Dormitories in rows upon rows, assembly halls and places of worship. Work stalls and low-ceilinged expanses given over to arcane manufacture-stacks of metal, each one identical, proof of frightening precision. Armouries bearing ranks of strange weapons, warehouses with stacked packages of foodstuffs, ice-rooms filled with butchered, frozen meat hanging from hooks. Niches in which were stored bolts of cloth, leather, and scaled hides. Rooms cluttered with gourds arranged on shelves.
A city indeed, awaiting them.
And still, Taxilian led them ever upward. Like a man possessed.
A riot had erupted. Armed camps of islanders raged back and forth along the shoreline, while mobs plunged into the forests, weapons slick and dripping, into the makeshift settlements, conducting pathetic looting and worse among the poorest refugees. Murder, rapes, and everywhere, flames lifting orange light into the air. Before dawn, the fires had ignited the forest, and hundreds more died in smoke and heat.
Yan Tovis had drawn her Shake down on to the stony shoreline, where numbers alone kept the worst of the killers at bay.
The ex-prisoners of Second Maiden Fort had not taken well the rumour-sadly accurate-that the Queen of Twilight was preparing to lead them into an unknown world, a realm of darkness, a road without end. That, if she failed and lost her way, would find them all abandoned, trapped for ever in a wasteland that had never known a sun’s light, a sun’s blessed warmth.
A few thousand islanders had taken refuge among the Shake. The rest, she knew, were busy dying or killing each other amidst grey smoke and raging flames. Standing facing the ravaged slope with its morbid tree-stumps and destroyed huts, her face smeared with ash and sweat, her eyes streaming from the smoke, Yan Tovis struggled to find her courage, her will to take command once more. She was exhausted, in her bones and in her soul. Waves of ash-filled heat gusted against her. Distant screams drifted through the air, cutting through the surly growl of the motley rabble edging ever closer.
Someone was pushing through the crowd behind her, snarling curses and dire warnings. A moment later, Skwish scrambled forward. ‘There’s near a thousand gulpin’ down o’er there, Queen. When they get their nerve, they’re gonna carve inta us-we got a line a ex-guards an’ the like betwixt ’em an’ us. You better do somethin’ and do it fast… Highness.’
She could hear renewed fighting, somewhere down the beach. Twilight frowned. Something about that sound… ‘Do you hear that?’ she asked the witch cowering at her side.
‘Wha?’
‘That’s an organized advance, Skwish.’ And she pushed past the old woman, making her way towards that steady clash of iron, the shouts of commands being given, the shrieks and cries of dying looters. Even in the uncertain flickering light from the forest fire, she could see how the mob was curling back-a wedge of Letherii soldiers was pushing through, drawing ever closer.
Twilight halted. Yedan Derryg. And his troop. My brother-damn him!
She saw her ex-guards shift uneasily as the wedge cut through the last looters. They did not know if the newcomers would attack them next-if they did, the poorly armed islanders would be cut to pieces. Twilight hurried, determined to throw herself between the two forces.
She heard Yedan snap an order, and saw the perfect precision of his thirty or so soldiers wheeling round, the wedge dispersing, flattening out to form a new line facing the churning crowd of looters, locking shields, drawing up their weapons.
The threat from that direction was now over. Actual numbers were irrelevant. Discipline among a few could defeat a multitude-that was Letherii doctrine, borne out in countless battles against wild tribes on the borderlands. Yan Tovis knew it as did her brother.
She pushed through her island guard, seeing the loose relief on the faces that swung to her, the sudden deliverance from certain death.
Yedan, blackened with soot and spatters of blood, must have seen her before she spied him, for he stepped into her path, lifting his helm’s cheek-guards, revealing his black beard, the bunching muscles of his jaw. ‘My Queen,’ he said. ‘Dawn fast approaches-the moment of the Watch is almost past-you will lose the darkness.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘I do not believe we can survive another day in this uprising.’
‘Of course we can’t, you infuriating bastard!’
‘The Road to Gallan, my Queen. If you will open the way, it must be now.’ He gestured with a gauntleted hand. ‘When they see the portal born, they will try for it-to escape the flames. To escape the retribution of the kingdom. You will have two thousand criminals rushing on your heels.’
‘And what is there to do about it?’ Even as she asked, she knew how he would answer. Knew, and wanted to scream.
‘Queen, my soldiers will hold the portal.’
‘And be slaughtered!’
He said nothing. Muscles knotted rhythmically beneath his beard.
‘Damn you! Damn you!’
‘Unveil the Road, my Queen.’
She spun to her two captains among the ex-prison guards. ‘Pithy. Brevity. Support Yedan Derryg’s soldiers-for as long as you can-but be sure not to get so entangled that your people cannot withdraw-I want you through the gate, do you understand?’
‘We shall do as you say, Highness,’ Brevity replied.
Yan Tovis studied the two women, wondering yet again why the others had elected them as their captains. They’d never been soldiers-anyone could see that. Damned criminals, in fact. Yet they could command. Shaking her head, she faced her brother once more.
‘Will you follow us?’
‘If we can, my Queen. But we must be certain to hold until we see the portalway failing.’ He paused, and then added with his usual terseness, ‘It will be close.’
Yan Tovis wanted to tear at her hair. ‘Then I begin-and,’ she hesitated, ‘I will talk to Pully and Skwish. I will-’
‘Do not defend what I have done, sister. The time to lead is now. Go, do what must be done.’
Gods, you pompous idiot.
Don’t die, damn you. Don’t you dare die!
She did not know if he heard her sob as she rushed away. He’d dropped his cheek-guards once more. Besides, those helms blunted all but the sharpest sounds.
The Road to Gallan. The road home. Ever leading me to wonder, why did we leave in the first place? What drove us from Gallan? The first shoreline? What so fouled the water that we could no longer live there?
She reached the ancient shell midden where she and the witches had sanctified the ground, climbed, achingly, raw with desperation, to join the pair of old witches.
Their eyes glittered, with madness or terror-she could never tell with these two hags.
‘Now?’ asked Pully.
‘Yes. Now.’
And Yan Tovis turned round. From her vantage point, she looked upon her cowering followers. Her people, crowded along the length of beach. Behind them the forest was a wall of fire. Ashes and smoke, a conflagration. This-this is what we leave. Remember that. From where she stood, she could not even see her brother.
No one need ever ask why we fled this world.
She whirled round, drawing her blessed daggers. And laid open her forearms. The gift of royal blood. To the shore.
Pully and Skwish screamed the Words of Sundering, their twisted hands grasping her wrists, soaking in her blood like leeches.
They should not complain. That but two remain. They will learn, I think, to thank my brother. When they see what royal blood gives them. When they see.
Darkness yawned. Impenetrable, a portal immune to the water that its lower end carved into.
The road home.