The Diamond Isle

33

In Prince Melyobar’s floating palace they knew nothing about possible earthquakes.

The court was moving above a landscape of almost pure white, and snow was still falling hard. There were steep mountains on either side of the airborne procession, and a network of sizeable lakes, frozen over and snow-covered, not far below. The route had been insisted on by Melyobar himself, for whatever reason that seemed pressing to him at the time. But the weather conditions meant that the sorcerers tasked with steering the behemoth had kept it flying low. Thousands of the camp followers who relied on non-magical transport were finding their way across the ice-bound lakes. But as many chose to take a long detour.

Talgorian had been held in a dungeon, roughed up a little and not fed, although they did give him a small amount of water. He had no idea what had happened to the detail of troopers he’d brought with him, and knew nothing of the fate of Okrael, the young sorcerer who tried to warn him about the Prince’s lunatic scheme. As yet, Talgorian had not suffered the torture that had been threatened when he was seized.

They came for him without warning or explanation. He was given a heavy fur coat to put on, and thick gloves, which surprised him. But it became clear why when he was taken, not to an audience chamber or to the throne room, but outside, onto one of the palace’s upper battlements. It was here that the Prince had ordered the installation of powerful catapults, and it was Okrael who had revealed what they were to be used for. In addition to the catapults, and set well away from them, there was a structure that looked worryingly like a gallows.

It was bitterly cold. He wondered why anyone would want to conduct business of any kind in such a place. Then he remembered that the ‘anyone’ was Prince Melyobar.

The Prince himself sat, incongruously, on a throne mounted on a dais, over which a canopy had been erected. There were various nobles, officials and military types about, as usual, and the higher-ups had their own parasols. Nobody else got an awning, naturally. Or a seat.

Talgorian was frog-marched into Melyobar’s presence like a common criminal. It had been his intention to dispense with formalities like bowing in order to show his displeasure at how they were treating him. Unfortunately, one of the thuggish guards enforced the protocol with a clout to the back of Talgorian’s head.

The Envoy was also frustrated in his next planned snub. He meant to offer the Prince no ceremonial greeting. This was thwarted by the simple fact that Melyobar spoke first and ignored etiquette himself.

‘I trust a night in the cells has helped bring you to your senses,’ the Prince said.

‘My senses about what precisely, Your Royal Highness?’ Talgorian didn’t quite have the nerve to dispense with the man’s correct titles as part of his protest.

‘Your sedition. Your conspiring with enemies of my rule.’

‘Those charges, if that’s officially what they are, Your Majesty, are patently absurd. I’ve not been seditious and I don’t associate with the enemies of authority.’

‘Well, of course you’d be inclined to lie about it, wouldn’t you?’

‘I take great exception to that slight, Your Majesty. And if I may say so, I think this whole episode is an appalling way to treat an Imperial Ambassador. I intend complaining to the Empress about it in the strongest possible terms.’

‘Complaining to my arch-enemy, more like. Complaining to…’ He almost always lowered his voice when referring to death. ‘…Him. Do you deny it?’

‘Yes! That is, what exactly am I denying, sire?’

‘Your attempts to confuse this hearing are typical of the methods employed by your sort.’

‘Hearing? In what way does this represent a properly constituted legal tribunal, my lord?’

‘It’s officially constituted as far as the rules of my court are concerned.’

In other words the Prince was making it up as he went along, Talgorian thought. ‘If this is a form of trial, then I respectfully request the benefit of legal representation.’

‘There’s no need. I afford you something much better than that.’

‘Sire?’

‘You’re allowed to talk for yourself. Who’s more qualified to put your case?’

‘What case? How can I defend myself when I’m unaware of the exact nature of the offences I’m supposed to have committed?’

‘So you admit you have no case. That won’t go well for you.’

Talgorian wanted to scream. Instead he chose to speak as though to a child, which had worked in the past. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done, Your Highness. If it were possible for you to graciously inform me, perhaps I could then assist Your Highness.’

The Prince lifted a sheet of vellum from his lap and spent an inordinate amount of time studying it. At length he said, ‘It amounts to treason.’

‘But I’m not even a Bhealfan subject!’

‘Ah, and neither is he. So you’re making the further admission that like my enemy you’re not a Bhealfan subject. This is all starting to sound rather damning, isn’t it?’

The Ambassador took a steadying breath. ‘You mentioned conspiracy, Majesty. Would you be kind enough to outline the nature of that charge?’

‘You’re accused of conspiring against me, and by extension, the people of Bhealfa.’

‘If that’s the basis of the accusation against me, sire, then I’m forced to draw to your attention the plot which you yourself are said to have instigated. A plot whose aim is to exterminate a large number of Your Majesty’s own subjects. Is that not a conspiracy against the people of Bhealfa?’

‘You say plot, I say project. I’m afraid your own terminology betrays you. For who would describe a project as a plot unless they saw themselves as a victim of it? And to see yourself as a victim must mean that you stand as an enemy of this administration. Indeed, the very fact that you have knowledge of the project indicates an element of espionage, and should constitute another charge against you. So consider yourself lucky on that count.’ He slumped back in his throne, evidently pleased with his display of superior logic. ‘Do you have anything to say before judgement’s passed?’ he added.

‘I-’

‘Suit yourself. Having considered the evidence in some detail, there can be only one verdict on these grave charges: guilty. And offences of such gravity can attract only one sentence: that you be hanged by the neck until dead. And further, that your remains be contributed towards manufacture of the essence I’ll be employing to cleanse the land.’

Shocked as he was, what really lodged in Talgorian’s mind was that he had been given a coat and gloves so he wouldn’t feel discomfort at his execution.

‘Is there a plea for mercy?’ the Prince asked. ‘Would the condemned man care to confess his guilt, supply details of the conspiracy and throw himself upon our mercy?’

‘This is an outrage!’ the Envoy yelled, resorting to the diplomat’s trump card, indignation. ‘The Empress herself shall hear of it!’

‘I see no reason to delay the sentence,’ Melyobar decided. ‘But it’s a pity really, because you’ll miss seeing the launch of the project, which starts just as soon as this weather clears. Guards!’

Talgorian, voicing objections, was prodded towards the scaffold.

The Prince gestured to an official standing by a door leading into the palace. ‘I’m very pleased to say,’ he announced to those present, ‘that on the occasion of this execution we are honoured to have with us our inspiration, our leading exemplar of moral rectitude, the Grandfather of the Nation and originator of the project we’re soon to see underway. Please welcome my father, King Narbetton.’

To smatterings of polite applause, muffled by gloves, a small procession made its way out of the open door. At first sight it appeared to be a funeral, an observation that sent a chill up Talgorian’s spine. In fact, technically the six uniformed bearers were carrying a glass-fronted cabinet, not a coffin. It contained the comatose body of the not-so-late monarch, dressed in finery and clutching a grand broadsword. His cabinet was manhandled to an upright position and made secure with props, so that he appeared to be standing, albeit on a lower level than his son.

Talgorian was being hustled to his own stage, for a performance he’d rather not give. His wrists were bound, which meant removing the gloves, and his hands immediately began turning blue. They positioned him beneath the gibbet, just next to the trapdoor that would open and cause his neck to snap. The trap was as big as a small barn door, indicating that the scaffold was used for mass hangings.

Somebody slipped the noose over his head, leaving it lightly about his neck. At least it wasn’t snowing so heavily.

All they needed now was for the Lord High Executioner to put in an appearance. His absence caused amusement among Talgorian’s guards, prompting whispered jokes about how Melyobar had probably had the hangman executed. Jests Talgorian considered in poor taste, under the circumstances, though he had no argument with the executioner being late.

From his raised position on the gallows he could look over the ramparts to the wintry landscape beyond. Turning his head slightly, he saw the other levitated palaces that formed Melyobar’s court. They followed the royal residence in a well established pecking order, travelling single file and snow-caked, looking like an enormous string of pearls.

The Prince and his courtiers were growing restless waiting for the hangman. Talgorian’s worry was that Melyobar would lose patience and order a lowly soldier to do the job. If he was to be hanged, the Ambassador’s position required the attentions of no less than the Lord High Executioner himself. He didn’t want to lose face over this.

Standing on his windy perch, surveying a view the others couldn’t see as easily, the Envoy noticed something strange. Ahead, at the mouth of the next valley, a small town clustered, just visible in the greyness because of its lights. As he watched, those lights flickered in unison. Not individually or in segments, which might be explicable, but all of them at the same time. He couldn’t imagine why the town’s entire glamoured lighting should gutter simultaneously. Then it happened again, twice in quick succession. The fourth time, all the lights stayed out.

His guards hadn’t noticed. They were stamping their feet and huffing into their hands. Going by their resentful glances, they were more anxious to see the executioner than he was.

The officials around Melyobar’s throne conferred in groups. Messengers were dispatched.

He looked to the town. There were lights again, but they were different. They flashed, pulsed and shimmered, and they were multicoloured. Some took the form of brief, intense bursts. Perhaps a celebration was taking place. A melancholy thought for a man waiting to be hanged.

Then he thought he saw movement on the mountain slopes near the town. It was hard to be sure, but it looked like a large body of snow sliding earthward. An avalanche?

Another door opened on the battlements. A man hurried to the Prince at speed. He wore the robes that marked him as one of the sorcerer elite responsible for controlling the palace’s movements. He bowed low to Melyobar, then began an animated discourse.

All the palace lights flickered. The lights on the other palaces did the same, and in unison, like the distant town.

An odd noise greeted this unprecedented event. It sounded like the buzz of an enormous swarm of insects. In fact, it was a mass murmur; the startled outpourings of the many people on and about the palace, and the ones following. As the floating buildings made no noise, and the snow-blanketed day was equally silent, it was quite possible to hear such things. People hailing each other from one passing palace to another, using just their lungs, was not uncommon, though there were those who considered it vulgar. The misbehaviour of the lights caused a definite stir among Melyobar’s entourage. Much coming and going ensued, and the sorcerer who had briefed Melyobar left even faster than he had arrived. Watching all this, Talgorian was afraid they’d forgotten him. He spiked that thought. On balance, he was more afraid they hadn’t.

When the lights flickered, Melyobar’s personal bodyguards naturally moved closer to him. The Prince’s instinct was to move closer to his father.

Glamour-heated, Narbetton’s cabinet was pleasant to the touch on a winter’s day. Melyobar embraced it, and began an edgy, whispered dialogue with the old King.

Some of the courtiers went to the battlements and looked down on the army of camp followers. Things seemed to be out of the ordinary there, too. There were more lights than there should have been, many of them overly busy, and some kind of turmoil was evident. Sounds accompanied all this. They drifted up as pure clamour, but there were higher-pitched, faintly distressing chords woven in. The courtiers took to exchanging anxious looks.

‘Father says it’s all right!’ the Prince reported. ‘It’s just a little glitch in the magic, due to…the bad weather,’ he ended weakly.

The entire palace lurched. It took a drop of perhaps a second’s duration, though it felt much longer. Stomachs turned. Breaking glass could be heard, and loud curses. People screamed.

‘Father thinks it might be best if we were to bring the palace down to as near the ground as possible,’ the Prince announced. ‘Not that there’s any danger, of course. I’m issuing an order to that effect.’ A lithe messenger sped off with it as he spoke.

A full half minute passed before the next scare. Another tremor ran through the palace. This time the effect was more violent, with the structure not just descending sharply, as it had before, but drifting alarmingly off-course as well. The sheer wall of the mountain on their right loomed uncomfortably close.

The other palaces had similar problems. Several dropped in height appreciably. One was spinning, apparently uncontrollably. Small explosions blossomed on their surfaces, dislodging debris, and in one case, a balcony.

On the royal palace, the mood was one of barely suppressed panic. One of the military brass in the crowd milling about the Prince remarked, ‘This is a fine time for the executioner to turn up.’

Melyobar caught the remark, and followed the officer’s gaze. Tiers of stone walkways lined the side of the palace above the battlements. On the lowest there was a figure. It somehow gave the impression of masculinity, although there were no obvious signs. He was tall and slender, and dressed entirely in black. The mantle he wore covered him completely. His hood was up, and it was impossible to see his face. His hands were the only visible part of him. They were strikingly pale and long-fingered. Some might say skeletal.

The figure didn’t move. He just stood there, looking down at the Prince.

In many respects his demeanour conformed to the image of an executioner, dressed for anonymity and come to earn his coin.

For Melyobar, there was another, more dreadful possibility.

He pressed himself to his father’s cabinet, their faces inches apart. ‘A fine time for the executioner, father, is that it? Or the perfect time to foil our plan?’ His breath misted the glass.

The palace swung alarmingly. It began unsteadily revolving on its axis, looking for all the world like a demented children’s fairground ride. Columns, statues and strips of filigree dislodged and dropped away. One of the catapults broke its restraints and rolled across the battlements, scattering everyone in its path and crashing into the restraining wall, before beginning the return journey as the palace started to tilt in the opposite direction.

Hysteria broke out. People ran in all directions, aimless, screaming and shouting. The few trying to maintain order were overrun by the panicked majority. Cracks rippled through floors and walls.

The other floating palaces were in just as much trouble. Towers crumbled and causeways collapsed. Fires erupted. Several of the manors bumped each other, the jolting impacts breaking a thousand windows and fracturing their marble facades. Two collided head on with a sound like thunder.

Terror held sway. Giving in to irrationality, or simple desperation, many on the royal palace had deserted the battlements and fled indoors. None, not even his personal guard, had elected to stay with or protect their prince.

‘Father?’ he whispered, hugging the cabinet. ‘Father? What do I do?’ He listened attentively, and at last said only, ‘Oh, yes.’

The Prince again lifted his gaze to the parapet where the figure had stood. He saw what he expected.

Melyobar returned his attention to the cabinet and his father’s severe countenance. ‘Look, daddy, look. Watch me. Watch me, father.’ He smiled. ‘Are you ready? Watch me now. We…all…fall…down!’

Magic deserted them.

The distance to the ground was not that great, being equivalent to a moderate cliff face, or even some of the remarkably tall trees found in tropical regions. But height is irrelevant when plummeting objects weigh untold thousands of tons, and the locality over which the court travelled was not without bearing.

The royal palace and its attendant chateaux, mansions and citadels dropped like a handful of pebbles released by a bored god. They came down in a region dominated by lakes. Lakes much deeper than wide, and very wide indeed.

Not all of the buildings fell on iced-over lakes. Several came to grief on marshes and farmland, and in one case, a road. But that wasn’t the fate of the majority, including Melyobar’s palace. They smashed through ice, breaking up on impact or plunging into the freezing water whole. As they sank, the increasing pressure stove in windows and doors, and a deluge invaded their warrens of corridors, their staterooms, grand apartments and auditoria.

The lake was greedy. It swallowed everything. Or almost. Melyobar came to himself in the murderously cold water. An object nudged him. It was King Narbetton’s glass sepulchre, floating serenely by. The look of inscrutability on his father’s face was the last thing the Prince saw before the water took him.

A head broke the surface.

Andar Talgorian took great gulps of air, his lungs burning. He was so numb from the cold that he couldn’t feel his body except as pain. Somehow, the bonds tying his wrists had broken.

He didn’t imagine surviving for more than a couple of minutes in this cold. The irony of escaping death twice in succession, only to fall at the last hurdle, was not lost on him. Perhaps the gods were set on him dying.

It was getting harder to keep afloat, or even to think straight. His stamina was draining away, and his limbs were growing weaker. The cold was beyond cold, and seeping into his very bones. What he found amazing was that the equivalent of a sizeable town had just dropped into the lake and you wouldn’t know it. He couldn’t see anyone or anything else.

Then he heard a sound. Or thought he did; his ears might have been cut off for all the feeling he had in them. There it was again. A voice. Correction, voices. Shouting. He saw nothing the way he was facing. So laboriously, painfully, he turned himself about.

Something was coming towards him. He couldn’t make out what it was. As it got nearer it began to look like two figures walking on the water. Crouching, more like, the closer they got. They were calling and waving. They hauled him out. He lay gasping on their makeshift raft, the hangman’s rope still about his neck. One of his rescuers put a pocket flask to his lips. The fiery alcohol brought back some feeling as it burned its way through his system. As his senses returned, he realised that the sodden clothes the two men wore were uniforms.

‘Nechen and Welst, Palace Guard Auxiliary,’ one of them said. ‘How are you, sir?’

‘Thank…you,’ Talgorian managed.

‘Glad to share our good fortune, sir,’ the other told him. ‘Why, if it hadn’t been for this piece of wreckage, we wouldn’t be here ourselves.’

Talgorian focused on the slab of wood supporting them. It was the trapdoor from the gallows.

Many stories were told about the day destruction swept the empires and their many protectorates. Some would become legends.

One concerned a notorious pirate chief who threw in his lot with the empires against the fledgling rebel state.

It was said that on that fateful day a man came seeking an accounting with the pirate, a man terribly wronged and ill-treated by him. He came not by sea, but through the air, riding a wondrous flying disc. Alone he overcame the pirate’s band, raining down magic from above that blasted and seared, until at last only the pirate captain himself stood against him.

The release of the magic caused great convulsions, in many ways. One was uproar in the balance of nature. Many disasters were triggered, and there were earthquakes as the world accommodated itself to the loss. Where these happened at sea, their offspring was tidal waves.

As the pirate and his foe battled to the death, a cluster of breakers as tall as mountains swept their way. They crushed the buccaneer’s armada, sinking every ship bar his. It was taken by the biggest wave and flung into a portside hamlet on the Diamond Isle, giving the pirate the island he coveted, though not in a way he had intended.

Many believed the avenger perished too, paying the ultimate price for bringing his enemy’s predations to an end.

And then there was the way things ended on the Diamond Isle itself.

The island suffered its own upheavals, but the redoubt was comparatively untouched. Being too impoverished to have much in the way of magic was an asset for once.

Initially, the islanders were unclear as to what was happening in a wider sense. Being in the middle of an invasion, that was understandable; and they had enough remarkable things happening to keep them stretched as it was.

As the disturbances began to subside, there was a tense lull in which to prepare for the final onslaught.

Serrah and Reeth volunteered for lookout duty, and found themselves stationed on one of the redoubt’s battlements. It was the first time in many hours that they were able to be alone. Across the plain, the empires’ combined armies had gathered in even greater numbers.

‘They could just walk in here any time they like,’ Caldason reckoned, ‘and we couldn’t do a thing about it, other than making them pay a price in blood. So why are they holding back?’

‘It was you, Reeth. You did them some real damage.’

‘Only enough to slow them down. Whatever stopped me did it before I could finish the job.’

‘Finish? You’re not seriously saying you could have defeated a horde like that single-handed, are you?’

‘I don’t know what I was capable of in that condition. But I do know that it felt…It’s difficult to explain, Serrah. It felt as though I could do anything. The potential, the power…it’s why the Founders have fought over me for so long, and why some of them wanted me dead.’

‘But you’ve not been able to do it again.’

‘I’ve only tried once. But it was like there was nothing there.’

‘Maybe you need to recuperate, build up your strength or…I don’t know. There’s too much going on, Reeth. It overwhelms you after a while.’

‘Doesn’t it just? And this thing about Tanalvah, it…beggars belief.’

‘That’s what I thought, at first.’

‘There’s no doubt?’

‘I don’t think so. It was a deathbed confession. And I believed her. You would have too, if you’d been there.’

‘What would make her do something like that?’

‘She thought she was saving Kinsel. She did it out of love.’

‘I sometimes think as much evil’s done in the name of love as hate.’

‘That sounds cynical.’

‘It’s not supposed to; it’s just an observation.’

‘Well, let’s be sure our love never generates evil, shall we?’

‘It couldn’t.’ He put an arm around her, and they kissed.

‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I can’t think of Tanalvah as evil. Sounds crazy, I know, after what she did, but I still don’t see her as bad.’

‘It’s about potential again, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘We’re all capable of being righteous or wicked. Sometimes both. The seeds of good and evil are in us, just waiting for something to set them off.’

‘You think we’re all capable of murder?’

‘That’s a strange question for you and me, isn’t it? It was your profession, and I’ve done more than my share.’

‘That wasn’t murder, any more than taking an enemy life in this siege would be murder. The people we killed were bad.’

‘A pacifist, like Kinsel, would say that was trying to justify it.’

‘Sometimes you have to defend those who are weaker, or protect your own life, or-’

‘You don’t have to convince me. I’m a Qalochian. Well, half of one, anyway, and you don’t get much more martial in outlook than that. But we’d be offended to be called murderers. I’m just saying that given the right conditions, enough of a shove, anybody could be a murderer. A killer in that bad sense.

According to Praltor, even the paladins were noble once.’

‘Does it bother you that Tan was a Qalochian?’

‘Bother me? You mean like letting the side down or something?’

‘I suppose I do.’

‘Being of the Qaloch didn’t make her any better than anybody else. We’re not saints.’

‘You never really got on with her.’

‘And you think what she did confirmed my opinion? Actually, it wasn’t my opinion; it was more a case of her not favouring me too much. Though I admit I think I made her uneasy, reminding her of our heritage.’

‘She had that heritage taken away from her. You of all people should understand that. She grew up in Rintarah; it was natural she’d take on their customs.’

‘I wonder how the funeral’s going to be.’

‘What kind of service, you mean? It’ll be presided over by a priest of the Iparrater sect. Kinsel’s quite keen on that, actually.’

‘It’s the Qaloch gods who should be invoked.’

‘That’s a bit rich coming from you, Reeth. I thought you had your doubts about gods of any kind.’

‘I do, but it’s funny how the prospect of almost certain death can make what you were taught as a child seem meaningful again. Anyway, how is Kinsel?’

‘I think you can guess. Having the new baby and the children to care for is the only thing keeping him going, I reckon. He feels ashamed, you know. For what Tan did. He sees it as reflecting on him.’

‘He shouldn’t. He wasn’t responsible for her actions.’

‘You’re right. Oh, just a minute. Stand still.’ She reached up and plucked something from his head.

‘What was that?’

‘A grey hair. I’m damned if I know what to do to help Kinsel, Reeth. How do you get somebody through a thing like that?’

‘By being there for them. Which of course might not be possible.’ He nodded towards the brooding enemy forces. ‘And don’t forget the other complication. There’s a fleet in these parts that’s not either empire’s. We don’t know what difference that’s going to make to the balance.’

‘Whose might it be?’

‘I think we can guess.’

Disgleirio appeared, bounding up the battlement stairs with his usual athleticism. He made for them.

‘What’s up, Quinn?’ Serrah asked.

‘Phoenix asked me to relieve you.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. He’ll be here directly to explain.’ He looked out at the enemy ranks. ‘Sobering, isn’t it?’

‘You could say that,’ Caldason replied.

‘What I don’t understand is what they’re waiting for.’

‘That’s what we wondered.’

Somebody was moving along the line of defenders on the battlements, dispensing water from a pail. He proved to be Kutch’s newly returned brother.

‘Good to see you don’t think water carrying’s beneath you,’ Serrah said.

‘I’m happy to do anything to help,’ he replied, putting down his load. ‘But when the fighting starts I expect a much more active role.’ He patted his sheathed sword.

‘We need everybody we can get. Oh, I don’t think you two have met properly yet. This is-’

‘I know,’ Varee said. ‘Quinn Disgleirio. I’m honoured to meet you.’ He held out a hand.

Disgleirio took it. ‘And you’re Kutch’s brother. Well met. But how do you know me?’

‘I’ve seen you, more than once, back in Bhealfa. In fact, I once got very close to you indeed.’

‘Really? I don’t recall.’

‘You weren’t supposed to notice. It was during a riot. I managed to get a note into your pocket.’

‘It was you, was it? I’ve been wondering ever since who had the inside knowledge to warn us. Given your connection with Bastorran, it makes sense now. Well, I’m grateful.’

‘I’m still not clear on you, Varee,’ Caldason admitted. ‘What’s your story?’

‘That’s something everybody seems to want to know.’

‘Just tell us,’ Serrah advised him, ‘we’re notorious gossips.’

Varee smiled. ‘I’ll make it quick, I’ve got thirsty people waiting for me.’

‘How did you come to turn from the paladins?’ Caldason wanted to know.

‘I didn’t. I’ve always hated them. I got into their ranks because I hated them. I’m not clan blood, of course, but they take a certain percentage of outsiders to fill administrative posts. That was how I worked my way up to Bastorran.’

‘Why?’

‘You and I have something in common, Reeth. We both wanted revenge on the paladins. The only way I could see to do it was to climb as high in the organisation as I could, leaking bits of information to the Resistance as I went, anonymously.’

‘To what purpose?’

‘To get close to the highest-ranking officer I could and kill him. But you kindly undertook that part earlier.’

‘Sorry if I deprived you.’

‘Don’t apologise. I could never have taken Bastorran in a straight fight. You know he killed his uncle, to get the leadership?’

‘It didn’t take much guessing.’

‘The meld did the actual deed. It killed two birds with one stone for Devlor: he got the leadership and you conveniently took the blame.’

‘But why did you want revenge so badly?’ Serrah said.

‘With respect to Reeth, the Qalochians weren’t the only ones to suffer at the paladins’ hands. The Pirathons were farming folk for generations. Then a local lord decided he wanted our lands, and all our neighbours’, too. The paladins were contracted to do the job, and used utmost brutality, needless to say. We were just an unregarded backwater and nobody outside our community cared.’

‘This was before you and Kutch were born?’

‘Before Kutch. I was about two at the time. But that wasn’t all. Our father could never accept the unfairness of what happened to us, and he spent years trying to get justice. Petitioning officials, begging audiences with governors, trying to find somebody in authority who’d listen to him. I’m as sure as I can be that it’s what got him killed. He just became too much of an irritant, and eventually he simply disappeared. From what I’ve seen of clan records since, it’s pretty obvious they got rid of him.’

‘Kutch never mentioned any of this.’

‘He doesn’t know. Our mother kept it from him, and evidently didn’t tell him after I left to join the clans. In fact, she thought I’d enlisted in the army.’

‘You never saw her again?’

‘I didn’t want to run the risk of them finding out about her and Kutch. So I sent money when I could and bided my time. I’m going to tell Kutch everything, but not just yet. I think he needs time to get used to me being back first.’

‘So getting here to the island was part of your plan?’

‘No, not really. Bastorran ordered me to accompany him. But by then I knew Kutch was with the Resistance, so it suited me well. It goes without saying that it was Bastorran’s intention to kill you. The meld was along as back-up. Or possibly some kind of scapegoat, knowing Devlor.’

‘Where is your brother?’ Caldason said.

‘I don’t know. But here’s a man who probably does.’

Phoenix arrived, stern-faced. He got straight to the point. ‘Serrah, Reeth, come with me.’

‘Now?’

‘You’ll want to see this.’

He led them to a cluster of wooden buildings on the far side of the square. One was an unprepossessing storage silo with no windows and a single door. Inside, at the very back, behind stacks of crates, a small group of rebels were gathered around something. They moved aside for Phoenix and the others.

‘Well, now we know what happened to Kordenza,’ Serrah said.

‘Do we?’ Caldason wondered.

The meld was stretched on the floor, unmistakably dead, her face hideously contorted. There was an extensive, gaping wound down her left side, from which innards had seeped. A trail of blood and a glistening, mucus-like material ran to a large burnt stain in a corner.

Phoenix pointed to it. ‘And that must have been her glamour twin…’

‘Aphrim,’ Caldason supplied. ‘What happened here?’

‘Self-evidently the twin killed his host by trying to escape from her body. That or something went wrong when she was bringing him out in her usual way. Look at this.’

They went back to Aphri’s body. For the first time, they noticed that one of her feet was bare.

‘She removed the boot herself,’ Phoenix explained. ‘If you were to examine her heel, you’d find that an object’s been inserted just under the skin.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Serrah assured him.

‘It’s a device Covenant’s familiar with, though it’s rare. Its function is to draw energy from the grid, almost certainly with the object of keeping her symbiote status permanent. It clearly failed her.’

‘Not a pleasant death,’ Caldason remarked.

‘Not at all,’ Phoenix agreed. ‘Come on, there’s more.’ He marched for the exit.

As they trailed him, Serrah spoke to Reeth in an undertone. ‘You look a bit ashen, my love.’

‘My energy level’s down a bit. I’m all right.’

‘Maybe it’s what I said earlier: you need to recharge.’

‘Maybe.’

This time, the sorcerer took them into the redoubt itself. The damage from the attack was still very much in evidence, though the worst had been cleared. Phoenix made his way to the chamber where Praltor Mahaganis was lodged.

Kutch and Wendah were there, by the old man’s bed. He didn’t look good. It was as though he’d appreciably aged in a matter of hours, and his skin was like ancient parchment. Yet his countenance had an ease, a look of contentment, they hadn’t seen before. His eyes were closed, but he breathed steadily.

‘He says it’s gone,’ Kutch related.

‘What has?’ Caldason said.

‘The Source. Praltor says it’s not there anymore, inside him.’

‘It isn’t,’ Wendah confirmed. She appeared shaken.

The old man opened his eyes. The obvious signs of blindness remained, but again there was a different, calmer look. ‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘The weight’s left me. I can’t describe the relief.’

Serrah leaned in to him. ‘How did it happen, Praltor?’

‘Not through any doing of mine, or these wizards. It was wrenched away. There was pain in that, but nothing compared to what’s gone.’

‘Your life’s going too,’ Wendah murmured resentfully.

‘My dear,’ the old man soothed, reaching for her hand, ‘I’ve had more than my allotted span. More than I deserved.’

‘No, that’s not true.’

‘Shh. I’ve lived long and well, Wendah, and after all these years of carrying that terrible burden, I welcome rest.’

‘But what will I do without you?’

‘You’ll be fine. And you’re not alone. You have Kutch now, and you couldn’t wish for a finer young man.’

She took Kutch’s hand, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Phoenix gestured for Reeth and Serrah to follow him out, and they left quietly. In the corridor, Phoenix drew them aside and said, ‘I’m sorry, Reeth. I realise he’s close to you and it must be distressing. The gods know we’ve seen enough loss in recent days.’

‘These are distressing times, Phoenix. And yes, he’s important. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.’

‘He’s going to die soon,’ the sorcerer announced bluntly.

‘That was obvious.’

‘Come on, Reeth, you must see the implications for you in all this.’

‘What are you getting at?’ Serrah demanded.

‘The magic. There’s been some unprecedented malfunction, or worse. I can feel it ebbing away. Kutch and Wendah feel it, and Praltor certainly did, as you just heard. And it’s what killed the meld.’

‘Go on,’ the Qalochian prompted.

‘You and I and Praltor are all in the same boat, Reeth. Or similar. Founder magic’s kept us going longer than we should. Now the debt’s being repaid. Does any of this strike a chord with you?’

‘I…don’t know.’

‘You said you felt drained, Reeth,’ Serrah reminded him.

‘My stamina’s low, it’s true.’

‘Look at the back of your hands,’ Phoenix suggested.

Caldason did. There were brown splotches there he hadn’t noticed before. Liver spots.

‘Like Praltor, I’m reconciled to my end,’ Phoenix continued. ‘I see my life as fulfilled, and I have my certainties about what’s to come. How about you, my friend?’

Reeth stared at him.

Then sounds of uproar drifted in from outside. Scores of alarm bells began ringing.

‘Here they come,’ Serrah whispered.

They broke away from Phoenix and ran.

They joined the hundreds making for the walls. On the battlements, they found Karr with Goyter, watching the advance. The plain was black with advancing troops.

‘So the last chapter is finally written,’ Karr said.

But the great army slowed, and stopped. Just two men continued walking towards the fortress, one of them waving a white flag.

‘Must we parley with them?’ Goyter asked.

‘That’s a flag of truce,’ Karr reminded her. ‘We must honour it. I’m going out.’

‘Are you sure, Dulian?’

‘It’s my place to. Reeth, would you come with me and carry our flag?’

‘I’d be honoured.’

Somebody donated a shirt and a makeshift flag was quickly constructed. The gates were opened a crack and Karr and Reeth left the redoubt.

As they walked towards the little delegation, and the countless, silent thousands beyond them, Karr said, ‘What if their terms are too harsh? Do we refuse them and fight on?’

‘You have to be the judge of that. For my part, I’d want nothing to do with any surrender that involved retribution against our people.’

‘Neither would I.’

They reached the two men. Both wore uniforms, one of Rintarah, the other Gath Tampoor. The latter asked of Karr, ‘You’re in charge here?’

‘Insomuch as we have a single leader, yes.’

‘We’re the two highest ranking surviving officers of our respective forces,’ the Rintarahian explained. ‘We’ve come to discuss terms of surrender.’

‘I must make it clear that we won’t be party to any capitulation that involves reprisal killings or draconian punishments.’

‘We’re glad to hear it,’ the Rintarahian replied. ‘We had our fears that you might exact an even higher price than you already have.’

‘How could we when we’ll be your prisoners?’

‘ Our prisoners? I think we’re talking at cross purposes. We’re here to agree the surrender.’

‘So you said.’

‘Our surrender,’ the Gath Tampoorian informed him.

Karr was too astonished to speak.

Caldason said, ‘Let’s get this straight. You are surrendering to us?’

‘Of course. You must know things are in chaos on our side. And we had some rulers with us. When we saw what happened to them…well, frankly most of us haven’t the heart to carry on.’

‘Tell me,’ the other man added, ‘how did you do it? How did you kill the magic?’

‘We didn’t,’ Caldason admitted. ‘But I think I know who did.’

It was probably unprecedented in war that a surrendering army, many times larger than their captors, had volunteered to regulate their own captivity. However, as the islanders had neither manpower nor resources to police their prisoners, that’s exactly what happened.

That evening, the fleet Caldason had seen arrived, and the Diamond Isle hosted the biggest collection of ships in history. And by now, no one was in any doubt as to who was about to pay a visit.

The warlord didn’t demand that anyone come to pay homage to him. He travelled to meet the rebels. Not in a victory procession with marching soldiers and drummers, but modestly, in a simple open carriage, accompanied only by two aides, one of whom drove.

Everyone was struck by his extraordinary ordinariness of appearance, underlined by a lack of any finery or ostentation in his dress. They were at least as impressed by the indefinable quality of his presence.

When he entered the redoubt’s inner square he was met by a delegation led by Karr. But it was Disgleirio who spoke first.

‘Do we bow?’ he asked, an edge of defiance in his voice.

‘No,’ Zerreiss told him. ‘No more bowing, or any retribution. I’m not conquering you.’ The warlord looked about as he said this. His eyes rested on Caldason. ‘I thought you were like me,’ he said.

‘I am,’ said Caldason, eyeing him coolly.

‘I meant in respect of my talent.’

‘I meant in our antipathy for magic.’

‘Yet magic linked us in our dreams.’

‘I believe that’s because our relationships to it, though different, are equally strong.’

‘There’s some sense in that.’

‘So you made all this happen?’ Caldason indicated the scene with a sweep of his hand.

‘Yes, and more.’

‘Are you a god?’ Wendah piped up.

Zerreiss laughed, and at his back his aides smiled. ‘So many people make that assumption. No, young lady, I’m not a god.’

‘What are you?’

‘I’m a man.’

‘How do you do what you do?’ Serrah said.

‘How is a question I can’t answer categorically, I can only speculate. I was born with a very simple talent, but I tend not to think of myself as an aberration, but rather as a little ahead of my time.’

Phoenix pushed forward. ‘Will you explain that?’

The warlord noted Phoenix’s robes. ‘Ah, a sorcerer. I’ve had occasion to be at odds with your calling in the past. Today I can only offer my regrets at the termination of your profession.’

‘I was just getting the hang of it,’ Kutch complained.

‘It was getting the hang of you, young man. Hopefully you’ll come to see that. To answer the questions; I believe I’m an example of what’s to come. Look about the world. Nature selects the lifeforms best equipped to survive and thrive. It favours the most adaptable, and what the race of man needs now is the adaptability to shake off the stifling hand of magic. We need to breathe free air, think free thoughts and guide our lives with rationality.’

‘You say you’ve always had this power?’ Karr said.

‘From birth, and despite there being nothing out of the ordinary in my parents. I found out early that I could affect magic, but the talent was a feeble thing when I was a child. It grew as I did. I learned to control the ability to some extent, and to extend its influence more and more. So that now it takes just my approach, if I will it, to negate the magic. I never chose this path. A religious man might say I was supposed to be a catalyst and had no choice. I tend to a more rational view, as you might expect, but at root I don’t really know. What I do know is that if I’m the first, it’s the first of many. The majority. All, in time.’

‘It’s sad,’ Kutch said, ‘the magic going.’

‘It must seem that way to you. And yes, there’s much that’s wondrous and beautiful, and even good in it. But it’s an illusion. It kept us transfixed, like moths around a flame. What’s to come, without it, will be an adventure so much greater. But certain things have to happen before that.’ He turned to the Patrician. ‘You’re the one called Karr?’

‘I am.’

‘You have authority here?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Then you have some organising to do, and on quite a scale. Don’t be alarmed, you’ll get the help you need. The fact is the empires are finished. If they don’t know it yet, they will once I’ve cleansed any remaining pockets. A new order’s needed, but it won’t be run by me. I’ve never wanted power, only to do my job. It seems to me that the only organised, untainted force is the Resistance. I know it’s taken some terrible knocks, and you’ve lost a lot of people, but it’s still out there, along with a lot of sympathisers. It’s going to fall to you to step in, organise, rebuild. From here on the Diamond Isle will be the hub of a new civilisation.’

‘You don’t believe in setting modest tasks, my lord.’

‘Plain Zerreiss, if you please. I don’t believe in one man being regarded as any better than his fellows, and I would hope you’ll build a world enshrining that, but it’s up to you. I can only create the conditions.’

‘Conditions of chaos.’

‘All creation came from chaos, the priests tell us. You should be able to construct a paltry civilisation. It won’t be easy, granted, and it’ll take time. But do you have a choice?’ Zerreiss looked at each of them in turn.

‘Will you play any part?’ Caldason asked.

‘Where I can. But mainly as a taker of satisfaction for what I’ve been able to do. And what of you? You find yourself in a difficult position.’

‘Do I?’

‘You already differ from the man in my dreams. Your bloom is withering. The going of the magic brings back the years. Stay where I’ve been and you’ll die.’

‘Can’t you make it not apply to Reeth in some way?’ Serrah almost pleaded.

‘I’m sorry. I wish I could, but I can only take away, not give. However, I need to consolidate, and guide my people to aid yours. There are places in the world I haven’t got to yet, and might not for a long while. Think on that.’ He turned to leave. ‘I’m glad I met you, Reeth Caldason.’

Early next morning, Zerreiss moved on with the bulk of his entourage. Others were left to help deal with the empire prisoners, and to begin the work.

Around midday, a wagon rode into the redoubt. It carried Zahgadiah Darrok, minus his dish.

‘Did I miss anything?’ he asked when Pallidea had finished covering him in kisses.

He was able to tell them of Vance’s fate, and explained how he himself barely escaped on the vanishing residue of magic in his flying disc. Landing scarcely in time, and awkwardly, he was found by islanders, shaken but not seriously injured.

‘Your disc,’ Pallidea bemoaned, ‘how are you going to get on without it?’

‘I did once, before I could afford it. I’ll think of something. Providing you’re about to help me. I’m assuming you haven’t gone cool on the idea of squiring a cripple?’

‘I never will.’

Darrok had arrived in time for a hastily arranged ceremony. There were several reasons for it. The first was the christening of Kinsel and Tanalvah’s baby.

‘I’ve decided the boy will be called Dulian,’ Kinsel announced, Teg and Lirrin looking on wide-eyed.

It was a popular choice, and there was applause.

‘I’m taken aback,’ Karr replied, ‘and honoured, of course. Dulian Rukanis. Has quite a ring, doesn’t it?’

‘Rukanis-Lahn,’ Kinsel corrected. ‘Unless you or any other has an objection?’

No one spoke. It was the first small step on the path to Kinsel’s healing.

‘Dulian Rukanis-Lahn, first citizen of the new order,’ Karr declared.

The second point of the get-together was for Karr to announce that his age and health meant he had to step down from heading the United Revolutionary Council.

Although not unexpected, the news was greeted with cries of displeasure and displays of genuine affection.

Goyter would be his companion during retirement, and their relationship was to be cemented by the public exchange of vows. Karr nominated Quinn Disgleirio as his successor, a commendation the Council was expected to approve. Neither development came as a great surprise to most people.

The final purpose of the gathering was to bid farewell to Reeth and Serrah.

A ship had been provided. It was small but fast, and its volunteer crew were the best that could be found. As Zerreiss had made least headway in the far south, that was the direction chosen, to islands hardly known, and perhaps a rumoured land beyond them, if it wasn’t a myth.

Phoenix and Praltor Mahaganis were offered places. Neither seriously considered it. Both were in decline, especially Praltor, and pronounced themselves content.

The hardest decision was not to suggest Kutch went with them. Serrah argued it would be unfair to ask the boy. It could ruin his budding relationship with Wendah, should she choose not to go. And what of Varee? Was he to come too, or risk losing his brother again? Above all, what if no haven was found, and Kutch had to watch Caldason die, and comfort his grieving lover? The Diamond Isle offered him some kind of stability, and the prospect of a future. Reeth had to agree.

Neither favoured speeches. They said their goodbyes privately and without fuss. Now they stood on the deck of their ship, about to catch the tide and waiting for the last farewell.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Caldason said.

‘Of course I am. What purpose would my life have without you?’

He was a little more drawn. Faint lines had appeared on his face and neck. Serrah had plucked more of his grey hairs.

‘Looking at it now, I can see that the first time I knew I loved you was when you tried to take your life, back in Bhealfa. It was then that I realised I couldn’t lose you.’

‘And you haven’t. We’re in this together, to whatever outcome.’

‘Ironic, isn’t it? That I should spend my life shunning magic, and now I’m hunting it.’

‘I said the gods liked a joke.’

‘Bastards.’ He grinned at her, showing love in every line of his face.

‘Ah, here they come, Reeth.’

Kutch, Wendah and Varee appeared on the dockside. Serrah waved them up the gangplank.

Wendah and Varee didn’t delay their goodbyes. Sensing the need for privacy, they quickly left. Then Serrah found herself suddenly fascinated by the view further along the deck. She embraced Kutch and kissed him, then left him alone with Reeth.

‘What do you think your chances are?’ Kutch asked.

‘I might have thought you could answer that better than me, you being the only expert on magic present.’

‘There’s no point in knowing anything about it now. It’s gone.’ He was doleful. ‘But the thing about Zerreiss is that he kind of pushes the magic out of the land as he advances, like squeezing wine out of a sac. So it’s possible you’ll find somewhere where magic still occurs. I hope you do,’ he added quietly. ‘I’ll never see it again.’

‘You’ll see another kind of magic. With the life you’ve got ahead, with Wendah and your brother, and with whatever it is you decide to do with yourself. Things will be better without magic, believe me.’

‘They won’t be better without you.’

‘Thanks, Kutch. I’m so glad I’ve known you.’

The boy flew into his arms and hugged him tight. ‘Don’t go,’ he pleaded, tears rolling.

‘I have to go. You know that.’ Caldason gently moved him back, hands on his shoulders. ‘You’ve been the best friend and companion a man could have. Now get on with your life.’

Kutch looked as though he was going to speak. Instead he simply stared, then turned away. He took three steps, looked back and said, ‘I’ll never forget you.’ He ran to the gangplank and down onto the harbour.

When they started to move off shortly after, he was still standing on the quay. He shouted something, but they couldn’t hear what it was.

The Diamond Isle was soon swallowed by mist.

Together, Reeth and Serrah set off into a new world.