well known to everyone here. Now, the Overlord has heard of it and he has answered. You, Commander Borun, and you, Adviser Ussu, are hereby summoned to Paliss.’ And he extended the scroll.
Borun bowed, accepting the vellum. For a time he studied it through the visor of his helm, then silently handed it to Ussu. The mage read quickly — the wording was definitely Yeull’s… yet the missive cited no reason for the recall, just that he should travel with all dispatch and speed for Paliss.
Lady’s revenge! Was this a summons to execution? Enesh-jer obviously believed so. He thought himself vindicated and Ussu could see no reason why he should not. ‘M’lord,’ he ventured, ‘may I ask-’
‘No you may not! Enough talk from you. Enough words.’ The Envoy swallowed, forcing himself to stillness. ‘You have been pulled from the front… which was my request all along. Go! Now. This night.’
Teeth clenched so hard they hurt, Ussu managed a very curt bow. Turning, he saw that the entourage had remained parted. They all knew already. This was just a pantomime, a public humiliation and a show of power. Let all others considering dissent beware! This could happen to you too!
Pulling on his cloak to leave, Ussu discovered his robes were wet where a number of the hangers-on had spat upon him.
On the way back down the valley Borun summoned messengers to give quick commands in the clipped foreign Moranth tongue. Ussu was silent for a time. There was nothing to say. Finally, he sighed, and asked: ‘Will we ride together?’
‘Yes. We will go ahead with an advance force. It will take time for the full withdrawal.’
Ussu stopped short. ‘Withdrawal?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean you are leaving with all your Moranth?’
‘Of course.’
Ussu’s voice rose with his amazement: ‘Does he know that?’
‘Yes.’ Borun’s tone remained maddeningly flat.
‘And he… approves…?’
‘Of course. You know he has long regarded me as an impediment to his overall command. He considers my removal a victory.’
‘Borun — you and your Moranth are the only reason this command remains. Only your heavy infantry is holding these Malaz-’ Ussu corrected himself, ‘Greymane back.’
‘Envoy Enesh-jer is not of that opinion.’
‘Dammit, man. They’ll all be dead within a week!’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Then Greymane will dog any retreat all the way to Paliss.’
The Black commander halted at the entrance to the tent he’d set aside for Ussu’s use. ‘I do not believe so, High Mage. Regardless, I suggest you redirect your energy and concern to what might lie in your own future. Have you not wondered what might stand behind this summons?’
‘No, not yet. I don’t know. Yeull has been convinced by Enesh-jer’s lies, perhaps.’
Borun clasped his gauntleted hands at his back, regarded the dark river. Ussu thought his mood reflective. ‘My reading of Yeull is that he is many things, but no fool. High Mage, he is a frightened man. Something has happened. Something that terrifies him. And he has called us to him.’
Ussu sighed. ‘I only wish I could share your… faith.’
‘Faith?’ The Black commander sounded bemused. ‘It is an estimation. A bet, if you will. Everything is a gamble.’
Ussu smiled now. ‘Really? Everything? What of those who do not gamble?’
‘Those who do not gamble do so betting that terrible things will eventually happen to those who do.’ And he bowed to leave. ‘High Mage. We both have a busy night ahead of us. Until then.’
Ussu bowed as well. He watched the commander march off. Messengers who had been keeping a respectful distance now crowded the man. Gods above and below, Yeull. What have you done to deserve the loyalty of such a man? It’s a mystery. Shaking his head, Ussu turned to packing his equipment.
The ground had been scoured naked here in what the Shadow priest, Warran, claimed was Emurlahn dissolving into the ‘between-ness’ of Chaos. Humped bare granite, resembling bedrock, gave way to pools of sand in dips and hollows that churned like water as if containing things just beneath their surface. Curtains of ash swept over them like gauzy blankets, only to drift on. A brief rainstorm out of the empty sky left them soaked in black dust.
Their bat-like guide led them steadily on towards the dark hole that lay on the horizon like a great unblinking eye, or an opening on to nothingness. The ravens took turns harassing the little flier, making half-serious attempts to snatch it from the air — at least when they were not hopping ahead of Warran and cawing their derisive calls.
Kiska had no idea how long they had been walking, or how much time had passed. Or even if such a consideration as ‘time’ was relevant here — wherever here was. In any case, it seemed that nothing had happened for a very long time when something heaved itself out of one of the pools of dust.
Warran charged ahead eagerly, only to stop suddenly. Good gods, Kiska thought, was the man hoping it was a fish?
But it was not. It was a twin to the daemon who had helped them earlier, Little Branch. It pulled itself free of the clinging quicksand then straightened to a similar height — twice Jheval’s — and carried the familiar brace of terrifyingly sharp spears on his back.
‘Greetings, Azalan,’ Warran called, raising his hands.
‘Murderer!’ the daemon bellowed, and in one swift motion drew a spear and thrust it through the priest until it splintered against the bare stone behind. Warran toppled. The huge length of the spear bobbed from him like an enormous quill.
Jheval’s morningstars whirred to life in his hands. Kiska leapt aside to give the lethal weapons room then struck a ready stance, staff extended.
It advanced on them, pulling free another spear. ‘Slayers!’
‘What do you mean?’ Kiska tried. ‘Slayed who? We’ve killed no one!’
‘It’s Chaos-maddened,’ was all Jheval had a chance to yell before the daemon was upon him, thrusting. He parried, knocking the deceptively slim and fragile spear aside, but found himself still a good two paces distant from the fiend. ‘Shit,’ he snarled as they both realized that neither could get close enough to strike.
The thin haft twisted then, whipping, and caught one of Jheval’s morningstars, sending it flying off into the sky. ‘Shit!’ Kiska agreed, and charged. The butt end of the spear flashed toward her; she parried, but the strength of the blow drove her sideways to land painfully on naked rock.
Jheval parried with his remaining morningstar, standing edge-on, retreating, as the daemon thrust again and again. Backpedalling far too swiftly he stumbled, and the spear whipped again, slapping him across the face to send him down with an arc of blood jetting from his nose.
Kiska glanced round in a panic for her staff but the creature was right there, rearing over her, spear raised. ‘Die, killers!’ it yelled.
Killed who? What? For this I die?
The daemon looked away, turned its spear to bear upon another, too late. A white blur struck it in the chest and the two fell rolling and tumbling over the broken rocks. Kiska levered herself on to her elbows to watch a great white hound, almost as large as a horse, clamp its jaws on the shoulder and neck of the daemon and bear down. Black ichor shot; the fiend shrieked, pounded a fist on the hound’s back. A great snapping and popping of cartilage sounded then, and the daemon’s head flopped loose, the body spasming. Hunched over the corpse the beast growled at Kiska. Its eyes glowed the deep red of heart’s blood.
She raised her open empty hands to whisper, ‘It’s okay, boy. Okay.’
Rumbling, gaze fixed on Kiska, the hound slowly dragged off its prize, leaving a smear of black over the rocks. Kiska let it disappear among the larger stones before heaving herself upright. She rolled a shoulder, wincing, rubbed her bruised back. Gods, what a blow!
She limped over to Jheval, found him sitting up, a fold of cloth pressed to his face dripping blood in his lap. She helped him up. He bent his head back and groaned. ‘Fucking broke my face! Shame about the old guy,’ he
