The Demon Horsemen (15 page)

Curious, he followed the passage to where it opened into a large circular chamber. His magical sphere illuminated a strange black lizard-like creature with wings curled along its side; his heart froze an instant until he realised it was an ebony statue. He projected an apology for his fear to his colleagues and commenced
exploring the chamber. There were four exits, including the corridor through which he’d entered. He stopped as one exit began to glow with blue light, faint at first, gradually intensifying. He assumed a new portal was forming, then realised that the light, rather than filling the space, was flowing from it like water. It brightened quickly and suddenly an armoured warrior strode through it, glowing so intensely with the blue light that Prayer had to avert his eyes.

‘My Jarudha!’ he cried with rapture as the warrior raised a mighty burning sword above his head. ‘I have seen a Demon Horseman!’

‘
S
o,’ said President Ki, lowering the transcript, ‘this is the Kerwyn king’s answer?’

‘Yes, President,’ the ambassador replied.

‘He wants us to believe that the attempt on my life was orchestrated by a former Shessian warmaster.’

The ambassador looked sheepishly at the president. ‘I have not read the contents of the letter.’

A Ahmud Ki smiled and handed him the paper. ‘Read it, Fe’Ra. Tell me what you think.’

The ambassador blinked as he looked up from the transcript. ‘It says exactly as you said, President.’

‘And you don’t think it strange that the king is blaming a man who was meant to be dead thirty years ago?’

Fe’Ra shook his head. ‘I had never heard of this man before I read this letter.’

‘No,’ A Ahmud Ki said quietly. ‘You would not have known him. Sadly, for the Kerwyn king’s sake, I did, and he would not do what he is accused of here.’

A Ahmud Ki remembered the time he had spent in Blade Cutter’s company when they were escaping the Kerwyn military and the Seers, and his last sight of the big man standing defiantly in the face of Kerwyn
thundermakers while A Ahmud Ki dragged Meg to safety.

‘What will I do with the letter, President?’ Fe’Ra asked.

‘Present it to the interim Council in Yul Ki. They can discuss it and make a recommendation to be sent back to Yul Ithrandyr for consideration by the People’s Council.’

‘With all respect, President, that will take several weeks,’ said Fe’Ra.

‘I know.’

‘And the blockade of the Kerwyn drug islands? What message shall I tell our people in Port of Joy to pass on to the Kerwyn king?’

‘The blockade remains. It will teach the Kerwyn king patience. For now, tell him that the blockade will stay in place until he hands over the assassin to our ambassadors. And remember, I am dying. This decision comes from the Council.’

‘Is it wise to lie, President?’ Fe’Ra inquired tentatively.

‘In this instance, Fe’Ra, yes it is.’

Fe’Ra withdrew and A Ahmud Ki dismissed his chamber woman. When he was alone in his cabin, he hauled himself from his bed to his desk, moving gingerly despite the painkilling drugs administered morning and night by the surgeon-general. He eased into the plushly padded white leather chair and reached for a blue leatherbound book pressed between a stack of books on the desktop. He glanced at the embossed title,
A Presidential Perspective: Volume 9
, and his name beneath, before flipping the book open to a point just past midway. He reached for an autoscribe and began a new entry.

Memories crowded in, making the writing difficult. The name Blade Cutter had reignited the past: the first frantic months after his release from Se’Treya, all the confusion and fear and love that came during the time
he spent with Meg Farmer. So many years had passed and so much had transpired, but still he missed her. When the Ranu invasion of the Andrak nation was complete, he had searched for her, but all traces of her existence had vanished. She had so effectively merged into the Andrakian world that nothing A Ahmud Ki’s detectives and emissaries did could shed any light on her fate. The only person he knew of in Andrak who had spent time with her—Luka the dragoneer—had apparently disappeared trying to cross the Endless Sea in his dragon egg.

Now the Kerwyn king had resurrected a ghost from the past in an attempt to hide his complicity in the assassination attempt. That the Kerwyns had tried to kill him was no longer in doubt. The only questions of interest to A Ahmud Ki now were whether Blade Cutter was still alive after so many years, and, if so, by what miracle had he survived the confrontation on the docks in Westport?

‘Your Council has no right!’ Shadow snarled at the Ranu ambassadors. ‘You will tell your councillors to end the blockade immediately or there will be consequences they will regret! Tell them I will hand over the assassin within ten days.’

‘Yes, Your Highness,’ the ambassadors chorused.

‘Now get out of my palace and don’t return until you can tell me that your military forces are not interfering with my land and my people!’

‘Yes, Your Highness,’ the ambassadors repeated, and retreated from the throne room.

When the doors had closed, Shadow looked at the assembled Seers and his brothers, held out his arms and asked, ‘Well?’

Gift and Lastchild got to their feet and applauded. Shadow turned to Scripture who stared back at him
coldly. ‘Come on,’ Shadow pleaded humorously, ‘even you have to admit that I play the role of a petulant king with passion.’

Scripture motioned to his colleagues to leave while he approached the throne. At the base of the five steps he said, ‘You realise that you now have to produce the old warmaster.’

‘Fist knows exactly where the old man was dumped. He’ll be back in chains by tomorrow afternoon and the Ranu can have him within their ten days.’

‘And when he denies any knowledge of the crime?’

‘Then he’s a very good criminal. But you fear further repercussions, don’t you?’

‘These Ranu are proving to be more than a passing nuisance.’

‘How are the airbirds coming along?’ Shadow asked.

‘Five are being manufactured to Creator’s modifications. We have commandeered two factories in the Foundry Quarter for the purpose. They will be ready by the end of the cycle.’

Shadow nodded approval. ‘The Ranu dragon eggs will not be able to match our airbirds. At the end of the cycle, if the Ranu blockade remains, we will teach them that they are dealing with Jarudha’s chosen children. They will regret their interfering ways.’

Scripture smiled. ‘By the end of the cycle it is possible that the airbirds will not be the only surprise awaiting the Ranu.’

‘Meaning?’

Scripture glanced at Gift and Lastchild and said, ‘You will be informed when the time is ready, Your Highness.’ He bowed his head very slightly, a surprising show of deference to the king, and left the chamber.

President Ki watched with fascination as the inventors set up the strange metal box with its silver wires and glowing white globes and wire-lightning generator on the table in his cabin. The five men fussed with a set of black knobs and watched the big white dials carefully as they adjusted various parts of the apparatus.

For four days, A Ahmud Ki had observed the construction of a tall metal mast on the deck of the dreadnought, rope-thick restraining wires bolted to the deck every fifteen degrees of the compass to keep the odd mast upright. ‘The speaking mast enables the transmission to take place,’ one of the inventors, Mazu Ka Daneez, had explained. ‘We have built masts in Ranu Ka Shehaala, in Andrak, in Targa, and on each of the Stepping Stones Islands through to Kala to form a chain.’ The irrepressible energy of the inventors in this new age never ceased to amaze A Ahmud Ki.

Now Mazu Ka Daneez, wearing nearseers on his nose, announced, ‘President, the farspeaker is ready. Would you like to speak into it?’

A Ahmud Ki followed the inventor to the table where the man handed him a metallic cylinder attached by a wire to the big metal box. ‘This is the speaking wire, President. Talk into here and you will be heard in Yul Ithrandyr.’

A Ahmud Ki hesitated before he spoke, which made the small crowd of inventors smile. They assumed the president was daunted by the concept of speaking to people a distance of weeks away by sailing or flying time. But the real reason was one they could never imagine. A Ahmud Ki was remembering an ancient time when he had used amber-imbued crystal balls to communicate across vast distances. That was how the Dragonlords had coordinated their world—through the skill of mindspeak enhanced by the crystals. Now,
in a vastly different world, he was about to return to something he understood. He focussed his thoughts in preparation for sending them.

‘You have to actually speak into the speaking wire, President,’ an inventor prompted when A Ahmud Ki remained silent.

He looked at the man and understanding dawned. The ancient communication crystals were operated by the mind, but this invention required physical voice. He cleared his throat and said, ‘This is President Ki. Who am I addressing?’

There was silence for a moment, then a large round dish covered with white cloth crackled and a reed-thin voice replied, ‘Greetings from Yul Ithrandyr, President Ki. This is Councillor Benir’Lakaim. It is delightful to hear your voice.’

A Ahmud Ki grinned with delight and nodded his approval to the inventors. ‘We are on the verge of making the world a very tiny place, Benir,’ he said into the farspeaker.

The four-yearly elections were underway in Ranu Ka Shehaala and A Ahmud Ki should have returned to participate in the campaign to win the hearts and votes of the people once more, but events unwinding in the eastern lands were far more interesting, and there was an endgame developing with the Kerwyn. Besides, the invention of the farspeakers had dramatically altered the operation of his government. No longer dependent on letters that took weeks to travel by air or sea back to Yul Ithrandyr and the People’s Council, and just as long for the reply to arrive, he could convene a meeting of the Council over the farspeaker system and force them to a resolution almost on the spot. In the same way he could be heard in Yul Ithrandyr during the election period, speaking to his people from the frontline of the
Ranu empire and portraying himself as the courageous, visionary leader bringing victory in foreign, barbarian lands. It was risky; he understood that. But he had retained his popularity for a very long time and he doubted he would lose it over such a short period when his policies so effectively ensured that the life of the average Ranu citizen was economically comfortable and safe.

He closed the report he’d been reading from his spies in Port of Joy and looked out the porthole at the grey ocean. A storm was hovering along the Kala coastline, threatening to break. Lightning danced through the dark blue clouds. There was a time when he had loathed the idea of standing on a ship with the unstable ocean seething below him, but his years as Ranu president travelling to the capitals of the various nations his forces had subdued, combined with the remarkable stability of the great dreadnoughts, had cured him. Now it was time to sail to the blockaded Fallen Star Islands, where Captain Effram’s dreadnought was anchored, and officially annex the islands for the Ranu empire. The move would force the Kerwyn monarchy either to declare war or seek an amicable resolution. Either outcome opened the opportunity for the Ranu army to extend its power into the backward kingdom.

The report revealed some matters for concern, however. For some time he had been aware of Kerwyn experiments with new flying machines that were more like birds than the Ranu dragon eggs, which relied on huge bags of heated air to keep them aloft. His spies were suggesting that the Kerwyn had finally mastered a superior method of flight. That military advantage had to be quickly curtailed.

The second matter brought to his attention suggested that the Kerwyn Seers were developing skills resembling
the old arts known as magic, which were somehow associated with production of the drug euphoria. There was no hard evidence, but A Ahmud Ki had himself heard of these skills when he had long ago passed through the Kerwyn kingdom as a refugee. Now the report argued that the Seers’ powers were on the increase and becoming a potential threat.

The third matter for concern was the information that the blockade on the Fallen Star Islands was having no significant impact on the availability of euphoria within the city of Port of Joy. The obvious explanations were that the Kerwyn had access to an alternative source or there were large stockpiles stored in the city. Anecdotal evidence, however, suggested that the euphoria being freely distributed at the Jarudhan temples was fresh produce from the islands.

Annexing the islands would reveal information about the second and third matter. The first, however, needed some blunt espionage. His spies would steal the design plans for the new aircraft, which his inventors would use to reproduce and improve on the Kerwyn model, thus restoring the balance of aeronautical power.

Normally, President Ki would seek permission from the People’s Representative Council before undertaking such a deliberate act of provocation to war, but with the elections underway and the need to be seen as an assertive and victorious leader, he had decided to dispense with protocol. Within a few days he would be walking on the Fallen Star Islands and the Kerwyn would be begging for Ranu concessions.

K
eeper’s keen eyes spotted the rising dust along the road. He pointed it out to Cutter, who squinted against the late morning light. ‘Cavalry,’ he remarked.

‘Soldiers only come out this way to cause trouble,’ said Keeper. ‘We’d better tell the others to hide.’

The pair descended the slope and crossed the bridge to where Chase and Swift sat talking as they watched Jon draw circles in the dust. ‘Riders coming in,’ Keeper warned. ‘Best to be scarce.’

‘They’re soldiers,’ said Cutter. ‘Could be looking for you.’

Chase scooped up Jon, and Swift ran along the creek bank, looking for Meg. She found Whisper first, then saw Meg sitting under a tree talking to Wahim. When she explained the situation, Meg and Wahim followed her back to where the villagers were meeting by the bridge.

‘We should leave,’ Meg suggested.

‘No time,’ Cutter told her. ‘They’re riding quickly. You’d still be in sight when they arrive.’

‘Into Sparkle’s hut then,’ said Chase. ‘If they’re after us you can make a portal,’ he added, grinning at Meg.

Meg led the party inside. As Swift, the last in, shut the door, Meg announced, ‘I’m creating a portal to a place in the hills, in case we need it.’

While she conjured the portal, Sparkle, Keeper, Cutter and the other villagers moved to positions in the village, appearing as if they were going about their daily chores. Keeper placed his old thundermaker against a post on the wooden bridge. Cutter picked up a scythe and began trimming the spindly grass beside the bridge.

The Kerwyn cavalry arrived shortly afterwards, their horses blowing from a fast and sustained ride, a riderless chestnut horse among their number. The eight men slowed their horses to a trot and reined in before Keeper and Cutter. A man bearing the hordemaster insignia on his red uniform asked, ‘Are you Blade Cutter?’

Cutter raised his white-haired head. ‘I am.’

‘You are under arrest,’ the hordemaster bluntly informed him. ‘My orders are to escort you to the Bog Pit immediately.’

‘Under what charge?’

‘Treason.’

‘And when did I commit this crime?’ Cutter inquired. ‘I’ve been here since I was let out.’

The hordemaster leaned forward in his saddle and said coldly, ‘Old man, the king gives an order and I obey it, just as you will.’

There was a rustle of metal against leather as three riders drew their peacemakers from saddle holsters, and three clicks as they took aim.

Aware that Keeper was surreptitiously reaching towards his thundermaker, Cutter waved his hand softly to his friend. Meeting the hordemaster’s emotionless gaze, he said, ‘Are you going to rest your horses before we leave?’

‘No.’

‘May I have a drink before we go?’

The young man smirked and said ‘No’ again, and motioned to the soldier leading the spare horse to bring it forward for Cutter to mount. ‘Warlord Fist expects you back in the city before sunset and I have no intention of disappointing him.’

Cutter handed his scythe to Keeper. As he hoisted himself aboard the horse he quipped, ‘You’ll make warlord yourself one day with that attitude, son.’

‘I just do my duty,’ the hordemaster replied and turned his horse, ordering his men to ride out of the village with Cutter in their midst. He held up his hand when he saw the white-haired old woman in his path. ‘What do you want?’ he asked, looking disdainfully at her shabby grey pants and green tunic.

‘I want you to leave the warmaster where he is and ride out of here without causing any more trouble,’ Meg said calmly.

The young man’s eyebrows rose. ‘Or you’ll do what?’

‘I am Meg Kushel,’ she replied. ‘Your Seers and your king will know me as Lady Amber. That should be enough for you to heed my request.’

The hordemaster’s clean-shaven face broke into a grin. ‘
You
are Lady Amber?’ he asked in a mocking tone. He tilted his head and sang to his men, ‘
’Twas said she was a demon’s spawn, her red hair all grown wild
,’ and laughed again. Then he turned back to Meg. ‘So where’s all your flame red hair and fabled beauty, old woman?’

‘Everyone grows old,’ she said quietly.

‘Tsh!’ he hissed and spurred his horse forward. Then, suddenly, he clutched at the reins as his horse reared and bucked until he was thrown to the ground. He got up, dusted himself down and reached for the horse, but it moved out of his reach. He tried again, and again the
animal shied away. Infuriated, he glared at Meg. ‘You think this is funny, don’t you?’ He lunged at his horse, but this time it bolted out of the village, leaving him swearing in its dust.

‘Hammersmith!’ he yelled. A rider came forward and the hordemaster reached out for the horse’s reins, but it too suddenly spooked and bucked and reared. The rider hung on grimly until his mount took the bit and galloped out of the village after the first.

‘What madness is this?’ the hordemaster screamed and kicked the dusty earth in rage. He drew his hand peacemaker and aimed it squarely at Meg. A click sounded behind him, and a glance over his shoulder revealed Keeper with the thundermaker targeting his back. ‘Tell your friend to put down his antiquated weapon before someone gets hurt,’ the hordemaster said in a measured tone.

‘You might show him the courtesy of putting yours down first,’ Meg suggested.

The young man’s expression suggested surprise that she had challenged him so boldly. ‘This is a Ranu-designed peacemaker,’ he said. ‘At this short range the bullet will pass through your heart and go some distance down the road. You, of course, will be dead. Your friend’s thundermaker, if it doesn’t blow up in his face, might hit me and it might not. They are notoriously inaccurate and unreliable. All things considered, I have the—’

His peacemaker and the three aimed at Meg simultaneously burst into flames. The terrified soldiers and their leader yelped and dropped their weapons, the leader dancing away in fear as his men scrambled down from their mounts. The remaining mounted soldiers wrenched their peacemakers from their saddle holsters, but their horses reared and kicked and bolted, the soldiers desperately holding on as six horses galloped
out of the village towards the city. Only Cutter’s mount remained, unperturbed.

‘Who are you?’ the hordemaster yelled, infuriated.

‘You didn’t believe me when I told you,’ Meg replied. ‘You have a long walk ahead of you. I recommend you start now.’

He reached for his peacemaker, which was on the ground, remarkably unscathed by the flames.

‘Please don’t make this any more difficult,’ she said calmly. ‘You don’t need the weapon. Walk away quietly.’ She glanced at the other three men who were dusting themselves down. ‘All of you.’

‘Warlord Fist won’t like this,’ the hordemaster declared. ‘You’ll regret what you’ve done.’

‘I’ve regretted
not
doing a lot of things,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I will deal with your warlord at some stage. Now, start walking.’

The hordemaster glared at her and then at Cutter, who was sitting on his horse, smiling. Then he gestured to his men and together they trudged out of the village after their mounts and colleagues.

‘That was quite impressive,’ Cutter said, sliding down from his horse. ‘I’d forgotten what you could do.’

Swift emerged from behind the end hut, sheathing her knife, as everyone else converged on Meg and Cutter.

‘What happened to their horses?’ Sparkle asked above the babble of voices.

‘Horseflies,’ Cutter offered in explanation, winking at Meg.

‘You know they’ll be back,’ said Keeper.

‘I know,’ said Meg. ‘We have to move on quickly. But it won’t be safe for any of you to stay here now. You’ll have to come with us.’

‘We’ll be fine here,’ said Sparkle. ‘We’ve managed before.’

‘That was before they knew I was here,’ said Meg. ‘Now they won’t leave you alone. They never do.’

Sparkle glanced at Keeper, then asked Meg, ‘Who exactly are you?’

‘Someone the Seers wish wasn’t alive,’ she said. ‘Collect what you need. We’re leaving, all of us.’

Meg gazed across the river at the early morning bush ritual. An emu flock had come to drink, their elegant speckled grey and blue necks dipping and rising, dark beaks quivering as they swallowed the fresh water. A hundred paces along the bank to her right she spotted two grey kangaroos, balancing on their hind legs and tails, watching the emus. Satisfied the big birds weren’t a threat, they edged towards the water and lowered their heads to drink. The peace of the bush made it possible to believe that the trouble pursuing her had been left behind when they departed Littlecreek yesterday. She looked over her shoulder when she heard footsteps and saw Cutter and Swift approaching.

‘I haven’t seen these animals for thirty years,’ said Cutter quietly. ‘So much you forget when you’re locked away.’

‘I grew up in a place where this was part of my everyday life. I miss the beauty of it,’ Meg replied.

‘I know somewhere nearby we might be able to hide,’ said Swift, cutting to the matter at hand. ‘I thought this area looked familiar when we were walking yesterday.’

‘Where?’ Meg asked.

‘With folk that call themselves bushmen,’ Swift replied. ‘They hunt and trap for a living.’

‘Can they be trusted?’ Cutter asked.

Swift chuckled. ‘They hate the Kerwyn monarchy. I got the impression they were all Shessian-bred men.’

‘How long ago since you were here?’ Meg asked.

‘Not long before we met. I had to hide a girl out here.’

‘Another daughter?’

Swift’s smile became a laugh. ‘No. She worked the same trade as Passion. Different boss.’

‘So why did you have to hide her away out here?’

Swift glanced at Cutter, then said to Meg, ‘She was a witness to something she shouldn’t have seen. You can guess what that was.’

Cutter looked quizzical but Meg shook her head to warn him not to pursue the matter. ‘How far from here?’ she asked.

‘Not far.’

Meg nodded. ‘Organise the others and I’ll follow.’

Swift headed back to the camp, but Cutter remained. ‘What do you intend to do?’ he asked when Swift was out of earshot.

Meg shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. It will depend on how far the Seers have got with their project. Once upon a time I would have hoped to reason with them, but their religious fervour is all they can see. Reason and faith ought to go hand in hand, each tempering the other, but the Seers use faith as the base for their reasoning, so the latter only serves the former.’

‘Any plans at all?’ Cutter asked.

‘I’d like to try one more time to make them see the flaw in their faith as far as the Demon Horsemen are concerned. If that doesn’t work, then I have to destroy the source of their increasing power.’

‘You mean bring down the monarchy?’

A wry smile settled on her lips. ‘Are you making me into a rebel?’

‘One person’s rebel is another person’s saviour,’ he reminded her. ‘The Seers have the support of a large portion of the city’s population.’

‘And we need to find out exactly why. The monarchy might be part of the problem, but it’s the Seers that have to be changed or removed.’

She was interrupted by a scream from their camp. Whisper came scampering towards her, projecting,
Help! Strangers
.

Cutter made towards the camp in response to the scream, but Meg grabbed his arm. ‘What are you going to do?’

He glared at her, but before he could argue her expression changed. He turned to follow her gaze. Standing in the bush, peacemakers aimed at them, were eight men dressed in khaki.

As the party were escorted into the settlement on the opposite bank of the river, a young blonde woman ran to embrace Swift. She carried a small bundle wrapped in swaddling cloth, which she held out to the assassin. ‘We named him Taverner,’ she announced. ‘Taverner Trackmarker. What do you think?’

‘You’ve been busy,’ Swift said curtly.

‘I’m just so grateful that you left me here,’ the girl, Ella, replied. ‘I’ve learned so much. The dogskinners have been very kind. And now that we’ve got a whole community, we’ve made our own little city.’

Swift looked around at the settlement, noting how fresh and raw everything appeared. ‘When was all this built?’ she asked.

‘Actually, only since the end of Yanah, a few cycles at most,’ said Ella. ‘When the king arrived.’

Swift’s mouth gaped. ‘King?’

‘Inheritor,’ said Ella. ‘Shadow tried to have him murdered, but he escaped and Hunter brought him here.’

‘Hunter?’ Swift repeated, still taking in the unexpected news.

‘He used to be a bodyguard for the Joker. You remember the drug merchant who sold the euphoria? Hunter worked for her.’

‘And where’s the Joker now?’

Ella laughed. ‘She was arrested and taken to the Bog Pit. No one’s seen or heard of her since.’

Swift forced a smile. ‘I’ll catch up with you afterwards. I’m glad to see you’ve been all right. I’d better join my friends now,’ and she gestured towards Meg and Jewel, just disappearing into what looked like a central meeting hall.

‘Say goodbye to Swift,’ Ella said to baby Taverner, and grinned at the assassin’s departing back.

The furnishings in the round hall were rudimentary. Large gum tree logs served for benches and several circular cross-sections cut from a massive tree trunk were mounted on stumps as tables. Daylight poured through wide vents in the thatch and striped the big wooden roof beams that were really solid branches from trees. A big hearth, cold and clean, filled the central space.

Several men, all heavily bearded and in khaki tunics and trousers, waited to meet the party. Swift recognised the tall man who addressed them first. ‘I am Dogskinner Trapper,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Hope. Who will speak for you?’

The visitors all looked to Meg, so she acknowledged Trapper’s welcome and said, ‘I’m Meg.’

‘What brings you to Hope?’

‘We are looking for sanctuary.’

‘From whom?’

There was a pause as Meg assessed the people before her, then she said, ‘The king and the Seers.’

‘I know these people,’ a man interrupted. He was staring directly at Chase.