The Pilgrims

Why would they? If you found a great sea or mountain, would you worship it, just because it is greater than you? We do not, unless it may have bearing on us, hear our prayers and answer them. Sometimes the Great Spirits do. The Dragon does not, unless in ways we can’t see or measure. And if It does have a hand in our fate, It must mean us ill, for things have gone badly. I hope I answered you well enough.’

Anfen glanced at the sky again, and for a moment his heart raced — a shape moved up there. A bird, probably. He’d soon know if it wasn’t, that much was sure.

Eric said, ‘You’ve answered well, but I have to tell you, this is all totally weird to me. Why was I brought here? Why me? If you could understand how insignificant I was back there-’ he cut himself short.

‘Insignificant amongst the other nobility, you mean?’

‘Well, yes. You know, there are court jesters more important than me. I wasn’t all that high on the ladder, really.’

The Otherworlder’s limbs had all been hacked off. Blood pooled about him, stumps of white bone glistened. Anfen shut his eyes. ‘You may or may not have been summoned. I can only say what I know. For some reason the entry point opened up. Loup, our folk magician, foresaw it. He was adamant we seek it out, adamant in a way I’ve never seen him, though he wouldn’t say why it mattered. And still won’t. As we were already nearby on other business, I relented. And here you are.’

‘Where is this castle? I only saw a glimpse of it before.’

‘Behind us. Stand atop that rock there.’

Eric did, peering over the top of the plateau’s shelf to see what had been obscured before. A huge white shape in the far distance gleamed like a piece of fallen sky. It looked like a long, fat dragon lying asleep, its head resting chin first on the ground, front paws to either side, a tail curling behind the bulging round mass of its middle.

Anfen tried to imagine how the sight would affect him, with eyes new to it, but could only think of the orders that came from its upper halls, and the beings who gave them, and he felt only hate, dark and bitter, so strong it almost numbed itself from being felt.

Eric however looked almost dizzy at the sight. ‘Wow,’ he said, and laughed.

‘You were underneath that, some hours ago. The entry point through which you came is above and behind it. An impenetrable cliff runs around like a fence behind: no doubt you saw it. It is said Otherworld is differently built, that you may walk in one direction forever, eventually passing the point you started. Is that so?’

It seemed a cool breeze blew from the castle’s direction, ruffling their hair like a friendly hand. ‘Technically, yes. Who built it?’

‘It was here before we were. Only the dragon-youth or the Great Spirits could properly answer you. And they keep their secrets. Mages of the old schools hollowed it out with chambers, halls and stairways. Then they gave it to the cities, which were all Free Cities, back then. To make a long story very short, Vous and his cohorts stole the castle, then began stealing the cities. They are still busy with that task today, among others. And they will succeed. It is a question of when. Are you good with a sword, Eric?’

‘Not yet. But I’m going to learn.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes.’

Anfen sat by the fire. There was much to think about. ‘Any magical talent, Eric?’

‘Not yet. But again, I’ll learn.’

‘I’m afraid if you can’t already see magic in the air, you’ll never be able to wield it. Magic is a perilous trade. Why would you want to learn it?’

‘I’m here for a reason,’ Eric said. ‘Since no one’s told me what it is, I’ll decide. I’m going to be the greatest hero you’ve ever heard of.’

Sharfy already is, Anfen thought with amusement. The young man could have been joking or not, it was hard to tell. Perhaps he’d been driven insane by his trip into a new world. It was certainly a stupid thing to say, if he meant it. Anfen saw blood gushing out Eric’s slashed windpipe and looked away. ‘Welcome, then,’ he said.

20

No smoke came from the campfires spread out on the lower platform, which was a quiet bustle of activity as people ate or tended to clothes hung on makeshift lines. Most wore leather, furs and skins, and there was no shortage of swords and knives lying about. The camp had clearly been here for some time.

Eric counted four women, six men, all of them giving the impression beds and hot baths would be quite welcome. One of the men was easily double a normal man’s size. His face tugged somehow at Eric’s memory: those big, dumb, startled eyes, the bald head … the door! This was the huge being he’d seen struggling to fit through, before Kiown’s boot was planted on his face to push him back.

The woman who’d fired an arrow at the train held a small razor and tended to the giant’s moustache, trimming off a little at the sides with a very careful hand. Eric’s eye lingered on her. Her skin was darker than that of anyone else he’d seen in this world. She had big almond eyes and jet black hair in two thick braids that hung down to her hips. She’d stepped from the set of a film about Native Americans, he was sure; even the tanned skins and tunic she wore would have seemed at home. She softly sang as she brushed little wisps of hair from the giant’s naked chest, and said, ‘All done!’

The giant peered at her, puffing air with his cheeks. When she saw Eric making his way down, she watched him intently and a change came to her face, no longer carefree and smiling; there was an intensity there now he could not interpret. If he had to guess, he’d say her look meant she wanted to kill him.

Eric spotted Sharfy and Kiown seated close to the path, embroiled in a heated argument with voices they strained to keep low. The others seemed to be listening with amusement they politely kept as hidden as possible. Kiown had a piece of dressing on his cheek and an impressive black eye. His face was totally rearranged by anger, leaving no trace at all of the practical joker he’d seemed at first, his voice an angry hiss: ‘And what of your part in it all? Was that disclosed? You scuttled over that dirt cart like lice on my balls. You stuffed your pockets.’

Sharfy sat back placidly, watching the veins bulge in Kiown’s neck, the flying spittle. ‘You finished yet?’ he said.

‘No! Traitorous shit! After I brought you the masks and all. You made it sound like I want us to get caught and killed.’

‘Guess I’m the one whose face he should’ve smashed. I done you wrong.’ Sharfy laughed his loud ugly laugh, then spat. Eric had seldom seen a meaner-looking face in his life than Sharfy’s gnarled, scarred and dented one. ‘Guess you won’t be leading any more missions any time soon,’ he said.

‘Aha! Now it comes out,’ Kiown said, looking triumphant and newly enraged all at once, the cone of red hair swaying wildly. He stood and walked away, his long lean body convulsing with anger, jerking him as if puppet strings pulled from above. Eric sat in his vacated place by the fire, glad of its warmth.

On the ground before Sharfy was a pile of that brackish dirt. Next to it were about a dozen flat, sparkling pieces that they’d dug out and rubbed clean. ‘You’re awake,’ said Sharfy. ‘Anfen doesn’t let me sleep that long. Not in Aligned country. You and your luck. Got that dirt I threw to you?’

Eric felt his pockets. ‘Yeah, but there’s not much.’

‘Your loss, your fault. You had a chance to grab plenty.’

Careful not to reveal the gun’s clips, Eric pulled out two handfuls of hard dirt from his pockets. Sharfy examined them. ‘Not much at all,’ he said. ‘Be lucky if there’s one or two scales here. Probably none. You’re crazy. Don’t get many chances at a dirt cart these days.’

Sharfy picked through the dirt pieces with his knife. Kiown, who’d angrily paced up the path, came back, unable to resist watching what Eric’s share would bring. Sharfy dug out what looked like sea shells buried in the dirt. ‘One, two … four, in this little clod? Ha! You and your luck.’ He spat on a rag and polished them one by one. Three of them gleamed brightly, two red, one blue, but one remained dull.

Kiown made a strangling noise. ‘He’s got a black scale!’