The Third Door

24 - Nine Powers

Almost unwillingly, Rye felt Sonia’s fierce determination fanning the dying embers of his hope back into life. She was right. It was still not too late to change the future, if only they could find a way. But the people of Fell End were marching up the black, burned track two by two, the giant hose pipe held between them and death drawing closer to the Fellan with every step. And Farr was moving forward, holding up his hand in greeting.

The people at the head of the line stopped dead, staring at Farr open-mouthed. The people behind them pressed forward, saw what they had seen, and stopped as well. Sonia stiffened. Rye knew why. He too could feel wickedness and triumph somewhere very near.

‘Keep moving!’ a voice shouted.

It was Councillor Manx, his gaunt face set in a peevish scowl. Beside him was Sigrid of Gold Marsh, picking her way through the ash, a lace handkerchief held to her nose. And lumbering behind them both was Barron, coughing and very red in the face.

The astonished workers suddenly found their voices.

‘Farr!’ The roar was so loud that even the troops at the head of the track heard it and turned in amazement to recognise Farr’s familiar figure and to cheer.

‘By the stars, Farr, we thought you were dead!’ Barron bellowed, mopping his streaming face. ‘The man Jett came stumbling into Fell End at sunrise, just as the attack began, gabbling that the Fellan had you. How did you escape?’

‘Time for all that later,’ shouted Farr, as Manx and Sigrid, both looking very startled, hurried to his side. ‘Have you sent the signal down the line to start the pump?’

‘Not yet,’ Manx replied crisply. ‘I thought it best to wait until the hose pipe was fully in position. Two reliable men are waiting to send the flare up at our signal.’

‘And that is no thanks to your wife, Chieftain Farr!’ Sigrid burst out, clearly unable to contain herself. ‘This morning she was discovered trying to persuade the soldiers we had chosen for the task to disobey their orders when the time came.’

‘Nearly managed to do it, too!’ wheezed Barron, labouring up behind her. ‘Would have, if Sigrid hadn’t caught her at it, by all accounts!’

‘Two louts had helped her get to the men, it seems,’ Sigrid went on. ‘One, a great, hulking brute, was armed with a rusty reaping hook he must have taken from one of the carts. Fortunately he had been injured, as had his sly-looking accomplice, but even so it took six people to subdue them. They are both in the guardhouse awaiting questioning.’

Rye’s throat closed. Sonia groaned in dismay.

‘Where is Janna?’ snapped Farr, who had paled beneath the ash that still coated his face.

‘She and her half-Fellan favourite are locked in a hut,’ Manx said coldly. ‘Jett is guarding them. He was not fit for anything else.’

‘It couldn’t be helped, dear fellow!’ Barron put in anxiously, as Farr’s jaw tightened. ‘We couldn’t leave your good lady free to go around convincing the rest of the troops to defy their orders, could we? She’s very persuasive when she chooses, as you well know. Her honeyed tongue could charm the bees from the hive!’

Rye’s heart gave a great thud. Suddenly his face was hot, and his blood seemed to be fizzing in his veins.

Sonia swung round, her eyes wide. She had felt his jolt of excitement. She knew the idea that had come to him.

Of course!

She plunged her hand into her pocket and pulled out the bag of powers. Feverishly she unwound the string and gave the open bag to Rye.

Rye fumbled through the clutter of charms at the bottom of the bag and seized the honey sweet.

‘We’ll discuss this later,’ Farr was saying in a low, even voice that showed how rigidly he was controlling his feelings. ‘The important thing now is to salt as much of the forest as we can, as quickly as we can. We must only hope that the spray will be as powerful, and reach as far, as we have been told.’

‘It will,’ Manx said curtly. ‘We have been assured of it.’

‘So we have!’ Barron chortled. ‘Everything’s going like clockwork, Farr! We have those Fellan wretches on the run, for all their so-called powers. Ah, how I love to support the winning side! As I always say, there’s a lot more money in it. Ha, ha—ahem!’

He turned his laughter into a cough as Sigrid shot him a disdainful look.

Rye unwrapped the little golden square and thrust it into his mouth. The taste of honey was sweet on his tongue.

‘Wish me luck,’ he muttered. Trying not to think too hard about what he was doing, he threw back the hood and strode out of hiding.

Barron goggled, Sigrid hissed and Manx grew very still.

Rye took a breath, but before he could speak bellows of shock and rage erupted from the crowd supporting the hose pipe. He swayed back as a burning wave of hatred broke over him.

Then Sonia was beside him, and he could feel her strength joining his, pushing the hatred back.

The relief was intense, but Rye shook his head in frustration. He had wanted Sonia to stay in safety. He was willing to risk his own life, but not hers.

Sonia’s voice whisked through his mind like a cold breeze.

My life is my own to risk, Rye of Weld! The magic will be stronger if I am with you. Besides, I have something for you. The moment I touched it I knew it for what it was. You may need it.

Rye felt her push something into his hand, recognised it, wondered for a heartbeat why she had given it to him, then saw images of Farr sitting motionless on the pipeline, Farr standing rigidly behind the tree, and understood.

The ninth power.

Again he became aware of the taste of honey, sweet and mellow, on his tongue. He pushed the melting square into his cheek and, clasping his hands together to hide what he was holding, faced the shouting people.

‘Please let me speak,’ he said. ‘I have something of great importance to tell you.’

And instantly, dead silence fell. Rye paused, his skin prickling. He had not raised his voice, yet somehow the people had heard him. They had heard him, they had quieted for him, and now they were waiting for him to go on.

He began, and his first words were not at all as he had planned.

‘I want,’ he found himself saying, ‘to tell you a very old story—the story of three brothers.’

So he told the tale of Annolt, Malverlain and Eldannen—Olt, Verlain and Dann—the sorcerer sons of a Dorne chieftain and his Fellan bride. He spoke of Verlain’s banishment, Olt’s growing madness, and Dann’s escape with his followers. And Farr and his people listened without a sound. Their eyes were fixed on him. They hung on his every word.

‘Once Dann had gone, and there was no one to correct the lie,’ Rye said, ‘Olt told his people that his sorcery was all that protected Dorne from the revenge of his brother Malverlain, who in exile had become the Lord of Shadows.’

He paused, and his listeners whispered fearfully, their hushed voices soft as the rustling of the trees. They all knew of the Lord of Shadows, and the name struck terror in their hearts. Plainly, however, they had not known that the ancient, evil power in the west had been born and bred in Dorne. That fact, like so many others, had been suppressed by Olt and long forgotten by a people more interested in the present and the future than in the past.

Rye saw that the councillors Manx, Sigrid and Barron were glancing at one another, expressionless. He saw that the soldiers with the flamers and the men who had been leading the carts had all crept down the burned hill to join the crowd. He saw that Farr was staring at him intently. He felt rage and malice directed at him, but still could not locate their source.

He raised his voice a little.

‘When at last Olt died and the Lord of Shadows did not invade, the people realised they had been tricked. They thought the whole tale had been a lie, and forgot it. But it had been a lie only in part. As Olt well knew, there was a charmed circle around Dorne, protecting it from evil invasion. But the charm was held in place by the Fellan—as it is to this day.’

Again the people murmured, but this time they were frowning. They wanted to believe Rye—wanted with all their hearts to give in to the spell of his voice. Yet talk of charms and magic unsettled them, and they had grown used to thinking of the Fellan as their enemies.

‘You … offer no proof of what you say,’ Farr said, plainly groping for words.

‘You will have your proof,’ Rye replied quietly. He hoped fervently that he was right. There was not much time left. The taste of honey was still sweet in his mouth, but he could feel that the little golden square was melting away.

‘The Lord of Shadows has never forgotten the oath he swore as he was banished from Dorne’s shores. He vowed revenge. He vowed one day to return, to punish the people who had rejected him and to plunder Dorne’s riches. But standing between him and his goal was a magic greater than his own—the protecting magic of the Fellan. So he made a plan to trick you into destroying that magic for him, and put spies among you to carry the plan out.’

He took a breath. This, he knew, was the moment when his gamble would either succeed or fail. The last possible moment …

‘The latest in that long line of traitors is with us now,’ he said. ‘It is—’ He had had no idea how he was to finish that sentence, but as he had hoped and prayed, he did not have to. As the words left his lips he felt an iron nerve break. The smoky air shimmered and thickened, there was a sudden, violent scuffle, and a snarling beast with bark-like hide and flaming hair leaped for him.

And in that instant, Rye’s mind exploded with vivid memory. Screams of terror ringing in his ears, Sonia standing her ground by his side, he remembered at last what he had seen before the attack at Fell End. He knew who had tried to kill him on the barge, in the chieftain’s lodge, in the museum. He knew his enemy.

Swiftly he raised his hands. Between them hung the faded drawstring from the little brown bag—the string of plaited Fellan hair that was Sonia’s cord belt in miniature. He saw the beast’s eyes blaze as it realised its danger too late. He felt Sonia’s magic flow into his fingertips like prickling heat. He knew what to do.

‘Be still!’ he shouted, and pulled the string taut.

And the beast froze in the air and crashed to the ground, its form changing rapidly as it fell.

There was a small, sickening crack. Ash rose in a choking cloud. People were still screaming. Someone was wailing hysterically. Coughing and cursing, Farr stumbled to Rye’s side.

Rye’s legs were shaking so badly that he could hardly stand. He was still too shocked even to feel relief. ‘I promised you proof,’ he said, gesturing at the still figure on the ground. ‘Here it is.’

Farr looked down. His eyes bulged.

‘Barron!’ he breathed. ‘But … I can’t believe it! By the heavens, why would Barron betray—?’

Barron’s eyelids fluttered. ‘I told you, Farr,’ he mumbled. ‘I like to support the winning side. There’s a lot more money in it.’

And that was all. He did not move again. Rye’s throat tightened. He had not meant Barron to die. He had meant only to stop and secure him so Farr could see—so everyone could see—what he was.

‘The fall killed him, Rye,’ Sonia said. ‘If he had not flown at you he would be alive now.’ She looked at Farr. ‘Was it Barron who told you how to destroy the Fellan?’ she asked abruptly.

Farr nodded, licking his dry lips. ‘He knew—had met—many strange people on his trading voyages. He took—he said he took—the best advice …’

‘The very best, it seems,’ Sonia said grimly.

The people who had begun crowding around them silently parted to make way for Councillors Sigrid and Manx. Sigrid was limping and her iron grey braids hung raggedly around her shoulders. Manx was shaking all over as if he had a fever. He suddenly looked years older, and far more human.

‘We cannot find Barron,’ he croaked. ‘He was right behind me when the Fellan beast attacked. I fear he has come to harm.’

Sigrid snorted. ‘Oh, he has only run away, depend upon it,’ she said. ‘For such a fat man he is very light on his feet. No doubt he will come strolling back any moment, red-faced and mumbling apologies for his cowardice.’

‘I daresay that was his plan,’ said Farr, and stood back so they could see the body.

Barron lay on his back, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. He had died before his change of form was complete. One of his beefy arms was still covered with bark, the hand a hideous mass of thorny claws.

Sigrid froze. Manx choked and turned away.

Farr ran his fingers roughly through his hair. ‘I—I have heard of humans selling themselves to the Shadow Lord in return for magic and power. But never did I think such a thing could happen in Dorne. By the heavens, how many of the other terrors we’ve suffered have been Barron’s work?’

‘Almost all, I am sure,’ Rye said. ‘You already distrusted the Fellan. Barron made you hate and fear them. He convinced you that the slays were part of a war they were waging against you. When the time was right, he told you how to destroy Fellan magic and the Fell Zone itself. And when you hesitated, Farr, he tried to kill Zak and Janna. He knew you. He knew that far from making you draw back, those attacks would spur you on. But he protected you. He needed you.’

‘And if … if we had succeeded in carrying out our plan, the Shadow Lord would have swooped,’ Sigrid muttered. ‘Ah, Keelin, what a debt we owe you! What would have become of us?’

Rye exchanged glances with Sonia, his mind filled with chilling images. Dry, tortured land. The horrors of the Diggings and the Harbour. Desperate people, starving and enslaved. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. If he even hinted that he had seen what might have been, Farr would start doubting his sanity all over again.

They will never know what they have been spared, Rye. But we will.

Sonia’s relief and thankfulness flooded into Rye’s mind, sweeping the ghastly images away. Dorne is safe, he told himself. Safe! Elation rose in him, steeling him for the last great effort that lay ahead.

‘We’ll dismantle the pipeline,’ Farr said, squaring his shoulders. ‘We’ll start at once.’

‘No!’ Rye exclaimed.

Farr stared at him. So did everyone else, Sonia most of all.

‘You are forgetting the skimmers—the slays,’ Rye said quietly. ‘The nest must be destroyed before another night comes. I will speak to the Fellan and ask if we can trespass in their territory a little longer. Meanwhile, your people can fetch some blasting powder from Fell End, and also, if you please, release the two men locked in the guardhouse. I will need their help—and Jett’s help, too.’

He turned to Sonia and her eyes widened in shock as she shared the memory he had kept from her, locked away in the darkest corner of his mind, till now.

For a moment he was back floating above the treetops in the dimness just before daybreak. He was seeing something that Farr had seen time and again, no doubt, from the Riverside watchtower. He was watching skimmers soaring to the highest point of the Fell Zone. He was watching them landing, scrabbling, fighting each other for space as they scrambled into the ragged holes and crevices of their warm, dark refuge.

Into the vine-clad cracks and caves that pocked the outer surface of the towering Wall of Weld.