Skilgannon felt the tightness of fear in his belly.
‘You are speaking of Boranius. Yes, he was brought here.’
‘A shame it was you healed him,’ he said bitterly. ‘The man is evil.’
‘We do not pass judgement here, Olek. If we did would we have allowed you inside?’
‘No,’ he admitted.
‘When did you suspect Ironmask was Boranius?’
‘Something inside me said he was alive. When we couldn’t find his body after the battle I knew. Deep down, I knew. Then when I heard of Ironmask I wondered. But then Druss told me he was not mutilated, he merely had an ugly birthmark. Only when I heard of the tribesman with the discoloured hand did the thought recur. The fear of it has been growing in my mind ever since.’
‘That is why the Old Woman did not tell you. She knew you feared this man, and yet she desired you to go after him. She guessed that — once set upon this road — you would not let Druss tackle the evil alone. Was she wrong?’
‘No, she was not wrong. Though how Druss can tackle him with a ruined heart I do not know.’
Ustarte smiled. ‘There is nothing wrong with Druss’s heart — though Heaven alone knows why, considering his love of alcohol and red meat. He contracted an illness in a village south of Mellicane. It attacked his lungs.
Any ordinary man would have taken to his bed for a while and given his body the opportunity to rest and defeat the virus. Instead Druss marched around the country seeking his friend. He exhausted himself and put his heart under enormous strain. He has been given a potion that will eradicate the… illness. Tomorrow morning he will be strong again.’
‘And the twins?’
Ustarte’s smile faded. ‘We cannot heal Nian. A year ago perhaps. Six months ago even. Tumours are now erupting all over his body. We cannot deal with them all. He has less than a month to live. We will reduce the pressure on his brain, and he will be himself for a while. Not long, though, I fear. Maybe days. Maybe hours. Then the pressure will increase again.
The pain will swell. He will fall into a coma and die. It would be best if he stayed here, where we can administer potions to quell the pain.’
‘This will break Jared’s heart,’ he said. ‘I have never seen two brothers so close.’
‘They were conjoined for the first three years of their lives. That creates a special bond,’ she said. ‘I performed the operation which separated them. Part knowledge, part magic. It is the magic that is killing him now.
In order for them both to survive I had to re-engineer Nian’s life codes.
They shared a single heart. I manipulated his genetic foundations, causing his body to create a second heart. This manipulation resulted, finally, in the mass of cancers that are now killing him. It grieves me greatly.’
Skilgannon did not understand much of what she told him, but he could see the anguish in her face. ‘You gave them a chance at life,’ he said. ‘A life they could not have enjoyed without your help.’
‘I know this, though I thank you for saying it. What else do you wish to ask of me?’
‘What of Garianne?’
‘I cannot help her. She is either possessed or insane. You know, of course, that she is in the thrall of the Old Woman.’
‘I know.’
‘Then you know also her purpose on this quest?’
‘She is here to kill me.’
‘Do you know why?’
He shrugged. ‘It is what the Old Woman wants, ultimately. That is reason enough. I doubt she will attempt an assassination until Boranius is dead. I will deal with that when it happens.’
‘You will kill her.’
‘To save myself? Of course.’
‘Ah, yes, of course. That is what warriors do. They fight. They kill. They die. Do you know where Garianne was born?’ she asked suddenly.
‘No. She does not take well to questions.’
‘That is because she was tortured and abused for some weeks by vile men. They wanted information. They wanted pleasure. They wanted pain.
But that came after. Garianne was a normal, healthy young girl. She lived with her family and her friends. She dreamed of a future in which she would be happy. Like all young people she built fantasies in which her life was enriched by love and success, fame and joy. Her tragedy was that she had these dreams in Perapolis.’ Skilgannon shuddered, and could no longer gaze into Ustarte’s blue and gold eyes. ‘When the Naashanite soldiers first breached the walls Garianne’s father — a stonemason — hid her beneath some rocks behind his workshop. She lay there terrified all that day, listening to the screams of the dying. She heard people she loved begging for their lives. Old men, women, children, husbands, fathers, sons and daughters. Priests, merchants, nurses and mid-wives, doctors and teachers. The loveless and the loved. When night fell she was still there.
Only now she was not alone. Her head was filled with voices that would not go away. They just carried on screaming.’
They sat in silence for a few moments. ‘You must hate me,’ he said at last.
‘I hate no-one, Olek. Long ago hatred was burned out of me. But I have not yet finished the story of Garianne. I shall not tell you of the horrors she later suffered, when captured by Naashanite troops. When she was brought here there seemed no hope for her. We did all we could to restore some semblance of normality to her. What you see now is a result of our best efforts. She ran away, and somewhere came under the sway of the Old Woman. She managed to give her purpose. She gave her a goal. It may even be that this goal will give her back her life. You see, Garianne believes that the ghosts will find peace when they have been avenged. The ghosts will sleep when the Damned is dead.’
‘And will they?’ he asked.
‘I wish I could say. If the ghosts are real then perhaps they will find peace through revenge. I have never believed that vengeance brings peace, but then I have never been a ghost. If her mind is unhinged it may be that completing her mission will free her. It is doubtful — but possible. So you see, if you do kill her you will merely be completing the horror for which you are so aptly named.’
‘A fine set of choices,’ he said, rising from the chair and gathering up the Swords of Night and Day. Swinging the scabbard to his shoulder, he bowed to her. ‘I thank you for your time, lady.’
‘Those blades are of evil design, Olek. Eventually they will corrupt your soul. They carry as much responsibility for Perapolis as you yourself.’
‘My chances of defeating Boranius are not good. Without the Swords of Night and Day they would be non- existent.’
‘Then do not fight him. I do not have the skill to bring back Dayan.
Others will. The code of her life is contained in the hair and the bone you carry. There are those who could activate that code. They might also have the skill to draw her soul back from the Netherworld to re-inhabit a new body.’
‘Where would I find such people?’
‘Beyond the old lands of Kydor, perhaps. Or deep in the Nadir steppes.
The Temple of the Resurrectionists does exist. I believe this. There is too much evidence to ignore. Leave Boranius behind. Leave Garianne behind.
At least then your quest will be wholly unselfish.’
‘That would also mean leaving Druss and Diagoras behind. I cannot do that. What of Druss’s friend, Orastes? Can you bring him out of the beast?’
Ustarte lifted her hand and peeled off her glove. Then she drew back the sleeve of her silk robe. Skilgannon stared at the soft, grey fur which covered her arm, and the talons that glinted on the ends of her fingers. ‘If I could do that for Orastes, would I not do it for myself?’ she asked him. ‘Go now, warrior. I wish to speak to the Legend.’
There were thirty-three windows and three doors in the Citadel. The Nadir shaman, Nygor, checked each
