UNSEEN ENEMY
EFLIT TARN
Moving like one bludgeoned, Kilmandaros slowly, by degrees, picked herself up from the ground. She leaned to one side and spat red phlegm, and then glanced over to see Errastas lying curled on the dead grasses, motionless as a stillborn calf. Off to one side stood Sechul Lath, arms wrapped tightly about his torso, face bleached of all warmth.
She spat again. ‘It’s him.’
‘A summoning beyond all expectation,’ Sechul said. ‘Odd, Errastas looks less than pleased at his own efficacy.’
Kilmandaros levered herself upright, stood unsteadily. ‘He could be subtle when he wanted,’ she said, in some irritation. ‘Instead, he made sure to let us know.’
‘Not just us,’ Sechul replied. ‘Nothing so crass,’ he added, ‘as careless.’
‘Is it anger, do you think?’
He rubbed at his face with both hands. ‘The last time Draconus was wakened to anger, Mother, nothing survived intact. Nothing.’ He hesitated, and then shook his head. ‘Not anger, not yet, anyway. He just wanted everyone to know. He wanted to send us all spinning.’
Kilmandaros grunted. ‘Rude bastard.’
They stood at the end of a long row of standing stones that had taken them round a broad, sweeping cursus. The avenue opened out in front of them, with scores of lesser stones spiralling the path inward to a flat-topped altar, its surface stained black. Little of this remained in the real world, of course. A few toppled menhirs, rumpled tussocks and ruts made by wandering bhederin. Errastas had drawn them ever closer to a place where time itself dissolved into confusion. Assailed by chaos, straining beneath the threats of oblivion, even the ground underfoot felt porous, at risk of crumbling under their weight.
The builders of this holy shrine were long gone. Resonance remained, however, tingling her skin, but it was an itch she could not scratch away. The sensation further fouled her mood. Glaring down at Errastas, she asked, ‘Will he recover? Or will we have to drag him behind us by one foot.’
‘A satisfying image,’ Sechul conceded, ‘but he’s already coming round. After the shock, the mind races.’ He walked up to where the Errant lay. ‘Enough, Errastas. On your feet. We have a task to complete and now more than ever, it needs doing.’
‘She took an eye,’ rasped the figure lying on the grasses. ‘With it, I would have seen-’
‘Only what you wanted to see,’ Sechul finished. ‘Never mind that, now. There is no going back. We won’t know what Draconus intends until he shows us-or, Abyss forbid, he finds us.’ He shrugged. ‘He’s thrown his gauntlet down-’
Errastas snorted. ‘Gauntlet? That, Setch, was his
‘So punch back,’ Sechul snapped.
Kilmandaros laughed. ‘I’ve taught him well, haven’t I?’
The Errant uncurled, and then sat up. He stared bleakly at the altar stone. ‘We cannot just ignore him. Or what his arrival tells us. He is freed. The sword Dragnipur is shattered-there was no other way out. If the sword is shattered, then-’
‘Rake is dead,’ said Kilmandaros.
Silence for a time. She could see in the faces of the two men sweeping cascades of emotion as they contemplated the raw fact of Anomander Rake’s death. Disbelief, denial, wonder, satisfaction and pleasure. And then… fear. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Great changes, terrible changes.’
‘But,’ Errastas looked up at her, ‘how was it possible? Who could have done such a thing? Has Osserc returned-no, we would have sensed that.’ He climbed to his feet. ‘Something has gone wrong. I can feel it.’
Sechul faced him. ‘Master of the Holds, show us your mastery. You need to look to your own hands, and the power within them.’
‘Listen to my son,’ said Kilmandaros. ‘Seek the truth in the Holds, Errastas. We must know where things stand. Who struck him down? Why? And how did the sword break?’
‘There is irony in this,’ Sechul said with a wry smile. ‘The removal of Anomander Rake is like kicking down a gate-in an instant the path beyond runs straight and clear. Only to have Draconus step into the breach. As deadly as Rake ever was, but a whole lot crueller, that much closer to chaos. His appearance is, I think, a harbinger of the madness to come. Squint that lone eye, Errastas, and tell me you see other than ruination ahead.’
But the Errant was shaking his head. ‘I can tell you now who broke Dragnipur. There could be no other. The Warlord.’
Breath hissed from Kilmandaros. ‘Brood. Yes, I see that. The weapon he holds-none other. But that only confuses things all the more. Rake would not have willingly surrendered that weapon, not even to Caladan Brood.’ She eyed the others. ‘We are agreed that the Son of Darkness is dead? Yet his slayer did not take Dragnipur. Can it be that the Warlord killed him?’
Sechul Lath snorted. ‘Centuries of speculation-who was the deadlier of the two? Have we our answer? This is absurd-can any of us even imagine a cause that would so divide those two? With the history they shared?’
‘Perhaps the cause was Dragnipur itself-’
Kilmandaros grunted. ‘Think clearly, Errastas. Brood had to know that shattering the sword would free Draconus, and a thousand other ascendants-’ her hands closed into fists-‘and Eleint. He would not have done it if he’d had a choice. Nothing could have so fractured that ancient alliance, for it was more than an alliance. It was friendship.’ She sighed heavily and looked away. ‘We clashed, yes, but even me-no, I would not have murdered Anomander Rake if the possibility was presented to me. I would not. His existence… had purpose. He was one you could rely upon, when justice needed a blade’s certain edge.’ She passed a hand over her eyes. ‘The world has lost some of its colour, I think.’
‘Wrong,’ said Sechul. ‘Draconus has returned. But listen to us. We swirl round and round this dread pit of truth. Errastas, will you stand there frozen as a hare? Think you not the Master of the Deck is bleeding from the ears right now? Strike quickly, friend-he will be in no condition to intercept you. Indeed, make him fear we planned this-all of it-make him believe we have fashioned the Consort’s escape from Dragnipur.’
Kilmandaros’s eyes were wide on her son.
Errastas slowly nodded. ‘A detour, of sorts. Fortunately, a modest one. Attend me.’
‘I shall remain here,’ announced Kilmandaros. At the surprise and suspicion she saw in the Errant’s face, she raised her fists. ‘There was the danger-so close to the Eleint-that I lose control. Surely,’ she added, ‘you did not intend me to join you when you walked through that last gate. No, leave me here. Return when it’s done.’
Errastas looked round at the shrine’s standing stones. ‘I would not think this place suited you, Kilmandaros.’
‘The fabric is thin. My presence weakens it more-this pleases me.’
‘Why such hatred for humans, Kilmandaros?’
