The Broken World, page 44
‘They brought you to me. The villagers. Said they’d found you walking in a daze near the edge of the Faaeren Chasm. Reckoned you were a novitiate who’d lost himself to the Grym, maybe escaped from here. But you weren’t like the others, and you were too young to be a novitiate. Your mind had wandered out along the lines, but you came back. Took a while – weeks, months. I’ve been tending the mindless eighty years now and I’ve never seen one of them come back. Except you.’
As Eifion spoke, so Melyn saw the memories, faded at the edges with time. The north fields, strewn with boulders and pocked with the occasional scrappy tree, marching towards the edge of the precipice that plunged a thousand feet into the chasm. And there, on the other side, the southern flank of the Rim mountains. It was a vista he knew well, one he had seen almost every day of his adult life, and yet now it felt wrong, incomplete. As if something had taken a vast swathe of the land and ripped it away.
‘And no one ever knew where I’d come from.’ It wasn’t a question. Melyn tightened his grip on the old man’s mind, digging for any hidden secrets. The sour-sweet smell of urine suggested to him that he might have been a bit less brutal about it, but the inquisitor found he no longer cared. Eifion was a failure, had always been a failure, and the kindest thing to do would be to put him out of his misery.
‘Farewell,’ he said and stopped the man’s heart with a thought. His ancient frame slumped in his seat, tilted forward and knocked over the goblet. Red wine spilled across the chaos of papers, dripping to the floor to mingle with the piss.
Melyn cast his mind out further, sensing nothing. Only the empty husks of the mindless remained in this place, and that suited him just fine. With a single step he was standing in the main hall, staring at them as they sat motionless in their chairs. The teaching of the order had it that the mindless were in service to the Shepherd, that they had gone to join him in his fight, but it had always been accepted that they were kept alive as a warning to novitiates not to try and run before they had learned to walk. Melyn knew it was also guilt on the part of the quaisters and senior members of the order. They had let these young men down, maybe chosen unsuitable candidates or not paid enough attention to their charges. They were a constant reminder of the need to try harder. They were an abomination.
The ball of fire he conjured was not large, but it burned with a heat as hot as any furnace. Ancient wood caught swiftly, filling the hall with thick white smoke. None of the mindless moved. Not even as the flames licked at their feet, caught their clothing and singed their hair. They would not be mourned or missed.
A memory tugged from Eifion’s mind came to him as he stood in the hall, listened to the crackling flames. Again Melyn saw the view from the northern fields where he’d been found wandering and mindless as a boy. A blink and he was there, gazing out across the chasm as the first few stars pierced the deep blue evening sky. He couldn’t recall being found, only slowly coming to life in the old almshouse now burning merrily a mile behind him. But this was where it had happened. This was where it had started. Melyn looked around, his mind seeing the aetheral even as his eyes saw the mundane, and layered over everything the lines of the Grym. There was something about this place, this spot, that tugged at him, called him. Focusing on a patch of sky, he could make out stars that were different somehow to those he had known all his life.
Then he saw it, silhouetted against the darkening sky, a tower taller than the highest mountain. The sight of it sent a shiver through him, not of cold or fear, but of joyous recognition. A single word formed on his lips.
‘Home.’
And then the floodgates opened in Melyn’s mind, the mental blocks of a lifetime dissolving with dizzying speed. His memories returned with a force that would have rendered a lesser man senseless, but he stood firm against the deluge, letting it wash over him, around him. Letting it fill him completely. He knew then what had happened to him, how he had ended up at Emmass Fawr, how he had been touched by a god and then discarded like some unwanted plaything. Well, he was a god now too, and his vengeance would be sweet indeed.
‘Your Highness, take my hand.’
Prince Dafydd was still transfixed by the dragon standing in the great doorway to the Neuadd. It was twice the size of the one they had seen in the islands, its head bigger than an ox cart. It wasn’t attacking, didn’t need to really. The people were doing far more damage to each other trying to escape than one dragon, however large, could ever hope to achieve.
‘What is it?’ Dafydd heard the idiocy in his question even as he asked it.
‘It’s a dragon, Dafydd. A bloody big one.’ Usel’s normally calm demeanour had vanished, replaced with a calm urgency. ‘Now I think it would be best if we left.’
‘I cannot.’
Dafydd and Usel both looked to the princess, who stood tall, staring at the creature that had gatecrashed her homecoming.
‘Iol—’
‘It’s not attacking us. Please, Usel. You have to speak to it. Find out what it wants. I will try to calm everyone down.’
Dafydd took a moment to understand what Iolwen was saying. His instinct, Usel’s too, had been to hide, escape. But Iolwen was more concerned with the safety of the panicking crowd than herself. He felt both humbled and ashamed.
‘Use the throne. Calm them,’ she said to Dafydd, then turned to Usel. ‘You speak Draigiaith. Tell me what that creature is saying.’
Her words galvanized them both into action. Dafydd reached out for the throne, feeling the power of the Grym that surged through it like nothing he had ever experienced before. It was intoxicating even from a distance; how much more so would it be to sit on the thing? He shook away the question, concentrating instead on smoothing out the waves of panic surging through the crowd. There were smaller exits on all the other sides of the Neuadd, and already people were fighting to get out. Most were heading for the north doors, so he sent out a suggestion pointing out the other exits. Groups of terrified people started to break off from the main crowd, and soon they were flowing out through all three sets of doors. Only he, Iolwen and Usel stood on the dais, their backs to the great throne, and Dafydd couldn’t help but notice that none of the panicked people clambered up on to it. No one even ventured on to the first of the low, wide steps.
‘Who are you, little man, to wield the subtle arts with such skill?’
Dafydd froze as the words boomed in his head. Slowly he looked up at the dragon, still standing in the main doorway and gazing down on the mayhem its presence had sparked. Beside him, Usel was shouting in that guttural, glottal language he had used with Merriel back on the island, but the dragon seemed to be ignoring the medic. Then it shifted its gaze, eyes the size of cartwheels fixing on Dafydd himself.
‘This place. What is it? Who built it?’ The voice in his head spoke Llanwennog, or at least that was how it seemed to Dafydd, and the compulsion behind it was enough to weaken his knees. He could no more refuse to answer than stop breathing.
‘This is the Neuadd. Home to the Obsidian Throne. Seat of the kings of the Twin Kingdoms.’
‘It has the smell of the Old One about it, even if it is overrun with vermin. You would do well to leave before the rest of my fold arrives. Some of them like to hunt your kind for sport.’
This time the dragon’s words came with an overwhelming urge to flee. Looking around, Dafydd could see that most of the people had left the great hall, just a few walking wounded still struggling to get away. Usel had given up his shouting and was standing perfectly still, staring up at the dragon as it lumbered slowly into the Neuadd. Turning his head, Dafydd saw that Iolwen too was transfixed by the beast.
‘We have to go.’ He reached out and took her by the hand, his touch breaking whatever spell held her in place. Iolwen shuddered as she came back to herself and nodded her agreement.
‘Usel. We must leave here. There are more coming, and they aren’t as friendly as this one.’
The medic made no sign of having heard him, so Dafydd grabbed him by the arm, pulling him away. They could go round the back of the Obsidian Throne and head for the west entrance, except that Usel resisted, his eyes still fixed on the great beast.
‘Can you not hear him?’ he asked, his voice dreamy.
‘I can, and he suggested we leave.’ A wave of fear shivered through Dafydd far more potent than anything his tutors in magic had ever managed to instil. Across the almost empty hall, he saw the last of the injured scrabbling to escape, dragging themselves towards the doors. Only one or two figures lay crumpled and still. ‘Come, Usel. Now.’
Dafydd pulled harder at the medic’s arm, and eventually he let himself be dragged away. Almost as if Usel had been single-handedly keeping the dragon at bay, the great beast pushed further into the Neuadd as they backed towards the west doors. It reached a point midway between the main doors and the throne, reared up on its hind legs, head reaching almost to the ceiling, spread its wings and let out a deafening roar. Dafydd didn’t need to pull the medic any more. All three of them were running as fast as they could as the great stained-glass windows erupted outwards in a million lethal shards.
Outside, the courtyard was chaos. People stumbled around, covering their ears, screaming for help, running from the glass, which had flown as far as the cloisters and beyond. Dafydd’s ears were still ringing from the noise so the whole scene took on a surreal edge. Part of him wanted to stop and help, but he had to get the princess to safety.
‘What’s the quickest way back to the royal apartments from here?’ He shouted the words, but they still sounded flat and distant. Usel cocked his head to one side, shook like a dog trying to get water out of its ears, then reached out and took Dafydd’s hand first, then Iolwen’s.
‘I’m sorry for the intrusion. I would not normally do something like this without asking first, but the circumstances …’ His words tailed off and only then did Dafydd realize that the medic was talking directly to his mind.
‘How …? No, that’s unimportant right now.’ He mouthed the words, hearing them only in his head, but Usel and Iolwen seemed to hear him fine. ‘We need to get to safety.’
‘Agreed. But I’m not sure the palace complex will be any safer than the Neuadd. Not when Sir Morwyr’s friends arrive.’
‘Sir Morwyr? How do you know his name? Have you seen this beast before?’
‘Not here, sire.’ Usel pulled the two of them towards the cloisters. They cut through the milling masses, somehow always managing to be avoided even though no one gave any indication of seeing them. Usel must have been hiding them, Dafydd reasoned. He was happy enough to be led, though his heart went out to those less fortunate. Panic could be cruel, and many of the people who had come to see the princess take her rightful place on the throne would likely not last the day. Maybe not even the hour.
They ducked through the cloisters at a run, kept up their speed down long corridors that finally ended in the palace kitchens. Only then did Usel finally let go of their hands.
‘Why did you bring us here?’ Iolwen asked, ignoring the startled looks from assorted cooks and serving girls.
‘My apologies, Your Highness. This is the quickest route to the royal apartments if you don’t mind taking the servants’ stairs. Given the circumstances, I think it wise to get to Prince Iolo as fast as possible.’
‘Lead on, Usel. But I must speak with Seneschal Padraig, muster our forces as quickly as possible. This is no forest dragon wandering in confused. That creature flew here, and it was powerfully magical.’
‘I suspect it was drawn here, though from where I don’t really want to speculate right now. Come this way.’ Usel led them to the far end of the kitchens, where a door opened on to a narrow plain corridor. Dafydd grinned at the flustered cooks, bowing and curtsying at the sudden appearance of royalty. He had spent much of his childhood hanging around in kitchens not so different from these. They were the warm beating heart of any palace.
‘One moment, Usel.’ Iolwen stopped them before they could leave, turning back to the collected kitchen staff.
‘There has been a terrible accident up at the Neuadd,’ she said. ‘People are hurt, some grievously so. It’s still dangerous so I won’t ask any of you to go up there, but please boil water and make preparations for the wounded. I will talk to Seneschal Padraig as soon as I can find him. Please don’t be alarmed.’
There were long moments of silence, as if none of them had ever been spoken to by a princess before. Then a grey-haired old woman pushed forward. She wore a heavy sackcloth skirt, her blouse sleeves rolled up past her elbows, and looked like she had made enough bread in her life to feed the entire Twin Kingdoms.
‘It will be done, Your Highness,’ she said in an accent so thick it was almost impossible to understand. Then she turned her back on them and started barking orders.
‘Your sister would never have given a thought to the injured,’ Usel said as he led them along the corridor and up a flight of narrow winding steps that opened on to the end of the main corridor of the royal apartments.
‘My sister would most likely have engaged the dragon in combat, Usel. I’ve never had much talent for that kind of magic.’
They hurried along the corridor, back to the rooms they had left only hours earlier, arriving just as Seneschal Padraig appeared from the other direction.
‘Your Highness. Prince Dafydd. You are safe. Praise the Shepherd.’ The old man was puffing as if he had run all the way from the Neuadd, but he hadn’t been at the ceremony. Did he even know what had happened up there?
‘You have heard the news, Padraig? This changes everything, you realize. We must send for warrior priests straight away. We cannot fight this creature.’
Dafydd looked up in surprise at his wife’s words, his own confusion matched by that of the seneschal.
‘Warrior priests? Send for them?’ Padraig paused a moment to catch his breath. ‘But they are already here. At the gates.’
The first thing he knew was cold. Errol shivered in his sleep, reached out instinctively for the warming flow of the Grym and found … nothing. The shock of the discovery jolted him awake, and he jerked backwards with a snort of inhaled breath. His head hit rock, starring his vision and sending jabs of pain down his neck. He lifted a hand to feel the lump he was sure was there, and that was when he noticed the chain.
It hung from a seamless iron bracelet around his wrist, too tight to slide off no matter how hard he tried. Errol lifted his hand up to his face, the better to examine it in the poor light, only he couldn’t raise it close enough.
‘Don’t want you escaping on us now, do we?’
Errol looked up as he heard the voice, only then starting to take in his surroundings. His thoughts were strangely sluggish, his predicament dawning slowly.
‘Where—’
‘No questions. No speaking unless spoken to. Them’s the rules, unnerstand?’
He was in a cave, but not the cave he’d been in before. There was no fire burning merrily at his feet for one thing. This place was damp and cold, and it smelled really bad, like rotting eggs and dog mess. And there was no sign of the Grym anywhere. Try as he might, Errol couldn’t see the lines. It reminded him of the deep cellars at Emmass Fawr, where he’d helped Usel the medic carry out his examination on dead Princess Lleyn.
‘I said them’s the rules. Unnerstand?’ The words came with a sharp pain in his leg as someone kicked him. Errol shook his head to dispel the fog that was making it so hard to concentrate. He saw a face leering at him out of the semi-darkness, pale and round with a wisp of straggly hair growing out of the top of an otherwise bald pate. The man wasn’t so much dressed as wrapped in swathes of heavy material, dark brown and stained down the front, frayed where it scuffed the rocky ground.
Errol opened his mouth, but wasn’t able to speak before the man kicked him again.
‘No speaking, right? Mister Clingle, he don’t like the new grunts speaking.’
Errol nodded and his head throbbed.
‘Gets up then. Work to do.’ The man tugged on Errol’s chain, pulling him so that he had no choice but to comply. His legs almost gave under his weight, the cave swaying alarmingly. He put out his unchained hand to steady himself, but scarcely had time to brush the rock with his fingertips before he was being dragged stumbling towards a narrow, low doorway, the darkness beyond it made deeper by the smoky torches burning either side. Sharp pain cleared his thoughts a little as he banged a shoulder into the doorframe, but his captor merely laughed and kept pulling him onwards.
The tunnel went on for ever, or at least that was how it felt. Errol still couldn’t quite get his thoughts together enough to work out how he had come to be here, or indeed where here was. There was something missing too, but the pull of the chain on the bracelet around his wrist was impossible to ignore. He shivered at the cold, trying to wrap his cloak around himself with his one free hand. Something weighed it down, but before he could feel in the pockets to see what it was, he tripped on the uneven floor and tumbled head first into a large cavern.
Laughter rippled around the space, echoing in the ill-lit darkness. Many voices, but not much mirth. It was more the noise of men happy to see someone else suffering. Errol pushed himself up from the floor, noticing as he did so that the smell was much worse here. His hands came away sticky, caked in a thick dark ooze that stank so badly it made him retch. The insistent tug on the chain stopped him from investigating further, and all he could manage was to wipe one hand on his cloak.
‘Take.’ The man who had dragged him down the tunnel handed Errol a long-handled shovel.
‘Dig.’ He pointed at the ground where Errol had just lain.
‘Fill.’ He pointed at a wooden cart on four solid iron wheels nearby. It had a metal hoop on one end, shiny where it had been repeatedly rubbed by something. Errol watched as the man took his chain and clipped it to the hoop. ‘When it’s full, push it up there and empty it on to the pile. Then start again.’
