‘I am. . feeling very warm, lord. And still frightened.’
‘Can you move your legs?’
Patiacus glanced down, and jerked once more. ‘You have poisoned me!’
‘Yes, but it is not deadly. It is Shadow venom. Not in its pure form. Diluted. The paralysis will be that much slower. Also — and more important — you will be able to talk. You will not be able to move, but you will feel. There should be a tingling in your fingers now. It is the sign that your arms and upper body are becoming immobile.’
‘I don’t know what you want from me.’
‘There is a mixture of seed and leaf that you used for me in the past, to kill those who sought me harm.
You recall. The slow killer. The mixture could be boiled and administered within a stew, or even placed in a sweetened tisane, you said. It was almost tasteless, save for the trace of tannin. Death could take weeks, sometimes months, depending on the amount administered.’
Patiacus’s arm flopped out as he struggled to rise. His body spasmed and he slid from the chair.
Memnon grabbed the collar of his tunic and hauled him out from beneath the table. ‘Imagine my surprise, Patiacus, when I saw that the boy’s parents had been administering the same seed and leaf to their son, thinking it to be medicine.’
‘Not I, lord. Please!’ begged Patiacus, his words slurring.
‘Not you? Let me think. Someone wanted to kill a merchant’s son in a small town on the coast. In order to do this they decided to prepare the slow killer and convince the parents it was a potion for good health. Does that not seem to you to be overly complicated, Patiacus? If someone wanted the boy dead they could just as easily have stabbed him. The question then becomes, why did they not? The answer is fairly obvious. They wanted the death to appear natural. The lumps under his skin would be thought to be cancerous. Is the merchant so feared that his vengeance might be the reason for the complexity? I think not. And then, my dear friend, there are the others. All my Reborns have died in the same way. Can you account for that?’
‘I am your loyal servant. I swear it!’
‘You are beginning to irritate me. Let us move to the specifics of your predicament. I am going to kill you, Patiacus. There is no question of a change of heart. I am going to spend the entire night causing you the most dreadful pain. I shall use flame, a metal file, a hammer, and any other item that comes to mind. I shall rend your flesh and smash your bones. Is that clear?’
‘Oh, please, lord. I beg you!’
‘Begging is not going to change anything. Tell me why you have been killing my children, and I might kill you swiftly.’
‘You are making a mistake!’
Memnon smiled. ‘I am glad you said that. For an awful moment I thought you were going to tell me right away. You just lie there, Patiacus, while I fetch what I need.’
Chapter Seventeen
Gilden eased his mount up a steep slope, and halted just below the crest of the hill. He had no wish to be skylined and seen, so he dismounted and removed his helm before creeping up to the crest. When he looked over his breath caught in his throat. Stavut had been right.
On the plain below were thousands of marching men and columns of horses. Bringing up the rear were two regiments of Jiamads. The army stretched all the way back to a distant line of hills. Gilden hunkered down and tried to gauge the numbers of the enemy. He estimated there to be at least twenty thousand fighting men, plus the two thousand Jiamads. In the vanguard he saw the riders of the Eternal Guard, in their armour of black and silver. Like the Legend Riders they wore elaborate chain-mail hauberks, coifs and gorgets. They also carried sabres and lances, and round bucklers on their left forearms. The thousand men of the Eternal Guard were the elite of the Eternal’s army, hand picked for their valour in other regiments.
Then he saw the Eternal herself, dressed in armour of bright silver, riding a white horse. Narrowing his eyes he sought to focus more sharply. It seemed the horse had horns curling over its ears. Gilden eased himself back from the slope and mounted his own chestnut. Swinging the beast he set off slowly towards the north.
He would have preferred to ride at speed, but was wary of the dust his horse would stir up on the dry hillside. When he reached lower ground he eased the beast into a run.
There was no doubt now that the last battle was approaching. Agrias would be hard pressed to hold off such a force. Especially without the Legend Riders. Alahir had sent Bagalan back to gather the other two hundred fighting men, ordering him to rendezvous in three days at the small town of Corisle, eighty miles north. The town’s income derived from its situation, close to the merging of three rivers. Due north, along the ancient canal, lay the Rostrias; west was the narrow, silt-heavy waterway that once flowed freely down to Siccus on the coast. East was another ancient canal that had been created in the far past to ferry supplies to the copper mines in the old Sathuli territories. From Corisle the plan was to commandeer barges that would carry the riders to the Rostrias, and along the river towards the site of the mysterious temple Skilgannon spoke of. The journey — if all went smoothly — would take many days.
Gilden was unhappy with the plan. More so now that he had seen the Eternal’s army. The battles would rage into Drenai land, and, as far as Gilden was concerned, that was where the Legend Riders should meet the foe. Others agreed with him, and the conversation had become heated.
Then Skilgannon had spoken. ‘I understand your concerns,’ he told them. ‘I also understand the desire to protect the homeland. It does you credit. We could ride for Siccus, and fight, seeking to hold off the Eternal. We might even succeed in turning back one of her armies. One of her ten armies.
However, we would ultimately fail, because her resources are so much greater than those of your people.
She can summon thousands of Jiamads, scores of regiments. If Ustarte’s prophecy is true, then we can win the war only by destroying the source of all her power. It is my belief the answer lies at the temple.’
‘A temple you say is no longer there,’ put in Gilden.
‘That is so,’ agreed Skilgannon. ‘However, since the artefacts of the Elders still generate magic the power source must still be operating. The first time I visited the temple it could not be seen. I had already ridden past it many times in my search. A ward spell had been placed over it, which fooled the eye. I cannot say to you, Gilden, that we will succeed. This may be a fool’s errand. But I trust Ustarte. I believe it was she who spoke to Alahir, leading him to the Armour. It was she who urged him to follow me.’
‘Prophecies be damned,’ said Gilden. ‘Why could she not just have told us what to do?’
‘Not an easy question to answer,’ said Skilgannon. ‘When I spoke to her she talked of there being many futures. Each decision we make changes those futures. We could go to the temple. We could travel to Siccus. We could stay here and do nothing. Some could go, some could stay. Each decision would result in scores of possible outcomes. Nothing is certain. My guess is that Ustarte saw a great number of possibilities for us. She dared not push us in any one direction, for fear of inadvertently sending us on the wrong path. The decisions are ours to make, for that is our destiny.’
‘Well, that just shot over my head like an arrow,’ said Gilden. ‘Perhaps there is a future where the Eternal vanishes in a puff of dust.’ The comment eased the tension, and the men chuckled.
‘The key,’ said Skilgannon, as the laughter died down, ‘has to be in the source of the magic. Destroy that and there will be no more Jiamads, no more Reborns, and — ultimately — no more Eternal. This will become once more a world of men. Think of it this way. If a bear is savaging your cattle you do not wait in the pastures for his next attack. You seek out his lair and you kill him. The temple is the lair. That is where the war will be won.’