Craig Saunders - Tides of Rythe

“Why would you do that?” said Renir. He thought about what to say next, but in the end just said what he wanted to anyway. “If you see dead people all the time, doesn’t that make you just a little, well, insane?”

“One day, perhaps, you can coax me back to sanity,” said Wen. Seeing Renir’s surprise at this statement, Wen laughed.

“Ah, look at you all — too frightened to say so — you all suspect my mind is ailing, but you’re all too proud,” at this he looked at Drun’s back, “he’s too polite or too wary to say so. So I’ll say it for you. I border the gates every day. But I’m not yet too far gone. I may be insane, but it’s out of choice, so I’ll ask you not to judge me for it. We all have our own brand of insanity, do we not?”

Renir decided it was time to practise ‘magnanimous’, which he had once read about in a book. “You’re right, of course. Which of us can truly say we are not a little touched? Forgive me, Wen. I have judged you harshly.”

Wen acknowledged this with a dip of his head. “You do yourself justice, Renir.”

Renir smiled a little. He felt they had achieved an understanding. The rest of his friends had probably already got there, but Renir was not a priest, or a warrior. Perhaps, for such a simple man, his trust came at a higher price.

Klan Mard blew smoke away from the fire. The smoke swirled lazily on the white air, curling branches fleeing a burning tree. The rare rock below the unnatural fire glowed harshly within the white fields of Teryithyr. Slowly, Klan reached into the fire and retrieved a burning coal, brought across the seas with his men from the mines at Kulthor. He watched in quiet fascination as his flesh charred around the coal. The light from the fire and his own bright red eyes lit the night, but Pernant Noom could see no pain on his master’s terrible face. He stood to attention still, even though the Anamnesor’s mind was elsewhere.

It wasn’t unheard of for Klan Mard’s mind to be in two places at once.

The coal rose from Klan’s hand to float, gently rotating, in the air. He pulled his hand from underneath it. It stayed where it was. Noom watched with his jaw hanging open as Klan licked his burnt palm, and held it up for Noom to see. The smile of pleasure on Klan’s face was more terrible than the fact that the wound was healed.

Noom swallowed.

“The Seer’s grass, Pernant,” ordered Klan, holding out his undamaged hand.

Pernant Noom took the expensive drug from his belt pouch and passed it to Klan, who took it in his long fingers.

He placed the roll on the coal, balancing it carefully, although why he took such care Noom could not understand. Surely, if he set his remarkable mind to it, his master could balance a centrine on the point of a pin.

Thicker smoke rose from the burning roll, and Klan cupped the smoke, brought it to his face and inhaled deeply. Noom had never seen the Seer’s grass smoked before, but he imagined he saw Klan’s pupils turn upward within their sockets. It was difficult to tell — Klan’s eyes were red from pupil to whites, like orbs of blood leaking across his face. But it was not blood. It was just the light.

That a Protocrat of such power would use the Seer’s grass was a testament to its potency. Even Klan could not cross the barrier to reach the dead. Only the Seer’s grass was capable of taking the living into the underworld, past the guardians — the place Sturmen called Madal’s gates. The living had seen those gates before. But only with the Seer’s grass could one see them and return.

Noom imagined Klan’s soul travelling through space and time, but he was not an imaginative man. As far as he could understand, the Anamnesor was temporarily dead, and when the Seer’s grass wore off he would live again. Yet he did not understand why his master was still seated upright on the snow, and why, if he was dead, the burning coal had not fallen to the ground.

He remained at attention.

After a time, his hands freezing and the cold seeping through his boots, he thought he saw Klan stir. He wondered what was so important that only the dead could know. But there was much he did not understand. Klan was the Anamnesor, though, and Tenthers were not selected for their deductive powers. They were chosen because they obeyed, and they were warriors beyond compare. They were a special breed.

They were smart enough to know when to stand to attention — until told otherwise. Perhaps, Noom thought, if a day passed and Klan had not moved, he might risk relieving himself behind a rare outcropping of rock that overlooked the camp.

Fortunately, he was saved from such worries.

Klan sputtered and smoke blew from his lungs. His breath hitched in his chest, once, then he rose smoothly as if he had been aware of his surroundings all along. He was instantly alert.

“I have found out some interesting things, Pernant. Our enemies have grown in number.”

Pernant knew when he was expected to speak. He kept silent.

Klan added, talking to himself, “So the Saviour has an ally? He must be gifted. To kill my assassin…” He realised the Pernant was still before him.

“Pernant, we were expecting company. Three men, one of whom was magically gifted. It seems we are now expecting five. They have murdered one of my men and embark for this land. There are scant few places they can reach this land. There are only two — the mountains are impassable. Take your men, and another two Tens, to each place. Bring Incantors. There is no need for Particulates — there is nothing living near the coast. I will mark the spots that must be watched for a landing by sea. My orders stand. In this land there is no need for subterfuge. All five men are to be killed. Do not take them lightly. Among them more than one is gifted.”

“If I might speak, master?”

“Go on.”

“Surely humans have no magic?”

Klan smiled at the Pernant, but he took no comfort in it. “Do not doubt me again. They are gifted, and they are dangerous. Now, you are to travel across the land. They can only travel by sea, and they have left from a village called Pulhuth. Passage will take no less than one month. You have until then to reach then. Wait…”

For a moment Klan’s skin glowed as red as the fire, as if he was burning inside, then just as quickly the glow died and there was just natural light to see by.

“The journey should take but two weeks. It will do the men good to stretch their legs. Travel across the snows. You are not to use magic.”

“And the beasts?”

“If you encounter any Teryithyrians, I would be surprised, but use your discretion.”

“Use your discretion” Klan knew would be taken to mean ‘take no prisoners.’

“Do not fail me, Pernant. You have my orders. Now, go.”

Pernant Noom bowed deeply and walked away. As he left, he heard Klan muttering to himself.

“Now, how difficult can it be to find a burning mountain on an ice plain?”

Pernant minded his own business most days, but to him, this seemed passing strange.

Renir and his companions arrived within a few days. They set the horses loose when they could no longer ride.

Renir shed a tear to lose Thud. Shorn touched his shoulder, and even Bourninund did not mock him. A man bonded with his horse. He knew they would be free on the plains, where food and water were plentiful, but he didn’t think they would be happier.

Thud nuzzled Renir’s hand. It almost broke his heart to push him away.

Shorn and Harlot’s separation was somewhat easier. Harlot bit Shorn’s good hand and he thumped her on the nose.

Perhaps some riders did not bond with their horses.