Return of the Crimson Guard

returned her stare to where the apparition had gone. ‘You saw him?’ he demanded, as if doubting his own sanity.

‘Yes. You spoke with him?’

‘Yes — you know who he is?’

A long slow affirmation. ‘Oh yes. And I will tell you in all honesty, Jal Keth. I seriously debated whether or not to come down here.’

‘Well, who i5 he?’

A shake of the head. ‘No. It is safer for you not to know — for now. Someone who was supposed to be out of the game.’

Rillish allowed himself to lie limp on the ground. ‘Gods, woman! Well, at least help me up.’

‘Who, me?’ Together, each aiding the other, with much trial and error, they mounted with Nether behind holding Rillish steady. She nickered to start his mount walking; it picked a path between the boulders.

‘Just where in all the Realms are we anyway?’ Rillish asked.

‘The Imperial Warren.’

‘Oh. I thought no one was supposed to come here any more.’

‘That's right.’

‘Did we perhaps just meet the reason behind that prohibition?’

She whispered in his ear, ‘How could we when we've never been here?’

While Nether gently weaved their transition from the Warren Rillish tried to fight his sudden keen awareness of the warmth of the young warlock's embrace. It did not help later that night, close to dawn, as Nether and he and their exhausted mount were walking the road north through a cold drizzle, when soldiers straightened from hedgerows alongside the road and Rillish pulled up suddenly to see Talia watching him from over the stock of a levelled crossbow. She did lower the weapon, but the look she gave him there on the horse in Nether's arms was a caution for when they next met.

To Kyle the coast of this land seemed to consist of nothing more than league after league of empty sand beaches leading up to dense jungle. Ereko skilfully wove the Kite through gaps in reefs as they skirted north-west. White and black seabirds hovered and dived in their wake. Peering over the gunwale was like staring down from a great height — undersea mountains of coral passed majestically beneath them. The sun glared with a ferocity Kyle had never known. It seemed to bake the top of his head. The brothers had used leather strips to tie rags over their heads and Stalker had even removed his armour and now sat in his leathers, a sash around his head and face like a scarf. Only Traveller and Ereko seemed unmoved by the oppressive heat. Kyle itched with sweat and rashes seemed to be creeping over his entire body.

‘Won't we land now?’ he asked Ereko yet again, rubbing a finger over his cracked lips. ‘We're low on water.’ Blood smeared his fingers.

‘This is a dangerous land, Kyle,’ the Thel Akai giant answered, as patiently as the first time Kyle had asked. ‘We have to be careful.’

Careful! Kyle almost pointed to the bow where Traveller reclined in the shade of a sailcloth. With an obvious master swordsman like him on board? And you, a giant nearly twice the height of a man? And these three veterans from Assail who quit the Crimson Guard because they found it boring? Gods and Spirits, what kind of a land was this?

Still, they did not pull in — even when the last of the water was shaken from the last keg. The afternoon golden light faded to the red sunsets that came with disorienting suddenness. He almost asked again why Ereko made no effort at landing and would they simply career along like this until they all died of exposure when he realized that no one else was asking. Everyone else, even fiercely independent Stalker, seemed content to defer to the giant's experience. Clenching his teeth, Kyle sat back against the warm, damp and now mouldy planking of the Kite.

As the evening deepened Kyle dozed in the deadening heat and humidity. A grunt from one of the Lost brothers woke him. Everyone was staring ahead. Kyle sat up straighten Distant torches lit the edge of a long low spit of sand. Behind the torches stood a large tent, the thin cloth of its sides billowing lightly in the weak night wind. Ereko turned the bow to shore.

Traveller stood, rearranged the simple padded mail hauberk he wore beneath his dark leathers, and belted his long, slim black-hilted sword at his side. Kyle found he could not take his eyes from that weapon. As the bow scraped up into sand Traveller leapt down into the wash to steady the vessel. Stalker and the brothers joined him. They pulled the Kite as far up the strand as they could. Kyle belted on his own tulwar and jumped into the wet sand. Ereko stepped down unarmed. When his feet touched ground the giant stood still for a time, head lowered. Kyle thought he heard him whispering something that may have been a prayer. Straightening, his usually smiling lips were set, his brow lined. He had the air of a man facing a trial. Traveller led the way to the tent.

As they neared, a man stepped from the open flap. He was a large fellow, tall and well-padded in fat. The torchlight glimmered on his bright silk robes and his round head was shaved. His flesh held the hue of oiled ironwood. He bowed. ‘Welcome to you all,’ he said in accented Talian. ‘Welcome to the lands you call Jacuruku.’

Within, carpets covered the sand. Lamps on tall iron tripods lit the large interior. Pillows lay scattered, as were silver platters containing covered bowls, cups and carafes. Traveller eased himself down to sit cross-legged. Their host sat opposite. Stalker, Coots and Badlands sat together uneasily, glancing about. The tent was tall enough to accommodate Ereko who sat near the entrance. Kyle sat with him.

‘Greetings all,’ their host continued. ‘Please… eat, drink. My name is Jhest Golanjar. How it is I know your language you are wondering. That is simplicity. It is the language spoken by an invading army that conquered a neighbouring kingdom decades ago. They rule as a caste of warrior-aristocrats who enforce their will with sword and magery. All in the name of that kingdom's ancient Goddess — the Queen Ardata. Know you them?’

Their host seemed to be addressing everyone, but his dark glittering eyes remained fixed upon Traveller. Coots, his mouth stuffed full of bread and meat sauce, slurred, ‘No.’

Untroubled, Jhest continued. ‘In our language we call them the Isture? Forlan Edegash. In your language,’ he lifted a meaty hand to Kyle, ‘the Crimson Guard.’

Kyle stared, speechless, then he remembered the sigil still pinned to his chest and he felt his face redden in embarrassment. Fool, to have kept it!

‘Are we enemies, then?’ Traveller asked, his voice low, yet Kyle now felt attuned to the man's moods and he heard the coiled warning behind the question.

Jhest's smile was broad and easy, yet oddly flat. He raised both hands. ‘Not at all. We admire the Isture? for what they have accomplished.’

‘Which is?’ Ereko asked.

Jhest answered without so much as a glance to the Thel Akai; it was as if the giant did not exist. ‘They have advanced far in the path that is our… how shall I put it?… our passion — my brothers and sisters’ speciality of interest and research.’

‘That being?’ Stalker prompted.

Again, the broad yet oddly empty smile. The man's black eyes unmoving on Traveller. ‘Why, the Paths of Ascension, of course.’

No one spoke for a time. Badlands and Coots ate noisily; Stalker picked up a flatbread and tore off a bite. Kyle poured himself a drink that proved to be some sort of sweetened water. Traveller pressed a hand to his brow, sighing. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, Jhest, but we are tired and should sleep. Perhaps tomorrow we could trouble you for water and supplies?’

‘Of course.’ The man stood, brushed at the folds of his robes. ‘Until tomorrow, then. Goodnight.’ Bowing, he left the tent.

Chewing a mouthful, Stalker caught Badland's eye and cocked his head to the flap. Badlands crossed to the opening. ‘Gone.’

‘Anyone around?’ Stalker asked.

‘Hard to say. It's damned dark. Probably someone.’

Grunting his assent, Stalker gestured Coots out. ‘You two, first watch.’