He began to slow, but not for any apparent reason. There was no land in sight. Beneath him, wind-driven waves caressed the sea with foaming fingers, just as before. Soon he moved no quicker than if he were swimming under his own muscle power.
At length he noticed something. In the sky, some distance ahead, there was what he took to be a black cloud, which appeared to be expanding, growing darker. Then he realised it was coming his way. As it approached he could see that it consisted of hundreds of individual dots, each moving of their own volition. The nearer the dark throng got, the more defined its constituent parts became, but it had almost reached him before he recognised what it was.
The cloud arrived and a world of frenzy engulfed him. All was wildly fluttering wings and ruffled feathers, beady eyes and spiky beaks, as a deafening, shrill cacophony battered his ears. He was in the eye of a storm, the centre of a blizzard of terrified creatures.
Suddenly it was over. The birds were well to his rear, a swirling miasma of flapping dots again. But more flocks were coming his way. And like the one he had passed through, they had an unnatural aspect: they were made up of different types of birds.
There was turmoil in the ocean, too. Huge schools of fish could be seen, swimming hard just below the surface. Fish of many kinds, from the smallest fry to large predators. Animals which, like the birds, would never normally group together, except in the face of some overriding common purpose.
This was no migration. The birds and the fish were fleeing from something.
A glint of light showed further north, against the far-off horizon. It grew in size and intensity until it replicated the rising sun. Then its flame spread to the sea, as though burning oil had seeped onto it. A fiery tidal wave rolled towards him, carrying shapes within it, Looking down from his elevated position he tried to make out what they were.
He thought he saw a glowing angelic host. Or perhaps a demonic horde. Then he came to see that it was a fleet, a thousand vessels or more, bathed in flame.
A man stood at the bow of the leading ship. A man he knew, though they had never met. A man who possessed an extraordinary power.
Their eyes locked, and he understood.
The warlord was coming.
20
It took several days for Darrok’s aquatic glamour to reach Bhealfa’s shores.
At the coast, the glamour nosed its way into the mouth of an estuary and entered the island’s river system. Other fish shunned it, or perhaps they couldn’t see it. And as it had no need for rest and sustenance, nothing obstructed its journey through the wintry waters.
Following its charm-induced instincts, the glamour went unerringly to the branch of the river serving the capital. But having achieved Valdarr’s main port, it could no longer fulfil its mission in its present state, so a transformation was triggered.
There was turbulence, erupting bubbles and bursts of light. A different creature broke the surface of thewater and rose out of it, dripping wings spread wide.
The bird was something like a raven, though not enough like one to convince anybody. But as it was about to enter a city swarming with glamours it was unlikely to be noticed. Soaring high, the illusion circled, alert for psychic scent. Then it knew its path, and set off at speed.
The sector neighbouring the docks was mean, all narrow winding lanes and rowdy inns. Here the throb of magic was weak, and the militia patrolled in mobs. Acres of dour warehouses ruled the manufacturing district. The adjacent cattle-yard marked out its corrals with multi-coloured glamour orbs. Commerce shaded into residential districts, unremarkable suburbs lit by the prissy blush of respectable magic. They gave way to wealthy sectors, where the illumination of sorcery was at its most extravagant.
The pretence of a raven flew on.
Rich quarter or poor, the city’s infatuation with magic was unabashed. Emporiums of illusion catered for the well-off, while lesser clientele were served by humble charm shops and dubious street vendors. The glamoured gambling dens did brisk business, with hex-powered fortune wheels and cards that turned of their own volition. In the smart parlours of fashionable couturiers, living mannequins modelled the latest gowns. On the streets, the needy rummaged for scraps.
The raven homed in on a safe house, ready to tell its tale and die.
On the opposite side of the city, an hour or so after the glamour’s demise, wintry sunlight bathed the Pastures of Sleep. No such luxury existed in the catacombs beneath; only man-or magic-made light pushed back the gloom there.
A single charmed globe gently lit one particular chamber. Within, two sleeping children shared a cot, while Tanalvah sat on the only chair, head in hands. Had she sobbed, it would have been quietly, for the sake of the children, but she had reached a place beyond tears.
Teg and Lirrin were all that had stopped her from confessing. Her terror of what might become of them, and of the child she carried, was the remaining brake to her admission of guilt. But under the weight of the secret she carried, her thinking had changed. How could she subject them to life with a murderess? What kind of existence would they have when she might be exposed at any time? Above all, how could she live with herself after what she’d done? And loathe as she was to accept it, underlying everything was a growing acceptance that Kinsel was lost.
She slowly rose, stifling the groan brought on by the familiar stabbing pain in her lower back. Leaning with some difficulty, she lightly kissed each child, then she turned and shuffled from the cell.
There were people about, as there always were, day and night. Some nodded or waved. She didn’t notice. A short walk took her to the great central hollow at the heart of the complex of tunnels. Karr and Goyter were cosseted in a corner, occupied with paperwork. Tanalvah made her way to them.
Karr saw her and called a greeting.
‘Everything all right, Tan?’ Goyter asked.
‘Can I join you?’
‘Of course,’ Karr said. ‘Nothing’s wrong, I trust?’
‘I’ve something important to tell you.’
Goyter was concerned. ‘Whatever is it, dear? You look terrible. Here, do as Dulian said and sit down.’
Tanalvah sank onto a chair.
‘Are you ill?’ Karr wondered.
‘I’m fine.’ She took a breath. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘So you are sick?’
‘It’s not that. I…’
‘I hope you know that you can share your problems with us, Tanalvah.’
‘All I need you to do is listen. And try to forgive me.’
‘Forgive you? Whatever for?’
‘Just hear me out.’ She took in their confused, expectant faces. ‘The way you see me…the way you think I am…it’s wrong.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Please, Dulian. This is hard for me. I have to tell you…tell you…it was me who-’
Somebody was shouting. A figure emerged from one of the tunnels at speed and ran towards them.
‘It’s Quinn,’ Goyter said. ‘I wonder what’s happened now.’
Disgleirio arrived, breathless. ‘Good, you’re all here together.’
‘We were having a private conversation with Tanalvah,’ Karr told him, piqued at the interruption. ‘So unless your news is urgent-’
‘It is,’ Disgleirio panted. ‘With respect to Tan, I think that what I have to say is much more important.’
‘Really? And what might that be?’
‘Kinsel’s alive.’
‘What?’ Tanalvah whispered. The colour bled from her face.
‘It’s true. He’s alive, and he’s on the Diamond Isle.’