*
When Shimmer collapsed into her commander’s arms the man gently lowered her to the ground and the others, Blues and Cal-Brinn, knelt with him next to her. Kyle could only wonder on the shock of such an unveiling. The Crimson Guard Vow – a curse in truth, just like that of the T’lan. He shook his head at the horrifying injustice of it. Then jerked, startled, as the Jaghut elder raised her arms, calling: ‘Summoner! We have delayed here too long.’
Silverfox spun from the kneeling figures, sudden panicked awareness in her face. ‘T’lan guard us!’ she ordered.
The ranks of the Kerluhm came clattering forward across the rocks to form a broad defensive circle around the Crimson Guard and the Jaghut elder and her descendants.
Fisher, Jethiss and Kyle pushed forward into the circle. Moments later the Icebloods, the three of the Sayer, and the son of the Heels, joined them.
Beyond the nearest boulders and debris of this high shoulder, all round them, there rose ash-grey shapes from among the fallen rocks. Kyle had never seen them before, but he immediately knew them for what they were: the slate-hued, thin and elongated shapes of the Forkrul Assail. He also knew at that moment that it was unlikely that they would get off the mountain alive.
The alien figures remained immobile, as if carved of stone themselves. The Imass waited, obsidian and flint swords readied. Kyle drew the white blade and to his astonishment – and extreme discomfort – saw the attention of the Forkrul shift to him as their slit eyes all moved at once.
Jethiss moved to confront them but Fisher snapped up a hand to grasp his arm, pulling him back. ‘Not yet,’ he murmured, ‘if you must at all.’
The Andii eased backwards, acquiescing to the bard’s urgings – at least for now.
The Forkrul then raised arms to point up the slope to a higher ridge of stone. Kyle glanced up to see two there waiting. Stones crunched as the Jaghut elder passed through the circled Imass. She paused then, looking back to them. ‘One from each of us gathered here must come,’ she said. The words troubled Kyle in that he sensed something deeper behind them. Something profound and ritualized.
Further steps sounded over the stones as Silverfox stepped forth. With her came Kilava and Pran Chole. The Sayer youth, Orman, joined the Jaghut elder, the wicked-looking spear cradled in his arms. The matriarch gestured, inviting up Jethiss. He turned to Fisher, who nodded, and in turn reached out to pull on Kyle’s arm. Kyle resisted. ‘There are enough,’ he said.
‘No. The white blade must come. I understand this now. This is no accident, Kyle. This is why we are here.’ Fisher peered about, his eyes widening. ‘Great Abyss,’ he murmured, ‘Four. We are four again.’ He pressed his sleeve to his face, daubing away a sheen of sweat. ‘Gods guide us!’
Not understanding the bard’s words, but granting the man’s urgency, he relented, and followed up the slope.
Here, two Forkrul, no different from the others as far as Kyle could discern, awaited them. They stood tall, equal even unto the Jaghut, on gangly strangely jointed legs that looked able to bend backwards, with frail-looking thin arms, and long pinched heads. Oddly, each face bore a vertical scar, or suture, that ran from chin up to sloped skull. Kyle was not fooled by their frail appearance. He knew that they faced a great danger here, and not only they: all in this region faced destruction should these Forkrul bestir themselves.
One tilted its head, studying the Jaghut. ‘You trouble us again,’ it said.
‘Through no choice of mine,’ she answered.
‘False,’ broke in the other Forkrul, its voice as harsh as cracking stone. ‘You chose.’
‘Do you dispute this judgement?’ the first one asked.
The Jaghut sighed her assent, then, raising her chin to regard them more closely, asked: ‘What do we call you?’
The first inclined its head as if to grant the appropriateness of the question. ‘That you ask reveals you are aware that names are irrelevant among any community of unadulterated Assail. All are equal. However, when communicating with you lesser kinds we adopt titles as we understand you require such props. Therefore, you may name me Arbiter, and this one Penance.’
‘Very well,’ the Matriarch answered.
‘So,’ Arbiter spoke again. ‘You trouble us though you know we could cleanse this landmass as we have others before. Do you dispute this?’
She clenched her lips in distaste, but nodded her curt agreement. ‘Cleansing would avert further irritation,’ put in Penance.
‘You Forkrul,’ Silverfox suddenly announced. ‘Your conceit is matched only by your arrogance.’
Arbiter fixed its slit eyes upon her. ‘Of all parties present, you Imass bear the greatest weight of guilt.’
‘Do you dispute this guilt?’ Penance demanded.
Silverfox’s aged features paled. She exchanged a look with Pran Chole, then cleared her throat warily. ‘If you mean the Vow, then, no. I do not dispute this.’
‘The hostilities between you and the Jaghut is what we reference,’ Penance clarified.
Silverfox pointed to the elder, outraged. ‘They started the war!’
‘Provocation matters not,’ said Arbiter. ‘What matters is you Imass broke the ancient founding of the peace.’
Kyle tensed as Fisher stepped up. The bard raised his hands, saying, ‘And we are four now, gathered here once more.’
Arbiter tilted its head once again. ‘Four?’ Its gaze fell upon Jethiss and it let out a long hissing breath. ‘Ah. I see. The K’Chain Che’Malle are for the most part gone from the lands. Yet a new race now stands among us. Dare you pledge to a new founding of the peace?’
Jethiss turned to study Fisher for a time. Kyle was oddly reassured to see the man’s hands shake slightly as he rubbed them down his thighs. He took a deep breath. ‘Yet there are other races …’
‘True,’ Arbiter acknowledged. ‘But they have not moved together in all-out hostilities against other kind. As all of us gathered here have.’
‘We never did,’ the Jaghut elder corrected.
‘So you insist,’ Penance answered brusquely. ‘Yet here you are.’
Arbiter raised a hand for silence. ‘I sense that while the others may not be here … they may have cast a vote.’ To Kyle’s horror the Forkrul pointed a crooked finger directly at him. ‘You – child of the Imass. You bear a potent token. Would you bring it forth?’
Kyle shot an uncertain glance to Fisher, who nodded his encouragement and gestured him forward. Stepping up, Kyle drew the white blade. He offered it grip first.
To his astonishment, the Forkrul shied away from the weapon and waved it aside with a disdainful flick of its fingers. ‘Not that thing of chaos. We speak of the token at your neck.’
Now Kyle flinched back, confused and shocked. Not the stone – anything but that. He clenched his free hand to the amber at his neck, sheathed the white blade. He shook his head. ‘I’ll not give this up.’
‘It speaks well that you will not. May we examine it?’
Kyle glanced again to Fisher. ‘On the understanding that he does not relinquish it,’ the bard said.
‘Of course,’ Arbiter answered, sounding almost irritated. ‘It would be of no value otherwise.’ It held out a long-fingered hand.
Kyle snapped the leather thong and handed over the modest token of polished amber – the one thing he had left of his time with the giant Ereko. The Forkrul held it in its palm, closed its eyes for an instant, then peered up with a strange new expression in its alien face. ‘We were almost as brothers, you know,’ it said. ‘We regard ourselves as children of the earth. It is … surprising … that you should carry such a gift from the Thel Akai.’
‘Speaking for the T’lan,’ Silverfox announced, ‘we pledge to a peace between us.’
A long silence followed this as even the Forkrul seemed at a startled loss. ‘You so swear?’ murmured Penance, a dangerous note in its voice.
Pran Chole bowed his head to Silverfox and she nodded her grave agreement. ‘We so pledge.’
The Forkrul extended its hand and Kyle took the necklace. ‘What of the Jaghut?’ it asked.
The woman motioned the Sayer youth, Orman, forward. The young man adjusted the patch on his eye and stepped up with his spear held straight. He thumped its butt to the stones, saying, ‘We so pledge.’
‘And the Tiste Andii?’
Jethiss nodded solemnly. ‘I believe I have been sent here to make this pledge. And to ask of you a boon …’
The two Forkrul exchanged a glance. ‘We will adjudicate that in time,’ answered Penance.
‘As to this new founding of the peace,’ intoned Arbiter, ‘we Forkrul pledge our honouring.’ It gestured curtly and the many Assail scattered among the rocks clambered quickly up the slope. All in eerie silence.
Kyle examined the modest lump of amber in his palm. Did you know, Ereko? Was this why you left this behind? Yet how could you know? Perhaps it was a hope only; a seed cast into the future with the hope that it would find the right conditions, the right soil, to germinate. He retied the lace about his neck.
‘Well done,’ Fisher murmured low to him. The bard sounded infinitely relieved. ‘The giving of that stone is a tale I would have you tell.’
‘It is a sad one.’
‘Of course. All the important ones are.’ Then he turned away, his breath catching, and Kyle glanced over: Jethiss now faced the Forkrul. Fisher was at his side in an instant, taking his arm. ‘You need not pursue this,’ he hissed.
‘I wish to,’ the Andii answered, quite calm.
‘It is perilous beyond your grasp.’
‘My memories are slowly returning, Fisher. I believe that this will complete them.’ The Andii offered a crooked smile. ‘Finding out who you are in truth is always a perilous undertaking.’ He faced the Forkrul. ‘I ask a boon.’
Arbiter nodded. ‘Speak.’
‘Once, we Andii were blessed by the protection of a powerful champion and weapon. A storied blade. Now he and it are gone. I ask of you Forkrul a weapon worthy of us Andii. Worthy to protect us. Will you grant me this boon?’
The Forkrul glanced to one another once again and Kyle intuited a great deal of communication was exchanged in each of these moments. They broke off the gaze and Arbiter turned to Jethiss. ‘We shall fashion for you a blade worthy of you,’ it answered.
‘I accept,’ Jethiss said even as Fisher drew breath to cut in with a shout.
‘No! That wording. I fear that wording. There is something there. Some hidden danger.’
The Andii merely let out a long exhausted breath. ‘It is too late. What is done is done. Now we shall see what the Forkrul can provide.’
In answer, Arbiter curled its thin fingers, inviting Jethiss onward. ‘Come.’ The Andii followed the two up the slope. Eventually he disappeared from sight behind a boulder.
Fisher sat heavily among the rocks. He hid his face in his hands. ‘I fear we shall never see him again.’
Kyle eased himself down next to him, sighed his utter weariness. ‘We shall see.’
Footsteps sounded and a shadow loomed over them: Kyle squinted up at the Jaghut woman and Orman with her. ‘You will await your friend?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘He is a fool to ask anything of the Forkrul. They are vicious, cruel, and amoral.’
‘Then it is best we do not disturb them,’ Fisher observed, sharply.
The Jaghut woman tipped her head to him. ‘I have a modest abode nearby. I will bring you some food and blankets.’ She limped off. The stones rattled and crunched beneath her sandals.
Kyle studied the young man, Orman. ‘You will return to your people?’
He leaned upon the tall spear, touched self-consciously at the patch over his eye. ‘Yes. When the ice melts – and Mother assures me it will quite quickly – it is my wish that we should build a new Greathall where we shall all reside. All we Icebloods. The blood-feuds and vendettas between us, I hope, will be things of the past.’
‘A worthy goal,’ Fisher said.
‘You will always be welcome in our hall.’
‘I shall look forward to such a visit in the future.’
‘And you too, Kyle, friend of the Children of the Earth, and wielder of the white blade.’
‘I thank you.’
‘Until then,’ and Orman bowed and headed down the slope, thumping the butt of the spear loudly to the stones as he went.
Fisher let out a heartfelt breath. ‘That spear makes me as uncomfortable as your sword.’
‘There is something primal about it. And it is an Imass weapon, after all.’
Silverfox approached with Pran Chole and the woman Kilava. Kyle and Fisher scrambled to their feet to bow to her. ‘Summoner,’ Fisher welcomed her.
She waved off their formality, addressed Kyle. ‘Thank you, White-blade. I do not know what it is you carry, but somehow it tipped the scales in our favour. I am not na?ve enough to believe that the Forkrul have hearts, but perhaps it touched something within them. A sense of nostalgia, maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘In any case, you have my gratitude.’
‘I think of what I carry as friendship,’ Kyle said.
‘Friendship?’ She brushed back her wind-tossed hair. Kyle was struck by the unexpectedly girlish gesture from such an apparently aged woman. ‘Would that they could understand such a thing,’ she murmured.
‘You are off?’ Fisher asked.
‘Yes. We head south. I would gather up as many of the T’lan as I can, then we shall continue our search.’
‘Your search?’ Kyle asked.
‘Yes. I will find them all, friend Kyle. And when I have found them they will know the gift of the Redeemer and I shall release them. None shall be left behind.’
Fisher bowed once more. ‘I wish you success.’
Pran Chole gave them a nod, dipping his deer headdress. ‘Farewell. Or not. Perhaps we shall meet again.’
‘Perhaps,’ Kyle acknowledged.
Last came Kilava. The short powerful woman now carried a half-smile on her lips. ‘That went far better than I had hoped or expected. Well done, Whiteblade.’ She faced Fisher. ‘Bard. Good to see you again.’
‘And you, Kilava.’
She leaned forward and planted a light brush of a kiss on Fisher’s cheek, then walked off. Kyle watched her go, astonished, then returned his wondering gaze to the bard.
‘You were once …’
Fisher sat once more, sighing, his hands hanging loose over his knees. ‘Another time, Kyle.’
They were alone now with the moaning, gusting wind. The thick deck of clouds churned below, effectively cutting off the world beneath. It seemed to Kyle that here among the frigid peaks they were in the realm of the gods. The day was cooling: the sun had descended behind the cloud cover to the west.
He blew upon his hands to warm them and knew that without his Iceblood, his Jaghut heritage, he would be frozen stiff.
Fisher opened the satchel at his side and withdrew the stringed box, the kantele of the Losts. He examined it to make certain it hadn’t been harmed.
‘Will you play?’ Kyle asked.
He shook his head. ‘No. Too cold.’ He wrapped the instrument and gently returned it to its case.
‘What tale will you tell of what has occurred here?’ Kyle asked.
The bard nodded profoundly. ‘Ah yes. That is the question.’ He extended his legs straight out before himself and crossed them at the ankle, meshed his fingers over his chest. ‘One mustn’t feel constrained by the facts.’ He shot Kyle a sideways glance. ‘Poetic truth is a higher truth, you know. Names and events must be changed to disguise the mundane – and invariably disappointing – truth behind.’
Kyle smoothed his now long and drooping moustache, smiling. ‘Of course. In other words, you’ll make up what you want and claim that’s what happened.’
‘Of course. Now, tell me the tale of your finding of this stone.’
Kyle eased back among the rocks as best he could. He shot a glance high above, searching for any sign of Jethiss, then pulled his cloak tighter against the wind. ‘Well … I didn’t find it. It was given to me. Left behind by a friend.’