“And in which camp do you fall?” Kezial said.
“I want both,” Eleanon said. “I want to destroy it and rebuild it to my own needs; to rebuild it in a manner in which it will recognise me and only me as its master.”
“Oh, so you’ve taken the easy option, then.”
Eleanon laughed. “I am going to like you, Kezial.”
“Why do you need me?”
“To aid me in my quest, naturally. I am set against everyone else: Maximilian and his allies, Isaiah, and the One.” “I thought you were allied with the One.” “Now not so much,” Eleanon said.
Kezial thought about that, and it made him nervous. Eleanon was thinking to betray the One? “You forgot Ravenna.”
“No, I have not, but I will return to her later.”
“So, you want me to help you destroy and then rebuild to your own needs this great citadel — which currently appears to have you locked out — and in reward you will now proceed to promise me the very earth. Yes?”
“No,” Eleanon said quietly. “I am going to offer you your lives, Kezial. I am going to offer you the chance to return to Isembaard, or wherever it is you wish to go, once I have Elcho Falling. That is all. Just a chance to live.”
Kezial regarded Eleanon stonily.
“I could slaughter you now,” Eleanon said quietly, and such menace came over his face then that Kezial believed him absolutely. “You try to attack me and you are dead. Every last one of you, within the hour. You try to escape now and you are dead. Every last one of you, within the hour. Agree to aid me, and you live. It is a simple choice.”
“But as you yourself said, you have set yourself against everyone else: the One, who I have heard is a great and powerful god; Maximilian; Axis; Isaiah . . . and whoever else decides to come riding over the horizon claiming a part of Elcho Falling. How can you possibly win?”
“By doing what I am absolutely best at,” Eleanon said. “Dark deception. Help me, Kezial.”
Kezial didn’t know what to think. He really wanted to know what had become of Armat’s army. It had been hundreds of thousands strong. Had Eleanon destroyed it? Or was it, as Armat had said, sitting inside Elcho Falling waiting to sally forth and —
“There is only one entrance and exit from Elcho Falling,” Eleanon said. He indicated the archway set in the western wall of the citadel. “Anyone entering or exiting has to cross over a narrow causeway through the lake. How vulnerable are they at that point, Kezial?”
Very vulnerable, Kezial thought, as am I, if you have this little trouble reading my thoughts.
Eleanon’s mouth curved in a small, cold smile. “Precisely, my friend. Very vulnerable. Of any force issuing forth, we only have to concentrate on a tiny proportion of it as it leaves the citadel.”
“The Icarii .” Kezial said.
“Mostly dead, now,” Eleanon said. “I made sure of that.” He paused. “As for any force trying to enter . . . same problem. It is forced to congregate at a single, vulnerable point. Trapped, in essence. There are many soldiers within Elcho Falling — Outlanders, Maximilian’s own men, others, but they stay there for that very reason. They’d be slaughtered.”
He shifted, reaching across the space between them and resting a hand on Kezial’s shoulder.
Kezial tensed, and Eleanon gave his best impression of a reassuring smile. “I need to touch you, Kezial. I want to show you something, and for that you need to see with my eyes, not with your useless, human ones.”
Eleanon tilted his head back toward Elcho Falling. “See.”
For a heartbeat nothing happened, then Kezial gasped. It was if the substance of Elcho Falling had vanished. There remained the faint outline of walls, but essentially the entire structure had become completely transparent. Eleanon’s vision was looking right through Elcho Falling.
Kezial could see no people, but what he did see shocked him to his core.
There was something dark and vile in the heart of Elcho Falling. It looked like a cone-shaped, twisted mountain of sinister evilness, rising from the very base of the citadel. It had roots that stretched through most of the lower levels and walls of the citadel, and right under the lake itself. It looked like a cancerous growth, as yet small, but with deadly potential.
“You are going to use that to destroy Elcho Falling?” Kezial said.
“Partly,” Eleanon said. He lifted his hand from Kezial’s shoulder, and the vision faded. “Partly, also, I am going to use her.”
Now Eleanon nodded to one side, and Kezial looked.
A woman in mid-term pregnancy stood there. Kezial thought he’d never seen a more miserable nor more bedraggled woman, and felt a shiver of shock go through him when he realised it was Ravenna.
Where was the beautiful marsh witch who had captivated the Isembaardian generals with her power and glamour?
“Ravenna has come to a sad fate,” Eleanon said. “Ishbel got the better of her, I am afraid. See those dark bloodied bands about her?”
Kezial nodded, unable to speak. He actually felt sorry for the woman.
“They are the physical manifestations of the curse Ishbel laid upon her. The curse cut Ravenna off from all her power and disinherited her unborn son from Elcho Falling and isolated her from society.” Eleanon paused. “Of course, I have altered the curse a little now. To suit my purpose.”
Ravenna flinched, and Kezial’s sympathy increased. He had thought himself trapped, but he realised that it was as nothing compared to Ravenna’s entrapment. If Kezial was lucky, he and his men might escape with some semblance of life. He doubted very much Ravenna would manage that much.
“I will be sending Ravenna inside shortly,” Eleanon continued, “in order to further my cause — and yours, too, Kezial — and to seed that disaster which shall fell Elcho Falling.”
“Then you’ll need to do it soon,” Kezial said, “before either Maximilian or Axis or even Isaiah return.”
“No,” said Eleanon. “That is not my plan at all. In fact, I am sitting here idling, and allowing you to idle, Kezial, because I very much want everyone who wants to get back inside Elcho Falling to actually get back inside. You see, Kezial, I have devised the most malevolent and devious of plans. Would you like to hear it?”
Kezial looked at Ravenna again. Tears were trickling slowly down her cheeks.
“Yes,” he said, returning his eyes to Eleanon. “Yes, I would.”
Chapter 2
Hairekeep
Maximilian and his party sat their horses and looked at Hairekeep in the distance.
None of them spoke.
Gone was the lovely rose and cream sandstone fort that Maximilian, Ishbel, Serge and Doyle remembered. In its place rose a vile twisted pyramid of darkness. It extended another five times higher into the sky as the former fort.
On either side of the roadway the sand hands still waved and pointed forward, but their movements were slower now, and the watchers could see that as the hands neared Hairekeep they tended to cringe rather than wave or point.
“Are you certain you trust Josia?” Avaldamon said quietly.
“He is a Persimius,” said Maximilian. “And you have met and trusted him.”
“I never said that I trusted him.”
“Avaldamon,” Ishbel said, “we need to do this. There are tens of thousands trapped in there. Can any of us just ride by?”
“I could,” Serge and Doyle said together, and Ishbel shot them an irritated glance.
“Well, neither Maxel nor I can,” she said. “There are families in there, people. I can’t just —”
“Oh, for the gods’ sakes,” Avaldamon said, “what would happen if you and Maxel don’t come out? What would happen if —”
“We will come out,” Ishbel said. “What could defeat the power of Maxel and I combined?”
“The One,” Avaldamon said. “Don’t overreach yourself, Ishbel.”
“We’re going in,” Ishbel said, and in such a manner that there was nothing more to be said.
They rode closer, stopping some fifty paces out from the black, twisting pyramid. This close it was apparent that the entire structure was moving slightly as it corkscrewed its way to its pinnacle high in the sky.
“I am going to say this again,” Avaldamon said, “no matter how much it annoys you, Ishbel. This structure is seething with the power of the One. He is alive and more powerful than ever. Don’t go in there.”
“I am not —” Ishbel began, but Maximilian reached over and put a hand on her arm.
“Avaldamon, trust us,” he said. “We know what we are doing.”
“And how many fools have spoken those words as their last,” Avaldamon muttered. Then, louder, “Maxel, there is a far greater and far more important battle awaiting you. You can’t —”
“Oh, leave it, Avaldamon,” Serge said, not unkindly. “We’ll settle ourselves down for a game of dice and watch the horses while the heroes go and do their thing.”