Freda Warrington - Jewelfire 1 - Amber Citadel
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Amber Citadel - Freda Warrington - V1 - Oct 2004
THE AMBER CITADEL
Book One of The Jewelfire Trilogy
FREDA WARRINGTON
EARTHLIGHT
LONDON • SYDNEY . NEW YORK • TOKYO . SINGAPORE • TORONTO
www.earthlight.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by Earthlight, 1999
An imprint of Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
A Viacom Company
Copyright © Freda Warrington, 1999
The right of Freda Warrington to be identified as author of
this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77
and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention
No reproduction without permission
® and © 1998 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
Earthlight & Design is a registered trademark of
Simon & Schuster Inc.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
Africa House 64-78 Kingsway
London WC2B 6AH
Simon & Schuster Australia Sydney
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Amber Citadel - Freda Warrington - V1 - Oct 2004
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 0-671-02190-7 13579 10 8642
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places
and incidents either are products of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or
dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental
Typeset in 9 1/2 on 11 1/2 Meridien by
SX Composing DTP, Rayleigh, Essex
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Caledonian
International Book Manufacturing, Glasgow
Contents
Prelude I: The Hidden Beast 1
Prelude II: The Dark Seed 10
One: The Lost Mirror 13
Two: Beyne 37
Three: A Game of Amber 63
Four: Flame and Flight 91
Five: The Aelyr's Gift 112
Six: Sunstone and Shadow 137
Seven: Ardharkria 156 Eight: The Blue Stallion 175
Nine: Luin Sepher 192 Ten: The Jewels of the Earth 213
Eleven: Lady Amitriya 230
Twelve: Serpent and Seer 254
Thirteen: Moonstone Fire 274
Fourteen: The Heliodor Tower 300
Fifteen: Silverholm 318
Sixteen: The Shadow of the King 356
Seventeen: Eldareth the Wanderer 380
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Amber Citadel - Freda Warrington - V1 - Oct 2004
Eighteen: The Azure Zampherai 412
Nineteen: Dream and Discovery 441
Twenty: Enhavaneya 467
Twenty-one: Laphaeome's Web 501
Twenty-two: The Battle of Hethlas Rim 525
Twenty-three: Rubies in Amber 551
Twenty-four: Auriel 579
Prelude I: The Hidden Beast
They wore the colours of twilight, the two who came to buy the Seer's knowledge. Long gossamer
robes of violet, and over their faces grey veils, like mist. But he knew what they were: Aelyr. A
male and a female, whom he'd never seen before and doubtless would never see again.
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Amber Citadel - Freda Warrington - V1 - Oct 2004
They would come to him now and then, the other-race, travelling from their own realm to seek his
hut in the high, green mountains. They always sought the same thing. Knowledge of human
affairs in Aventuria. And they paid well, so he gave them what they wanted.
Such commerce between human and Aelyr was strictly unlawful. But no one would ever know.
'Sit,' he told them. 'Some become dizzy and fall, you see. And the crystal is very thin, and the drop
very deep.'
The hut was a basic, round construction of wattle and thatch with a floor of dark peat. Although
the Seer had shooed out the goats and chickens that wandered through his ill-lit dwelling, the
smell lingered. His guests were clearing their throats in quiet distaste. He smiled.
In the centre of the floor there was a well. It was deep and dark, bounded by a low wall, with a
glint of water far below. The wall was capped by a disc of crystal, striped with clear and milky
lines. The Seer took up his position in his tall chair while the Aelyr, slender and soft-moving as
air, seated themselves on the low stools he indicated, facing him across the well. Although he
could not see their faces he sensed their natures; the man taut and impervious, the woman pliable
and persistent, like ivy.
The Seer had the appearance of a man in his thirties, with skin as brown as a nut, long hair that
was fox-coloured but for a white streak at the front. He had a way of holding his head slightly to
one side so that his hair fell forwards over his left shoulder. His skill was a demanding one, so
exhausting that he had grown almost to hate it. He practised it only for others, never for himself.
'While I am in a trance you will see my visions, and I may answer your questions. But afterwards
I will remember nothing. So note my answers well, for I cannot tell you a second time. And
understand that I cannot see into the future. I can only see what is.'
He was aware of their hidden, alien eyes, fixed upon him through the veils. 'We hear rumours,'
said the man, 'of disturbances in Aventuria. Some conflict, perhaps. What can you show us of it?'
'Conflict? When we have been at peace for nigh on two hundred years? Still. There will be a
vision for each of you. Let us begin the chant I taught you.
They helped to coax him into the trance. Their own input was vital, for the Seer could help no-one
who had no energies of their own. But with Aelyr, it was always easy. His breathing became loud
and shallow. His hands floated pale above the well, as if in water . . .
'The Bhahdradomen are rising.'
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Amber Citadel - Freda Warrington - V1 - Oct 2004
The words rattled from the Seer's tongue. His mouth was slack with trance, saliva pearling in its
corners, his eyes opaque. Glamour lay silver upon his hair and skin, making him as radiant as the
Aelyr who listened intently to him.
The man said, 'No.'
'Hush,' the woman said. 'Let him show us.'
The Seer's hands made shapes in the air. His breath stuttered in his throat. The cone-shaped
darkness of his room was warm and close, vibrating with power, its thick animal scent
transmuting to a sharper fragrance of storms and of wet electric earth.
'A rider. He rides to warn them,' came the hoarse words.
'But the hidden beast...'
His brown fingers pressed into the edge of the disc. The Aelyr watched. At first they saw only
reflections of their own shapes in the crystal. Slowly the milkiness cleared until they seemed to be
staring down into the black water of the well; and then the circle of darkness swelled, its
circumference rushing outwards so that they gasped and swayed, losing balance. The well became
a window onto night, swallowing the room, filling the world.
'This - this is for you.' The Seer pointed at the woman, but they both saw.
The scene swirled, paling from night to day. It appeared innocuous - a hill, covered with graceful
houses and lush green trees - and yet the light was strangely flat, the shadows too still, the
perspectives wrong. On the peak of the hill stood an edifice of snow-white marble, with tall
columns and statues in niches along the roof. The structure was glorious, massive and yet
joyously weightless, as if built of glittering frost.
'It's the theatre in Parione,' whispered the woman. The Old Royal Theatre. Humans can create
such beauty when they wish.'
At first the scene was static. Then it began to move. Like a dream it was hard to make out clear
details, but now they saw people around the walls of the theatre; a crowd standing ten deep, facing
outwards, jostling and shouting soundlessly.
Further down the hillside a team of men and horses were climbing towards the great side wall of
the theatre, hauling a huge engine; a battering ram. The people at the theatre surged forward,
trying to obstruct it. Soldiers in green and officers in blue and gold rushed into the crowd with
drawn swords. All without sound.
The Aelyr man gripped his companion's hand.
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Amber Citadel - Freda Warrington - V1 - Oct 2004
A path was forced through the crowd, the engine hauled into place. The ram swung back on its
supports and crashed into the side of the building. Ugly cracks crazed the marble. The rioting
crowds flung themselves forward to stop it, only to be struck down, or run through with blades, or
captured and chained.
Another blow. A statue fell from its niche high above and shattered on the marble flags. It was
Nepheter, goddess of the poets, lying broken, betrayed.
The woman shuddered.
Helpless, the Aelyr watched the fight grow more desperate. The scene was disjointed, flashing
forwards in time so that the struggle which must have gone on for hours was over in minutes.
Those whom the soldiers did not capture or kill were driven off. At last there were none left.
Bodies were dragged away, leaving streaks of blood on the snowy marble. And the destruction of
the theatre went on. The whole edifice was crumbling to ruin.
'Enough,' said the woman. Tears soaked the gossamer of her veil.
'It's not real,' the man said sharply.
'Not real?' the Seer echoed. The hillside span away into the void. He pointed from the man to the
well. 'Attend, my lord, for this is yours.'
The second vision was dark. Again the circle of the well rushed out to swallow them, but no light
came, only wet, breathing darkness.
There was no revelation. No movement of armies, human or Bhahdradomen. No citadels fallings,
no secrets spoken in subterranean lairs, no alliances being made. Only this.
Night. A forest. Rain rushing through the leaves and turning the grassy way treacherous. Above,
the clouds parting to show the crescent of the celestial body that humans called Leaf Moon; no
real light, only the faintest green glow to show the way for a lone, urgent horseman.
His horse was a swift roan with a dark mane and tail; the breed of horse that the nobles of
Sepheret rode. The rider crouched over its neck, his cape and hair flying as he urged the horse on.
Its hooves drummed the slippery ground, and its snorting breath mingled with that of its rider; hot,
desperate, near exhaustion.
'Where is he going?' whispered the woman.
'Riding to warn them,' came the Seer's voice, fractured as if he spoke the rider's own thoughts.
'The ones who don't yet know. Someone has to warn - darkness, misery coming and they don't
know, won't believe. Must reach them. Get help. But I've ridden all night, my horse can't go on,
and it's following me . . . They'll never let me deliver the warning. But I won't give up, nothing
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left to do, it's this or death.
His horse was failing now. It kept slipping on the wet grass and mud as it galloped. The rider
struggled to keep his seat. Branches waved like tangled arms against the sky. He was in a tunnel
of trees which was closing before and behind him, and rushing after him, driving him on, slowly
catching up, came the dark seed in the sky.
The Aelyr man jerked, swept along with him.
The horse stumbled, almost fell, and came to a trembling halt. Shaken, the rider looked around,
gasping openmouthed for breath. All was still, but for the soft rainfall. Perhaps they'd outrun it.
Perhaps . . .
Both the Aelyr and the Seer felt his surge of terror. The sky boiled and exploded; some thing
came crashing down through leaf canopy, a darkness that had glaring eyes and clawed wings. The
horse screamed and bolted.
The rider remained in the saddle, a passenger, for two seconds. Then blade-like claws caught his
shoulders, whipping him backwards off the horse. There was a moment of panic, of falling, with a
flurry of leather wings and a hideous charnel stench all around him. He saw his horse's tail
tasselling round and round as the animal surged away from him, lost. At least it escaped. That was
his last thought. And then, cutting off the dry rasp of his final scream, a beak plunged into his
neck and tore out his throat.
The dark bulk crouched over its prey on the forest path, feeding, all enclosed now in a disk with
frayed edges. The scene was held for a moment at the bottom of the well, and then it closed down
to nothing behind a pane of thin grey crystal.
The Seer came back to himself, as usual, to find that he'd fallen sideways in his chair. His mouth
was open, strings of saliva dripping on to his shoulder. His silver aura faded, leaving him feeling
very old, collapsed in upon himself, suddenly wizened within his hot robes.
The silence that followed dragged on for a time. He couldn't see the Aelyrs' faces but he didn't
need to; he sensed their shock, their questions. The man held himself like a wall against the
vision's invasive quality, while the woman bent away from it like a willow in a gale. It was over.
They began to collect themselves. Now they were going to be angry, because he hadn't shown
them anything that made sense.
'Seer,' said the male. 'Tell us the meaning of what we saw. Was it real, an illusion, a warning?'
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Amber Citadel - Freda Warrington - V1 - Oct 2004
'I warned you,' the Seer replied with effort. 'I cannot interpret because I do not know what you
saw.' . 'You lie. What had the first scene to do with the second?'
'Don't,' said the woman, chiding. 'We shouldn't have come. There were never any guarantees.
Look, he's ill.'
She came round to the well to help the Seer, holding a flask of sweet Aelyr wine to his lips. He
was grateful to her ministration, but now it was over he wanted them gone.
'What have the Bhahdradomen to do with anything we saw?' the man persisted. The
Bhahdradomen are exiled, destroyed. Whatever the connection between the two visions, this is a
human disturbance.' His voice was soft, almost ethereal, but not gentle. It was cold; iced stone.
Recovering, the Seer sat up and said sternly, 'I had no control over what you saw. I don't know
what you saw. I didn't ask you to come here, and I warned you of the limitations before you paid
me. Did I not?'
'Yes,' said the woman. He caught the faintest glimpse of her features through the veil. She
radiated anxiety. 'But the theatre, Seer. We saw them destroying the Old Royal—'
'Don't speak of the visions! We agreed.'
The man said, 'But why would the humans destroy such a beautiful and ancient edifice, when they
are so proud of it? It makes no sense.'
'Was it real?' the woman asked.
'Enough!' the Seer roared. 'You made your purchase. Now your visions are your responsibility,
not mine. Take them away!'
The Aelyr started back, shocked, but quickly in possession of themselves again. 'And so we will,'
the man said quietly. 'If we demanded more than you could give, we apologise. We thank you.'
Leaving them, the man turned and flung a few emerald coins among the exquisite liquors and
silks they'd brought in payment. These are obviously problems between the humans,' he said. 'No
concern of ours.'
'No?' said the woman, slipping her hand through his arm.
The Seer watched the door opening, watched the two twilight figures passing softly through into
the night.
When they'd gone, he got up slowly and leaned down to pull aside a small curtain that covered the
base of his chair. Beneath the chair was a golden cage and in the cage a silver-skinned figure of
human shape, eighteen inches tall. This creature sat writing with a reed pen on a piece of
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parchment, in a script that no one but he and the Seer could read. The cage was for its protection,
not its imprisonment. One or two of his clients had tried to harm it. Seeing him, it opened the door
itself and stepped out.
'Have you recorded all my words of wisdom in the trance?' the Seer asked tiredly.
'I have,' said the silver companion, with a bow. 'Do you wish me to read it back?'
He sighed. 'Did I say anything of interest?' Always this little game.
His secretary shrugged, studying what he had written. The Seer had reams of these records, kept
in a code of his own to guard them from unwelcome eyes. In days gone by he had pored over
them for hours, trying to see a pattern in his ramblings. Now he never bothered. Not because he
had found nothing, but because he'd begun to find too much. Yet he still kept the records. Mere
habit.
Once he had planned to build a mansion with the money anxious travellers paid for his visions.
Somehow he'd never got round to it. Now it seemed less trouble to remain in squalor and to take
payment in liquor instead.
Stretching, he dragged his fingers through his streaked hair. He threw off the heavy robe, glad to
be free of its heat, and stood there in breeches, bare-chested; a short, well-set man who appeared
to be about thirty-five. He uncorked a flask of the Aelyr wine and took a swig.
He had lied to the Aelyr. Not in saying he couldn't interpret what they saw; he had no intention of
trying. But in claiming he could not remember the images.
He put the wine aside, and poured himself a goblet of whisky instead. The wine was good, but too
slow to intoxicate him. If he could get drunk quickly enough, some of the images and the sinister,
penetrating atmosphere they carried with them would not lodge in his memory. So he hoped.
'I wish you wouldn't drink,' said the secretary.
Something flashed in the Seer's mind. 'I think I know who they were! Renegades - exiles - no
friends among Aelyr or humans - no, it's gone.' He took a burning gulp of whisky. The image is
gone. I don't know who they were.'
'Do you care?'
'Not really.'
'What would make you care?' The silvery man spoke rhetorically, his black eyes needle-sharp.
'Anyway, your mutterings made even less sense than usual. "A rider. He rides to warn them."
Gems like that.'
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