Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

Scar, like the other horses, had begun to rear at the sight of the bear and was now on the verge of outright panic, tossing his head in protest as Vaelin hauled on the reins. “Itʼs all right,” he said, dismounting to smooth a hand along the animalʼs flank. “He wonʼt hurt you.”

The bear snorted again, shaking its great head from side to side as if gathering strength for another charge, but then stiffened, became near as still as a statue. “He still young.” A small, fur-clad man holding a bone as long as a staff appeared at the bearʼs side, his voice holding a note of apology. “Friend and enemy smell same.”

“Wise Bear!” Vaelin came forward to clasp hands with the shaman, heartened by the strength of his grip. “You are far from the Reaches.”

“You go on the ice,” Wise Bear replied with a shrug. “I show you how.”

“He was very insistent.” Dahrena stood a short distance away, smiling tightly. “Could hardly let him come alone.”

Vaelin went to her, pulling her close, the realisation of how much he had missed her provoking a harsh ache. I will send her back, he thought, knowing himself a liar. In the morning I will send her back.

They shared a meal of spitted goat, apparently the victim of the great brown bearʼs hunting skill judging by the deep rents in the carcass. “Iron Claw brings good meat,” Wise Bear said. “Only keeps insides for himself.”

When the meal was done Vaelin followed the old shaman as he toured the ruins, peering at the shattered statuary and occasionally jabbing his bone-staff at weed-covered rubble. The bear roamed nearby, displaying equal scrutiny as he poked his large snout into the various nooks and crannies, sometimes using his dagger-like claws to pull the stones apart.

“Iron Claw wants bugs,” Wise Bear explained. “Bear belly never full.”

“How did you know to come here?” Vaelin asked him.

Wise Bear gave him a quizzical look, as if the answer were obvious, raising his eyebrows when Vaelin failed to discern his meaning. “Big…” He frowned, fumbling for the right words. “Big power, big…” He made a wide, flailing gesture with his arms, blowing air through his lips.

“Disturbance?” Vaelin asked, adding, “Storm?” at the shamanʼs blank gaze.

“Storm, yes, big storm in the… sea. Power sea.”

Power sea. He sees the Dark as a sea of power. “You can see the power sea?”

Wise Bear barked a laugh. “None can see it all. Just feel storms, feel those touching it, hear songs if they sing. Felt the storm brewing, heard the girlʼs song, followed it here with Flies High Woman.” His frown returned as they came to the great stone head Vaelin recalled from his first visit here, the bearded man with a troubled brow.

“The storm is coming here?” Vaelin asked, watching him tentatively touch the tip of his staff to the stone face.

“Storm came here before.” Wise Bear lowered his staff to place a hand on the bearded manʼs forehead, closing his eyes. “Now just echo.”

“Of what?”

“What was, what will be.” The shaman removed his hand from the stone head, sadness dominating his wrinkled face.

“I thought he might be a king, a chief,” Vaelin said but Wise Bear shook his head.

“No, wise man, keeper of many stories.”

“But not wise enough to stop the city falling?”

“Some things nothing can stop. He build this place, shamans filled stone with power to sing its song.”

Filled stone with power? Vaelin recalled Wisdomʼs tale of how she had gained her name, the stone given to her by the shade of Nersus Sil Nin, and she but a memory preserved in the stones in the Martishe and the Great Northern Forest. “They could place their memories in stone?” he asked.

Wise Bear nodded. “More than… memory. Feeling.” He raised his staff and swept it slowly around, tracking over the remnants of a city that must once have been wondrous. “This place, filled with power.”

He moved on, eyes bright with scrutiny, scanning the ruins with a near-predatory intensity. Vaelin followed him through the maze of rubble, past the rare intact building Brother Harlick had fancied a library and onto what appeared to have been some kind of raised platform. Vaelin judged it might have stood ten feet high when intact, but the supporting pillars were shattered and the stone surface had tumbled to be cracked from end to end. Wise Bear paused, his limbs betraying a spasm of discomfort before he stepped onto the platform, moving to the centre where he touched his staff to the bare stone.

“Something here,” he said. “Something… black.”

Vaelin found he didnʼt like the confusion he saw on the shamanʼs face, his features sagging a little, making him seem even more aged. “Something black?” he prompted as the old man crouched to touch a tentative hand to the stone. “You mean Dark? Something that had the power?”

“Black,” Wise Bear stated in an emphatic tone before straightening. “Gone now, far away. Taken.”

“By who?”

Wise Bear turned, meeting Vaelinʼs gaze. “You know,” he said. “We go across ice to find him.”

“I left Ultin in charge,” Dahrena said, settling next to him and pulling the furs across them both. “I doubt he relished the honour but there wasnʼt anyone else halfway capable.”

“The gold?” Vaelin enquired.

“The first shipload should dock in Frostport within the month, much to Lord Darvusʼs delight Iʼm sure.”

“He wonʼt be the first or the last to profit from war.” He paused, enjoying the feel of her pressed against him, regretting the necessity for his next words. However, she evidently read his intent and spoke first.

“Iʼm not leaving.” She raised her head to press a kiss to his lips then settled back. “How is Alornis?”

He recalled Alornisʼs rigid face the morning he left, her valiant attempt at holding back the tears, falling to ruin as she collapsed against him, only drawing back at Lyrnaʼs gentle but insistent tug. His final glimpse of her lingered like a guilty stain, her head on Lyrnaʼs shoulder as she turned her face, refusing to watch him ride away. “She does good service in the queenʼs cause,” he told Dahrena. “Her talents are even greater than we knew.”

She shifted a little, turning her gaze to the sky, clear of cloud and offering a fine view of the stars. “Itʼs faded,” she murmured. He knew the star she spoke of; Avenshura, from which Sanesh Poltar had taken his Eorhil name. Itʼs said no wars can be fought under the light it brings. Now it was just a small pinprick of light amongst many others.

“Weʼll see it shine again,” he told her. “We just have to live a very long time.”

She turned back to him, her voice sombre. “I do not like this place.”

“Terrible things were done here once. Wise Bear says the stone carries the memory.”

“Not the city. The mountains, the home of the people who birthed me…” She trailed off but he knew the words she left unsaid.

“And killed your husband.”

Her head moved in a faint nod.

“What was his name?”

“His people named him Leordah Nil Usril, Lives in Dreams. I just called him Usril. The Seordah thought him a quiet soul, seldom given to speech and often lost in thought. He rarely joined war parties against the Lonak though in the battle with the Horde he had proved himself brave and skillful. One summer the Lonak came in larger numbers than usual, raiding deeper than they had before. I was visiting with my father when word came of the raid. I flew to the forest, finding his body amongst many others, a dead Lonak lay atop him. I remember how peaceful they looked, as if they had fallen asleep together. I searched far and wide for his soul, but he was at least a day gone.”