Julia Gray - Guardian 04 - The Red Glacier

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Prologue

'And do you know what the sword was called?'

'Slayer?' Yarek replied, getting it wrong deliberately so that it wouldn't

spoil his grandfather's story.

'No.' Takkara smiled at the boy's innocent expression. 'It was called the

Peacemaker. Strange name for a sword, eh?'

Yarek nodded.

'It was called that,' the old man explained, 'because it made the warrior who

wielded it invincible. His foes would fall before him, making the ice run red

with their blood, and only when they were all defeated would there be peace.'

'So why don't our generals use it?' Yarek asked.

'It's not as simple as that. The Peacemaker was lost long ago, many centuries

before even I was born.'

'How could anyone lose anything so important?'

'That's a good question,' Takkara replied. 'The only answer I can give you is

that the gods are sometimes capricious — even cruel.'

'Who forged the sword?'

'No one knows for certain, but it must have been a very great wizard.'

'Then why can't one of our wizards make another one?'

'Because the magic was lost too.'

The boy nodded, looking thoughtful.

'No one knows where the blade is now,' Takkara went on, 'although most people

assume it's buried deep within the ice that never melts, guarded by the Lonely

Peaks. And that's not all.' The old man's voice fell to a conspiratorial

whisper. 'The sword only becomes visible when the Red Moon is full and all the

other moons are new — and that's a very rare combination. You'll be lucky to

see it once in your lifetime.'

'Have you ever seen it?' Yarek asked.

'No, but my father did, when he was not much older than you are now. He told

me that all the mountains, all the snow fields, all the glaciers turned red,

as if the gods themselves were weeping blood.'

'Did he look for the sword?'

'Of course! But he was too young to go very far, and much stronger men had to

turn back that night. Many men died and even more lost fingers or toes to the

bitter cold, but no one even caught a glimpse of the sword. Some say that only

a hero who can walk on through the winter dark will ever be able to find the

Peacemaker.'

'But that's impossible!' Yarek objected.

'Who knows what a true hero can do?'

The boy still looked doubtful, but decided not to argue. He knew that he'd

been lucky to have his grandfather to himself for so long. Takkara was the

best inspirator in the whole of the Black Quarter, and his services were much

in demand. This late in the season the generals called for him less often, but

there was usually one last campaign being planned, one last daring raid on the

White or the Gold, and it was rare for Takkara to be able to return to his

village home for more than a few hours at a time. It was rarer still for him

to be persuaded into retelling one of the old stories. When he was not working

he liked to take a rest from such things - but he found it almost impossible

to refuse his grandson.

Yarek could see that the old man was tired now, and wondered how he could keep

him talking. If he did not, the boy knew that one of the women would soon come

and drag him back to their world, to the tedium of lessons, of cooking and

sewing, of building fires and weaving cloth. Yarek preferred the world of

adventure and battle, and ever since his father had been killed, his

grandfather represented his only direct link to that world.

'Can I fetch you a drink, jokull?' he asked, using the term that denoted

respect for an elder. Literally, it meant 'ice-wisdom', implying that the

person had a great deal of experience and was known for the proven worth of

his advice.

Takkara nodded his assent and watched as the boy scurried away. Sometimes, as

with most children, his motives were transparent, but there were other times

when it was clear that Yarek's mind worked on several different levels.

Watching him now, as he dipped the ladle into the mitral cauldron and filled a

metal cup, Takkara could not help wondering about his grandson's future. Yarek

had always been good-natured, but recently there had been something disturbing

about the intelligence hidden behind that deceptively cherubic face. Someone

so young should not question things as much as he did. Takkara was about to

say something to this effect when Yarek beat him to it — and in doing so,

deepened the old man's disquiet.

'But it's not really true, is it?' he asked, as he handed over the cup. 'I

mean, the sword is just a myth, isn't it?'

'Myths can be real. They have to begin somewhere. And there are some things we

just have to accept on faith.'

'Why?'

'Because that is what it means to be a soldier,' the inspirator replied

awkwardly. 'And you'll be a soldier soon, like your father.'

That silenced the boy for a while, and Takkara felt a wave of sadness envelop

them both. He reminded himself that his son had died in glory, that he now

strode across the Great Plain, but the pride he felt in Borgar's sacrifice did

not wholly counteract the ache of his absence. Nor did it quell the old man's

anger.

'What if I become a wizard instead?' Yarek asked eventually.

Takkara laughed, glad that the boy had returned their conversation to the

future rather than dwelling on the past — even if his question was ridiculous.

'You mean a neomancer. That would be good too. You could—'

'No. A wizard,' Yarek stated with solemn persistence.

'That's impossible!' the old man snapped, angry now. 'And you know it.'

The boy retreated into silence again, realizing that he'd gone too far this

time. A short while later, Takkara's curiosity overcame his misgivings.

'Do you think you have talent?' he asked tentatively. 'Enough to gain a

sizarship?'

'I hope so,' his grandson replied, though he sounded less confident now.

'Life under the pyramids is not easy,' Takkara told him. 'And any glory you

may earn will be at second-hand. You may never see the results of your work.

Are you sure that's what you want?'

Yarek didn't answer and Takkara took a sip of his mitra, which was growing

cool now. As always, the infusion of herbs tasted bitter, but he was used to

that. Their scent filled the house almost constantly - which was only right

and proper. He watched his grandson over the rim of the cup, wishing he could

tell what the boy was thinking.

'You're a bright lad,' he said, when the silence had

dragged on long enough. 'I'm sure you can do anything you set your mind to.

But be careful you don't anger the gods.'

'I'll be careful, jokull,' Yarek promised earnestly.

'Besides, you don't have to decide yet. And you'll soon have the chance to

sleep on it.' Takkara smiled, and the boy grinned back, but — as so often now

— there was something hidden behind his large, pale blue eyes.

The reference to the long winter sleep had indeed set Yarek thinking. When

he'd been an infant, he'd accepted the hibernation as natural, just another

part of the life that was organized for him by others. By the time he was a

few years old, it had frightened him, and his mother had been ashamed of his

crying. He had grown out of that and had returned to unquestioning acceptance

once more - though with a little more understanding this time. And now, as the

days grew shorter, Yarek was actually looking forward to it. When the spring

came, unlike most of the others, he would remember his dark dreams. And it was

in those dreams that he learnt so much, saw so much.

That was his great secret, the reason he knew he was destined to be a wizard -

no matter what anybody said. Unwittingly, his grandfather had confirmed his

faith. 'You can do anything you set your mind to.' Rules were meant to be

broken. Yarek had decided that long ago. And if the greatest wizard the four

Quarters had ever seen could not break some rules, then who could?

PART ONE

MYVATAN

Chapter One

Far off the starboard bow, the sea was burning.

'I bet you've never seen anything like that before,' Kahl remarked. 'However

far you've travelled.'

Terrel stared at the fire, wondering how such a thing could be possible. As he

watched, another burst of flame erupted, sending a shower of glittering red

sparks into the air and burnishing the surrounding waves as though they were

made of bronze. Above them, a pall of black smoke and grey steam trailed away

on the wind.

'There'll be an island there come the autumn,' Kahl added knowledgeably.

'An island?'

'The fire conies from the heart of Nydus,' the sailor explained. 'And as it

rises up from the seabed, it brings rock with it. Those sparks you saw just

now, some of them were boulders bigger than your head, and they're all made of

stone so hot it turns to liquid and glows like a blacksmith's furnace.'

Terrel turned to look at his companion, trying to judge whether he was being

serious or not. Kahl was one of the few crewmen who had been willing to talk

to him and Terrel had tried to establish some degree of friendship with him.

He had told the sailor a little of his own travels, and hoped for information

in return. He was heading towards another alien land, and seeing the ocean

burst

into flame had emphasized just how little he knew about this region of Nydus.

'But when it hits the water and cools, the rock becomes solid again,' Kahl

went on, apparently quite in earnest. 'And it gradually builds up until

there's a new island for us to sail around.'

'I'm glad you said sail around,' Terrel commented. 'I wouldn't want to get too

close to anything like that.'

Even from a distance it was an awe-inspiring sight. From close to, it would

have been terrifying.

'Nor me,' the seaman said. 'The captain wouldn't like it much either, and he's

kept us in clear water until now. Of course, one of them could break out right

in front of our bows. There wouldn't be much we could do about that.'

Terrel found this idea extremely alarming, but saw that Kahl was grinning now.

'Don't worry,' the sailor said, relenting. 'We've done this run a few times

now and no one's suffered so much as a singed beard.'

'Let's hope it stays that way,' Terrel replied, feeling the uneven stubble

that now covered his own chin.

'Mind you, it's not just the new islands that make navigation tricky,' Kahl

added. 'The fires under the water make their own currents too. Sometimes it's

difficult to tell what's going on, especially now the tides aren't reliable

any more.'

Terrel was already aware of that anomaly — and the reason for it. For several

years now the Dark Moon had been behaving erratically — in defiance of all the

precise astronomical laws laid down by the seers of his homeland — and

recently, it seemed that the changes in its speed and size had begun to affect

the orbits of the other three moons. This meant that predicting the rise and

fall of tides had become increasingly complex.

'Of course,' Kahl went on, 'once the fire-islands are in

place, they can actually help us, give us reference points when we're out of

sight of land — provided you can recognize them from one month to the next.'

'You mean they keep changing?' Terrel guessed.

'Sometimes. See those islands there?' He pointed further ahead, to where three

black mounds rose from the sea. 'They weren't even there two years ago, and

each time we come past they've got bigger. They still smoke sometimes too, so

we steer well clear.'

Terrel squinted into the distance, studying the irregular cone-shaped rocks,

and tried to imagine them growing out of the ocean.

'These are dangerous waters,' he commented.

Kahlshrugged.

'Any sea can be dangerous. This one more than most, maybe.'

'Then why do you cross it?'

'The usual reasons. Gold and adventure.' He grinned. 'But mostly the gold.'

'They have gold on Myvatan?'

'Loads of it. We wouldn't bother trading with them otherwise. They've got

precious little else we're interested in. I'm more interested in why you want

to go there.'

Terrel had several reasons, but none that would mean much to a practical man

like Kahl.

'I don't know, really. I've been travelling so long, it seemed like one of the

few places I hadn't been to yet.' This contained at least an element of truth.

'And I've heard it's different from anywhere else.'

'That's one way of putting it,' the seaman remarked. 'But there must be some

purpose to your travelling.'

'Not really.'

Although Kahl was clearly not convinced, he chose not to press the point.

'Well, a person with your talents is going to find a welcome in most places,'

he observed.

Terrel's healing abilities were something he accepted now, though he never

took them for granted. He had paid for his passage on the Skua by helping the

ship's first officer make a speedy and complete recovery from a nasty fever.

In return, Ostan, the captain, had been only too willing to take him aboard —

one extra passenger cost him very little — and, since then, most of the crew

had benefited in some way from Terrel's skill.

'So have you decided which side you'll work for?' Kahl asked.

'Side?' Terrel queried. 'In the war.'

The healer had heard several rumours about Myvatan, including one claiming

that the island had been in the throes of civil war for many years. However,

few people had been either able or willing to talk about the place at all, so

he'd remained in ignorance for the most part. His decision to go there had

been made in a rush. Sailings were rare, especially this early in the year,

and Ostan's offer had been dependent on his being able to leave immediately.

'Neither,' Terrel answered eventually.

Kahl laughed.

'You'd better make up your mind one way or the other before we dock,' he

advised. 'Say the wrong thing in the wrong quarter and you're dead.'

Terrel looked at him in dismay.

'I've no interest in the war,' he said.

'Then what are you going to Myvatan for?' the sailor asked. 'Apart from gold,

the war is all they have.'

Now I know cats are mad, a familiar voice complained. This one hates water as

much as I do, but it's chosen to live on a ship!

Alyssa! Terrel exclaimed, sliding out of his hammock to kneel in front of her.

He had been aware of the cat's presence earlier in the voyage. The crew called

it Dranga, which meant rat-trap, and it usually prowled the lower decks in

search of prey. The animal's face was heavily scarred, one of its ears was

torn and its left foreleg was slightly lame, but its ginger coat was glossy,

testament to its success as a hunter. Until now it had paid Terrel little

attention, and he'd been surprised when it had stalked up to his sleeping

place that evening. But not even in his wildest imaginings had he thought that

Alyssa's spirit might have taken over the cat's body. Not only did she dislike

the devious nature of feline minds — of all the other animals she had tried,

horses were the only creatures she found as difficult — but, as her opening

remark had implied, she disliked large bodies of water even more. In the past,

the mere fact that Terrel had crossed an ocean had prevented her from joining

him for some time, even after he was back on dry land. And when he was

actually on water, there had been no chance of proper contact. And yet here

she was, inhabiting a cat, in the middle of a vast and dangerous sea.

I didn 't expect to see you so soon. Even though Terrel's delight at her

arrival was as great as ever, he was perturbed by the fact that she had forced

herself to overcome her fears. What was so important that she could not afford

to wait a few days?

I was never meant— Alyssa began, then broke off as the ship shuddered under

the impact of an unusually large wave. The cat staggered, its mismatched ears

twitching, and its fur stood on end. Hissing, it dug its claws into the deck —

and Terrel saw the 'ring' looped around one of its forepaws. The ring was made

of twine interwoven with one of his own hairs, and although at first Alyssa

had

worn it as a joke, it had soon become the precious link that helped her to

find him wherever he was. Seeing it always made him think of Havenmoon, his

home for the first fourteen years of his life — the asylum where Alyssa's

comatose body still lay.

You're quite safe, he reassured her, sensing her unreasoning terror.

Why aren 't you back in the palace? she asked. That would be safe, not this. I

won't be able to stand this for long.

Was there something you wanted to tell me? he asked quickly. The cat hissed

again as the Skua rose with the swell. This time I'm not even going to try to

sing, Alyssa declared, looking around wildly.

The irrelevance of this remark made it clear to Terrel that she was more than

usually deranged, and he wondered whether he'd get any sense from her at all.

You don't have to, he said. Just give me your message and you can go. Much as

he wanted her company, he couldn't bear to see her suffering.

What message? She sounded bewildered. / thought—

Oh, that! she interrupted. All the windows are closed. What?

Muzeni says . . . She paused, apparently trying to remember something elusive.

Muzeni says .. . the crystal's broken, isn 't it? Smashed.

What does that mean? he asked, desperate now. Be careful where you choose to

follow, she stated tone-lessly, as if she were reciting the words from memory.

Don't fight the wrong war. And don't trust your instincts.

More confused than ever now, Terrel was about to speak again, but Alyssa

overrode him.

I'm sick, she announced. And if you think I'm coming up on deck, you 're

crazy.

Sick? Terrel queried, his heart sinking. Let me help you.

I have no need of your healing, she replied, sounding a little calmer at last.

Just your love.

You have that always, he told her.

But there are others in your path who are in terrible pain, Alyssa added. Look

ahead. Even the sky is at war.

And then she was gone. Terrel caught a last glimpse of the ring as it faded

away — and then the cat was just a cat again. Dranga wandered off, with a

puzzled 'miaow'. Terrel remained where he was, too stunned to do anything.

Whatever message Alyssa had intended to bring had been garbled by her terror.

Her utterances were often obscure, but under normal circumstances Terrel could

usually interpret the meaning beneath the words. This time he was completely

at a loss.

The one instruction that had a potentially relevant interpretation was the

last. Look ahead. Coupled with Alyssa's apparently pointless refusal to even

consider going up on deck, it did at least give Terrel something to do.

Leaving the long cabin he shared with several of the crew — all of whom had

been quite unaware of the silent conversation — he climbed up the steep wooden

steps to the foredeck. As soon as he emerged, he knew instantly that the

windswept night was lit by more than normal moonlight, but he was not prepared

for the sight that greeted him.

Ahead of the ship, the sky was filled with a shimmering arch of greenish-white

luminescence, stretching from horizon to horizon. Along its upper rim, even

brighter beads of light moved at incredible speeds, leaving behind them

glittering silver trails that trembled like the strings of a star-born lute.

As Terrel watched, spellbound, the archway expanded and transformed itself

into a swaying curtain of unearthly light. Streaks of green and blue tinged

the white

as the delicate fabric moved slowly on an unseen wind. Finally, as the rest of

the astonishing display began to fade, the entire spectacle was suffused with

an eerie crimson glow. As the other colours splintered into separate swathes

and shards, the red mist remained constant, until it too vanished back whence

it had come.

'Not a bad show tonight, eh?'

Kahl's voice made Terrel jump. The sailor's soft boots had made no sound as

he'd come up behind him.

'Do you see this often?' Terrel whispered.

'Often enough. But there aren't many nights it's as bright as that.'

'It was beautiful.'

'I suppose so.' Kahl did not sound unduly impressed. 'Though they say that the

winter lights are ill-omened when they turn the colour of blood.'

That gave Terrel pause for thought as he stared into the now empty darkness.

Even the sky is at war.

Chapter Two

Terrel's dream that night made the fire he'd seen rise from the ocean seem

like a candle flame. Above him the sky was obscured by a threatening dome of

thick cloud, which extended to the horizon in every direction. It blotted out

the sunlight so that the scene below was illuminated only by its own infernal

glow. There were huge lines of fire snaking across both land and sea, dividing

them into distinct areas, which were themselves in turmoil. In places the

ocean boiled, spitting forth great gouts of steam and flame. Elsewhere the

waves were discoloured, with swathes of red or brown running through the grey

waters. On land the conflagration was, if anything, even worse. Molten rock

spilled from open wounds in the ground and flowed like rivers of fire,

consuming everything in its path. Other eruptions hurled debris into the sky

with an incandescent fury, their smoke and ash adding to the all-encompassing

gloom. It was as if the entire planet was in the grip of a vast convulsion.

Gradually the fires dimmed, and without the sun to warm it the world became a

frigid wasteland. Seas froze over, and snow and ice blanketed the darkened

land. But the forces that were destroying Nydus were not done yet. There was

movement, slow but massive, as whole continents drifted into each other,

creating another type of upheaval. Mountains rose and were smashed, complete

oceans were thrown aside, only to inundate other regions and form new seas.

And in the midst of the tumult one island floated free, finding its own escape

route from the chaos.

At first Terrel thought it must be Vadanis, but its contours were unfamiliar.

It was too big and too cold to be his homeland. By the time he'd realized that

it must in fact be Myvatan, the dream had taken him closer, so that he could

see individual landmarks within its bleak terrain. Much of what he saw was

bewildering. Steam rose from pools of muddy water, even though they were

surrounded by snow; crevasses in the great sheets of ice glowed bright blue,

although the sky above was still an unremitting grey; and the interior plains

were daubed with great splashes of colour - yellow, ochre, green and mauve -

as if they'd been attacked by an insane artist.

And at the last, just before he woke up, Terrel saw the first indication that

this daunting world might once have been inhabited. Atop one of the coastal

cliffs, a huge boulder had been carved into the shape of what looked like an

enormous fish. Although it resembled nothing Terrel had ever seen before, its

fins and tail were undoubtedly meant to be part of a marine creature. He had

seen another, much smaller and simpler, representation of the beast once

before. And seeing it now gave him a surge of hope. This at least was a sign

he did understand.

'Are you sure?' Terrel asked excitedly. 'Like a giant fish?'

'Yes. It's a whale,' Ostan repeated patiently. 'I've seen it many times. Why?'

'That's where I want to go ashore.'

The captain of the Skua looked at Terrel as if he were mad.

'That's impossible.'

'Please. It's very important.'

'It's just a sculpture,' Ostan said. 'I mean, it's impressive all right, but

you'd get just as good a view of it from the sea. Better, in fact.'

'That's not the point.'

'Then what is? Why is this so important to you?' Ostan was aware that several

of his crew were standing nearby, listening to the conversation with interest.

Passengers were usually tolerated on board, rather than welcomed, but Terrel

had been more acceptable than most - for obvious reasons. However, that would

change quite rapidly if the foreigner became more trouble than he was worth.

Ridiculous requests like this would not help his cause.

'There's a path I'm bound to follow,' Terrel replied, looking uncomfortable

now. 'I swore an oath, and this is part of it.'

Ostan didn't know what to make of that.

'You're not making any sense,' he said. 'There's no path near there.'

'That's not what I meant,' the healer said, but Ostan ignored him.

'In fact, that part of the coastline is treacherous,' the captain went on.

'There are shoals and rocks just below the tide line and the currents are

dangerous, especially when the tides are turning. I probably wouldn't be able

to put you ashore there even if I wanted to. And if I did, you'd have to scale

the cliffs to reach the whale. You don't look like much of a rock-climber to

me. Then—'

'That's my problem,' Terrel cut in. 'Won't you at least try?'

'No. You obviously don't understand—' 'You wouldn't have to put me ashore

yourselves. Just get me close enough so I can swim for it.' Ostan's expression

changed from one of puzzlement to

outright incredulity, and Terrel saw that some of the sailors were grinning

now.

'I can swim well enough,' he claimed, but then began to doubt his own words.

He was much stronger than when he had escaped from Havenmoon, and he'd been

able to swim even then, in spite of the fact that his right leg was twisted

and his right arm was withered so that the hand was little more than a rigid

claw. The heavy clothes he now wore as protection against the cold disguised

his deformities a little, but he would never be genuinely athletic. What was

more, although he'd swum in various lakes and rivers, he had never been in the

open sea — especially one as rough as this — and if the coastline was as

rugged as Ostan claimed, he was just as likely to be dashed upon the rocks as

he was to drown. And there was another factor he had not even considered.

'I'm sure you can,' Ostan conceded, 'but in these waters no one would survive

such an attempt. You'd soon be paralyzed by the cold, and dead after a very

short time. It would be suicide.'

'There must be some way,' Terrel pleaded.

'We could probably get the skiff close enough to the shore, if we time it

right,' the captain admitted, 'but it's not going to happen. It's too risky.'

'But I'm willing to take that risk.'

'I meant for my crewmen,' Ostan stated flatly. 'Someone would have to row you

ashore and bring the boat back. Give me one good reason why I should

jeopardize any of my men.'

Terrel was silent, racking his brains for a way to convince the captain

without sounding like a complete lunatic.

'Besides,' the seaman added. 'Supposing we did get you on to the rocks somehow

and you were able to climb the cliffs. You'd still probably get yourself

killed inside an hour.'

'Why?'

Ostan stared at him, obviously wondering whether the strange young man could

possibly be as naive as he appeared.

'You really don't know anything about Myvatan, do you?' he said eventually.

'I know there's a war there, but—'

'So you know you'd be walking into a forbidden zone?'

At this Terrel's face lit up with renewed excitement, which he knew would make

Ostan doubt his sanity even more.

'That's where I have to go!' he exclaimed.

'Are you crazy} Both sides would kill you in an instant if they found you

there.'

'Why?'

'Because you're an outsider and it's a forbidden zone,' Ostan replied with

heavy emphasis, then paused. 'Unless . . .'

'Unless what?' Terrel asked hopefully.

'Unless you've been lying to us all along.'

'What do you mean?' The healer felt genuinely uneasy now. Which of his

half-truths was Ostan referring to?

'Which quarter do you follow?' the captain demanded.

'I don't know what you mean.'

'Which moon, then?'

Terrel shook his head in bewilderment.

'Forget it!' Ostan snapped. 'I'm not taking you to Whale Ness. You're coming

with us to Port Akranes — and that's final.'

Terrel's bitter disappointment could not be dispelled even by the enchanting

sight of a school of dolphins swimming alongside the Skua, effortlessly

matching her pace and occasionally leaping from the water as though they were

playing. He wished Alyssa would return - and bring the ghosts with her — so

that they could discuss the situation properly, but he knew he was on his own,

at least until he made landfall. And by then it might be too late.

'Don't take it too hard,' Kahl advised.

Terrel was sitting, huddled in several layers of clothing, near the bows of

the ship. He had been deep in thought and the sailor's approach had taken him

by surprise.

'Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?' he asked, glancing around.

'I could've been wearing hobnail boots and singing at the top of my voice and

you still wouldn't have heard me coming.'

'Probably,' Terrel conceded. 'What shouldn't I take too hard?'

'The skipper's decision,' Kahl replied. 'Ostan did some pretty reckless things

himself when he was your age, but he's older now and more responsible. Or so

he'd like everyone to believe. I reckon you could get him to change his mind.'

'Really?'

'Aye. But you'll have to come up with a better argument than before.'

And that, Terrel thought, is the problem. He'd been trying to think of a way

to convince Ostan, but hadn't got very far.

'Why don't you talk to Kjolur?' the sailor suggested. 'He might be able to

help you. Myvatan's his homeland and he knows more about the place than any of

us.'

Terrel knew who Kjolur was, but had assumed he was just another member of the

crew. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't recall ever seeing him at work

on board or in the rigging.

'He keeps himself to himself,' Kahl went on, 'but he's not a bad sort.'

'You've met him before, then?'

'He's sailed with us several times. He's a merchant of some sort. Quite

secretive about his trade, but he pays well to add his cargo to ours, so we've

no quarrel with that.'

'I'll talk to him,' Terrel decided. 'Thanks.'

'Just so you know,' Kahl said, 'he's been asking a few questions about you, on

the quiet, like.'

'What did you tell him?'

'What could we tell him? We don't exactly know much ourselves, other than

you've a way to take the ache from a man's bones.' Kahl paused, perhaps hoping

that his companion would volunteer some more information about himself, but

Terrel had no intention of doing that. He was too busy wondering whether

Kjolur's interest in him stemmed from idle curiosity or something more.

Terrel found the islander sitting inside a coil of thick rope, near the stern

of the vessel. It looked like an uncomfortable seat, but Kjolur seemed quite

relaxed. As he drew closer, the healer was astonished to discover that the

merchant was reading a book - which immediately marked him out as unusual. In

all his travels, most of the people Terrel had met could neither read nor

write. Indeed, some of them - like the Toma in the desert land of Misrah — had

no written language at all. And everywhere he'd been, books were considered

rare and valuable objects, with many people regarding them as mysterious and

even magical artefacts.

'What are you reading?'

Kjolur looked up sharply, but did not seem particularly surprised to see who

it was. The islander had a thin, pinched face, with pale green eyes.

'It's a collection of old legends. My great-grandfather made a point of

writing them all down. I'm not sure why.

But they help to pass the time on a voyage like this. Do you read?'

'I do,' Terrel replied, 'but probably not in your language.' They were

speaking in what the sailors called 'the northern tongue', which was common to

many lands bordering the cold ocean and which, according to Kahl, was widely

spoken on Myvatan. That had come as a relief to Terrel, because it simplified

the process of communication. Psinoma enabled him to learn new languages

quickly, but he still felt guilty about the necessity of prying into other

people's minds. However, he had rarely had any need to become familiar with

the written word.

'Then you've travelled far,' Kjolur concluded.

'I have, but I don't come across books very often. May I take a look?'

'Of course.' The islander passed the slim volume over and Terrel flicked

through a few pages of the precise calligraphy. This was enough to tell him

that it was quite indecipherable.

'It's beautiful,' he said, handing it back, and remembering a time at the

haven when he'd had access to a whole library of books. For the first years of

his life, those books had been the source of everything he'd known about the

outside world. The reality — especially after he'd left Vadanis — had proved

rather different.

'The tale I've just been reading says that Myvatan once floated free in the

ocean, like a gigantic ship. Can you believe that?'

'Perhaps,' Terrel replied, amazed at the apparent link to his dream — and to

his own homeland.

'My people apparently ruled all of Nydus from their mobile fortress,' Kjolur

went on, 'but then one of our enemies put a curse on the island and froze it

in place, isolated from all the other countries. That must have been

some sorcery.' He was grinning to show he regarded the story as no more than

an imaginative myth, but Terrel wasn't ready to dismiss it so lightly.

'I come from an empire that's made up entirely of floating islands,' he said.

'Really?' It was the merchant's turn to be amazed.

'The main one is called Vadanis.'

Kjolur's expression made it clear that he had never heard of it, something

that did not surprise Terrel at all. His homeland no longer seemed real, even

to him.

Chapter Three

By his own reckoning, Terrel was now twenty-one years old, and he was a very

different person to the terrified boy who had been cast adrift from Vadanis.

It was incredible to think that his exile had already lasted more than seven

years, and that there was no immediate end in sight. During all that time he

had been almost constantly on the move, and he'd experienced more than he

could ever have imagined when he was growing up in the confines of the remote

madhouse. His bargain with the elementals, the strange creatures who had no

substance or shape and yet who wielded immense power, had become the core of

his existence - and it drove him onward still. However, he had begun to feel

that the circle was closing at last, that he had passed the furthest point in

his long journey. He had come to believe that each step along the unknown road

now took him closer to home.

That feeling had been reinforced by his most recent meeting with his ghostly

allies. Their latest theory was that his trip to Myvatan might be the end of

the road, the point at which he could finally fulfil his bargain, and thus set

himself free to return to Vadanis - and to Alyssa. The hope that this might be

true had given Terrel the strength to carry on, after a long period in which

he had not seemed to be achieving anything.

Three and a half years - an eternity in his young life -

had passed since he'd left the deserts of Misrah, and since his last encounter

with one of the elementals. When he'd crossed the northern borders of that

territory he had been full of expectation, sure that he would soon find out

what his next task would be. But although he'd hoped that this would begin

with his 'going to the other side of the mountains' - the first part of his

journey - he had subsequently been presented with an almost limitless

succession of choices, and had been given little or no guidance. He'd been

left to trust his own instincts — instincts he had begun to doubt more and

more as time passed — to decide where he should go next at each stage. It was

only recently that his goal had become clear, which was why he was now aboard

the Skua. Yet in his heart it was not Myvatan but another island, on the other

side of the world, that he longed for. Although Terrel was indeed a different

person from the boy he'd once been, he still sometimes felt like a homesick

child.

'You are a long way from home,' Kjolur commented, bringing Terrel back to the

present with a rush. 'What brings you to this part of the world?'

Once again Terrel wondered how to answer this most obvious of questions. If he

replied truthfully — that he came in search of a shadow-born entity that

possessed intelligence and strength but no physical body — he would be

dismissed as mad and would lose any prospect of being helped by a potential

ally. After some consideration, he chose to move one step closer to the truth

than he had done with Ostan.

'The seers of my homeland prophesied that I would make this journey. I swore

an oath to follow their guidance, wherever it led.' He paused, trying to

assess Kjolur's response, but the islander's expression was unreadable.

'Seeing into the future,' Kjolur said, nodding slowly. 'That's a useful

talent.'

Terrel couldn't tell whether the other man was being genuine or facetious —

and wasn't sure whether he agreed with what the islander had said. Prophecy

had been his travelling companion for seven years, but it had brought as many

pitfalls as triumphs.

'It is sometimes,' he said cautiously, 'but augury isn't an exact science.'

That was one of the seers' favourite axioms.

'I find that rather reassuring,' the merchant said. 'I wouldn't like to think

that everything was preordained.'

'Me neither,' Terrel agreed, remembering one particular vision in which he had

seen the moment of his own death.

'And yet you're sailing to Myvatan because of this prophecy?'

'Sometimes you can't argue with destiny,' Terrel replied, knowing it was a

feeble response. He was aware that his companion was studying him intently,

and guessed that Kjolur was a shrewd character. It was obvious that the

islander was not only weighing up his words but also the expressions on his

face. Was it possible that those pale eyes could somehow see beneath the

surface of their conversation? Could it even be that Kjolur was skilled in the

use of psinoma, and thus able to read Terrel's thoughts without him knowing

it? This was an unnerving idea, but the healer was able to convince himself

that it couldn't be true, that he would know if his mind was being probed.

'Those are old wounds?' Kjolur asked, indicating Terrel's misshapen limbs.

'Were they received in battle?'

The abrupt change of subject took Terrel by surprise.

'No,' he replied. 'I was born this way.'

In fact the injuries had been caused by a battle of sorts -but not the kind

Kjolur meant. Terrel had been in his mother's womb when he'd been crippled by

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Prologue'Anddoyouknowwhattheswordwascalled?''Slayer?'Yarekreplied,gettingitwrongdeliberatelysothatitwouldn'tspoilhisgrandfather'sstory.'No.'Takkarasmiledattheboy'sinnocentexpression.'ItwascalledthePeacemaker.Strangenameforasword,eh?'Yareknodded.'Itwascalledthat,'theoldmanexplained,'becauseitmadethew...

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