The stormcaller

CHAPTER 16

'I'm too old for this. Why haven't I retired yet?' General Chate Dev looked around the empty spaces of the temple plain and once satisfied there was no one in sight, he trotted over the dry, packed ground to the looming structure in the centre. He'd lived in Thotel all his life, but the immense pillars of the Temple of the Sun, hewn from a single pyramid of stone, always made him marvel.

'Because you'd be bored to death, Chate!' a deep voice chuckled from the temple.

The ageing Chetse walked over to the nearest of the four gigantic pillars as Lord Chalat stepped out from behind it. The base was a stone block eight feet high, and the pillar itself slanted up towards the centre of the pyramidal temple, dwarfing even Lord Chalat. The white-eye almost looked humbled in its presence.

In the dark, General Dev could just see the hint of a smile in the light cast by the eternal flame. So no mourning there, then – not that it surprised the general; it was common knowledge that Lord Chalat had barely tolerated his Krann, so the news of Charr's mortal injury wouldn't have grieved him overmuch.

Chalat was dressed in a simple warrior's kilt that reached halfway down his calves. His torso was wrapped in thin white linen and his massive arms were bare, other than a number of copper bands set with lapis lazuli. The scars on both arms marked him out as having passed the five tests of the Agoste field – not that anyone could possibly have doubted that. Tsatach would never have Chosen a Lord found wanting as a child. Strapped to Chalat's back was the ancient sword Golaeth. A large ruby at his throat glowed in the weak light.

'My Lord,' muttered the general as he reached Chalat and dropped to one knee at his feet. As he did so, he was distinctly aware of the empty plain behind him. No Chetse much liked the dark, and with

the unyielding weight of the temple in front of him, he felt even more uncomfortable.

A shallow trench, no more than a foot deep, marked the boundary of the blessed ground of the temple. Everything within was illuminated by the eternal flame; the rest of this eerie, ancient place was black and hidden, as if a wall of stone stood there instead of a trench.

'Get up, Chate. Now, why by Tsatach have you summoned me out here in the middle of the night? It might be magnificent in the light of day, but right now it's a nightmare.'

The general murmured his agreement as he rose. The many temples of the plain were disturbing to behold at night: there was an awful sadness that lingered after dark. The temples dedicated to Nartis and Alterr were situated on top of the rocky cliffs at the north end so even those priests engaged in night-time rituals didn't have to walk the plain at night.

The general had chosen this place for that reason. 'It is indeed, my Lord. I thought it best not to have a crowd of onlookers ready to spread gossip. It may be that the eternal flame may help us in understanding the facts.'

'The eternal flame? Who do you suspect of lying?'

The witness, my Lord.' He looked around, and continued, 'My men are bringing him along now – I thought you should know the facts, or as much as we know – before he arrives.'

Chalat made an irritated noise, then led the way back around to the inside of the pillar. The pair sat down on the wide steps cut into the rock.

'So Charr wasn't hurt in battle, then?' Chalat began.

'In a fashion yes. But his guards' story is – well, unusual.'

'Unusual?'

'They were in the hunting grounds of the Black Palace – this was almost two moons ago – when one of the scouts saw people walking through the grounds towards them, half a dozen foreigners, from the north.'

'Well, of course they were foreigners – no Chetse's going to defy the hunting laws.' He sounded irritated again.

The general continued quickly, 'Exactly, my Lord, so Lord Charr decided to ambush the party.'

‘Hah! So the stupid bastard jumped right into a trap. He deserves to die for that.'

'Yes, my Lord. In any case, the guards attacked and killed a number of the foreigners, but Lord Charr was hit by an arrow – straight into the heart – and no one even saw the archer. They loosed the hounds immediately, in the direction the arrow came from, but no one found a thing.'

'If he was hit in the heart, how is he still alive?' A gust of wind rustled over the smooth temple floor, on which the general smelled age and sorrow. In the background, the white shaft of the eternal flame, burning down from the apex of the temple to the altar, hissed quietly, as it had done for more than a thousand years.

'We have no idea. Several surgeons inspected the wound: they all agreed that the arrow was lodged in the heart and he would die. They carried Charr to the palace chapel and left him there to die with his God. My Lord, Charr's guards are devoted to him, but they agreed that there was nothing that could be done.'

'So everyone was surprised when he was still alive in the morning?'

'Quite so, my Lord. They fetched a priest and he claimed the wound was magical, that the fight for Charr's life was a spiritual one, for his soul. The priest said that the arrow itself was made out of soot, enchanted to be as hard as iron.'

'A spiritual battle? Useless shit's buggered then.' The white-eye laughed callously.

'Quite so, Lord.' The general waited patiently until his Lord showed no further sign of interrupting. Chalat was like a mountain: he moved for no man. You worked around him, or broke your hands on his edge.

Chalat waved him to continue.

'Armed with this information, the guards decided to bring Charr back to Thotel. If he was going to die anyway, they believed it would be better to be as close to the Temple of the Sun as possible.'

'Pious of them. Stupid, but pious.'

They brought with them the one surviving member of the group they'd ambushed – as soon as he saw the arrow hit, he ran, but he surrendered later, once he judged their blood had cooled somewhat – he spoke Chetse; told them he had information about the assassin. His behaviour was strange enough that they decided not to kill him immediately – instead, they trussed him like a lizard and put him on the cart next to the Krann.'

'And it's his testimony you want me to hear? What did he tell you?'

'If you don't mind, my Lord, I'd like you to judge it for yourself. He's less likely to lie to you with his hand in the eternal flame. He knows our language well, no doubt why he was chosen for the bait, so he must know about the flame. He did say that he'd been under some sort of enchantment, but that's a detail we can decide later. It's the assassin that I'm worried about.'

'Worried he's lying, or that what he says might be true?'

Harsh voices from the darkness prompted the general to clamber to his feet and walk out to the front of the temple. As Chalat joined him, the shapes of three men slowly appeared from the gloom. Two were Lion Guards, from General Dev's personal legion; the third was a little taller and much more slender, even with the thick cords of rope that bound his arms to his body and hobbled his feet.

Both guards carried crossbows, and had battle-axes slung on their backs. The larger of the two also carried an iron-shod quarterstaff, the foreigner's weapon. They threw the prisoner on to the floor and stepped over him to kneel at their Lord's feet.

'Cut those bonds from his hands,' ordered Chalat, 'and bring him to the flame.' Their footsteps echoed strangely over the polished surface, getting quieter as they reached the centre, as if deadened by the constant whisper of the eternal flame. The prisoner had hair dark enough for a Parian, though he lacked the height or the tribe's distinctive facial features. He stumbled along after the white-eye as best he could. Though the guards kept prodding him along, he couldn't help looking up at the astonishing temple. His mouth fell open in awe as he followed the four pillars up to the apex, almost eighty yards above the altar in the centre. Nothing supported them; the thin white shaft of the eternal flame was the only thing that connected the peak and altar.

An open walkway that ran around the pillars at the midpoint was strictly the preserve of Tsatach's priests. Anyone else who dared enter the stairs in the pillars that led to the walkway – even General Dev ~ would be executed on the spot. The walkways were supported only by air and magic: anyone other than the temple's priests might disrupt the spells that supported the thousands of tons of stone and kill the pilgrims congregating below – on a feast day, they numbered in the thousands.

Chalat wasted no time when he reached the altar. He'd been enjoying himself with four of his favourite concubines and he fully intended to return to their delights as quickly as possible. Grabbing the foreigner by the scruff of the neck, he picked him up bodily and deposited him next to the flame.

'Do you know what happens to liars who put their hands in the flame?' he asked cheerily.

The man nodded, a little nervous, but remarkably calm – the general thought he looked as though he'd resigned himself to execution and had made his peace with the Gods already.

Chalat nodded in approval and took the man's hand in his own. As the Chosen of Tsatach, the flame would never hurt him. If the foreigner lied while his hand was within the flame, his entire arm would be consumed. If he was quick, it would be just the arm.

'What is your name?'

'Mihn ab Netren ab Felith. I am called Mihn.'

'Where do you come from?'

'I was bom into the clans of the northern coast. I have wandered the Land for several years now, often in the wastes.'

Tell me who the assassin was.' Chalat had better things to do than waste time on pointless questions.

'He- he called himself Arlal.'

'What sort of a name is that? Parian?'

'No, Lord, elven.'

Chalat gave a cough of surprise, letting go of the man's wrist for a moment in his astonishment. General Dev shrugged when Chalat looked at him. He looked at the flame; the man's hand was still there and he had not even attempted to pull away, though the flames licked and danced over his skin. Even if Mihn were a sorcerer, he'd still not have the power to stop his hand burning. He must be telling the truth.

The man kept his hand in the centre of the flame, a defiant look on his face while he waited for the next question.

'Arlal was an elf?'

'A true elf, my Lord.'

Now the white-eye gaped. 'You were in the company of a true elf called Arlal? The one storytellers call the Poisonblade?'

Mihn paused, considering how to frame his reply so it was com- pletely true. 'It is possible. I don't know how many true elves there

are in the Land, but it is most likely. The Poisonblade is said to be an assassin.'

'Did he tell you who paid him?'

'No. He said little, other than to give us orders. He had some sort of amulet around his neck, I didn't even consider disobeying him.'

The sound of footsteps running over the plain made them all jump. The two soldiers had their crossbows raised and ready to fire when a voice hailed them from the gloom, sounding far too scared to be a threat.

'General! He's awake!'

'It's Gerrint. Put your bows down,' General Dev ordered. 'It's my adjutant, Lord Chalat. I left him in charge of the Krann.'

The soldier pounded his way over the temple boundary, nearly tripping as he remembered how disrespectful it was. He stumbled to a halt, looked around as if expecting a furious priest to appear from the pillars, then walked as fast as he could to the altar.

'My Lord, General Dev, the Krann has recovered!'

'Don't be ridiculous, Gerrint; he was all but dead when I saw him.'

'I know, sir, but he's up and walking around. But he looks different my Lord, changed. The wound is a black stain on his chest, nothing more. The medic said that the arrow crumbled to soot suddenly and stained his skin – then Lord Charr got up and threw out everyone but his personal guards. I came as quickly as I could, sir, my Lord.'

Chalat frowned, looking deeply concerned, and drawing his sword, walked away from the altar.

The coppery surface of Golaeth glinted in the light of the eternal flame as Chalat used it to score a circle on the floor almost two yards in diameter. A faint black trail followed the path of the sword while Chalat whispered the words of a spell under his breath. That done, he sat down, cross-legged, within the circle, looking faintly comical as he carefully tucked his thick legs under himself. He nicked his finger on Golaeth's edge and placed the sword across his knees, then caressed the ruby gem at his neck with the bloody digit.

General Dev walked nervously around his Lord, keeping far enough away that he didn't disturb his work but, as always, fascinated by the magic. He shivered as the open space suddenly became darker and a sharp chill appeared in the air. Chalat's breathing slowed until it was almost imperceptible. The Bloodrose at his throat smouldered brighter, then blazed for a brief moment before the air around Chalat returned to normal.

'He's at his homestead. There's a darkness surrounding him, something I don't recognise.' Chalat's voice sounded hollow and distant, as though his Lord had been somewhere else and part of him hadn't fully returned.

'I can have the Lion Guard ready in half an hour, the Ten Thousand within the hour-' He stopped as Chalat held up a hand.

'What's that sound?' The Lord blinked owlishly at the darkness, cocking his head to one side.

Everyone listened hard as a sudden rushing noise came from behind, like a rogue gust of wind. The general turned as a wet gasp cut the air, instinctively diving away from the oncoming shape. In a blur of movement he felt a figure slam into him, and he saw the two guards fall dead behind it. Pain flared in his arm as a blade cut deep, then he was smashed out of the way. His head thumped against the ground and stars burst before his eyes.

The figure, the shape of a Chetse man, but with long claws and spiky protrusions along its limbs and shoulders, crashed bodily into Chalat and knocked the white-eye over. As the Lord tried to rise again, the creature threw itself upon him, flailing madly as a ruby light enveloped the two for a moment. The general felt hands on his back, urging him down; though he tried to move, his body betrayed him and he could only submit as Mihn, now free of his bonds and armed with his staff, advanced.

Chalat kicked his attacker away and the Bloodrose flared again as it absorbed another wound. Mihn immediately swung at the creature, but had to fling himself back when he missed, trying to avoid the raking claws. He waved his staff in a wide half-circle, not daring to risk another strike at the monster, but trying to distract it. The twisted perversion of a man had bony growths pushed through the skin; it looked daemonic, and the furious snarls sounded like the dying breath of a ruined throat, amplified by rage.

With the creature's attention on the foreigner, Chalat had the time he needed. Golaeth's coppery surface blazed in the light from the eternal flame and Chalat roared as he hacked down at the creature. The blow was somehow turned by the creature's arm, but it could do nothing to stop the sword when it lanced forward into its belly. Razor-sharp claws lashed forward as it tried to shred Chalat's flesh, but

the white-eye had already withdrawn. He struck again, and this time cut off one of the monster's arms, then as he chopped deep into its neck, it collapsed, flailing violently before falling abruptly, rigid. One last twitch came, then it was still.

Chalat looked up at Mihn and bared his teeth in some sort of a smile.

'Well done.' He sounded husky with barely restrained aggression. Chalat hardly cared for the duties of state, but fighting in his tribe's need was always joyfully done.

'See.to the general; those three are dead.' Chalat stood over the corpse for a moment, then stabbed his sword down into its chest, driving it on into the rock below.

The foreigner jumped at the sudden sound, then crouched down over the general, peering into his eyes. He nodded to himself, and took the general's dagger from his belt. With an assured movement he cut away the sleeve of the general's shirt and tied that above the bleeding arm; the other sleeve was similarly removed and used to bandage the wound itself.

'It's a clean cut, but deep,' he told Chalat. When he received no reply, he looked up from his charge. The Lord was squatting by the creature's head, muttering something, one hand placed flat against the ground. A tremble ran through the stone beneath their feet, rippling towards the white-eye, and then a face appeared on the temple floor. The flat stone billowed up, as though it was nothing more than a sheet of silk held up against a man's face, though the face was far from human. Though the eyes were overly large and the thick jaw extended too far back, somehow there was a beauty in the curve of the nose, cheek and forehead that redeemed its strangeness.

'What happened to him?' Chalat muttered to the face, ignoring the foreigner's presence. 'These regimental tattoos mark him as Charr's bodyguard, but-' The white-eye's voice tailed off as he gestured over the body. 'Has the same happened to Charr?'

The being in the ground rose up a little further so that the tops of its shoulders were now protruding from the rock. There was no seam between the being and the stone floor; they were made of the same substance. Mihn stared at the Ralebrat – the earth elementals were known to be allies of the Chetse, but he had never heard of them being seen outside of battle.

'Your Krann is dead. Something else possesses his body now.' There was a smooth quality to the Ralebrat's voice, sand running over stone. Something underneath the corpse reached up to tap one of the horns. The nearly decapitated head twitched under the movement as the elemental cocked its head to one side.

'I couldn't sense it as it attacked,' Chalat said. 'If more than a handful have been changed, I cannot kill them. Can your kind help?'

'We dare not. The Gods are at play, and others. We will not be involved this time.'

Chalat seemed to take the refusal with remarkable calm. The Ralebrat had allied themselves with Aryn Bwr during the Great War – clearly the slaughter on both sides had taught them to keep clear of anything similar.

'You must leave.'

'What?' Chalat was surprised.

'You cannot fight these daemons; you must leave for the sake of your people. We have expected this Age for a thousand years – we will go deep into the earth until we are called by one who is known to us.'

'How can I leave Charr to rule the Chetse?'

'You cannot avoid it. The only question is whether you will be alive when the time comes to save your people.' An arm appeared from the ground, rising up as though from a perfectly still lake. It pointed at the foreigner. 'Take that one with you.'

'Him? Why?'

The Ralebrat emitted a sound like sand brushing over steel; it was amused. 'Fate intervened to put him in your enemy's path. He is marked, that one.'

'Marked for what?'

'For suffering and service. What he has lost from his soul, he must confront and surpass. If he does as he must, his name will be honoured for a thousand years.'

'I don't understand.' Chalat now stared at the foreigner in curiosity and fascination.

'It is not yours to understand. He belongs to another.' With that the Ralebrat slid back down into the ground, disappearing without trace.

Chalat stared at the blank stone for a moment, then a gust of wind tugged at his hair and stirred him to movement. He stood up and cleaned his sword on the clothes of the dead bodyguard.

'It looks like we both have some long years ahead of us. If you're not my business, I don't want to know any more. I know the Ralebrat well enough to keep my silence. How badly injured is Chate?'

The foreigner looked down and shrugged. The man had passed out and he pushed back the man's thinning silver hair to show Chalat a ripe swelling visible on the general's hairline.

'Right, then. I'll carry him to the Temple of Asenn; they'll be around soon for the dew rituals and it's next to the Temple of Shijhe. Then we go north.'