The Skraelings also appeared to have leaders, for some of the larger and more misshapen of the Skraelings moved about the greater mass, directing and ordering.
Isaiah shivered. What was happening? Were they now directionless for want of the One?
“The army is ready?” he asked Lamiah for the sixteenth time.
“Yes,” Lamiah replied patiently, knowing the worry that underscored Isaiah’s repetitive questioning. “They are ready. Every man armed and in place.”
And little good that would do, both men thought, if this massive army of wraiths attacked.
The Skraelings stretched south as far as any eye could see, a mass of million upon million, undulating slightly in the clear noon sunshine.
“Look!” Lamiah said, and Isaiah nodded.
One of the Skraelings, among the largest of the misshapen leaders, had left the main pack and now walked across the open space between the Skraelings and the Isembaardians.
Lamiah turned and shouted some orders, but Isaiah did not shift his eyes from the creature.
It was just one.
But, oh, what a one.
The Skraeling stood about the height of a very large bear walking on its hind limbs, and even looked slightly like a bear in the shape of its lumbering body. But its head looked like a piece of dough that a cook had crumpled in her hands until it bulged unevenly.
It had two silvered orbs, smaller than the usual enormous eyes of the Skraelings, tucked away in the left side of its face. Instead of being side by side, they were arranged one above the other . . . the lower one slightly skewed to the right.
It had a slit for a mouth . . . and clawed hands and feet at the extremities of its body.
That, at least, was normal for a Skraeling, as also the constant grey shifting nature of its body so that it faded in and out of view as it shuffled forward, the mass of its comrades often appearing in perfect focus through its body.
Of all its loathsomeness, Isaiah found its unbalanced eyes the most troubling.
“I have men coming to aid us,” Lamiah said softly.
“Tell them to stay back,” Isaiah said.
Lamiah stared at Isaiah a moment, then turned and waved to a halt the squad of men moving through the birds.
Isaiah moved forward.
“Be careful!” Lamiah hissed, and Isaiah paused to turn and grin.
“Was there not a time you could not wait to be rid of me?” Isaiah said.
“Once upon a time,” said Lamiah, “when I was lost in fairytale ambitions.”
Isaiah nodded, then his grin faded, and he turned back to wade forward through the hissing birds.
He walked to some five paces past them, and stopped.
The Skraeling had halted another three paces away. Its silver orbs, so obscenely unbalanced, watched him unblinkingly.
It looked very sure of itself.
In reality, the Skraeling was extremely unsettled.
The One, who had guided the Skraelings to this point with clear instructions and purpose, had vanished. His presence was no longer apparent to the wraiths. They could no longer sense him, although they did not quite believe him dead.
Just gone.
Off somewhere.
And he’d forgotten to tell them about it.
This was not only deeply hurtful to the Skraelings, it was highly unsettling. It made them nervous.
Worse, this army they had suddenly happened upon was led by Isaiah.
God of the waters.
The Skraelings hated water, and they hated and feared Isaiah because of who he was. When the One had been with them and had wrapped them in his power, they had been able to ignore Isaiah, even approach him.
But now, with the One vanished .
The Skraelings did not like Isaiah. He made them feel not only uncomfortable, but also ashamed of themselves, and they could not understand why.
Thus they had slowed as they approached Isaiah’s army, and now they prevaricated, and sent ahead this Skraeling, one of their leaders, the most courageous of them, to see what they could discover.
The Skraeling decided to bluff, to see if he could startle Isaiah into revealing some information.
“We demand to speak to the One,” the Skraeling said, wishing he didn’t slaver so when he spoke. “Now.”
“The One is gone,” Isaiah said. He was watching the Skraeling carefully, and the Skraeling was feeling more uncomfortable than ever.
“We know you’re hiding him,” he said. “We’d like to speak to him.” He only barely stopped himself from saying “please”.
Isaiah narrowed his eyes, and didn’t speak.
“Please,” the Skraeling finally blurted. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t started on this conversation.
“The One is dead,” Isaiah said.
The Skraeling grinned, now feeling more sure of himself. “No,” he said, “the One is not dead. Only .” he stopped, adopting what he hoped was a sly expression. “We know you have him. We’d like to speak with him. Now.”
The tip of Isaiah’s tongue emerged, touching his upper lip, and the Skraeling understood that Isaiah was himself uncertain and unsettled, and so the Skraeling felt more comfortable.
“The One is within my camp?” Isaiah said.
The Skraeling, who had no idea at all, suddenly saw the means to create mischief.
“Yes,” he said, “and we’d like to speak —”
But Isaiah was gone, striding back through the sea of pink birds, and the Skraeling was left standing, staring after him, wondering what it had accomplished.
Isaiah strode back to Lamiah.
“We need to go back to camp,” he said. He paused, staring toward his army. “We need to speak with Hereward.”
Chapter 6
Elcho Falling
Axis sat, elbows on the table, leaning his head in his hands. At the other end of the table StarDrifter was giving his opinion — loudly and very volubly — of Inardle’s proposal that she and Axis go to the Skraelings.
Egalion, Garth Baxtor, Georgdi and Insharah sat, utterly silent, watching Axis and listening (as if they had a choice) to StarDrifter’s thoughts on the matter.
The worst thing, Axis decided, was that whatever StarDrifter said it would make no difference. He had seen from the faces of the other four men that they were all in favour.
Stars, how had Inardle won their support?
No, that wasn’t the worst thing. The worst thing was that he could feel, deep deep down within himself, a bright flame of interest in the idea.
Oh, how good it would be to get out of this cursed beautiful prison of a citadel and be doing instead of always reacting/
The idea of looking danger in the face and slipping underneath the cordon of Lealfast who besieged the tower appealed to Axis; the idea of riding wild across the plains in an attempt to save Isaiah appealed to Axis, and the idea that he could soon meet with the friend he had thought dead was even more appealing. Even the idea of trying to outwit the loathsome Skraelings appealed to Axis, although he shuddered at the title of Lord of the Skraelings for himself.
And, above all, he could leave behind the problem of the Dark Spire, which had now broken through into the next basement level and was growing ever upward. No one had a way of stopping it and Axis was beyond frustration in trying to find a solution. Damn it! f Maximilian could escape, then why couldn’t he?
If only Inardle hadn’t been the one to suggest it.
If only it didn’t depend almost wholly on Inardle for its success.
If only it wasn’t Inardle who Axis would have to ride wild with across the plains.
He’d much prefer Georgdi. Why in all stars’ names didn’t Georgdi have some magical affiliation with the Skraelings?
Suddenly Axis had a thought . . . ride . . . horses . . .
“The plan can’t succeed,” he said, raising his head out of his hands.
“It has problems, yes,” Georgdi said, “but —”
“Inardle said she could get just one person and one person only out of Elcho Falling with her, yes?” Axis said, waving StarDrifter into silence.
Georgdi nodded slowly, wondering where lay the trap.
“No one else?” Axis said.
“No,” Georgdi said slowly, exchanging an anxious glance with Insharah.
“We won’t be able to get horses out,” Axis said. “If Inardle’s power is so weak —” he could not resist the jibe, even though she was not present to hear it “— then she certainly cannot spirit out horses for us as well. Oh yes, she can fly, but I can’t. I, at least, will need a horse . . . more than one if we are to travel fast. So you suggest it is feasible that —” Georgdi was starting to smile, which worried Axis, but he ploughed on regardless “— I somehow manage to walk all the scores of leagues to wherever Isaiah is before the Skraelings eat him into the dust? The plan doesn’t make sense, Georgdi. It is an enjoyable fantasy, nothing more.”