the land harsh now. The fathers of the Hierarchy will tear each mortal to pieces and feast on their pain, bathe in their blood. You cannot say you are afraid. You do not even know what it means. But if you fail, you will. You will know suffering and terror until your death, and the death of the people you are supposed to be shepherding through this age.”
Reih listened, and if she thought the builder overstepped the mark she did not say so. She listened with a growing sense of dread. Not because he was a great orator, like some she had known, or an accomplished troubadour, deftly spinning a yarn. She listened because in some dark part of her heart, she knew it was the terrible truth…and her twin knew this also.
“How will I raise an army? I can contact the rahkens, but mankind has no warriors. They would be crushed before they could think…and what of magic? Even could I begin to raise an army to oppose them, their mages would roast them alive on any battlefield.”
Sventhan nodded sagely. “At last, you are thinking. There are two nexus points on this land, that wait for this age. One is Sybremreyen, and ancient temple far to the south. The other, as you well know, is your twin, the Kuh’taenium. Together, they can hold back the tide of the Protectorate’s magic…whether they can stand against the darkness of the Hierarchy I could not say. But they hold more power than you could imagine. Send your forces south to Sybremreyen. They will be safe there, until the time comes…”
Sventhan spoke for a while longer, and Reih listened. She knew the time had come. She could no longer return to her old life. She would become a prisoner within the Kuh’taenium, separated from whatever force she could find — builders, thieves, caravan guards…any man or woman who could wield a blade. She would direct, and they would follow. Her life, and theirs, were solely her responsibility. If only someone else could take this mantle… but the Kuh’taenium had chosen her to be its avatar in these final days. The return was near, so Sventhan said. While he did not paint a vivid picture, it was somehow more frightening because of the simplicity of his words, the gruffness of his voice.
Hers would be a secret war, he would be her general, and she was more afraid now than she had ever been before.
Reih left the drink unfinished. Sventhan spoke before she could rise.
“In a month’s time, we wake her powers. I will be ready by then. You must live. Do nothing foolish.”
She nodded, and rose to leave. Perr turned first and followed his mistress back to the Kuh’taenium and the sunny side of the city.
Reih walked on, Perr behind her. She walked straight, deep in thought. The steel clad warrior walking two paces behind her was enough to leave her unmolested as she walked through the east gates and passed the guard into the town where it was once deemed safe.
Safety was something she would have to hold in her heart from now on, for she was under no illusions. War was coming to Lianthre, for the first time in a thousand years.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
“Just like old times,” joked Roth from behind Tirielle, bringing up the rear. It was a tight fit for the beast, but it never complained.
She supposed it had endured worse.
For long minutes they had crawled on their hands and knees through thick slime and, almost definitely, ordure. Tirielle tried not to think about it, but try as she might the thought snuck up on her, emboldened by the stench.
“It reminds me of old times, too, Roth, but I wish it didn’t. I’m trying my hardest to think of the good times, back when I was merely a dissident, a captive on my way to certain death. Thinking about it now, at least we had no choice then. It seems worse than folly to endure this because we want to.”
“Would you up and go home then?”
Tirielle thought about it, but it was difficult to think of anything with the reek making her head swim.
“No, I decided long ago to make my own fate, and I choose this path as much as it chooses me.” She shivered in the cold gloom. “But I wish, if I still have the luxury of wishes, that at the end of this tunnel waits a hot bath and a cool drink.”
Roth grunted its agreement, and fell silent. Tirielle concentrated on crawling, telling herself that it was no different to playing mudsnakes when she had been a child. Her nose, however, was firmly rooted in reality.
She crawled for what seemed like an age, knees and elbows growing sorer with each passing yard. The gloom gradually gave way to darkness, then a blackness as pitch as the cities of the Naum. Tirielle felt the primal fear that lurks at the back of every mind, the fear of the unknown, sneaking in the night, stalking the black places of the world waiting to plunge a thief’s dagger deep into a kidney, a timber wolf snarling as the campfire’s embers glow their last, a slithering across a bare foot in a desert cave.
She gave a little scream as something scampered across her hand. It squeaked angrily, scuttering down the tunnel to the exit.
She envied the rat. It chose the dark. No matter what she said, this path was not her idea. She would have rather risked walking into Arram in the open.
Time seemed drawn and tortured. Her mind conjured things crawling, hanging above her head, slimy creatures beneath her knees, no cloth to bar their poisonous blood to seep into her skin.
Perhaps sensing her fear, Roth began to speak again, and she was grateful for its voice.
“It cannot be much longer now,” it said, echoing her thoughts.
“Another minute would be too long. Can you see?”
“No, I cannot. Even smell is useless here. Any overpowering odour blinds my senses. I am just hopeful.”
She could hear Roth scraping along behind her. She imagined the rahkens massive shoulders bunched in the tight tunnel, and felt sorry for her friend. To be so cramped for a creature used to freedom, to have its senses blinded in the dark when even in pitch black it could all but see with its nose…she was lucky.
She uttered a low laugh.
“I wish I could find something to laugh about in here.”
“I’m just thankful I’m not you,” she laughed again. “I’m sorry, Roth, but it must be terrible for you.”
“I have no complaints. At the end of this tunnel waits enough Protocrats for me to take out my displeasure at the indignities of crawling through their soil.”
Typraille, crawling in front of her, whispered over their conversation.
“We’re at the end. Still yourself to silence.”
“Yes, master,” giggled Tirielle.
“Silence!” Typraille tried to whisper, but his voice came out harshly.
Tirielle moved her hand to stifle another laugh, and the thought of what she had nearly done repressed any nervous laughter she had been holding inside. Roth laid a calming hand on her calf, startling her for a moment, nearly into a scream, but she realised what it was before she could lose control.
“Easy, lady,” said the beast quietly. “We are at the end. I see the light.”
“Not nearly soon enough.”
Then she could see the light, too. She was coming out into a torch lit chamber, roughly fifteen feet in diameter. Even though it was a dim glow, she still had to close her eyes against the sudden light. When she opened them she was amazed to see that the Sard’s cloaks remained unsullied. She looked down at herself, and then around at Roth. They were both covered in grime and waste.
She wiped her hands as best she could on her ruined dress. Seeing moss growing on the walls, she decided to try and wipe her hands further on their spongy tendrils, but stopped herself with a gulp. It was eerily iridescent, a strange blue light running through its body along the walls and on the stone floor. She tried to ease her weight, so that she would not be standing on it, in case it should grow over her, eating her whole…she knew the thought was fanciful, but she could not shake it.
“I feel the darkness of their magic all around me. It is worse than the tunnel,” said Quintal with a grimace. “The sooner we are out of this place, the better. No matter where it leads.”
“Come, brother,” said Cenphalph, taking their leader’s shoulder. “Let’s do what we came for. Every moment
