The Way of Purity

By Bevan McGuiness

The final chapter in the epic Triumvirate trilogy 'Leave your preconceptions about fantasy behind with this one because McGuiness continues to do the unexpected' Bookseller + Publisher
the final chapter in the epic triumvirate trilogy. With Hwenfayre murdered and Shanek's humanity all but destroyed by the power of the triumvirate, the world stands on the brink of destruction, unaware of its peril. Even Aldere, left maintaining a precarious balance, might not know how to save it. Cherise and his cut-throat band are heading to Eysteinn to complete their mission for the thane, but a new and unexpected power has awakened within the slave Jayotsana - a power the Assassin plans to use for his own ends. the power of the triumvirate is loosed on the world and the ancient warrior code of the Way of Purity might hold the key to salvation ... 'McGuiness continues to do the unexpected' Bookseller+Publisher on the First Weapon 'the Awakening reads beautifully. It is sweeping and grand in its vision ... Fans of fantasy and newcomers to fantasy will all enjoy it' Good Reading

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Apr 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9780730401551

Bevan McGuiness

Bevan McGuiness lives near Perth with his wife and daughter. He has been writing for years and has published short stories, book reviews, a novel and pieces for texts on science education.

Book preview

1

‘I still say you were lucky, Sir,’ said Sandor, First Counsellor to the Empire of the World.

‘I really don’t care whether you like it or not, Sandor,’ said Thane Kasimar IV, ruler of the Empire of the World, shrugging as he sipped his ury’tas. ‘The monsters are awake, and we both know it. They are breeding. You’ve seen the reports, even the sorcerer Skrin Tia’k are abroad.’ He waved his hand in an expansive gesture over the large desk covered with reports from all over the continent. ‘We need information and your son is serving the Empire.’

‘You sent him into deadly danger, Sir, with only two Fyrds for protection,’ Sandor protested.

‘I know, Sandor,’ the Thane replied. ‘But what choice did we have?’

‘You could have sent the entire army north to wipe out the Skrin Tia’k.’

The Thane shook his head, looking suddenly weary. ‘No, this was the best way. Shanek was almost lost to us, you know that too. Sending him into danger where he had to rely on his wits and face death unless he grew up is still the best option we had.’

‘He could have died!’ Sandor half rose from his seat, but subsided when the Thane waved him down.

‘He didn’t.’

‘Luck, Sir, pure luck.’

‘Not with his skills and training. Not luck.’

‘And Cherise?’ Sandor persisted. ‘Where is he now? We could use him.’

Thane Kasimar IV covered his smug smile by taking another sip of the fiery liquor. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘it really is a shame you cannot enjoy this drink. It is a fine drink.’

Sandor shook his head and sighed. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Eysteinn.’

‘What is he doing over there? Purity knows we need him here!’

‘The Diplomat is looking for someone I think could be useful to us.’

‘Who over there could help us now?’

‘A man called Rún.’

Sandor rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘You expect me to fall for that? Rún is just a Matrin legend.’

The Thane shook his head. ‘No, he’s a Ragnhild legend.’

‘They’re the same people, Sir, we both know that.’

‘But there’s truth in all legends. This Rún is intimately involved with the ancient legends of your line. Cherise is particularly adept at digging out old legends. He’ll turn something up.’

‘Like he turned up the one about the Aonghus?’

The Thane winced inwardly at the barb. Diplomat Cherise had, some time ago, mentioned the legend about the Aonghus—the Danan of the Fera’gog Crucra—but only when both drunk and in the grip of a particularly bad attack from his fever. He had later denied ever having any knowledge, but Sandor had pursued the story himself. It was that scrap of legend that had finally decided him on the course of action that led to Shanek being sent away.

‘The Aonghus—summoned by the Companion, possessed of the Deep, rises from the Tribe,’ Sandor recited.

‘And if the Tribes hold that sort of power, who knows what else lies in their mysteries?’ the Thane mused.

The Thane had been a player of games since he was born and this was his best yet. As far as he knew, only Bedi, his Matrin advisor, knew the truth of the mission. Bedi had assured his Thane that there were enough clues in the orders to alert the brilliant mind of the First Son to the fact that his mission was not what it appeared, but not enough to let him work out exactly what his real mission was, although Kasimar was not so sure about this. Bedi was as deep and cunning a man as he had ever known. It was altogether possible the Matrin scholar might have slipped things in that even he, the Thane, did not know about.

It had been a stroke of genius to send the arrogant, vicious and selfish Shanek out as a young man into the Widows’ Quarter to meet with the wily old man. At least Leone had had the sense to keep her mouth shut about what had really happened during those long days, and even she never knew about the children.

The existence of those grandchildren had been the only thing that had made the First Counsellor finally acquiesce to the plan. And even then, the devoted father had believed it to be little more than the last in a long line of harsh training strategies needed to turn a wastrel into a true leader. When Leone and Cherise had returned with their tales of the First Son’s death, Sandor had nearly died from the grief and guilt. Kasimar’s response to disgrace the Caldorman and send her into internal exile was not what it seemed either, but no one paid too much notice to that in the shock of her news. For a long time, he feared he would have to bring young Kiran in early, so incapable had Sandor become.

It was only the strange report from Aphra about the mysterious ‘Shanek’s Seekers’ that brought him out of his melancholy with the hope that his son was still alive.

And then the arguments began.

And then Leone disappeared.

And now Kiran had vanished, along with his sister.

Kasimar feared a return of Sandor’s melancholy, but the news seemed to galvanise him into a flurry of furious action. He regained his spirit, as evidenced by the restarting of these arguments, he threw himself back into his work as First Counsellor and he started to oversee the formation of the new First Son’s Fyrd.

‘And now Prasanna has gone missing,’ Sandor said.

‘We still have Kiran,’ Kasimar reassured his lifelong friend.

‘A mere child!’ Sandor said, unconvinced by this argument.

‘A child under my personal protection,’ Kasimar said again. It was an argument they had had a hundred times since the day he had sent Shanek north on a specious assignment to Ettan. Or at least everyone, including Sandor, believed it to be specious.

‘How effective has that protection been?’ Sandor snapped, bringing the Thane back to the present argument.

Kasimar looked away to cover his annoyance. Somehow the children had slipped through his fingers. ‘I have good people on that,’ he said.

‘But how did it happen in the first place?’

The Thane shook his head, having again to concede the point to his Counsellor and friend. The kidnapping was either well planned and skilfully carried out or insanely opportunistic, but no matter how good they were, it did not answer the question as to how they knew about the girl. And why her, and not the boy? With the First Son missing, probably dead, they could have demanded anything and got it for the boy, but for the girl…? Kasimar shook his head again. What were they up to, these plotters?

‘These good people,’ Sandor prompted. ‘What are they doing?’

‘They’re on the move,’ Kasimar said.

2

Sujeet Maan watched as the smoke started to curl out of the upper windows. He stayed perfectly still in the dark recess, unnoticed by the people who were starting to stir and raise the alarm. His attention was focused on the swiftly moving shadow that ran away from the flames. It made its way across the narrow street, paused and stooped. When it straightened up, it was carrying a limp body across its shoulders.

With a quick glance around, the shadow assured itself it was not observed and ran.

‘Well, well, Leone,’ he whispered to no one. ‘What have you done?’

He was a loyal Soldier, a servant of the Thane who obeyed the orders of his Caldorman without question, but having to deceive his friend and occasional lover had been hard. When he reported his meeting with her to his Caldorman, he was shocked at the intensity of the questioning that had followed. He was even more shocked by the orders that followed and who gave them. After being ushered into a room in his headquarters he had never before entered, he was left alone in an otherwise empty room with a man seated in a simple chair.

Having never before met the Thane personally, he had only a hazy idea of the man to whom he had pledged his life, but the sheer presence, the easy way he carried his ultimate authority, made a lasting impression.

‘Follow her,’ the Thane had ordered. ‘Join this ragtag little rebellion and infiltrate it as far as you can. Get as many Hunter/Killers in as you are able, but if she ever leaves, track her to the end of the world. Never let her escape you, and if she takes a boy with her, his life is worth more than yours.’

Sujeet stood utterly motionless as the Thane spoke, committing to memory every word. As Kasimar IV continued it took all his training and discipline to prevent him from crying out in shock.

‘The boy will most likely be Kiran, the First Grandson. I don’t need to tell you how important his life is, but I also need to know where she goes and why she leaves.’ Kasimar rose from his chair and took two steps towards Sujeet Maan. ‘The fate of the Empire, and perhaps everything else we know, hinges on your ability to carry out this task,’ he whispered. ‘If you are successful, you will be the Coerl of the First Son’s Fyrd.’ The faintest hint of a smile curled the corners of his mouth upwards. ‘And you never know, the boy may return with you as the First Son. So be nice to him.’

His right arm twitched with the urge to smash upwards and slam a salute into his chest, but the Thane was too close and he feared he might strike him, so he contented himself with a grim nod.

‘One of your own men is a member of the Fyrd and he will report to me if you do happen to leave unexpectedly. They will follow you wherever you go.’ Kasimar stepped back. ‘You may complete your salute now, Sujeet Maan.’

With a sense of value he had never imagined possible, he slammed his fist against his chest. ‘Sir,’ he snapped.

The Thane’s smile widened. ‘Two things before you go,’ he said.

‘Sir?’

‘Your Coerl tells me you could be almost as good as Leone, with experience. This is very high praise. I trust you will not let us both down.’

‘No, Sir, I will not.’

‘And the second thing—get those bruises seen to.’

‘Bruises, Sir?’

‘On your fist and your chest.’

‘And so it happens,’ he whispered as he watched Leone run away with Kiran across her shoulder.

When she was beyond hearing him move, he eased out of his dark niche and ran after her. Although he had never seen the man watching him, he knew he had to be there—anyone good enough to make the First Son’s new Fyrd had to be good—so he ran knowing his departure would be noted, reported and acted upon. As he ran behind Leone, Sujeet experienced a strange mixture of conflicting emotions.

While he was a loyal Soldier, he felt no personal loyalty to the person of the First Son. He had encountered Shanek on a number of occasions and cared nothing for the arrogant, vicious man. But his son, unknown to anyone except the Thane it appeared, was a different matter entirely. Sujeet Maan found himself wondering what sort of First Son he would make. He knew Leone, and if she was prepared to risk her life for him and his sister, there must be something extraordinary about him. The First Grandson might be what the Empire needed to pull it out of its dangerous slide into unthinking decadence. Too long it had wallowed, safe in military invulnerability. A surge of hope brightened his normally dark ponderings. This boy must live, and if his life or death could bring it to pass, so be it. In that moment, Sujeet Maan experienced a total shift in loyalty. He gave himself, heart and soul, to someone he could hope in, someone who might even prove worthy.

It took them the better part of a day to travel out of Ajyne, and then they headed north. He tracked them as they left the road and started to make their cautious way away from Ajyne. He left simple but clear trail markers for the followers who would surely come soon. When Leone stole a horse, he was caught in a quandary. A horse would allow him to keep up more easily, but hooves were noisy and he might be detected. For a few heartbeats he considered his options, before starting to run.

He was Herath-born and had spent his childhood as a hunter’s son. Tracking was second nature to him and he knew he was a much better tracker than Leone. He could track them easily, they could not evade him out here and besides, a good run wouldn’t hurt him.

When he found the signs of their fight with the arox, his heart pounded in near panic until he found the animal’s blood and saw the evidence of its flight. Now that they were on foot again, he could make up ground on them. Then he would have to be more careful.

3

Ananda sat back on her heels as she watched Shanek leave the fire and head back to their hut. His plan was simple and lethal. After midnight, she and Gewat would go to Chetana’s hut and kill him while he slept. He drank himself into insensibility most nights on the fiery uryt’as the Skrin Tia’k supplied so freely, so it would be an easy task. Then they would gather the rest of the camp who were loyal to Shanek and leave. Their loyalty was such by now that they would believe anything. With all the training he had given them, they would be ready to leave at a moment’s notice so the camp would be deserted in less time than it took her to kill Chetana. The whole Oscrae enclave would simply vanish, leaving behind only burning huts and a few dead bodies.

It troubled her a little that she could contemplate killing a sleeping man so calmly. For a moment, she wondered what had happened to her in the time since she had met the man who had so utterly consumed her thoughts and heart. Ananda was not a sophisticated woman, she knew that. All her life had been spent with hard men and she had killed often, but rarely so cold-bloodedly. The first time had been the woman he had ordered her to kill that night when Maru had tried to take over Shanek’s Seekers. It bothered her that she could not even remember her name, yet she had cut her throat without hesitation when Shanek had told her to.

Dipali and Bishen rose quietly and went about their job of spreading Shanek’s story of a Skrin Tia’k attack in the morning that the messenger had brought. Whether they believed it or not was irrelevant, as long as they were convincing as they told the rest. She did not believe it, but was past caring. What she had seen had made her angry and sick to the core. Chetana was a monster who had sold his life to the sworn enemies of humanity and was trying to raise an army to destroy his own. He deserved to die and the world would be a cleaner place for his departure from it. No, it was not really the killing that concerned her, it was her cold willingness to do it.

Gewat was watching her with his characteristic intensity. She attempted a smile, but failed.

‘What you thinking?’ he asked.

Ananda shrugged. Nothing, she signalled.

Gewat shook his head. ‘Something bothering you, Ananda,’ he disagreed.

She looked at him, wondering how much she could tell him.

‘What you thinking?’ he repeated.

Ananda shrugged. Nothing, she signalled again.

Gewat shook his head. ‘No,’ he disagreed. ‘I know you better, Ananda. Something bothering you.’

She looked at him. That she could trust him was beyond doubt, but whether he could be relied upon to keep what he knew to himself was a different question entirely. And what would she tell him anyway? That Shanek had lied about the Skrinnie attack? That she could talk? Would either revelation make any difference?

How would he react to Shanek’s deceptions—that he was not Oscrae, that he was a senior officer in the Army and that he was almost obsessively pursuing the total destruction of the Skrin Tia’k?

Faced with all the lies that he had been fed, Gewat’s loyalty might waver. Ananda was herself still unsure about the extent of her feelings for Shanek. It was true she loved him and would willingly give her life for him, but she neither trusted nor particularly liked the man. He was cold and distant, often unfeeling, and capable of great cruelty. Shanek was comfortable with cold-blooded murder when it suited his purpose, as she had seen more than once. So why did she love him, and why would she give her life to him so completely?

Gewat shifted slightly, breaking Ananda’s train of thought. She smiled to reassure him.

I’m fine, she signed.

I do not believe you, Gewat signed back.

Thank you, Ananda signed, twisting her fingers slightly to convey sarcasm.

Gewat laughed. ‘Good night, Ananda,’ he said while his fingers said, See you at midnight.

Ananda nodded and Gewat rose. With a final smile, he melted away into the darkness, leaving Ananda alone with her doubts. She sat for a long time thinking about what she was about to do, where she had come from and where she was headed. To kill a man, even a monster like Chetana, was not something that should be thought about too deeply, as she was discovering. The longer she considered it, the less likely she was to go through with it. Images of blood splashing on her hands, of Chetana screaming, of her own death flickered through her mind, leaving her breathless and disturbed.

Shanek, why did you leave me? I cannot do this alone!

Around her, the sound of the camp faded as the others went to either their last sleep or to quiet preparations to leave. Ananda stayed were she was, awaiting the time when she would murder a helpless man.

The time passed too quickly and she heard Gewat’s approach in the darkness. Recognising his footsteps, she rose and drew her dagger. When he entered the small circle of light cast by the dying embers of the fire, he nodded at her readiness. Ananda acknowledged his nod and turned away. Together, they moved quickly across the familiar ground to Chetana’s hut.

From inside came the snoring of blissfully unaware drunken stupor. Ananda did not hesitate as she stepped through the open doorway into the utter black inside. On silent feet she crossed the floor and crouched beside the sleeping form. With sure strength, she plunged her dagger twice into the slowly heaving chest. Blood spurted from the wounds and soaked her arm. Her victim gasped once in shocked agony, then the breathing ceased.

Ananda rose slowly. Inwardly, her gut twisted and heaved in revulsion as she felt the warm, sticky blood trickle down her arm to drop with sickening sounds onto the floor. She swayed on her feet and for a moment she feared she might vomit, but a sound made her spin around. The faint glow of the dying embers caught the flicker of metal as a blade cut the air on its passage towards her. She tried to dodge, but the attack was too fast and the knife cut deeply across her chest. Her move sent her toppling back to fall across the man she had just killed.

‘You not expecting,’ Chetana hissed. ‘Bastard Shanek yes, not you.’

Ananda tried to rise but the Oscrae planted his boot heavily on her wound and shoved her back down on the dead body. She cried out in pain as she fell.

‘Who…?’ she gasped.

‘That?’ Chetana said. ‘Woman you murdered? That some slut. Not hold drink well.’

Ananda felt the pain of her wound and the pressure of Chetana’s boot slowly force the air from her lungs and she began to lose consciousness. Her dagger slipped from her bloodied hand and clattered onto the floor. The pain of her failure cut as deeply as Chetana’s dagger.

‘Shanek,’ she started, but Chetana removed his boot from her body to kick her hard in the ribs.

‘Knew you talk,’ he snarled. ‘Bitch. You die fast, I not have chance to rape you first.’ Chetana knelt beside her and busied his blade with cutting her clothes from her body. Fear, shame and pain strove within Ananda as she felt his coarse hands grope in the dark over her body.

To die like this, at the hands of a monster who fumbled in his haste to violate her before life fled gave her a final gasp of strength. With a cry, she slashed out with her hand as she attempted to rake her nails across his face, but even as she moved, she felt her strength fail her.

Chetana giggled, an obscene high-pitched sound as her arm fell uselessly back to the ground. With a jerk, he tore the last of her clothes from her body and started to unlace his own pants. He stopped suddenly. In the dim light, Ananda saw him start to turn around before toppling heavily on her.

Ananda screamed at the new pain. Looking up, she saw Gewat standing over Chetana with a dripping knife in his hand. He sheathed his blade and crouched beside Ananda. With a grunt, Gewat heaved Chetana’s body to one side. The release of pressure made Ananda’s wound bleed freely.

Gewat examined Ananda’s injury. He hissed through his teeth.

‘Bad?’ asked Ananda.

Gewat grunted. ‘Very deep,’ he said. He gently probed around the bloodied area below her left breast. Ananda bit off a cry of pain.

‘Sorry,’ Gewat said. ‘Lucky. Hit rib. Turned blade from heart.’ He rocked back on his heels and grinned. His teeth flashed orange in the sooty light. ‘You live,’ he pronounced. ‘Go now. Tend wound on the way.’

Ananda hung limply in his arms, barely conscious, only dimly aware of what was happening as Gewat carried her outside Chetana’s hut. She slipped in and out of consciousness while they moved through the camp and out into the surrounding forest. Muttered voices that meant nothing to her surrounded them as she was lowered to the ground. Gentle hands tended her wound and wrapped her in borrowed clothing, then she was lifted again and she felt herself moving. Blackness overtook her.

When she awoke, she was moving quickly. She tried to move, but could not. For a moment she panicked but realised she was tied to a litter that was being carried between two men. A groan escaped her lips as one of them missed his footing and staggered, jolting her heavily against the restraints.

‘You awake,’ one of the men said.

Ananda groaned again.

‘Good. Resting soon.’

Ananda tried to relax as she bounced and jolted in her primitive litter. Pain shot through her body with every step the jogging men took. She felt blood trickling down her side from her wound and wondered how much blood she had lost. Her injury was not life-threatening in itself, she had seen enough damage done to know that, but blood loss could kill where a dagger thrust might not.

Finally, the motion ceased and she was lowered to the ground. The men carrying her sank to their knees in exhaustion while the rest of the Oscrae troop busied themselves with the task of setting camp. Ananda had no idea how far they had travelled but she did not recognise the surrounding area.

Gewat came and knelt beside her.

‘Awake,’ he said. ‘Good.’ He offered her a water skin and she drank deeply.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘You not Oscrae,’ Gewat observed as he stoppered the skin and hung it at his belt.

Ananda shook her head.

‘Ettan, I think,’ Gewat said.

‘Ettan, yes,’ Ananda replied.

‘And you talk,’ one of her litter bearers said.

Ananda looked at him and nodded.

‘Why lie?’ the other man asked.

‘Shanek,’ Ananda replied, as if the simple mention of his name would suffice.

It did. All three men looked at each other and grinned.

‘Deep one, that,’ Gewat said.

‘Good fighter but,’ said a man whom Ananda now recognised as Ravi, a fighter who specialised with the bow.

The other two men grunted in agreement. Smiles started to form as they remembered.

Gewat rose. ‘Need to set camp,’ he said. ‘Ravi, get her food. Cota, set her a bed.’

Ravi and Cota gave the simple sign that Shanek had ‘created’ for them. It had started as a subtle way of identifying who among the Oscrae was part of Shanek’s group, but it rapidly became more. Now, the way these men thumped their clenched right fists into their chests had all the hallmarks of a salute. Ananda lay back on her litter and closed her eyes. It was all as Shanek had said. Gewat had assumed command easily, showing himself as one who could act decisively when needed, and Shanek’s ‘secret sign’ inevitably became a salute. It said much about these so-called rebels that they did not even recognise the normal salute of the Army they professed to despise.

How would they react when they found out they had been secretly trained as a tight-knit Fyrd? If their reaction to her own deception was any indication, it would not bother them much.

Ravi gently shook her shoulder. Ananda opened her eyes and accepted the plate of food he offered her with a smile of thanks. He sat beside her to watch as she ate.

‘Why no talk?’ he asked after a while.

Ananda shrugged. ‘Like I said, Shanek told me.’

‘Why?’

‘I think he thought I would not be able to stay with him in the Valley. All the different Provinces are kept separate here, and he wanted me with him.’

‘Why?’

Again Ananda shrugged. Ravi grinned.

‘You two…?’ he made an obscene gesture with his hands.

‘No,’ Ananda shook her head. ‘We never did that.’

‘Why?’

‘You ask that a lot,’ Ananda commented.

It was Ravi’s turn to shrug. ‘Curious,’ he offered by way of explanation.

‘Curious about what?’ Ananda asked. ‘Shanek? Me?’

‘Mostly about why the First Son would join the Skrin Tia’k army,’ Ravi said.

‘What?’ exclaimed Ananda.

‘Keep your voice down,’ Ravi whispered.

‘Who are you?’ Ananda asked.

‘I am a Soldier of the Empire,’ Ravi whispered. ‘I am in a division called Covert. I was sent to Oscran some time ago to investigate the operations of a man named Zatopek. It seems he is a lot more than a rich and successful merchant. He is recruiting criminals and sending them up here for military training.’

‘Why are you telling me all this?’ Ananda asked.

‘I need to know where the First Son has gone,’ Ravi said.

‘Shanek is really the First Son?’

Ravi nodded. Ananda was about to say something when she saw Ravi’s sudden shake of his head. She followed the direction of his gaze to see Cota approaching.

‘Bed,’ Cota said. He jerked his head to indicate where he had set Ananda’s bed.

Ananda smiled her acknowledgment.

‘Hungry?’ Cota asked Ravi.

Ravi shook his head. ‘Eat later,’ he said.

Cota nodded and walked to where the rest of the Oscrae troop was settling in for the night. Ravi and Ananda watched him go.

‘The First Son?’ Ravi urged when Cota was out of earshot. ‘Where has he gone?’

‘North,’ Ananda said. ‘That’s all I know.’

‘Burn it!’ Ravi hissed.

‘Shanek’s the First Son?’ Ananda persisted.

‘He is.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘He is, just accept it,’ Ravi snapped.

Ananda stared at him. Certainly the way his Oscrae accent had vanished, lent his story some credibility, but Shanek the First Son? No that was impossible.

And yet. He was no ordinary man; that was for sure. His skills. His knowledge of the Skrin Tia’k. His sorcerous ability.

‘You are staring as if you might believe me,’ Ravi said.

Ananda shook her head. ‘It’s just not possible. I know Shanek. He’s,’ she paused, searching for the right word, ‘exceptional, I admit. But the First Son?’

‘Think about it,’ Ravi urged. ‘His ability with languages. His military skills, his strategy. The way he so easily took Chetana’s troop away from him.’

Ananda stifled a chuckle. ‘Not to mention what he did to Ejaj.’

‘Ejaj?’ asked Ravi.

‘When we first met Shanek, he was a bit crazy. A whole group of people he knew had been killed by Skrinnies. We were a group of hunters, basically. We roamed around the Great Fastness hunting Skrinnies.’

‘Why?’ said Ravi.

Ananda shrugged. ‘It was something to do.’

‘A dangerous thing to do.’

‘More dangerous than what you’re doing?’ Ananda countered.

‘I am trained for this.’

‘So was I,’ Ananda snapped.

Ravi held up his hands in a gesture of acceptance. ‘Go on,’ he prompted.

‘It didn’t take Shanek long to take over the troop,’ Ananda went on. ‘He taught us strategy and the battle language.’

‘Again, I have to ask why,’ Ravi said.

‘The Skrinnies have excellent hearing, but their eyesight is not that good. If we communicate by gestures, they don’t know what we’re doing.’

‘I didn’t know that about the Skrinnies,’ Ravi admitted. ‘But it does explain the battle language.’

‘The main thing with fighting them, especially the big flying ones, is to trick them. They are really gullible,’ Ananda said, warming to her topic.

‘Deceit is the first weapon of the Caldorman,’ Ravi whispered. ‘It makes sense.’

‘Shanek says that,’ Ananda said.

‘He should, we went to the same Locus.’

‘Really?’ asked Ananda.

‘Not really, no,’ Ravi admitted. ‘But we learnt much of the same history. We read a lot of the same books.’ He leant forwards, realising the subject had been changed. ‘So if the First Son had taken over this troop, why did he head north?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ananda admitted. ‘One day, he just left. He said he had something to do, but he never told me what it was.’

‘Why did he bring you?’ Ravi asked.

‘He didn’t. I just sort of followed him. He tried to get rid of me. He even told me I would die up here and he wouldn’t save me, but I came anyway.’

‘And did he ever save you?’ Ravi asked.

‘Yes, several times,’ Ananda said with a smile.

‘Really? After saying he wouldn’t?’

‘Like I said, he seemed to want me with him.’

‘Did he say why?’

‘He said I was a good hunter,’ Ananda said.

Ravi chuckled softly. ‘You must be quite a hunter then.’

Ananda started to chuckle with Ravi, but the pain stopped her. She doubled over and clutched at her chest. The blood from the reopened wound trickled through her fingers. Ravi moved to crouch beside her and eased her back to lie flat on the ground. He gently lifted her hands to examine the injury.

The blood had soaked through the bandages and her borrowed clothes. He cut the shirt off and peeled the bandage back. Ananda gasped in pain as the bandage came away.

‘This is nasty,’ Ravi observed.

Ananda muttered through her gritted teeth.

‘What was that?’ asked Ravi.

‘I said it’s so nice to have an expert around,’ Ananda repeated. ‘I would never have known that without you.’

Ravi laughed. ‘Wait here,’ he told her as he rose to his feet. He covered her with a blanket before leaving her to speak with Gewat.

Ananda watched him leave. He spoke animatedly with Gewat and the two of them turned to regard her a number of times during the conversation. Gewat shook his head slowly, but Ravi continued to speak. After a while, he seemed to convince Gewat about something. Ravi clapped Gewat on the shoulder and made a comment that made the bigger man smile before he returned to crouch by Ananda’s side.

‘We’ll camp here for the night,’ he said. ‘That will give you a chance to recover a bit. We’ll have to carry you again tomorrow, but the day after that you should be well enough to walk.’

4

‘The Triumvirate is known throughout the world,’ said Kanya. ‘Every civilisation has its own version of the tales, depending on their own role in the Great Wars. They are all different, most of them are wrong, and if you just read them all, you would be very confused. Our job is to look for the kernel of truth in them all.’

Aldere sat comfortably under the gnarled old tadon tree as the freckle-faced scholar talked. In the time he spent under her tutelage, he discovered her to be more serious and less patient than her cheerful visage would have suggested. She had a habit of sucking on her bottom lip whenever she was concentrating or stuck for just the right word to use. When he asked her a question that made her think, or when she was focusing on what someone was saying to her, she tended to pick at her thumbnail. When left to her own devices, she wore trousers, like a man, and a white blouse, rather than the red, loose-fitting pants with the light blue smock that was the formal uniform of scholars of her rank. Her hair was usually loose and it framed her impish face with a cascade of red gold. She liked to sit under this tadon tree as often as she could, but as it stood in the personal garden-study of Biarga, the Chief Scholar, he had first claim over it.

Aldere decided he liked her. Her feelings for him, however, were more complicated. She wavered between adoration and intense frustration. At times, she found him ineffectual and irritating in his quiet ways. Were it up to her, he would lead the Matrin axemen in a violent rampage across the continent. While he had no problem with the destruction of the Skrin Tia’k army, her violent urges were not so limited. Kanya’s distaste for the entire Asan Empire, the Thane and his Army were well known among the scholars who populated the Locus.

Her lapses into adoration he found harder to deal with than her irritation. At times, her words would simply peter out and she would fade into silent contemplation of his face.

‘What sort of names?’ Aldere asked.

‘The Guardian is also known as the Virtuous Warrior, Vahan the Misplaced,’ she went on, ‘which is usually wrongly translated from the Matrin as Vahan the Lost, or Chandajagat, to name a few. The Danan is usually just called the Danan, although she is sometimes known as the Daughter of Purity or the Blaewhal Queen. You, Aldere, are sometimes called the Weapon, Karanatikisa the Pivot, sometimes just the Pivot—for obvious reasons—or even The Right One, although this is also a mistranslation of the Matrin word for Truth.’

‘How can different roles in the wars lead to different names?’ he asked.

‘Think about it,’ she said, leaning forwards. ‘If you fought against the Skrin Tia’k, but also against the Asan Empire, as the Tribes did, your view of the Guardian would be a bit ambiguous. On the one hand, he was the difference between the human and the arthropod, but on the other hand, he was the main reason your people were finally subjugated. They call him Vahan the Lost, and look forward to when he will return in his full power with some dread because he will rein them in again as he leads humanity against the Skrin Tia’k. They have been able to wriggle out from under the Asan fist quite a bit over the centuries, but he will put a stop to all that.’

‘But that doesn’t explain the actual name, and the mistranslation,’ Aldere protested.

‘Vahan was a figure out of their own mythology that preceded the Great Wars and the Matrin word for misplaced carries some of our own mythology.’

Aldere found himself oddly amused by her explanation. ‘I hadn’t considered you might have your own mythology,’ he said. ‘In some ways it makes me feel better to know that, I don’t know why.’

Kanya snorted in irritation. ‘We have a tendency to sound smug and superior,’ she explained, ‘and any sign that we are just like everyone else tends to make them feel better about themselves. It allows others to lower us to their level.’

‘Smug and superior,’ mused Aldere, ‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘Don’t you start!’ Kanya snapped. ‘This role is not the one we would have chosen for ourselves, it was thrust on us by you in the first place!’

‘What?’

‘As Biarga said earlier, you are the avatar of the wild magic that created the Triumvirate originally. You aren’t even human, not as we understand the word at least. None of the Triumvirate is, really. You have only existed twice, once during the Great Wars, and now. As far as I understand it, you are the same…entity now as then.’

‘I feel human,’ Aldere muttered.

‘And it is my personal theory that you are,’ Kanya said. ‘But I am a bit of a heretic there.’ She looked around as if expecting to have been overheard.

‘This is very disturbing,’ Aldere said.

Talat!

The name rang through Aldere’s mind like a bell. In an instant, Aldere felt himself transported to another place. He knew objectively he had not moved, he was still seated with Kanya in the warm Suthan sunshine, but in his mind he saw a hot, stifling, tropical jungle. At his feet lay a wasted man. Aldere knew Talat was heartbeats from death, and that his death now was wrong. Mentally, Aldere knelt beside Talat and rested his hands on him. Beneath his fingers, Aldere could feel the life draining from the ruined mind and body on the ground.

‘No,’ he whispered. ‘You must live for a while longer, Talat. I am sorry, I know you have suffered too much, but you have one more thing to do before you can find Purity.’

Before his mind left and returned to Suthan, Aldere saw Talat sit up and yawn, as if rising from a deep sleep. He stood and started walking north.

Kanya went on. ‘I cannot possibly understand how you feel, but I can see that it would be.’

Aldere shook his head to clear the sudden intrusion and refocused on Kanya and their conversation. ‘And what do you mean that I, or whoever, thrust this role on you?’ he asked.

‘The Weapon, after the end of the Tanissan Great Wars, came to the Matrin and instructed our Thane to devote our energies to two tasks—the axemen and the protection of knowledge. And you have no idea how annoying preserving knowledge can be. Every society rewrites the legends to suit itself. The timing changes, the stories shift in emphasis, names change—’

‘You had a Thane?’ Aldere interrupted.

‘Like so many of our words, it has been misused and inaccurately translated. Originally, a Thane was just a simple leader. The word means something like First Among Equals, but the Asan took it and changed it into what it has become.’

Aldere had nothing to say to that. The disturbing, powerful vision he had just had still resonated through his mind, leaving him reeling. He sat under the tree and tried to recall his life—his mother, his father, his fellow villagers, Michaela. How could he not be human? How could he be an ‘entity’, an avatar of wild magic? What did that mean, anyway? The most disturbing thing was that he accepted all of what Kanya had told him without question except that. It was all right, all except his identity. He was a person, not some bizarre concept. He was not the continuing existence of something, but he knew he was more than a simple man. He knew he had a role in the coming war, he knew he was one of the Triumvirate, but what he was—that eluded him. As he did normally when confused or uncertain, he changed the subject.

‘Tell me about your mythology—the one that created the misplaced,’ he said.

Kanya was used to his methods, and recognised a confusion-based subject shift when she saw one. She uncrossed her legs and leant back against the trunk of the ancient tree. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tilted her head towards the sunlight.

‘The Matrin were not a people so much as a religious group. We originated on Eysteinn, centuries ago. Our history was little more than a spoken tradition originally, with the cultural heritage carried by bards and poets. They acted as both guardians of the lore of the Matrin and as a sort of judiciary. Whenever there was a dispute, their knowledge of the mores and norms of the society became the standard against which people’s actions were judged. As a nomadic folk, it was all we really needed.’

Aldere fell quickly under the spell of Kanya’s tale, told as it was, with the singsong cadences of the long-memorised story. He’d heard many stories told in much the same way by his mother and the travelling minstrels who had visited even his lonely, isolated village.

‘We were nomadic from choice,’ Kanya went on, ‘travelling the land to evade persecution. Wherever we went, we were regarded by the proper townsfolk as thieves and bad influences on the youth. Our music, our dancing and our tales of heroic deeds from the dark past of Eysteinn allowed us some passage, but mostly we were shunned. In many ways, we were the Eysteinn equivalent of the Tribes. Our predominant colouring,’ she indicated her fair skin, blue eyes, red hair and dusting of freckles, ‘marked us as effectively as our language.

‘Our greatest poet was named Rún. He told the most wonderful tales of ancient magic and mighty deeds, but the most famous was one where he was the main protagonist. It was a contest of magicks between himself and Regin, the great wizard from the far west of the continent. For decades they had competed until finally Regin resorted to cowardly deception. He posed as a beggar and spun Rún a tale of woe wherein he had been the tragic victim of a series of misadventures. At the end of the tale, the beggar revealed his belief that the evil wizard Regin had been behind it all. As he spoke, Regin had cunningly woven a spell into his tale so that Rún was entranced to believe every word and when he told where Regin was to be found, Rún made haste to do battle once more with his old foe.

‘What Regin had left out of his tale was that living at that place was not the wizard, but a vast and hideous creature, the Fafnir. When Rún arrived, he was confronted not by Regin, but by something he had never imagined. Long was the battle between monster and wizard and during it, Rún used up all his magicks and was left only with his wits. The Fafnir by this time was also exhausted and lay panting beside the weakened wizard. Sensing the monster’s weakness, Rún sprang to his feet and pretended to cast a mighty spell to destroy the beast.

‘The Fafnir thought it was about to die and pleaded for its life, saying it was the last of its kind in the world and destroying it would impoverish life, for it was ancient and held much wisdom. Even though Rún was not deceived by the plea, he sensed an opportunity. Instead of casting the spell he no longer knew, he struck a deal with the Fafnir. It could continue living if it would devour Regin and never again trouble the land of Eysteinn.

‘This was agreeable to the Fafnir, so it pledged itself to the task. What Rún had not told the ancient monster was that he had cast a curse upon Regin that his body would never lie whole, but be rent asunder and scattered, half below the waters and half on the shores of a distant land. When the Fafnir tracked down and devoured the wizard as it had pledged to do, its body was torn in two by the power of the curse.

‘Rún was satisfied that he had rid the world of two great evils, but instead, he had underestimated the power of Regin’s wizardry, for instead of dying, his malice created two new forms of life—each one an affront to the world. Beneath the waves, the scattered remnants of the Fafnir became the Fera’gog Crucra and on the far distant shores of Tanissan, they became the Skrin Tia’k.’

‘And where do the lost or misplaced come in?’ asked Aldere.

‘The scattering of the Fafnir’s body caused it to be shifted or moved or displaced from where it belonged. Vahan the Lost is a horrible mishmash of legends—the legend of Rún, Fafnir and some Tribal tale about the origin of the Fire-beasts.’

‘Why would a Matrin legend end up linked with the Tribes?’ Aldere persisted.

‘The Tribes and the Matrin are originally from Eysteinn. We are both descended from the Ragnhild and some Ragnhild travelled here after the Eysteinn Great Wars. So very early in our history we were not so separate as we are now. In fact during much of the Great Wars we were allies.’

‘What happened after the Great Wars to end that?’ Aldere asked.

‘The Thane happened,’ Kanya said. At Aldere’s frown, she went on. ‘He decided that simply driving back the Skrin Tia’k was not enough for him. With a battle-hardened army and the First Counsellor, he swept across Tanissan like a plague, driving every country into perpetual subjugation. We were not spared, but by the time he reached us, we had already embraced your instructions, so we only had our axemen. As we offered no resistance, he left us mostly undamaged.

‘The Tribes, however, were a different matter. They resisted savagely and were driven into the Blight, but only after giving the Thane a bloodied nose he never forgot. Of course, they have used the fact that they were never truly defeated as their rallying cry over the centuries. In fact they even modified the story of the origin of the Danan to fit.’

‘Really? How so?’ asked Aldere.

Kanya sighed. ‘Can we do this later?’ she asked. ‘I am hungry.’ The scholar stood and stretched her back. Aldere watched her. A sudden thought occurred to him.

‘Kanya, are you married?’ he asked. The shock on her face was all the answer he needed. ‘Why not?’ he went on.

‘I, um…’ she stammered.

‘I take it that was a rude or inappropriate question,’ he said.

Kanya blushed, raising her hands to her cheeks. ‘Sort of,’ she said. ‘But, no, I am not married because I have never had the time. My studies have always been