Dark Heart Part 50

'You called me friend,' Torve said.

'And you, friend, went and rutted with a halfwit, one I thought we were rid of. Look at you. Omerans mate only when their masters tell them. You know this. Not only did you wriggle through the net I placed about you to keep you pliant and obedient, you took up with another animal!'

'Why is that worse than if he'd fornicated with a human?' Duon heard himself ask. His voice sounded angry, but in his heart he was frightened of the man with arrow-shafts in his chest. There were things worse than death...

'It is worse because I say it is!' the man snapped, not even turning his head. 'Because I established the laws three thousand years ago to keep the races pure! Their behaviour threatens everything!' He turned and sought the porters. 'Where is that stone?'

'You said not to hurry,' one of them said, very unwisely.

'HURRY NOW!'

The words pressed in on Duon's ears. Guiltily he realised he'd escaped the G.o.d-Emperor's wrath. He watched it descend on the unfortunate porter.

'Please!'

'Let my brother live!'

The shouts were ignored. The speaker fell to the ground, hands on his ears, but the blood seeped through his fingers regardless and leaked onto the pale sand.

The reason for the mercenary's sudden anxiety revealed itself when a near-dozen people filed into the enclosure. Duon recognised the Falthans, the tall man at their head.

'It would be wise to leave the boy alone,' the tall man said. Heredrew, Duon thought, recalling the name.

Duon was unsure which boy was meant: the one dying on the sand or the one in Dryman's grasp.

'He is mine and beyond your power,' the mercenary said.

'He is that,' Heredrew agreed. 'I'm asking you. Appealing to you.'

Dryman released the Omeran, who fell to the ground as though boneless.

'No,' he said. 'I'm doing something I ought to have had done some time ago. Take your people and leave this place, unless you are prepared to see their blood join his on the sand.'

'And this is how you would live in the world? How you would deal with the weak and vulnerable? Are you trying to raise up an opposition to yourself and your sister, or is it merely a by-product of your towering arrogance? If you would have a place among us, you cannot behave like this.'

'Leave,' Dryman said, his word hard as rock, heavy as a building, sharp as the edge of a blade. The Falthans had no choice but to back away and file out of the canyon.

Duon had hoped Heredrew possessed the strength to intervene, but either he did not or he chose not to use it. The latter, possibly. Why, after all, should the fate of an Amaqi servant concern a Falthan?

Why should it concern you? Duon barely noticed the voice's arrival, and did not acknowledge it.

The last two brothers fought with a stone half-embedded in the rock wall, but it would clearly be some time before they broke it free. Dryman beckoned with one hand and the wall exploded in a shower of rock and sand. The stone flew through the air, fetching one of the brothers a clip on the side of his head, and landed at the mercenary's feet.

The two porters scrambled over the debris and made their way to Dryman's side. Pasty-faced and dull-eyed, they seemed more automaton than alive.

'Hold him,' commanded the mercenary. 'You on the shoulders, you on the legs. Force his legs apart.'

Torve began to struggle, but Dryman put a hand on his servant's forehead and the fight seemed to drain from him.

'In the absence of a surgeon this will have to do,' he said. 'You are lucky, my pet. Anyone else attempting this would kill you. However, with me you will lose exactly what I want you to lose.'

'No!' cried Lenares, throwing herself on the mercenary. He swatted her away: her body flew impossibly high, landed in a heap and flopped limply beside the small depression in the ground. She moaned once and went still.

He drew a small knife and held it up to the light, then breathed on the blade. Duon recognised it as the man's 'research' knife. At a command the porters lowered Torve until his rear lay astride the stone, then pulled down his breeches. Dryman grasped the Omeran's member and pulled it taut, then raised the knife and sliced it free, along with the b.a.l.l.s. Torve shrieked, then fainted. Blood spurted in a great flow, but the mercenary pa.s.sed a hand over the wound. Duon saw the hand glow briefly white, and heard the hiss as the wound was cauterised, then blanched at the stench of cooked meat.

He'd seen this done once in the desert, an attempt to save a soldier from c.o.c.k-rot, but it had not been successful. Of course, the surgeon had not been a G.o.d.

'No!' cried a cracked voice. 'Umu, I set you free! Heal him!'

Lenares' hand twitched, as though letting go of a string, and in answer a manic laugh rang out across the enclosure.

'You wish me to contend with my brother for your lover's manhood?' the voice shrieked, pressed full with glee. 'What will haunt you forever, little Lenares, is the knowledge I could have helped him-but I chose not to! And now I take my freedom!'

The voice came from a shadowed part of the room. Duon could make out a misty form, feminine and curved, with long hair unbound and head tilted back, as though taken with uncontrollable laughter.

'Brother,' the voice said in acknowledgment, and the head dipped. 'You make progress, I see. Yet you remain soft-hearted. Why keep the Omeran alive?'

Dryman raised his eyes from the damage he had done. 'Because he is an anomaly. I remain curious about him. And he may yet hold the key to my research.'

The Daughter laughed. 'You continue to tinker with the gates of death. I, on the other hand, am well prepared to step through them at the end of a long and triumphant life. That makes me more powerful than you.'

'And more ruthless,' her brother replied, seemingly unconcerned by her boast. 'What do you intend to do with your erstwhile captor?'

'Oh, she will suffer before she dies. And I do not have to raise a finger to achieve it; you have seen to that. You cannot imagine how profoundly her lover's loss will affect her. Far more than it will affect him, in fact.'

Her voice grew stronger by the moment, her form more substantial. 'May I ask you a favour?' she said to her brother.

'Anything within reason,' he replied.

'The trophy in your hand,' she said. 'I would like to have it. I have the perfect setting for it.'

He nodded, as though the request was a reasonable one. 'As you wish,' he said. 'But do not allow yourself to be deceived. You and I will face each other some time soon. One of us will rule as the Father once did, will be made whole again, dwelling completely within the world yet anch.o.r.ed in the void beyond the wall. Until that day we will continue to cooperate, as we have done.'

'Why not end it now?' asked the Daughter. 'Two-thirds of them are here, with the other third close by. Why not destroy them? They are strong, but even the strongest could not stand against our combined might. Recall how we dealt with the Crynon Magickers. They used the power of Ilix against us, but it did not avail them.'

'These people are not as they appear to you. Sister, you are ever a fool. In your haste to inflict death and destruction you never consider the long game. I have already given you my reason for keeping the Omeran alive; rest a.s.sured I have equally valid reasons to see the others keep drawing breath, for now. Little Umu, if you wish to kill someone, why not try your strength against me?'

He flicked a finger and instantly he was encased in a bubble of what looked like water. Immediately it began to grow, forcing those nearby away from him.

'Come, sister, our power is enhanced in this place. Raise your hand against mine. Let us see if cunning and desperation can defeat strength and wisdom.'

The Daughter's figure wavered as the bubble drew slowly nearer. Some distance short of where Duon stood it stopped and held firm. The membrane looked as though it could be pierced with a pin, but Duon was not prepared to touch it.

Neither was the Daughter, it seemed, even though the Son's goading had angered her.

The G.o.d smiled. 'You will leave now,' he said pleasantly. 'We will discuss this further elsewhere. This is my place and my time. Pleasant as a discussion with you always is, this one is at an end. Go and recover your strength.'

'You do not command me, brother. Yet I shall leave you to your doctoring and your research. And when you travel through the gates of death for yourself, I will be there to watch you. Perhaps you will be good enough to tell me of what you see there, so I might avoid your failure.'

He took a step towards her and raised a hand, but did not attack. Instead, he threw a small, b.l.o.o.d.y object in her direction. Duon watched it arc through the air, spattering drops as it went, until it was swallowed in the shadows.

'It will make a suitable trophy,' she said. 'I will think of little Lenares whenever I see it.' Her fragile form wavered, then dissolved.

Dryman picked up his servant, who remained unconscious, legs akimbo, wearing a great red scar where his manhood had once rested. 'My servant and I will now leave,' the mercenary announced. 'You will not try to interfere with our pa.s.sing. And you will not attempt to track us with any of the devices you employ.'

He turned his head to where Lenares had fallen; the girl had hauled herself to a sitting position. 'To you I offer a special caution. You are alive only because the Daughter wishes to exact a full measure of retribution for her imprisonment-and, I confess, because I wish you to escape her grasp; a reward you deserve for providing me with the entertainment of watching her enslaved. But if you attempt your number-working on me, it will cost you your life and the lives of all those you consider precious. And remember, I hold what remains of your lover in my hands. Your word is all that stands between him and death. Do you give it? Do you promise you will not interfere? Or must I commence slicing away other parts of this animal?'

'No, don't hurt him,' Lenares said, sobbing where she sat. 'Please. I give you a promise that I will do nothing to harm you. Just let him live.'

'Good. You are a truth-sayer and a truth-keeper. You will not break your word, just as he cannot disobey me. You are both now trapped, and my Father's plan is stymied.'

He laid the Omeran down on the sand and drew himself up to his full height. As he spoke he seemed to tower over everyone else in the enclosure.

'Do you hear me, Father? I have taken your weapons and blunted them! Did you think I wouldn't recognise your finger's print on these foolish dupes? You are defeated, old man. I SAID, DO YOU HEAR ME?'

The words were not shouted, but they carried incredible weight, impacting on their hearers' ears as though they were the tolling of a bell.

'What is happening? What is he doing? What was that scream?' Sauxa plied Stella with questions enough for everyone in the party.

She waved her hand behind her back, not wanting to turn around. 'Hush,' she said. 'The mercenary has done something to his servant. Cut something. I hope it was not-oh, Most High, it was.'

'What? Tell us!' The old man had no taste for suspense, and a lack of patience to boot.

'He's castrated poor Torve.'

'His servant,' Sauxa said dismissively. 'But he'll not survive without a sawbones to patch him up. I've gelded many a colt; I could help.'

'It was more than a gelding, Sauxa,' Stella said. 'The blade took everything. I doubt there is much you could do for him. Nor do I think the mercenary would let you.'

Heredrew eased his way into the narrow pa.s.sageway, his shoulder pressed hard against hers. 'Dryman is much more than he appears to be,' he said. 'Even the name is ironic. I fear he has been deceiving everyone. The power he used to drive us out of the room was immense.'

'Your equivalent, then?' Phemanderac questioned. 'The overlord of Elamaq?'

'Perhaps,' Heredrew replied. 'If he is not, I do not want to meet his master.'

'What is happening now?' the man from Chardzou wanted to know. 'My eyes aren't so good any more. Tell me.'

'Hush. Someone else has entered the enclosure. Someone very powerful.' Heredrew shook his head in denial or disgust.

'No one went past us,' Stella said wryly.

'I believe both the Son and the Daughter are manifested in front of us. No wonder I cannot force my way back in.'

Conal cleared his throat, then spoke. But the voice that came from his mouth was not his. 'We are very nearly defeated,' it said.

Both Stella and Heredrew snapped their heads around in shock; instantly Stella knew who spoke to them. As did Heredrew, by the look of hatred on his face. The others drew back.

'Is this the voice in Conal's head?' Phemanderac asked. 'The hidden magician?'

'No,' said Stella.

'Who then?'

'I don't...want to say.' I'm frightened.

Conal's mouth spoke again. 'I have a request to make of Stella and of Kannwar. I have no right to expect more of two who have suffered so much, but only you can accomplish my deception.'

A pause, punctuated by the priest's heavy breathing, as though he tried to fight the possession of his throat.

'He's served as a conduit for that voice before,' Heredrew said. 'It was not welcome then, and clearly it is not welcome now.'

'I wish to trick my son,' the voice said. 'Will you a.s.sist me? Will both of you lend me yourselves for just a while?'

'You've asked this of me before,' said Heredrew, 'when I was far too young to know what it would cost. Yet I knew enough to refuse you. What makes you think I will answer differently this time?'

'I don't think,' said the voice candidly. 'I only ask. Remember, I always have other plans. But I choose the plan that offers most benefit to all who partic.i.p.ate in it.'

'Benefit?' Heredrew cried bitterly. 'Your plan was for me to become a freak, a boy despised by his peers. And it happened, even though I tried to resist. Where is the choice, Most High?'

'Must we always have this conversation, Kannwar? You have exacted your revenge on me and on those I love many times over for my precipitate action. But for some people, chosen by birth or circ.u.mstance to be pivots on which the world turns, choice is subsumed by need.'

'Your need.'

The voice did not deny it.

'I will a.s.sist you,' Stella said.

'No, Stella!' Heredrew said. 'Not like this. You have no idea what it will cost you!'

She turned to face him, face twitching, then struck him a ringing blow across the cheek with her open hand. 'What it will cost? How could it cost as much as the price I'm paying for your a.s.sistance all those years ago?' Her voice softened. 'Drew, how can you talk of selfishness and need, when everything you do serves your own purposes?'

He stared at her strangely, then down at the hand she'd used to strike him. 'Look at your hand,' he said.

'Oh, I did, didn't I. With my illusory hand.' She smiled. 'I must have wanted to hurt you so much the desire to strike you overcame my doubt.'

'Good,' he said, smiling back at her. 'I will endeavour to engineer many more such occasions then.'

'Serving him together could be such an occasion,' she said.

They both smiled.

A reply came to the G.o.d-Emperor's challenge.

'We hear you, Keppia. And we are reminded why we must oppose you, of why our long efforts over thousands of years must succeed.'

Movement at the entrance to the enclosure, then someone walked in. The young woman Stella, followed by Heredrew. There was no sign of the other Falthans. Neither of the two was the source of the voice, Duon realised, yet it seemed they both spoke, and the sound the voice made was a combination of her cool, pleasant tone and his well-spoken, clipped one. A sound of compelling authority.

The mercenary acted with incredible swiftness. The bubble around him, which had shrunk to little more than the size of his body, sprang out again to encompa.s.s at least half the enclosure.