Ian Esslemont - Assail

The woman nodded. ‘Yes. Once. The day of your Vow — Shimmer, is it? That day your Vow touched upon Tellann and so I came to witness.’

Touched upon Tellann … the words spun like a destroying whirlwind in Shimmer’s thoughts. Echoes of their Vow washed over her. Eternal opposition …

The woman addressed K’azz: ‘What do you think lent power to you Avowed? Sustained you all this time?’

K’azz nodded, his eyes downcast. ‘I knew. For some time, I have known.’

Silverfox gently raised a hand and pressed it to K’azz’s forehead. ‘Though it brings me terrible pain to do so, I welcome you, K’azz D’Avore, Commander of the Crimson Guard.’

Tolb Bell’al inclined his ravaged skull. ‘We of the Ifayle are also saddened, yet we welcome you gladly. Long has it been since we have welcomed a new clan among the T’lan Imass. We offer our greetings to the K’azz T’lan Imass. The Red Clan.’

‘Gods above and below,’ Shimmer heard Blues moan.

‘We thank you,’ K’azz answered, the words jagged with suppressed pain. Then he turned to her, took her hand — his fingers so cold. ‘I’m sorry, Shimmer … please …’

But she hardly heard him. The thing in her mind was close now. The truth she did not want. It all made sense now. Now she knew why she’d run from this knowledge. Avoided it at all costs. Why she’d refused to see it. She understood, and could see the truth of it. Her hand rose to press against her chest where, weeks ago, a blade from the Sharr attack had struck, and she knew. She finally accepted that for some time now — she’d been dead.

With that giving up to the fact, that yielding, came darkness and nothing more.

*

When Shimmer collapsed into her commander’s arms the man gently lowered her to the ground and the others, Blues and Cal-Brinn, knelt with him next to her. Kyle could only wonder on the shock of such an unveiling. The Crimson Guard Vow — a curse in truth, just like that of the T’lan. He shook his head at the horrifying injustice of it. Then jerked, startled, as the Jaghut elder raised her arms, calling: ‘ Summoner! We have delayed here too long.’

Silverfox spun from the kneeling figures, sudden panicked awareness in her face. ‘T’lan guard us!’ she ordered.

The ranks of the Kerluhm came clattering forward across the rocks to form a broad defensive circle around the Crimson Guard and the Jaghut elder and her descendants.

Fisher, Jethiss and Kyle pushed forward into the circle. Moments later the Icebloods, the three of the Sayer, and the son of the Heels, joined them.

Beyond the nearest boulders and debris of this high shoulder, all round them, there rose ash-grey shapes from among the fallen rocks. Kyle had never seen them before, but he immediately knew them for what they were: the slate-hued, thin and elongated shapes of the Forkrul Assail. He also knew at that moment that it was unlikely that they would get off the mountain alive.

The alien figures remained immobile, as if carved of stone themselves. The Imass waited, obsidian and flint swords readied. Kyle drew the white blade and to his astonishment — and extreme discomfort — saw the attention of the Forkrul shift to him as their slit eyes all moved at once.

Jethiss moved to confront them but Fisher snapped up a hand to grasp his arm, pulling him back. ‘Not yet,’ he murmured, ‘if you must at all.’

The Andii eased backwards, acquiescing to the bard’s urgings — at least for now.

The Forkrul then raised arms to point up the slope to a higher ridge of stone. Kyle glanced up to see two there waiting. Stones crunched as the Jaghut elder passed through the circled Imass. She paused then, looking back to them. ‘One from each of us gathered here must come,’ she said. The words troubled Kyle in that he sensed something deeper behind them. Something profound and ritualized.

Further steps sounded over the stones as Silverfox stepped forth. With her came Kilava and Pran Chole. The Sayer youth, Orman, joined the Jaghut elder, the wicked-looking spear cradled in his arms. The matriarch gestured, inviting up Jethiss. He turned to Fisher, who nodded, and in turn reached out to pull on Kyle’s arm. Kyle resisted. ‘There are enough,’ he said.

‘No. The white blade must come. I understand this now. This is no accident, Kyle. This is why we are here.’ Fisher peered about, his eyes widening. ‘Great Abyss,’ he murmured, ‘Four. We are four again.’ He pressed his sleeve to his face, daubing away a sheen of sweat. ‘Gods guide us!’

Not understanding the bard’s words, but granting the man’s urgency, he relented, and followed up the slope.

Here, two Forkrul, no different from the others as far as Kyle could discern, awaited them. They stood tall, equal even unto the Jaghut, on gangly strangely jointed legs that looked able to bend backwards, with frail-looking thin arms, and long pinched heads. Oddly, each face bore a vertical scar, or suture, that ran from chin up to sloped skull. Kyle was not fooled by their frail appearance. He knew that they faced a great danger here, and not only they: all in this region faced destruction should these Forkrul bestir themselves.

One tilted its head, studying the Jaghut. ‘You trouble us again,’ it said.

‘Through no choice of mine,’ she answered.

‘False,’ broke in the other Forkrul, its voice as harsh as cracking stone. ‘You chose.’

‘Do you dispute this judgement?’ the first one asked.

The Jaghut sighed her assent, then, raising her chin to regard them more closely, asked: ‘What do we call you?’

The first inclined its head as if to grant the appropriateness of the question. ‘That you ask reveals you are aware that names are irrelevant among any community of unadulterated Assail. All are equal. However, when communicating with you lesser kinds we adopt titles as we understand you require such props. Therefore, you may name me Arbiter, and this one Penance.’

‘Very well,’ the Matriarch answered.

‘So,’ Arbiter spoke again. ‘You trouble us though you know we could cleanse this landmass as we have others before. Do you dispute this?’

She clenched her lips in distaste, but nodded her curt agreement. ‘Cleansing would avert further irritation,’ put in Penance.

‘You Forkrul,’ Silverfox suddenly announced. ‘Your conceit is matched only by your arrogance.’

Arbiter fixed its slit eyes upon her. ‘Of all parties present, you Imass bear the greatest weight of guilt.’

‘Do you dispute this guilt?’ Penance demanded.

Silverfox’s aged features paled. She exchanged a look with Pran Chole, then cleared her throat warily. ‘If you mean the Vow, then, no. I do not dispute this.’

‘The hostilities between you and the Jaghut is what we reference,’ Penance clarified.

Silverfox pointed to the elder, outraged. ‘They started the war!’

‘Provocation matters not,’ said Arbiter. ‘What matters is you Imass broke the ancient founding of the peace.’

Kyle tensed as Fisher stepped up. The bard raised his hands, saying, ‘And we are four now, gathered here once more.’

Arbiter tilted its head once again. ‘Four?’ Its gaze fell upon Jethiss and it let out a long hissing breath. ‘Ah. I see. The K’Chain Che’Malle are for the most part gone from the lands. Yet a new race now stands among us. Dare you pledge to a new founding of the peace?’

Jethiss turned to study Fisher for a time. Kyle was oddly reassured to see the man’s hands shake slightly as he rubbed them down his thighs. He took a deep breath. ‘Yet there are other races …’

‘True,’ Arbiter acknowledged. ‘But they have not moved together in all-out hostilities against other kind. As all of us gathered here have.’