Sam Bowring - Prophecy's Ruin

‘A messenger?’ prompted Baygis, raising an eyebrow.

‘Iassia!’ shouted the girl. ‘I promised I wouldn’t tell!’

Iassia? came Fahren’s thought. The weaver you caught?

Yes. He obviously has some dark purpose in this.

‘Essie, listen to me,’ said Baygis slowly. ‘That bird is a manipulator of minds. Do you understand? He is no servant of Arkus. This name he gave you means nothing.’

Essie shook her head miserably. ‘I know him,’ she said. ‘I’ll remember his face till the day I die. He killed my father. He ruined everything! After he came, the farm fell to dung around us. My mother could hardly get out of bed. It is no lie. It is no lie. ’ She fell back, exhausted by her struggles.

What could the bird want? asked Fahren.

I don’t know. But we cannot trust this girl.

Her conviction is powerful, though, said Fahren. For all their skill, I do not think weavers can reinvent memories. Baygis, she truly believes that Corlas murdered her father.

Do you?

There was a pause. No, said Fahren. Not yet. But I find it worrying. Weavers are extremely intelligent. I don’t think this Iassia would have underestimated our ability to discover he’d played a role here. And …

What?

Weavers have the power to silence those they enter into a bargain state with – yet Iassia didn’t invoke that power here. If he’d made a deal with this girl, we’d never have discovered his involvement. Yet he didn’t block us from finding that out.

What are you saying?

That weavers are magnificent engineers, Baygis. Right now, we might be doing exactly what Iassia wants.

You mean he wants us to question Corlas?

Yes.

We must still question him, said Baygis.

Yes, said Fahren, his face growing worried.

I cannot see Corlas’s hand in this, said Baygis. The man has been a faithful servant of the light for as long as we’ve known him. He fought the Shadowdreamer himself, by Arkus!

Let us see him.

They went to the next room. It was just like the first, except Corlas sat at the table, his expression unreadable.

‘Taskmaster Corlas,’ said Baygis, drawing up a seat. Fahren did the same.

‘High Overseer. High Mage.’

Baygis glanced at Fahren. Do we mention the bird?

Not yet.

‘These are troubling accusations, Corlas,’ said Baygis, and his face indeed was troubled. ‘What do you have to say about them?’

Corlas stared back from under bushy brows. ‘I do not know this young woman, nor her mother,’ he said. ‘I did not kill their kin.’

‘You were in that area, though, around the time of the crime,’ said Fahren. ‘Were you not? On your journey between Whisperwood and the Halls?’

‘You know that to be the case,’ said Corlas. ‘I would not deny it.’

‘And you never stopped at the farm where these women lived?’

‘No.’

He has always been difficult to read, said Fahren. When he first returned to the Halls and explained absconding from the army with a story of enchantment, I could not fault him. It was a version of the truth, however, and …

You sense a lie in this?

Yes.

I shall ask about the bird.

When Fahren raised no objection, Baygis went ahead. ‘Have you ever had dealings with a weaver bird, Corlas? The one called Iassia, perhaps, whom I tracked down outside Kadass?’

Corlas opened his mouth, and paused. Then he said, ‘No.’

‘Corlas,’ said Fahren, ‘please – we are not your enemies. We don’t think you’re a murderer, but there is something more to this, something beyond mistaken identity. Those women were coaxed here by a weaver – a weaver who knew your name.’

Corlas’s brow furrowed and he seemed about to say something. The look changed to frustration and he remained silent.

Baygis sighed. ‘I’m afraid I must question you again, Corlas,’ he said. ‘Under the influence of magic. I’m sorry.’ He sent magic into Corlas, lubricating his throat so the truth would slide out. ‘Now again,’ he said, ‘tell us everything you know of these events.’ Even as he intensified his truth-coaxing magic, Corlas kept his mouth firmly closed. ‘Corlas?’ he said forcefully. ‘What can’t you tell us?’

A fine sweat broke across Corlas’s scalp but, in a remarkable display of will, he remained silent.

‘This taciturnity does not aid you!’ said Baygis, growing angry.

He has a will of iron! he sent to Fahren.

‘Corlas …’ said Fahren pleadingly. ‘What can’t you tell us, my friend?’

Eventually, exercising an enormous amount of control, Corlas opened his mouth. ‘I am sorry, Baygis, Fahren, but I will not answer your questions.’

Baygis stood angrily, and Fahren looked dismayed.

‘So be it then!’ exclaimed Baygis. ‘If only you would speak with me, I’m sure we could work this out! But if you’d rather remain under suspicion, then congratulations, for that is what you have achieved! Guards!’

Guards appeared at the door.

‘Take the taskmaster to the holding cells! He hasn’t left me any choice!’

Corlas stood, huge in the small room. He did not look into Fahren’s hurt eyes as he walked, haltingly, out the door.

‘I must speak with the Throne,’ said Fahren.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘I felt a block in his mind when you asked about the weaver. It’s part of why he could resist telling us the truth.’

Baygis raised an eyebrow.

‘Corlas has made a deal of some kind,’ said Fahren sadly, ‘with the enemy.’

Corlas sat in his cell wondering how it had come to this. His hate for the bird, which he’d thought could not possibly grow any stronger, grew stronger. In the years since his crime, Corlas had hoped Frera and Essie would have got on with their lives, eventually putting behind them the tragedy that had befallen them. If it hadn’t been for Iassia, that might have been the case. He could picture the bird stirring up old emotions, opening old wounds, reawakening old nightmares and spurring his wretched puppets into a journey of revenge that benefited nobody.

Much as he hated the bird, however, Corlas knew he could not absolve himself of blame. He had committed the crimes he stood accused of. The man he’d killed had been a peacekeeper whom he’d refused to obey, and that was a serious charge no matter his state of mind at the time. With a cold acceptance that grew lump-like in his gut, Corlas knew he would be found guilty. Iassia had successfully engineered his downfall, though to what spiteful end Corlas couldn’t guess. Maybe the bird simply sought revenge for the years spent waiting for him beyond the wards. Or maybe, with a creature like that, evil was its own reward.

He knew he couldn’t withstand another bout of Baygis’s questioning. Answers had been creeping along his tongue, knocking on the back of his teeth. It had taken all his will to remain close-mouthed, and he suspected that next time he would not even try. He decided he’d rather make his admission willingly than have it forced out of him, to tell it in his own words. If only they’d never come to take his child all those years ago. Damn Kainordas and Fenvarrow both! If they had both just left him alone!

‘Mirrow,’ he whispered. ‘Forgive me that I will come to you through shame such as this.’

Would they execute him? He wasn’t sure. If they did, what would happen to his soul? Would Arkus even accept him into his Well? The thought came suddenly: would she be there if he did? Her soul had been commended to Whisperwood. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but now it hit him with force. He could not be executed in Kainordas! He had to get back to Whisperwood, lest he spend all time separate from her!