The Master Read online

  Tarod’s fears that the superstition sweeping the land in the wake of the Circle’s warning would explode beyond all proportion had proven well founded. A madness was gripping the countryside, turning just and sober citizens into panic-stricken avengers of imaginary wrongs. Three men had been hanged in the last town he passed through, for what crime Tarod didn’t know; he had stopped to stare, appalled, at the corpses left dangling stiff and grotesque from the gibbet as a warning to others, and had seen the hex signs chalked on the ground in their shadows. Further on the road he had heard of a group of merchants ambushed and massacred at the edge of the forest; there was talk of winged demons that materialised from thin air and carried off screaming victims, whilst ghouls crept out of the trees to feast on the dead. Crops said to harbour unearthly things which crawled from the fields at night were burned by their terrified owners, without thought for the starvation to which they condemned their families; three times now he had seen a distant pall of smoke that told of another farmer’s livelihood charred to ashes. And not an hour ago he had passed the burned-out skeleton of a market cart, the horse lying in the shafts with its throat cut and other blackened shapes, mercifully indistinguishable, half-hidden beneath the broken wheels. Here, too, there were hex marks on the track, daubed, by the look of it, in the horse’s blood … he hadn’t investigated closer.

  Madness. And all in the name of Order … Tarod was assailed by an ugly thought which had haunted him all too often of late, and which questioned the justice of a god who allowed such grisly deeds to be done in his name. This sickness was more like the work of Chaos, and it played directly into Yandros’s hands. How could Aeoris watch such wanton anarchy and do nothing to intervene? How could the Circle, his emissaries, allow the death and destruction to continue unchecked?

  He forced the thought back with an effort. With the horror of all he had seen fresh in his mind, it would be easy to succumb to doubts, and such doubts would suit Yandros’s purpose. But for the Chaos lord’s machinations, the world would still be at peace with itself - he had to hold fast to his trust in the gods of Order, hold fast to his own resolution, and not allow uncertainty to prey on him. Once he found Cyllan, and regained the soulstone, he could try to end this insanity …

  Goaded by that thought he spurred his mount on faster, glad to feel the willing response of the animal’s powerful muscles under him. The road was quiet - no one travelled now unless forced to do so - and so when he saw, ahead of him, a tell-tale dust cloud that moved against the fields’ backdrop, he reined in to a jog, shielding his eyes against the Sun to see what was afoot.

  The dust cloud was drawing nearer, and at last Tarod made out the silhouettes of several horsemen. Light glinted on metal, and he guessed that the newcomers were militiamen from a near-by town. Doubtless they’d stop him and that would mean a delay; but the Initiate’s badge should stand him in good stead, as it had done before.

  His guess proved accurate, and within minutes he was waved to a halt by the group’s leader. They surrounded him; eight nervous, suspicious and inexperienced men, some barely out of adolescence.

  ‘State your name, sir, and your business on this road.’

  The leader - doubtless elected solely on the grounds of seniority - snapped out the challenge but without real conviction. Tarod met the man’s eyes, exerted a little of his will, and the leader saw a brown-haired, grey-eyed but otherwise unremarkable stranger before him; a face he wouldn’t later recall. Tarod smiled thinly and drew the folds of his cloak aside so that the distinctive golden badge winked in the Sunlight.

  ‘Circle business,’ he said crisply. ‘I trust that doesn’t place me under suspicion, captain?’

  Flattered by the title yet chagrined by his error, the man flustered. ‘No, sir - of course not! I’m sorry sir-it’s just that we’re under orders, from the Margrave himself you understand, to stop all strangers on this road and … well, check that they’re what they seem to be, sir, if you take my meaning.’

  ‘Your Margrave’s a wise man to take such precautions.’ Tarod said. Tell me, what news is there in Prospect? I’ve ridden from the North and I’ve heard no reliable reports for the last three days.’

  One of the younger men edged his horse forward and whispered in the leader’s ear. The man nodded emphatically, then looked at Tarod and cleared his throat.

  ‘Well, sir, there’s a rumour … that is to say, it was confirmed this morning, to the best of my knowledge … the girl - the Chaos-fiend’s accomplice - she’s been captured!’

  Tarod thrust back an irrational surge of hope, telling himself that it was just another false trail like so many before. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘You’ll forgive my scepticism, captain, but others have made such claims before, and they’ve proved unfounded.’

  “They have, yes - but our Margrave has sent word that this is no idle boast.’ The militiaman looked proud. ‘It’s said that the girl has in her possession a jewel. A colourless jewel.’

  Surely it wasn’t possible … Aloud, Tarod said, ‘I see … and has she been brought to trial?’

  ‘No, sir; not so far as I know. In fact -‘ the militiaman looked a little sheepish. ‘What I heard is that this isn’t a matter for our local justices. The girl’s to be taken North, to the Castle of the Star Peninsula; but it’s a long journey, and a hazardous one. If it were possible for someone in authority to take charge of the matter … ‘

  He coughed. ‘If you see what I mean, sir.’

  Tarod did. He’d been led astray by false reports before, but this time it seemed there could be real evidence against the girl, whoever she was. Time-wasting or not, he had to be sure.

  He nodded. ‘Very well. In the light of what you’ve told me, I’ll postpone my own business. Where’s the girl being held?’

  The militia leader looked relieved. ‘At Prospect Town itself, sir. It’s about ten miles distant, no more.’

  Then I’d suggest we set out without further delay.’

  ‘Thank you, sir!’ He barked out unnecessary orders to his men, who were already turning their horses about, and the cavalcade set off. As they rode, Tarod tried not to think about what he might or might not find at their destination. If the captured girl wasn’t Cyllan, he’d suffer nothing beyond yet another disappointment. But if she was … he hadn’t considered how he might free her if she was taken; his pretended role wouldn’t stand him in good enough stead to simply overrule any other authority and take her away. If he could gain possession of the soulstone, he could use the powers that at present were beyond his reach - but he didn’t want to dwell on that possibility.

  In a little under an hour the rooftops of Prospect were visible ahead, rising above the pale stone of the six concentric walls that surrounded the town. The walls had been built to protect the fruit-orchards, for which the province was renowned, from early frosts, and allowed Prospect Town to boast the earliest Summer crops anywhere in the world. The party rode through one of the wide arches set into the outermost wall, and followed a paved path through ranks of trees heavy with white blossom. Their scent hung heavy on the air; one of the militiamen started to sneeze violently and the fit only subsided when at last they clattered beyond the boundary of the sixth wall and into the town itself.

  Prospect was one of the oldest towns in the land and, as Tarod had to admit despite his preoccupation, one of the most beautiful. Mellow stone towers rose at intervals, dominating the jumble of sloping, red-tiled roofs.

  The paved streets were wide and airy, overlooked by houses adorned with stone porticoes and balconies; the architecture lent itself to an atmosphere of pleasant and prosperous well-being.

  That atmosphere, however, wasn’t present in the air, nor in the faces of the people they passed as they rode towards the justice house. The terrors souring the world had affected Prospect as much as anywhere else and its normal bustle was sharply subdued. Townsfolk went about essential business with closed, tight expressions, and a newcomer without even the smallest psychic talent could have felt the
palpable tension pervading the place.

  The militia leader reined in where the streets opened suddenly and unexpectedly into a broad, tree-lined avenue, and turned in his saddle to address Tarod. The justice house is directly ahead of us, sir. Shall I ride on, and inform the town elders of your arrival?’

  Tarod shook his head. He was aware of his pulse beating too fast, and tried to quell it. ‘No. There’s no need for formality.’

  ‘Whatever you say, sir.’ The man spurred his horse forward, and they clattered along the avenue to the tall, bland-faced building that rose at the far end. A motley of people had gathered outside as though waiting for something; they drew apart to make passage for the riders and many stared openly as they recognised the Initiate’s badge at Tarod’s shoulder. He closed his ears to the muted rustling of whispers at his back and slid down from the saddle, handing his horse’s reins to one of the younger militiamen.

  As they ascended the steps, the doors of the justice house opened and four men emerged. Tarod immediately recognised the ageing, greying individual who led them; he had met the Margrave of Prospect at Keridil Toln’s inaugural celebration and they had had an uneasy discussion about the rise of lawlessness in the land. The meeting seemed a lifetime ago, but the Margrave was a shrewd man and likely to remember the face of the renegade Adept. Tarod concentrated, allowing a small measure of power to flow through him - he saw the Margrave blink as though momentarily disconcerted, then the old man’s face cleared and he held out a hand in greeting.

  ‘Adept - I’m at a loss for words. I hadn’t dreamed the Circle could respond so quickly to my message!’

  Tarod frowned. ‘Message, sir?’

  ‘Then you’re not an emissary from the High Initiate?’

  The Margrave seemed perplexed.

  ‘We encountered him on the road, sir,’ the militia leader explained hastily. ‘It was sheer chance that he was riding this way, and - in the circumstances - we thought he might aid us.’

  The Margrave looked relieved, and clasped Tarod’s hands again in a welcome more fervent than the first.

  ‘Then it was a very fortunate accident!’ he said with obvious relief. ‘Have my men explained to you, Adept, the nature of our problem?’

  ‘They tell me you’ve apprehended a girl whom you believe is the Chaos creature’s accomplice,’ Tarod explained. ‘You’ll forgive my being blunt, but this is the fifth or sixth such claim I’ve had to investigate since I began my journey, and not one so far has had any foundation.’

  The Margrave shook his head emphatically. ‘Believe me, this is no false alarm. I understand your scepticism - we’ve had our share of hysteria here in Prospect, and there have been any number of accusations without evidence to back them.’ He looked up at Tarod as though challenging him to argue with his next words.

  ‘I’m not a fool, or at least I don’t believe I am. And neither is Sister-Seer Jennat Brynd.’

  ‘A Sister of Aeoris? I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow.’

  ‘It was a party of Sisters who discovered the girl’s real identity,’ the Margrave told him. ‘Apparently she had been travelling with them for some days, and Sister Jennat’s suspicions were aroused. She used her talents to investigate the girl, and learned the truth.’ His mouth pursed into an expression that might have been distaste or unease. ‘The girl had been calling herself Themila something - I can’t recall the clan name - but when the sisters discovered a jewel she was carrying hidden about her, they were certain they had found the fugitive.’

  Tarod’s skin crawled. Themila - the coincidence was too great to be dismissed. He had told Cyllan of Themila Gan Lin, his one-time mentor; it was a name she would remember …

  Forcing his voice to remain even, he asked, ‘And what of the girl herself? Has she confessed?’

  The Margrave shook his head. ‘No. She has refused to speak since she was apprehended. She simply sits and glares at all who approach her.’ He shuddered delicately. ‘It’s not a look I wish to see too often. If half the stories surrounding her are true, I don’t like to speculate on what she might be capable of.’ He paused. ‘But I ramble - there’s time enough to explain the rest later, and I’ve already neglected the most basic of courtesies.

  You must be parched after your ride, especially in this dusty weather. Allow me at least to offer you a cup of wine.’

  The offer was difficult to decline; if he showed himself overeager to see the prisoner, the old man might suspect his motives. Tarod forced himself to smile. ‘I’d appreciate it, Margrave; thank you.’

  Followed at a polite distance by his small entourage, the Margrave led Tarod through the cool corridors of the justice house to an ante-room set aside for receiving important guests. Tarod had to quell his uneasy impatience when the old man ordered a servant to bring not only wine but also food, and made the best effort he could to eat delicacies that his stomach didn’t want while the Margrave elaborated on the circumstances of their prisoner’s arrest. The Sisters, he said, had intended to turn North and take their captive back to the Star Peninsula, but as soon as the news reached his ears he had insisted that the undertaking was too dangerous. It would be safer to send word to the Circle so that they might arrange a secure escort, but the message had only been despatched via one of the new courier birds that very morning, hence the Margrave’s astonishment at the prompt arrival of an Adept in the town. Tarod listened courteously to the flow of words, occasionally nodding or murmuring agreement, but inwardly he felt close to breaking point. If the captured girl was Cyllan - and, he reminded himself, that had yet to be seen - then time was running short; a messenger-bird would deliver the Margrave’s letter to the Castle tomorrow at the latest, and Keridil wouldn’t waste a moment in acting on it. He had to cut across the Margrave’s vociferousness without making the ploy too obvious.

  He realised suddenly that the old man had asked him a question which, lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t comprehended. He looked up quickly. ‘I’m sorry; what did you say?’

  ‘I asked, sir, if you have ever seen this girl for yourself? I gather she was held for some time at the Castle of the Star Peninsula.’

  ‘Yes … I saw her once or twice.’

  ‘Then you’d recognise her again?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Tarod took the opportunity which the Margrave had unwittingly offered him. ‘In fact, sir, I think it would be as well if I were to see her without any further delay.’

  The Margrave looked dubious. ‘I don’t wish to impose on you, Adept. You must be tired - ‘

  ‘I’m greatly refreshed, thanks to your hospitality.’

  ‘Well … it’s as you wish, of course.’ Stiffly the Margrave rose, and led him out of the ante-room and along further corridors towards the rear of the building.

  As they walked, Tarod asked suddenly, ‘Margrave, what has become of the jewel the girl carried? I trust it’s in safe keeping?’

  ‘Indeed, yes. Sister Liss Kaya Trevire has it in her possession, and I understand she has taken precautions against its influence.’

  ‘Very wise of her. And where is Sister Liss now?’

  ‘She and her companions are lodged here at the justice house.’ The Margrave looked unhappy. ‘It’s hardly fit accommodation for Sisters of Aeoris, but they insisted on staying close to the prisoner.’

  Tarod nodded and made no further comment. They had by now reached a barred door under which bright daylight showed. A man stood on guard, and at a gesture from the Margrave he hastened to lift the bar and pull the door open.

  They emerged into a small, walled courtyard, flooded with Sunlight. A flowering tree in one corner had shed a carpet of white petals over the flagstones and over the roughly constructed wooden cage that stood near by. In the cage something moved, but Tarod’s view was blocked by two white-robed figures who stood before the cage and seemed to be pushing something through the bars. At the sound of the door grating the two Sisters of Aeoris looked round, then, recognising the Margrave, straightened and turned to face him.

 
; ‘Sisters … ‘ The Margrave hurried forward but Tarod hung back, unable to bring himself to look more closely at the cage. The old man was explaining the circumstances of the Adept’s arrival, and at last he turned to Tarod and said, ‘Adept - may I present Sister Liss Kaya Trevire, and Sister-Seer Jennat Brynd.’

  Both women bowed in the formal manner adopted between Sisterhood and Circle, and Tarod looked first at the fair-haired, middle-aged Liss, then at the younger, darker Jennat. He knew instantly that the seer was skilled; unlike many of her kind, whom the Sisterhood promoted for political rather than spiritual reasons, she had a true talent. He’d have to be careful …

  ‘Sisters.’ He nodded to them both in turn. The Margrave tells me that you’ve apprehended one of our fugitives. If it’s true, the Circle will be very much in your debt.’

  Jennat was watching him carefully, and he detected a challenge in her eyes; but it was Sister Liss who spoke.

  ‘I believe there can be little doubt of the girl’s identity, Adept.’

  He couldn’t put off the moment any longer. Turning, Tarod looked directly at the wooden cage, and a hand seemed to close tightly round his heart and lungs and squeeze them, so that he couldn’t breathe.

  She was bedraggled and dirty, her hair a bizarre skewbald of blonde and copper-brown, but the small, pinched face and wide amber eyes were so painfully familiar to him that recognition was like a physical blow.

  Their gazes met, locked, and her hand flew to her mouth in disbelieving shock - then she covered her face and he heard her gasping, indrawn breath.

  She looked almost exactly as she had done when she had broken through the temporal barrier to arrive wet and exhausted at the Castle, and poignant memories crowded Tarod’s mind. With them came the first surge of anger at her predicament, and he knew that unless he took unremitting control of it, the rage might overwhelm him. Fighting it down, he became aware that the Margrave and the two Sisters were watching him.