Rebellion: Tainted Realm: Book 2 (71 page)

Tali could not sleep for thinking about Tobry’s fate, and the approaching army that looked likely to end them all, plus the last resistance in Hightspall.

Eventually she gave up and went up to the observatory to study the mural. It looked different now. The body and limbs were less twisted, the florid face showed less pain and more rage, far more menace. Rix must have changed it.

But how could he have? He’d gone out hunting during the day and had not yet returned. She raced down the broken steps.

“Holm?” said Tali, shaking him awake. “I’m worried.”

“About something else, you mean? Something
new
?”

“Do you know any way that Rix’s portrait of Grandys could change itself?”

“No.” He rose at once. “But if it’s due to magery, Tobry might.”

They found Tobry up under one of the empty domes, where he practised magery in private. He was lathered in sweat.

“I didn’t notice any magery in the mural…” Tali said when she had explained. “But I wasn’t looking for it either.”

“Let’s take a look,” said Tobry. “If I’m right in what I’m thinking, every moment matters.”

They followed him down, then up the broken steps to the observatory.

“It
is
different,” Tobry said after studying the mural for a minute or two. “And if Rix isn’t here to change it, who did?”

He waved his elbrot back and forth over the mural, concentrating on the places where the changes had occurred. Tali saw no discernible difference to the elbrot’s aura, and neither could her own senses detect any magery.

“Nothing,” said Tobry.

“But it’s definitely changed,” said Tali. “Do you think one of the servants could have done it?”

Tobry snorted. “The brushstrokes are consistent. And masterful.”

“Could it be affected by a form of magery we know nothing about?”

“
Anything
could be affected by a form of magery we know nothing about,” he said wryly. “But I don’t think so. I think it’s got something to do with the painting itself, and Rix’s gift for producing paintings that are divinations.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” said Holm.

“I don’t think Rix has gone hunting,” Tobry said slowly. “I’m afraid he’s gone off to do something so wild that it’s actually changing his divination – creating a new future, if you like.”

“Where could he have gone?” said Tali.

“No idea.”

“Swelt will know,” said Holm. “Come on.”

“Rix went alone,” said Swelt, when they ran him to ground in the buttery where, though it was after 2 a.m., he was taking inventory of the kitchen stores on a grey oval slate. “And no one has left the fortress since.”

“Damn,” said Tobry.

“But half a dozen fellows, mostly hotheads, left an hour before he did.”

“Were they going hunting too?”

“That’s what they told the stable boys, but I’m not so sure. Come up.”

In his little empire, Swelt consulted a scribbled note in a ledger. “They took a lot of rope, a large block and tackle, canvas and other gear.”

“Did they say why they wanted it?”

“No, and no one asked. But clearly, they mean to lift up something heavy.”

“Something heavy?” A wave of nausea roiled through Tali’s belly.

“But they could be anywhere,” said Tobry.

“Not anywhere.” Swelt turned to a side table, riffled through a pile of papers and pulled out a small map. “When I came in, this map had been left out. Only Rix and myself have keys to this room.”

“Does it give any clues?” said Holm, examining it.

“Yes, it does,” said Swelt. He tapped a pudgy finger on a circular feature on the southern side of the map. “Some people say this sinkhole is co-existent with the Cythonian Abysm, so it’s obvious what he’s up to.”

“Unfortunately,” said Tali.

“I assume you’ll be riding after him.”

“At once.”

“Rix is a good man,” said Swelt. “And he could become a fine leader, assuming he learns when to trust his judgement…”

“And when not to,” said Tobry.

“Quite so.”

They went out. “So Rix means to raise Grandys’ petrified body and bring it back,” said Tobry.

“Why?” said Tali as they headed for the stables.

“I understand why – I understand that very well.”

“I don’t!”

“Even without people plotting mutiny, Lyf’s approaching army is too big to fight. Rix has always been prone to self-doubt, and he’s worried sick. If the enemy take Garramide they’ll put everyone to the sword, because that’s how rebels are dealt with in wartime. It’s going to take a miracle to save us, so is it any wonder he’s looking to set up his brilliant ancestor as a symbol?”

“How can that help?”

“In these parts, Grandys is considered the greatest warrior of all time. If Rix held Grandys’ long-lost body it would draw fighters from everywhere and make Garramide the centre of resistance. No one would dare talk about mutiny then.”

“And,” said Holm, “it would terrify Lyf. It’s a brilliant plan —”

“Except for one thing,” said Tobry.

“What’s that?” said Tali.

“I’m worried that it’s not Rix’s plan.”

“How do you mean?”

“He thinks the enchantment on Maloch led him to Garramide, and possibly put the idea into his head to paint the mural of Grandys – the sword’s original owner. Rix is worried that the sword has a mind and purpose of its own, and I think he’s right. What if it’s also leading him to the Abysm?”

“To throw him in?” said Tali.

“No – to get back to its master. Or perhaps both.”

“Come on, come on!” she cried.

They took horses from the stables and set off, riding carefully in the dark, around the edge of the escarpment then up into the most westerly of the mountains at its back. It was slow riding in deep snow. They had not climbed far before Tobry took a winding path up a steep valley, then a track that curved around behind the mountain for several hours, then down steeply.

“What did Swelt mean by
co-existent
?” said Holm. “Tali, when you saw Grandys’ petrified body it was in the Abysm, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Where was that?”

“Next to Lyf’s caverns under Precipitous Crag.”

“But this sinkhole has to be a hundred miles from Precipitous Crag. How can the Abysm be here as well?”

“I was drawn through a peculiar crack from Lyf’s main cavern,” said Tali. “But now you ask, I have no idea where the Abysm was. It could have been next door, or on the other side of the world. I’ve never been in any place like it.”

“I’ve heard that it co-exists in several places across the realm,” said Tobry.

Dawn broke, cold and clear. He consulted the map, headed across into the neighbouring valley and took another path, now heading west. They were still riding down and the snow was scanty here. They followed the path for some hours more, crested a hill and Tobry stopped.

“There it is!”

The sinkhole lay in shadow, surrounded by tall trees, but even so it seemed unusually black, as if a pool of night had collected there and could not escape.

“Why is it black?” said Tali. “When I saw the Abysm before, it was pure white.”

Holm and Tobry exchanged glances but no one spoke. On the far side of the sinkhole, something flashed, as if a powerful lantern was being used to probe its depths.

“Hurry. He mustn’t get Grandys’ body up.”

There must have been rain recently, for the snow was gone and every brook running. They galloped across the ridge, angled down the wooded flank and across the valley floor.

“We’ve got to go faster,” said Tobry. “Tali, you’re the lightest. Ride ahead.”

She urged her mount to give everything it had and the horse lengthened its stride. It flashed between the trees, leapt a rivulet in the valley bottom, slowed momentarily in the soft soil on the far side then accelerated again.

For any non-Cythonian, merely approaching the Abysm was a shocking sacrilege. Stealing Grandys’ body from it must be an offence so monstrous that it would shake Cython to its foundations.

Her horse careered up the long slope. Mist wisped from the sinkhole and a halo of green grass surrounded it, out for thirty or forty feet. It looked unnatural at this time of year, when the grass everywhere else was brown and sere. A triangular frame made of freshly cut timbers had been constructed near the downhill edge of the sinkhole, and a wooden beam extended from it over the edge. A thick rope ran across the arm, through a block and tackle at its end and down over the edge into the Abysm. Judging by the tension of the rope, it held something heavy.

Rix’s bravos turned away from their work, laughing. Making some offensive joke about me, no doubt, Tali thought. Her horse skidded to a halt, tearing up chunks of moist turf. She tried to scramble off, caught a foot in the stirrup and fell on her head. The men roared.

She got up, wiping her face. “Rix, stop!”

He jerked a thumb at his grinning men. They moved down the slope, reluctantly.

Rix’s tanned face was unnaturally pale. “It’s the only way to save Garramide.”

“Where did you get the idea?”

“It came to me yesterday morning.”

“What if it came from Maloch?”

“How do you mean?”

“The sword’s enchantment has been working on you since the first time you used it. Tobry thinks it put the idea in your head to come here, and so do I.”

“Why would it do that?”

Rix’s dead hand stirred. The top of Tali’s head throbbed, above the master pearl. He forced his hand down. Maloch rattled in its scabbard, then jerked sideways so wildly that he was heaved towards the edge of the Abysm. He braced himself against the force. The scabbard gave another jerk, tearing one of its leather straps.

“Come away from the edge, Rix. It wants to get back to its master.”

Rix tried to move away, but the sword was straining so hard towards the edge that his feet began to slip on the damp grass. Tali took him around the waist and heaved but could not resist the force – it was dragging them both to the brink. Tobry and Holm galloped up.

“Give us a hand, would you?” Rix said in a croaky voice.

The scabbard jerked again. Holm took hold of it and held it until it stilled. Tobry cut a length of rope, took ten turns around the scabbard and tied it down. The three of them held Rix and tried to heave him away, but could not budge him. Tobry tied another rope around Rix’s chest, mounted his horse and looped the other end around the saddle horn. He spurred his horse. It strained forwards as though trying to drag a boulder and, with Tali and Holm also heaving, they got Rix away from the edge.

“Further,” said Tobry. “Out to the outer rim of the green grass.”

The sword was still rattling, though the resistance seemed lesser now, and after a couple of minutes they had Rix out of the halo onto the winter-withered grass. Maloch went still in its scabbard. The rope was so tight around Rix’s chest that he was gasping. Tobry untied it; Rix fell to the ground.

“The first time I saw Grandys’ body in the Abysm,” said Tali, “I had a feeling that something was terribly wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” said Rix. “It seemed like the answer to all our problems.”

“It was a brilliant idea,” said Tobry. “And if that’s all there was to it, I dare say it would have worked. But Maloch had other ideas.”

Rix turned to look back at the black sinkhole. Tendrils of steam, as they rose from it, showed the colours of the rainbow.

Maloch rattled violently and lifted itself a foot out of the scabbard. Rix closed his left hand around the hilt and savagely jammed it back in.

Tali walked up to the edge of the Abysm and a pungent whiff of alkoyl made her head spin. She held her breath, looked down at the writhing shadows and opaline gleams in the uncanny blackness, and felt such fear as she had never known.

As though the world itself stood on the edge of annihilation.

Deep in the blackened shaft of the once-white Abysm, the petrified man who had been Axil Grandys, and was now a solid lump of opal the size and shape of a man, roused from aeons-long crystal dreaming.

What had woken him? His opaline eyes were stinging, his nose burning from a pungent vapour gushing up the shaft. A vapour that made his nose bleed and glorious visions form behind his eyes.

He shook them off. He was not a man to seek refuge in chymical visions. All he craved was reality. But as the reality of what had been done to him and the other four Herovians struck him, he felt such a rage that it shook the shaft.

In the blackness far below, Lirriam and Yulia were also rousing, though they could not move either. Had Grandys’ tongue and throat not been solid opal he would have screamed with fury and frustration.

Another memory wisped up from his crystal dreaming. A
recent
memory: the destruction of his heritage at Tirnan Twil. Every book, every paper, every artefact and personal item had been burned in a furious, hour-long conflagration.

How could this have happened? Memory showed him a pale, blurred face – a woman who might have saved Tirnan Twil but had not. Rage,
rage
!

But then – ah, sweet joy! His right hand, his focus, guide and protector. Maloch was nearby! The sword had protected him so well, all his life, that one day Grandys had forgotten the peril he was in and laid it aside while he went for a swim. That day, that very hour, his enemy struck.

Before Grandys had left Thanneron on the First Fleet, in search of the Promised Realm, potent magery had been imbued within the sword to guide and protect him. Now he called to it.

After an agonising delay it recognised him.

Get – me – out!
said Grandys.

Maloch’s magery continued the de-petrifaction, though painfully slowly, and from the inside out. But the sword-bearer was riding away and the job was not near done. Could Grandys hold him back and draw enough magery to complete the process? Even escape the Abysm?

He tried to call the sword using his own, weaker magery. It would have worked had he been able to utter a single word, but he had not yet regained the ability to speak aloud. He reached towards Maloch, tried to draw the power he needed from it by thought alone, and almost succeeded.

Almost.

Then Maloch was carried out of range and its magery faded. Was he to be trapped here until true death took him? Now that he had been de-petrified internally, he could truly die. Grandys sucked in the alkoyl-laden air, praying it would be enough to restore flesh from stone. It had to.

After a lifetime of gleeful bad deeds, Grandys feared death as no other man could.