The Hidden Keystone, page 30
“Qādī,” Hugues repeated. “I don’t know this word.”
Umayr continued his silent, unnerving scrutiny of Hugues.
“You don’t have an equivalent in your tongue,” Firyal replied after an uncomfortable pause. “It’s somewhere between judge and master of the law.”
“He’s your leader then?” Certainly, this Qādī” possessed a commanding presence. Hugues felt as if they had met before, although that was impossible.
“No,” Firyal replied. “All elements of the soul are equal.”
“Deus vult,” Umayr said in a dry, inflectionless voice. God wills it. “Do you really think so?”
Hugues had assumed Firyal had been sent to collect him because she was the only one who spoke French. Obviously, that was not the case. “I do.” Hugues met the Qādī’s gaze squarely. “Are you their priest?”
Umayr sniffed in disdain. “Not in any sense you might conceive. Our people haven’t glorified the process of worship to the point that it’s set above Allah Himself. You insult me by comparing our ways.”
“You speak of Allah,” Hugues replied. “Is that whom you pray to, or do you know Him by another name?”
Umayr’s gaze narrowed. “We can debate that topic another time. For now, you may think of me as the keeper of knowledge.” He glanced towards the horsemen. They had saddled their mounts and were watching the exchange. The cart was now concealed inside the cave.
Umayr seized Hugues by the arm. Despite his age, his grip was strong. “I am the only path to the essence of wisdom. Without me, you’ll never find it. Remember that.”
Hugues fought to retain his balance. “So you’re prepared to help me then.”
“That remains to be seen.” Umayr frowned. “The object you seek is incredibly dangerous, even more so in the hands of the ignorant. It would be a mistake to think you deserved it.”
Firyal cut across the two men. “Save the arguments for later, Umayr.”
Tahīr grinned, as if he gleaned the nature of the exchange. Jalāl glanced at them for a moment, but his attention shifted to the Judean hills looming over their valley.
Firyal nodded to someone behind Hugues and a knife sliced through the rope binding his hands. Hugues turned to find Artuk had narrowed the gap between them without him realising. The warrior moved silently for such a big man. Blood tingled through Hugues’ fingertips as he rubbed his chafed wrists.
“I know you won’t try to escape,” Firyal said grimly. “However, if you attempt to leave a marker or a trail for your people, I’ll have you beaten senseless, stripped, and tied across the back of the donkey. Do we understand each other?”
“Completely.” He did not doubt the threat was sincere.
Artuk shoved him towards a horse. Hugues mounted with some difficulty. In all, their party numbered over a score of riders, although it was hard to count in the moonlit shadows with the horses milling about.
They trotted through the ravine at a reasonable pace. The ground was even but littered with stone. Hugues glanced around, hoping for distinguishing landmarks. Firyal said they were travelling east, but without a clear view of the stars, he had no way of verifying that. In the moonlight, each barren foothill looked much like the next.
After riding for some time, the ravine narrowed to a bottleneck some twenty yards across. A third of the riders had passed through before a cry went up amongst the horsemen. Near the head of the column, Firyal called out what sounded like a warning.
A shower of arrows rained down from above. Riders either side of Hugues tumbled from their saddles. An arrow whined past his ear and he dropped to the ground, clutching the reins of his mount to present the smallest target possible.
Wheeling on horseback in the confined space, the remaining warriors returned fire. Hugues saw a figure on an upper ledge plunge down the side of the ravine without a sound, smashing into the rocks with a sickening thud. Arrows thrummed through the darkness and more men fell on both sides.
On the far side of the pass, Jalāl cried out. The men accompanying them huddled against their mounts as Jalāl hurled a burning object high into the heart of the pass. An arrow struck him in the chest as it arced through the air. Jalāl stumbled backwards as a blinding white light suddenly exploded above the ravine.
Hugues belatedly raised an arm to protect his eyes from the searing light. His terrified mount reared, jerking Hugues off his feet. Pink and green dots swarmed across his vision.
The light faded and night rolled back into the ravine. Hugues rubbed his eyes furiously. The dots became blurry as tears filled his eyes.
Something slithered down the side of the ravine and coiled on the ground nearby. Pebbles and small stones skittered down the steep slope. Hugues blinked away the tears: their ambushers were dropping into the ravine on ropes.
A thump sounded nearby. Hugues scrubbed at his eyes, desperate to clear his clouded vision. A figure in sand-coloured robes and matching head scarf had landed only a few yards away. He was dressed much like Firyal’s men except for a red band tied around one arm. For a moment, Hugues dared to hope he might be an ally.
The man released his rope and drew a curved knife. Hugues crouched down and felt across the ground, pretending he was still blinded. His fingers tightened around a rock. The assassin rushed forward and lunged with his dagger. Hugues sprang to one side, pushing off with both feet, and swung the rock in a short arc. The blunt edge struck the man’s temple with a sickening thud. Hugues was the only one to rise again.
The ravine was littered with men struggling through the shadows. Blades clashed and the smell of sulphur coiled through the air. Hugues retrieved the fallen knife and kept to the deeper shadows near the wall.
Who were these newcomers? They appeared to be Saracens as well. Another faction, perhaps? But how did they find Firyal’s party?
The chill in the night air deepened until Hugues’ breath clouded in front of him. Frost spread across the ground and crunched underfoot. Shadows oozed from the sides of the ravine and spread overhead, blocking out the stars. Men cried out in fear. Hugues moved away from the rock face, suddenly terrified of what might emerge from it.
The liquid darkness dripping from the walls of the ravine solidified into jutting spines. One shot out and impaled an archer wearing a red armband. Hugues watched in horror as black hooks threaded through his body. The archer screamed as he writhed in their grip. Seven tiny wheels of light appeared along the man’s spine. Starting at the crown of his head, they ran all the way down to his groin, spinning furiously. Black threads wove through the spokes of each wheel and ripped outwards. With a final, agonised scream, the seven wheels were torn from the archer’s flesh and his lifeless body flopped to the ground.
More spines hooked men from both sides. Hoarse screams and the crack of broken bones filled the ravine.
In all the battles he had witnessed, Hugues had never seen anything like this. Surely, the gates of hell stood wide open. The cold dread was a physical weight too great to bear. His arms dropped, his legs collapsed, and Hugues fell to his knees, shaking uncontrollably.
A man strolled through the carnage, or at least the semblance of a man. Wrapped in coils of mist, the figure moved through the battleground unscathed. Hugues caught a whisper of its voice. Its speech was harsh and unfamiliar. As it spoke, the shadows bent to its will.
The demon turned towards Hugues. Eyes bright like emeralds flashed and it uttered a harsh command.
Hooks burst from the shadows and sank into his flesh. The fiery agony of each puncture was enough to snap his paralysing fear. Hugues screamed and struggled to break free. Ribbons of darkness wrapped around his face and neck, and tiny needles pierced his skin and set his spine alight. He screamed again, momentarily blinded by the agony.
The demon whispered to the night and Hugues’ spine cracked as the ribbons pulled tight. He was hauled forward until he knelt before the dark figure. Its face was wreathed with mist so that only sections were visible. Blackened teeth grinned at him between blistered lips.
“You smell of death,” it said. “No wonder it was so easy to find you.”
Hugues was flung to the ground, the impact winding him. The tiny barbs snagged in his flesh tugged impatiently. With a lurch of terror, he knew he was about to be torn apart.
“Swear to serve Severity,” the demon commanded.
Hugues clawed at the ground in a vain attempt to find purchase.
Before Hugues could respond, a scimitar flashed in the darkness, followed by an ear-splitting shriek. Hugues was tossed into the air and the hooks withdrew from his body.
Hugues gasped for breath. He had landed on his side, facing the demon.
Artuk slashed at the demon’s neck and it spun away, the blade lodging in its shoulder. The demon snarled in its guttural tongue and ribbons of shadow wound around Artuk’s sword-arm, binding him to the creature. He grunted in surprise and heaved at his scimitar, but it was stuck. The barbed threads descended, a nest of coiling vipers that wove through the seven wheels that lit up along Artuk’s spine. He gave up on his sword and drew a dagger with his free hand. Artuk tried to stab the demon in the face, but it twisted away from the blade.
The demon made a wrenching gesture with its free hand. The hooks exploded outwards, tearing the spinning wheels from Artuk’s earthly temple. His body collapsed, unmarked yet lifeless.
Artuk’s sword still quivered in the demon’s shoulder. Wisps of smoke curled from the edge and Hugues noticed the blade was encrusted in salt. The creature eased the blade out with both hands, screeching as the metal parted from its flesh. No blood ran from the wound, but the demon favoured its injured side.
Hope surged inside Hugues despite the fiery pain tingling across his skin. The beast was not invulnerable.
Light bloomed in the chasm: a brilliant column of sapphire, followed by a second pillar of glorious yellow. Inside each moving column stood a man, their arms raised overhead in supplication.
Tahīr and Umayr.
The same instinctive pull Hugues had felt when he first met Umayr drew him towards the blue pillar. Tiny silver stars gyrated over the head of each man.
The demon roared in anger and limped past Hugues. Shadows surged from crevices in the walls of the ravine. They resolved into glistening black spines and barbs that stabbed and hacked at the two columns.
Raising both hands overhead, the demon brought them together in a thundering clap. The barbs and spines dissolved into two massive waves of darkness that crashed over the bright pillars.
The darkness became absolute. Hugues was blinded, far worse than when he had worn the hood. The darkness broke abruptly as it shattered upon the columns. The tiny stars hissed and fizzed as they shredded the dense shadows that had swamped them.
The yellow pillar wavered. Sensing weakness, the demon showered it with more spines and barbs. For every hook that was severed by Tahīr’s stars, a second and third tore chunks from his pillar.
Umayr raised his head to the heavens and screamed an invocation. Pointing at the demon, a torrent of stars struck its mist-shrouded body. The beast staggered backwards and screeched again in pain.
Tahīr’s golden column crumbled and winked out. He stumbled to his knees, gasping for breath. The demon hissed a command and a spear of darkness punched through Tahīr’s chest. He fell backwards, arms and legs outflung.
Umayr cried out and another burst of stars hammered the demon, shredding its protective layers of darkness. Even the fog that hid its face began to burn away before Umayr’s fury. It fled back down the ravine at a shambling run, its form disintegrating into wisps of shadow as it merged with the night.
The freezing cold dissipated and Hugues rose unsteadily to his feet. His back ached and he felt exhausted. Even so, he had never been so grateful for his life. Nothing the Salt Lines had taught him had prepared him for this.
Umayr’s pillar of sapphire faded. Thankfully, the shadows remained still and the air was only chilly. He murmured a prayer of thanks as he walked past the bodies scattered across the ground. Umayr was weeping as he rocked Tahīr in his arms. Jalāl was sprawled on the ground nearby, the fatal arrow jutting from his chest. Firyal lay face-down on the ground tangled with the corpses of two assassins. Dark blood pooled about her body.
Hugues was reluctant to intrude upon Umayr’s grief, but he had little choice. “Umayr, we must leave before it returns.” His voice quavered.
Umayr looked up. “Do you know how long this man and I have been brothers?”
This was not the response Hugues needed, although he understood the naked grief in Umayr’s face. “Longer than I have been alive, I suspect.” He glanced in the direction the demon had fled. “Which is why he wouldn’t want you to squander his sacrifice.”
Umayr’s eyes narrowed. “That’s exactly what I would have said had our situations been reversed.” He laid Tahīr’s body on the ground and kissed his forehead. “Farewell, dear brother.” Umayr stopped next to Jalāl and kissed him on the forehead too. He turned Firyal over, cradling her about the shoulders with her head in his lap, and gently caressed her face. Firyal’s body was riddled with deep cuts. “Farewell, my fearsome one.” Umayr said something in Arabic and kissed her on both cheeks, then he laid her back down and placed her sword in one limp hand.
Umayr rose with obvious effort, every movement laced with weariness. Tears glistened upon his cheeks. “It’s not right that you should be left here like this,” he said to his dead brethren. “Yet, as always, we are offered few choices.”
“Umayr,” Hugues said urgently. “We must go.”
The Qādī turned and regarded Hugues. Gone was the proud dignity that had defined his features. With the loss of his cabal, all that remained was the haunted expression that Hugues had come to recognise amongst the survivors of hopeless battles.
“That demon was one of the Fallen.” Umayr prodded Hugues’ chest with a bony finger. “Escape is no longer possible once the Lords of Severity have marked you.”
CHAPTER 46
25 October 1307
The meridian
“At last.” Salome swung out of her saddle and landed lightly on her feet. Holding her reins in one gloved hand, she crouched over a mound of crumbled stone. A light rain was falling, so fine it could almost be called mist. Beads of moisture glistened on her cloak and dripped from the lip of her cowl.
“At last what?” Rémi remained in his saddle and frowned at Salome. His short black hair bristled despite the rain.
Bertrand pulled his cloak tight. Two nights had passed since he watched Chateau Fontette burn. Since then, he had only spoken a handful of words. They had continued travelling east, avoiding roads, and keeping to the forest.
“We’ve found what I’ve been looking for.” Salome shifted some small, moss-covered stones.
“What? A cairn to bury ourselves under?” Rémi asked.
A rare smile lit Salome’s face. “Rémi, in all my travels, I’ve rarely encountered someone with such a dour sense of humour. It must be all the rain that falls upon your land.”
Rémi snorted.
Bertrand glanced between his companions. Despite his protestations, it seemed Rémi was warming to Salome. The realisation did nothing to improve Bertrand’s mood. “What’s so important about these rocks?”
Rémi gave him a sideways look.
“It marks a salt line,” Salome replied. “One that runs east-west.”
“How can you tell?” Bertrand asked.
“The trees.” Salome gestured with her free hand.
Bertrand glanced about the glade. While many smaller saplings had sprung up, six large beech trees towered over them in a loose circle. Now that he looked closely, they did appear to be positioned carefully, almost standing guard.
Salome stood. “This was once a sacred glade with a menhir at its centre.” She gestured at the crumbling pile of stone.
“Once,” Rémi agreed.
“The majority of the stone is hidden under the ground. If I can connect to it, I can tap into the meridian.”
“To what purpose?” Bertrand asked.
Salome raised her eyebrows. “To help us reach the coast, assuming I possess the strength.”
Bertrand swapped a concerned look with Rémi. “This is the same thing you did when…we were attacked.”
“Almost. Last time I only moved us south along a single salt line. This time I propose to move us further west, where we’ll switch to the next salt line that will take us north.”
Rémi cleared his throat. “I’d rather we stay on horseback, if it’s all the same to you.” He patted his mare on the neck.
Salome shook her head. “We’d never make it. Nogaret’s men know roughly where we are. First, they’ll form a loose cordon around this region. Then they’ll send in scouting parties to flush us out.” She nudged the crumbling standing stone with her boot. “This is our only means of escape.”
Rémi rubbed his beard. “What’s got him chasing your hem anyway?”
“I can’t answer that,” Salome replied. “Only a member of the Salt Lines—”
“No.” Bertrand cut her off. “Answer the question.”
“Bertrand, I—”
He slid off his horse and stabbed a finger at her. “Our brothers died in ignorance protecting you. Justine is probably dead, or worse, with no idea why. If Rémi and I are to suffer the same fate, I demand you tell us everything. We deserve to know.”
Rémi dismounted and caught the reins of Bertrand’s roan before it could wander off. Bertrand’s gaze never left Salome’s face. “Even though my family has all but disowned me, Rémi has one waiting for him. Explain to me why I shouldn’t send him home right now.”
Salome glanced between the two men. “This goes against—”
