Into The Dark Flame (Book 4) (5 page)

   'Ah. I see what you mean.' The Bridgekeeper glanced at Leth, suddenly sheepish, and then at his own large toes. 'Yes . . . umm. . . .'

   'And you have already stated that you heard Count Harg declaring his intentions.'

   The Bridgekeeper found something to interest him upon the wooded slopes beyond the gorge.

  'Bridgekeeper, I think you have done well today. Certainly you have saved our lives, and for that we are grateful. The Law allows that you may take those who fail to announce themselves or pay the toll in the prescribed manner. The Law allocates to you their belongings also. It does not permit that you supplement your gains through subterfuge or prevarication. Is that not so?'

   'Of course, Lakewander,' said the Bridgekeeper. 'Do forgive me. It is the excitement. I did hear you; of course I did. But it had slipped my mind, with all the thunderous goings on!'

   He eased his bulk past Leth and Lakewander and began dragging bodies towards the back of his cave. 'It's quite a nice catch, actually. The best I've had in many a year, if the truth be known.'

   Lakewander nodded. 'I don't doubt it.'

   'Ooh, look at this! I think these two are still alive. Marvellous! I'll have someone to listen to my stories!'

   Leth peered into the gloom. 'What does he do with them?'

   'Don't ask,' replied Lakewander sharply. 'And do not try to intervene.'

   The Bridgekeeper's low voice sounded again from the depths. 'Lakewander, will you and your brave warrior friend not stay and sup with me awhile? I can make a delicious fricassee, or perhaps a broth or potage with a rather splendid numbles, or  pasty with black sauce. It will be such fun, and I have some wonderful stories to tell you.'

   'You are kind, but I regret that we cannot. We have delayed too much already.'

   'Ah, that’s a pity.' He came forward again. 'Are you descending to the Shore again?'

   'We are. Oh, Bridgekeeper, I must check amongst the baggage. Harg's men took our saddlepacks and emptied our pockets.'

   'Very well, Lakewander.'

   She turned to Leth. 'Put on your armour, Swordbearer. I’m sending the horses back, as they can’t accompany us any further. They will return to Orbia.'

   The Bridgekeeper watched her with a lugubrious eye. 'Are you sure you can’t stay? Just for a little while?'

   'Not a moment longer. I will check the baggage and we will be gone.'  

TWO

i

   'From here on nothing is known,' Lakewander
said, her voice low and edged with dour intensity.

   Leth looked out along the line of the beach but could make out little of what lay before him; the strangely coloured shingle and sand threw up a distorting haze. It glimmered and teased, and perplexed his vision. He stepped down onto the beach, his face - and pride - still stinging from the harsh slap she had landed him across his cheek. He began to walk.

   As far as possible he kept his gaze straight ahead, or to the right and the gleaming fleshlike cliff that stretched to the horizon. To his left lay the Nothing, detestable, implacable, the End of the World. He could not bear to look upon it. To his mind seeing it again was to bestow it with ever greater power, unleashing the beast of the void that struggled and swelled within him. The temptation was present, even so, to look again, just to try and be sure, to grasp the impossible.

   Lakewander, behind him, had put one hand upon his shoulder as he started off. 'How do you feel?' she asked.

   'So far I believe I’m unaffected. And you?'

   'I am all right.'

   'Lakewander, what are we likely to find beyond the beach?'

   'I’ve told you, I do not know.'

   'Yet you know that Ascaria dwells there.'

  
'Somewhere. I know only that the World's Agony is our guide.'

   Leth felt a twinge of irritation. He was reluctant to admit to the trepidation that gripped him, but what he was experiencing here - and had been experiencing since the moment he became stranded in Orbelon's world - was beyond his understanding. Nothing in his previous life had prepared him for it. Hence he relied upon Lakewander, and found her wanting. 

   The way ahead of him, silent and dreadful, was becoming a blur, a wash of strangely shifting colour. He blinked and narrowed his eyes, trying to search out details, to rest his gaze upon something familiar. He could no longer see the gleaming cliff. He turned his eyes skyward: the Orb of the Godworld was a dull, filtered glow, reddish as though seen through dense bloodstained glass. But ahead in the sky was a tiny pinpoint, the sharp glitter of the World's Agony.

   Lakewander's hand gripped him fiercely. 'Everything depends upon this!'

   He felt suddenly an irrational surge of anger. She did not need to tell him such a thing, as though he were a fool! As though he were not aware! Glowering, he twisted his neck to look at her. To his surprise there were tears in her eyes, wet trails down her pale cheeks. He was consumed by a welter of emotion. What was wrong with her? And then his heart fell - he was filled suddenly with a sense of weariness and despair - for behind Lakewander towered the bluff and the rocks from which they had just set out. They were no more than fifteen paces away, yet to Leth it seemed that he had been trudging this terminal beach for long minutes.

   'We have been nowhere!'

   His disappointment dragged him down like an intolerable weight. Anger, bewilderment, weariness, despair. He lacked the heart to carry on.

   'Keep your eyes ahead, Swordbearer!
Always, always ahead!'

   He pressed his gaze to the fore again, but his feet were heavy in the soft, dragging sand, and he ached, in his muscles, in his bones, so heavy. He could not remember why he had come here, and had no inclination, no spirit, to go any further. Into his mind came an image of the Death Abyss.

   'Why have you stopped?'

   Leth looked down at himself, realizing that he had ceased walking. But again he felt nettled that she should ask such a question of him. He lifted an arm and twisted to break her grip upon him.

   'No Swordbearer! This is the beginning! This is how it works upon you, to rob you of your mind and destroy your will! Fight it! Fight it or we are lost!'

   He did not care if they were lost. He had no desire to fight anything. He wanted perhaps to be rid of her. She irritated him, with her tears and constant cajolings, her unsightly mouth. He should have left her to Harg. That much was plain. The outlaw knew what he was about. Lakewander had told him that as long as she remained close by him, preferably in physical contact, she believed she could escape, or at least survive, the most severe of the effects of the beach. She did not explain why she thought this, and Leth no longer bothered to ask. But it amused him now that she should place such faith in him, when he had no interest in doing anything at all. And he wondered whether he should kill her.

   'The sword! Draw the sword!'

   There was
an urgency in her voice, and Leth wondered why she was prompting him to commit the very act that would bring about her end. He thought again of the Death Abyss, without knowing what it was. His thoughts were forming in a random stream. What was happening here?

   'Do it, Swordbearer! Now! Take it out!'

   He was seated on his buttocks upon the sand, the colours crawling all around and over him like a plague of brilliant insects, a swarm of veils, light gems that merged and broke and clotted, swirled, exploded silently and reformed. He gasped in a great lungful of iridescent air. Lakewander was barely visible, a shifting shape among the colours and his whole body sang with the most delicious sensation of glowing, growing, tingling, aching.

  
'Swordbearer!'

   With a supreme effort of will he dragged his hand through the deliriously heavy haze, and fumbled then found the jewelled hilt of the Orbsword. He fell back as he drew it free and its light cut through the beach-veils, the coruscating, efflorescing swarms. He heard Lakewander cry out. She was upon her knees, her lips pressed to the flat of the glowing blade, her hands upon him, the colours brilliant bursting from the moist pores of her skin, and he had known nothing like this.
Spiralling emotion washed over and through him, leaving sleek trails; the sky and earth vivid and blindingly bright, merging into one, merging into him. He lifted himself, his jaw dropping open as a great moan escaped him. The Orbsword was drawing him higher, part of him now, and the intensity of sensation was more pleasurable than he could ever have imagined, vermicules of pleasure, silken and blissful all over him, and Lakewander, they were one, the Orb-light pulsing and penetrating, the sand no longer beneath him, her warm lips upon him and he knew what she had done and even in the ecstasy and terror of it all he felt bruised and betrayed, deeply, bitterly betrayed, and questioning, sure of nothing here on the Shore of Nothing, trailing the Orb-light, incapable of anything but . . . the cries drifting from his throat.

  
'Orbelon! Orbelon!'

   He had heard the god's voice, and yet now here he was. Where? A chained man against the sky, looking down, and so far below they struggled and merged and broke free again, understanding nothing, and he knew their pain and their uncertainty, and he took it, deep into himself, transforming it, and the light so intense, so intense.

  
'Orbelon!'

   The Death Abyss cut through the world in a jagged tear, far, far below. And one day he could take no more and he screamed out, bursting free of his chains after so long, and wingless descending.

   And he fell and fell and fell. . . .

*

   Three tall warriors of grim and saturnine aspect tramped forward and surveyed the body where it had fallen. They were virtually identical in face and form, clad in half-armour of gleaming black, carried curved, wide-bladed swords at their belts, and their skin held an unusual blue-grey pallor.

   A fourth warrior was seated on a horse close by. He spoke in a clipped, guttural sibilance. 'Bring him.'

   Together they half-carried, half-dragged Leth's limp form. They took him along a steep trail leading up the lee of a tall, flat-topped basalt upthrust to a high tower of dun stone which rose abruptly against the sky and gazed out over the lip of the Death Abyss.

ii

   The twisted man limped forward with an awkward slewing gait, popping a crunchy sweetmeat into his mouth, and gazed down at Leth where he lay senseless upon a well-scrubbed tabletop. Leth's eyelids flickered. The twisted man prodded his ribs with the handle of a spoon. Leth half-opened his eyes.

   The twisted man smiled a crooked smile. 'Ah good, you are awake. Be careful how you rise, now. Don't tumble from the table and harm yourself.'

   He dragged himself away and sat in a commodious carved chair, upholstered in orange velvet, set before a blazing hearth. Leth gingerly eased himself into a sitting position, his head pounding, vision a blur. 'What happened?'

   The twisted man gave a throaty chuckle. 'You had rather a nasty fall.'

   He reached out with his good arm and took another sweetmeat from a silver tray beside him. His eyes on Leth, he placed it upon his tongue and began to chew.

   Leth peered at him through wincing eyes. 'Where am I?'

   'You are here, with
myself and my beautiful spouse, in our home, the Tower of Glancing Memory. Here, let me be of assistance. Take some water.'

   Leth, still slumped upon the table, propped himself against the wall at his back. He watched as his host poured clear water into a goblet and brought it over. Leth saw a man in his young middle-age, of average height, garbed in a long robe of sleek, dark purple material bound at the waist with a deep green cummerbund. His body was somewhat bent and crooked: the upper portion inclined forward and skewed to the right side, the pelvis thrust out leftwards. Leth could not see his feet, but judged from his dragging, rolling gait that he was club-footed or at least had one leg significantly shorter than the other. The twisted man's left shoulder was high and hunched, the left arm extending only as far as the waist and ending in a shrivelled fingerless hand which was clutched in a gnarled ball, by all appearances rigid. He was spare and awkward of build. His head was long, with a thin straight nose. Arsenical shadows had gathered about his eyes, supplemented by heavy sacks of drooping flesh. His gaze, no matter his solicitous manner, was distant and held little warmth. The mouth was formed of loose, fleshy red lips, the lower one slightly protruding, tight and downturned at the corners, set above a short, stubbly chin. Thin dark long hair was oiled close upon his crown.

   He placed the cool goblet on the table a little way from Leth. 'This will help. And eat if you wish, though I suspect you may prefer to wait awhile.'

   Leth took a sip, grateful for the cold bright water. 'I’m sorry, I remember almost nothing. Can I ask who you are, and how I come to be here?'

   'Aha!' replied the man, backing away. He gave a small flourish of his good hand. 'Well, it is hardly surprising that your memory fails you. You came here via the Shore of Nothing, after all. It is a rare man who can survive such a journey. As for your other question, I am Urch-Malmain.'

   It seemed to Leth that the name was not wholly unfamiliar. He had heard it . . . when?
Hours ago? A lifetime? For the moment, at least, it plucked no specific chord.

   'And you are the Swordbearer, who calls himself Leth - or Leth, who calls himself the Swordbearer.
One and the same. Is that not so?' Urch-Malmain asked.

   Leth gave no answer. His eyes had alighted upon the Orbsword, which rested in its scabbard upon a bracket on one wall. It was bound tightly in a web of silver chains.

   'Ah yes, your blade,' said his host, following the direction of his gaze. 'I do apologize, but rumour has it that you have trained the sword to obey your every command. Hence, until we have gained a fuller acquaintance with each other, and hopefully established a condition of mutual trust and understanding, I thought it advisable to have the weapon confined.'

   A spasm of pain shot through Leth's head. He squeezed shut his eyes, and grimaced.

   'Ah, my lovely wife!' declared Urch-Malmain.

   A woman was descending via a flight of curving, rug-covered stairs into the chamber where they sat. Leth watched her through half-opened eyes. She was of medium height and aged about twenty years, slim, with a full figure, dressed in a light garment of grey silk which fell to her ankles. Her hair was dark and straight, cut just above her shapely shoulders, framing an oval face. Her lips were full and rouged, seeming to carry a knowing smile as if by habit, and her eyes, pale hazel in colour, danced with bright, gaily sardonic amusement. She bore herself gracefully; even in his pained state Leth could see that she was uncommonly beautiful.

   'My sweet, the great Swordbearer has come round,' stated Urch-Malmain with a fulsome gesture towards Leth. 'Swordbearer, allow me to introduce my most beautiful spouse, the great love of my life, my cherished Hellia.'

   He gave an ironic laugh. Hellia glided forward, picking a purple grape from a bunch resting in a bowl on the long table as she came. She stood before Leth, appraising him candidly, guarded humour in her eyes. Her perfume, a subtle blend of exotic spice mingled with orange-clove, was a pleasure in his nostrils. The gown she wore was almost diaphanous; Leth could see the marvellous curve of her hips, the contours of her thighs, the push and pout of her breasts against the thin material, and he felt his blood stir.