‘And Rojak,’ Morghien said. ‘A scene of slaughter painted on the theatre door — Emin recognised it from what I’d told him: four towers standing, one fallen, and flames getting ready to take another, the towers so tall even Tirah Palace looks like a child’s toy in comparison. Those towers burned the day Keriabral was taken, the day the Gods threw their armies at its walls and didn’t care that in the process they extinguished entire races they’d created for the war. That’s pretty much when Aryn Bwr became the shadow’s pawn. The more I think about it, the more I reckon that painting was Azaer announcing the slaughter to come, the destruction he’d profit from once again.’
Shanas looked at him a long while then said, ‘So it’s agreed, then. We don’t want him sitting on Death’s throne when our times come?’
‘No.’
‘Then get on your bloody horse, old man, there’s still work to be done.’
Ruhen walked ahead of his disciples, his remaining eye fixed on nothing that Ilumene could discern. The white cloaked-soldier followed at a distance, behind him trailing Larim, the Menin mage, Koteer of the Jesters and the black Harlequin, Venn. They watched Ruhen in silence, waiting for a sign from the child that they were finally at their destination.
Ilumene knew they were being watched; though he’d yet to find the observers, his senses prickled. The army had settled at the base of a long rise, while their small party continued on another mile to this hill. The ground was mostly rock and dust; stunted bushes and creeping roses were the only growing plants. The hill itself was as high as anything within sight, studded with enormous boulders and surrounded by more. It reminded him of a childhood story he’d once heard, of two giants arguing and hurling rocks the size of houses at each other.
A shallow slope ran north for miles, following the contours of a distant river, hidden by a narrow band of woods. It was the only visible boundary; in all other directions the undulating scrubland simply faded into the horizon.
He glanced back at Venn and the black Harlequin nodded, gesturing to the waiting soldiers behind. Two squads each of Harlequins and Acolytes of the Jesters spread out at Venn’s command, trotting at a brisk pace around the lower slope of the hill, heading towards the rear. The horse scouts had already swept the vicinity, but Ilumene saw no reason to trust them; he knew Morghien had not yet met up with the main force.
The old bastard’s got more sense than to take us on, Ilumene reflected, but that doesn’t stop him leaving a surprise in our path — a barbed gift like that damn Finntrail spirit in his head. But boredom set in and at last he called, ‘I only see broken stones and a whole lot o’ nothing.’
The boy turned to face him. With the low sun behind him, Ruhen’s face was even more shadowed than usual. Aenaris remained wrapped on his back, its light still hidden from view.
‘The sun has not yet set,’ Ruhen said in response. ‘There is nothing to see.’
‘Some sort o’ spell?’
Ruhen shook his head. ‘What we search for lies at the heart of the Gods’ power, hidden from all until dusk, when they recede a fraction from the Land.’
‘I thought they were weak enough already? Surely we should be able to find it when there’s still light to do something about it?’
‘Some conventions remain,’ Ruhen said plainly. ‘It is part of the balance of the Land: this place is revealed at dusk to those who know it’s here.’
‘Sounds like a load of mystical shit to me,’ Ilumene grumbled. The boy with shadows in his eyes smiled at his bodyguard’s irreverence. ‘The very heart of religion,’ he said with what might have been agreement, ‘but when one plays the game of Gods, one must respect most of the rules. It makes breaking the others far easier.’
Ilumene looked at the sun. ‘Not long to wait then,’ he muttered as Ruhen returned to his slow walk up the hill. The sky was more open here, Ilumene thought, and far preferable to the cramped atmosphere of the Circle City, where Blackfang Mountain intruded on most every sight. To the Byorans the Waste was huge and empty, even more than his home in Narkang, which looked out over the ocean. The Waste was too big a space for humans to live in; the horizons were too far away.
A man could get lost here; he could go mad while his soul wandered the miles of emptiness in all directions. Ilumene grinned. Except horizons won’t mean much to me soon. Precious little will limit me soon.
He turned back towards Keriabral, trying to pick out the crater wall in the distance, but it was out of sight now. Clouds massed on the horizon, blurring everything beyond the rabble making their way into the Devoted camp. There had been hundreds of deaths among Ruhen’s white-clad followers in the last few weeks, but no one stopped. No one cared. There were always thousands more, even some Chetse, following as dumbly and patiently as the rest, stepping over the dead and dying, who were blessed by the Wither Queen’s rat-spirits under cover of night and left for the Narkang troops. Each night the survivors would crawl into the tents of the weary, red-eyed Devoted soldiers, following some unvoiced command Ilumene never gave.
He had heard no word of rape or theft, or of violence done by the soldiers to their pathetic charges; that as much as anything surprised Ilumene. The camp was close to silent at night, the soldiers showing little interest in gambling, whoring or anything else. Instead, they huddled in small groups and spoke in hushed tones, as though they believed the holy mission their leaders had proclaimed.
Even Certinse, Vener and all the rest’re silent now, Ilumene reminded himself. They were so sure of their control, of their strength — and now they’ve found it run like dust through their fingers.
‘Ilumene, Venn,’ Ruhen called from thirty yards up the slope, and the two scrambled in his wake, Venn easily outstripping the heavier man, moving with nimble, economical steps.
‘It’s time,’ Venn breathed as he arrived at Ruhen’s side.
The boy was walking without hurry as the last rays of the sun faded and withdrew from the Land. Shadows deepened, stealing forward from rocks and crevices to swarm up the hillside. As the dark rose it flickered uncertainly, and Ilumene found his eyes watering at the sight. He blinked furiously, and saw Venn was similarly afflicted as they staggered after Ruhen, but the boy was unaffected by the wavering, shifting curtain of air around the peak of the hill. He pointed, and Ilumene saw the underside of his finger was still bleached white by Aenaris’ touch.
Gradually shapes began to form at the peak of the hill: silhouettes of things on the cusp of this Land and the next, drifting uncertainly between here and the Other Lands of Gods and daemons. Ilumene found himself pushing against a barrier of air that unexpectedly gave way, and as he stumbled forward, he almost collided with Venn.
A pair of standing stones loomed ahead of them, rising up from a raised area at the centre of the hill’s flattened peak, and now they could see others all around them, rough-hewn and weather-worn, but power hummed through them. Some had toppled over, others were broken-topped, but many of the ancient rune-engraved monuments still stood like sentinels. In the very centre was a rough circle of irregular paving stones spreading for thirty yards in all directions, surrounding the two tallest stones. Beyond the rise, Ilumene could see the strange rocks continuing across the tabletop hill, spreading like roots through the dusty ground as they merged back into the hill itself.
‘What is this?’ Ilumene gasped. ‘A temple? Out here?’ He looked around. ‘Must have been a damn big one — but where’s the rubble? And how have these engravings survived?’ He went up to one and traced the curves and lines cut into its surface, looking for words he recognised.
‘Think of it as the first temple,’ Ruhen said solemnly, ‘or maybe the soul of every temple. The boundaries of the Land are thin here.’
‘So not a temple then?’ Ilumene asked, frowning. ‘What about the stones, and this floor?’
Ruhen continued towards the tallest pair of menhir, where Ilumene could see a humped arch and a steep set of worn stairs. ‘Echoes of other temples, a place carved by the force of reverence itself.’ He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to face them both. ‘And here is the entrance. Here is the heart of the Land and all its Gods.’
‘Here we become Gods,’ Venn added, the pleasure of that thought driving the wonder from his face. ‘I can feel the power here; it’s in everything — the air, the earth… all around us.’
‘And here we will become Gods,’ Ruhen agreed, ‘but first there is much we need to do.’
‘We’re not going in?’
‘No. We are not yet ready. Venn, you will stay with your Harlequins — keep these standing stones within waking sight at all times. Have the Acolytes guard the other side of the hill. No one must be allowed up here without my express order. Ilumene, we will return to the army. They must prepare defences for when King Emin
