan and learning to despise the weak and effeminate enemy south of the border. Now, although Salokan was still his ruler in name, Haxus was no longer an independent Kingdom; indeed it did not properly belong to any Kingdom, since the real power behind Salokan, Lynan Rosetheme, was not much more than an outlaw in his own homeland and possessed nothing except two of the mythical Keys of Power.

Just then a detachment of Chett cavalry trotted past. Waylong spat dust out of his mouth. Well, he corrected himself, possessed of nothing except two Keys of Power, the orphan Kingdom of Haxus and a bloody huge army. He could not help grinning. That's a damn sight more than many other kings can claim, I suppose.

Despite all the political and moral conundrums he now carried as extra baggage, Waylong had one thing to be grateful for. Lynan Rosetheme was leaving Haxus. Thinking about that pale creature sent a shiver down his spine, and he was glad his soil was free of it.

Unlike many of the soldiers in his company, Waylong had actually seen Lynan Rosetheme up close. As a captain he had been present when the remnants of the old Haxus officer corps had been summoned to the palace in Kolby. Salokan was seated in the throne, and to his right and slightly behind him stood the conqueror, small and white. The throne room was lined with the terrifying Red Hands, Lynan's personal bodyguard; he had seen too many of his own people go down beneath the short swords of those bastards.

Waylong remembered that Salokan had looked ill and almost as pale as Lynan, and that his right hand was heavily bandaged. He remembered, too, how both men had eyes that seemed dead to the world around them. It was the Chett queen Korigan who spoke and explained the situation to them all: most would be reconstituted as the new Haxus army, but some specialty units, such as the sappers, would be moving south with the Chetts to invade Hume once again. The assembled officers gave a faint-hearted cheer, neither keen to return to the place of their defeats nor to serve under such a forbidding master.

But Salokan stood then and told them they would be serving the best interests of Haxus, and the destiny of Haxus to take Hume would finally be realised. The officers cheered a second time, with more gusto, but Waylong would never forget how Salokan had sounded like a slave and not a king; he, like Korigan, nothing more than a mouthpiece for some darker presence.

And now here they all were, tramping through a country that only months before had known peace for over fifteen years. Not only his own company of sappers, but also quite a few units of heavy infantry, their spears carried nonchalantly over their shoulders as if they were out hunting bear cubs. The rest of the Haxus army Lynan had left behind, but none of his Chetts. Waylong looked on with respect whenever the famous horse archers rode by, sitting in their saddles with greater ease than any Haxus rider was capable of; and he looked on with something like awe at the Chett lancers, a kind of cavalry no one in the east thought the Chetts capable of producing. And then there were the Red Hands and the Ocean Clan riders under the command of the ugliest human being Waylong had ever seen; they carried the short sword as well as the sabre and recurve bow, and he had seen first-hand how proficient they were at using all three.

He looked briefly over his shoulder and wondered if he would ever again see his homeland, and realised with a dim pain that he no longer truly had a homeland. For better or worse, the Haxus he grew up in was gone forever.

'Every day you come closer,' she said.

'I'm not coming for your sake,' Lynan told her. They were standing in a green grove filled with a heavy mist.

Lynan felt soaked through. His hair stuck to his scalp and face like seaweed on an exposed rock. His skin was as cold as marble. She was half lost in a tangle of vines and creepers, and it was hard to tell where she ended and the forest began.

'Of course you're coming for my sake.' She smiled at him, and he could feel himself becoming aroused. Her voice was like a summer breeze, and her skin looked as soft as a carpet of moss. 'You want to be with me again. I can hear your dreams. You dream about me all the time.'

'No,' Lynan said between his teeth, but even as he said the word he knew he was lying. 'No!' he repeated, more fiercely, but it sounded no more convincing.

She stepped towards him, her outline blurring with the leaves and branches that surrounded her. Her beautiful face flickered in the shadows. She stopped a few paces from him. 'You can lie to your friends, Lynan, but you cannot lie to me. We are the same, you and I, and I can read you as easily as I read the twisting tree and the burrowing badger.'

He tried turning his gaze away from her, but it was useless. Wherever he looked, she was there. 'I want nothing to do with you! Leave me alone!'

'All life desires me,' she said sweetly.

'All life despises you,' he spat back.

'There is less difference between the two emotions than you imagine.'

'You sound like a priest,' he said scornfully.

'And there is less difference between me and a priest than you imagine.' Suddenly she was right before him, and she stroked his cheek with one scratchy finger. 'We both want your soul.'

'You want it for yourself.'

'And now we are back to desire.' She retreated a step and frowned in thought. 'I remember what it was like. Centuries ago, before your kind came to Theare. I remember what it was to make love, to desire the body of another and not his soul. In a way I am more innocent now than I was then: my desire is less base, more pure. I desire the best in you, not the worst.'

'You will take everything from me, my soul and my life.'

'They are the only things about Lynan Rosetheme worth having.' She laughed, and the sound of it was like leaves falling. 'Oh, I cannot forget your gifts. The Keys of Power will look fine against my breasts.'

'You shall never have them.' But even as he said the words the two Keys around his neck melted away and appeared around her own, the two talismans resting between her pale green breasts with nipples the colour of old wood.

'What is it you desire the most, Lynan Rosetheme?' she asked, coming close to him again. Her breath brushed against his face like a cold wind. 'What do you want, my conquering prince?'

Lynan felt his sex stiffening. His desire for her was overwhelming. Without volition his hands stretched out to cup her breasts.

'What is it you want?' Silona asked again, smiling sweetly. She took one of his hands and placed it between her thighs. 'Above all else, is it Silona you desire?'

Deep within him stirred a terrible anger, something that belonged to Silona as much as it belonged to him. He pushed her away with a furious shout. She flew back in a flurry of whirling leaves and disappeared.

Lynan breathed in deeply with relief, but the breath froze when he heard Silona's laugh. At first he thought it came from in front of him, but then the grove itself seemed to take it up and the laughter surrounded him. Every tree and hedge became a reflection of her shape, every branch an arm, every gust of wind a breath from her fetid lungs. Terror swelled in him and he screamed.

Korigan woke with a start and knew instantly what had taken away her sleep. She was here, and Korigan could feel her presence as if the vampire was standing over her. She leaped out of her bed and rushed to Lynan's tent. The Red Hands on duty stepped aside for her and she entered. There was not enough light to see by, and she could hear no sound. It occurred to her that Lynan might be outside, and the thought almost panicked her. How would she find him? How could she protect him from Silona? At that moment she heard, as if from a great distance, a woman's voice saying Lynan's name. The sound of it was like ice in her brain, and her skin seemed to crawl in revulsion. Then she heard, close by, Lynan's voice answer.

'You shall never have them.'

The words were desperate. Following the direction of his voice she could see his dim outline on a cot.

Again from far away she heard Silona. 'What is it you desire the most, Lynan Rosetheme?' Korigan saw he was naked, and as she watched he became aroused. She surprised herself by being ashamed for his sake, and even as she went to him to wake him he pushed away with his arms at some invisible presence. Silona laughed, and the sound came from all around the tent. Korigan froze, more afraid than she had ever been before, and she struggled against it vainly until Lynan screamed. Suddenly she was afraid for herself no more, and she rushed to him.

'Lynan! Wake up!' She took him in her arms. He sat up, struggled against her, tried to push her way. The Red Hands came into the tent, confused and alarmed. They carried torches. 'Go!' she ordered them. 'Leave one of the torches, but go! He'll be alright!' They left without hesitation. They knew about Lynan's nightmares—seen by them as a great sickness that only someone great could suffer—and knew as well that Korigan often helped him.

She turned back to Lynan, trying to force him down. 'It's alright, I'm here! You're safe!'

His whole body shuddered. In the flickering light she saw his skin was shiny with sweat. His eyes opened and stared, terrified, at Korigan.

'It's me,' she said as soothingly as possible, fighting to keep her voice calm.

'Silona!' he whimpered and scuttled backwards out of her arms.

'No, it is me, Korigan—'

'Silona!' he said again, louder, and the fear in his voice tore at Korigan's heart. She grasped his hands and used all her strength to pull him back so she could wrap her arms around him and force his head against her breasts. 'Listen! Do you hear my heart? Silona has no heart. I am no vampire.' Still he struggled against her. 'Lynan, listen to me! I am Korigan! I am your queen!' She said the words so quickly they came out before she could stop them, and in shock almost let go of the prince.

'It's true,' she said, but to herself more than to Lynan. Determination filled her and she grasped Lynan's head in her hands and kissed him on the mouth. He stopped struggling against her. She opened her eyes and saw the terror in his eyes drain away to be replaced by recognition.

He pulled away from her, gently. 'Korigan?' He looked around him, dazed. 'It was her—'

She dropped her hands and did not know what to do with them. 'I know,' she said falteringly. 'I heard her, and I saw you fight her off.'

'What…?' The question died on his lips, and he would not meet her gaze.

Korigan did not know what to say either. Since her father's death had left her queen at age thirteen she had had to make choices to secure her throne and advance her people's interests, and every time she had seen clearly the consequences of her action; but this time she was confronted by a choice that might be the most important in her life and yet she could not see which path would best serve either her throne or her people. All she knew, and this with utter certainty, was what she wanted, and realising that she also realised she had left herself no choice.

'It is too late for regret,' she said quietly, again more to herself than to Lynan.

'Korigan?'

She closed her eyes, leaned forward and kissed him a second time, but without holding him to her. Too quick! she told herself, knowing now he would reject her a second time. But then his lips parted slightly and he kissed her back. His arms moved around her, embracing and capturing her at the same time. For the first time in her life Korigan had no thought for her throne or her people. For the first time in her life she thought about nothing except how she wanted something for herself, and how glorious it felt.

It was not yet dawn when Jenrosa woke. She left her tent and made for the small creek she had seen the day before. It was no more than two paces wide and a hand's-breadth deep, but it would do. She knelt in front of the creek and scooped a hole out of the dirt nearby, then used her cupped hands to fill the hole with water. She waited for dawn and for the water to settle, then gently broke the surface with the tip of one finger and watched as the ripples spread out, each catching the sun's light and turning into golden rings. She sighed deeply and said: 'The past is the same but the present has no boundary.'

The moment she uttered the last word the rings of gold turned to rings of blood, and then all the water in the hole turned red as if from some dreadful infection. Jenrosa gasped and quickly stood up. She felt nauseous and bent over to vomit, but could only dry retch. She stood up again and wiped spittle from her mouth, tears flowing from her eyes.

What is wrong with me? What have I become?

She could not believe—would not believe—that she was seeing the future. Of course there would be blood, she told herself, they were in the middle of a war. She did not have to be a magiker to predict that.

Then what was happening? Why was everything she did tainted with blood? She woke up every morning tasting it on the back of her throat. She had dreams of rivers of blood cascading down the streets of Kendra, so much blood it could fill an ocean.

Deep in her mind she already half knew the answer, but refused to drag it up to full awareness. It had to do with Lynan and Silona, but she did not want to stare the truth in the face. Not yet. Not until she was sure.

All my fault, she thought. Everything is my fault.

She started sobbing, at first from self-pity, but then in real sorrow as the memory of Kumul welled up inside her and so overwhelmed her she fell to all fours in the dirt. Her tears flowed now, falling off her cheeks into the hole of bloody water, and as they did the water cleared, becoming like crystal. When Jenrosa saw this she rested back on her heels and forced herself to control her grief. She told herself that Kumul would have been ashamed of her, and that finally brought her up.

She touched the water again with the tip of her finger. 'The past is the same but the present has no boundary,' she said. And this time the ripples carried neither gold nor blood. She watched intently, trying to gather meaning from the images that flashed in the expanding rings, one after the other, and realised they were telling her the same story. Thousands of Chetts lay dead in a long green valley somewhere in the Oceans of Grass. 'The same story,' she said aloud. 'So this must be the past.' The last image showed a pennant with a flying bird on it. At first she thought it was the kestrel of the Rosethemes, but then realised it was like no bird she had ever seen before.

We have a new enemy, she told herself. And they are already among us.