‘With the Storm gone the Yrkmen will regroup,’ said Sarmin, standing. ‘We must hurry.’
Didryk blinked. He tried to stand. Then darkness took him.
57
Farid
‘Now that the wound in the north is healed, Yrkmir will attack again,’ said Adam. ‘They are bent on destruction and not so easily discouraged as this.’
Emperor Sarmin agreed. ‘There are other wounds they might call near; they seek to encourage the Storm. They left one in their own lands to fester there – the Megra told me so. They want it to be the end of everything … only their soldiers might disagree.’
Farid leaned forwards. ‘And so what do we do, Your Majesty?’ The carriage began moving with a jerk, the horses’ hooves clattering along the street-stones. Farid could not help but cling to the edge of the window. This was only his third time in a carriage.
‘Our task is to face the first austere,’ said the emperor, his face grim. ‘We go to the Scar.’
Austere Adam rubbed his chin as he considered it. ‘Of course he has gone there. He would want to be close to Mogyrk.’ Farid watched him warily. His hands had been tied before; now he was free. He was not sure whether the man was a prisoner or a trusted ally.
‘We know that it is possible to walk through the Storm,’ said the emperor. ‘We need only to trick Mogyrk’s eye.’
‘You cannot walk through the Scar as through the Storm,’ said Duke Didryk, slumped against the wall and speaking with care, ‘for the two are very different. It is the difference between the river that feeds the ocean and the ocean itself. Everything the Storm takes ends up there – streets, trees, thoughts, emotions. I felt them flowing into the Scar when I healed Grada. But we must find a way. Mogyrk must be killed.’
The austere sat up on his bench. ‘He cannot be killed, neither can He be brought to life.’
‘It is He who is causing this,’ the duke said. ‘We tie Him to the earth with our spells, bringing His death to all of us. You have felt it, Adam: His vitality that lends power to our spells. Whenever we draw away His life, He searches after it.’
‘But it is foretold!’
Silence fell in the carriage as it twisted and turned. ‘The battle …’ Mura began. Tears for Moreth still wet her cheeks. Grada, next to her, shifted on the bench seat.
‘It is in Arigu’s hands now. We have strong protections – and killing the first austere will advance our cause. We bring Blue Shields with us.’
The carriage slowed. ‘A quick stop at the palace,’ said the emperor, opening the door and climbing out. ‘I need all of you working together if we are to prevail, and here is our path through the patterns.’
Farid looked past him to the courtyard beyond and saw Rushes, standing with a dark-haired older woman. He smiled, and she caught sight of him and smiled and waved, and he wondered if she knew who he was without hearing his voice: she was well – she could see. His heart felt lighter. He may have made too many mistakes in the last few days, but at least he had helped Rushes. He waved back at her. He would do what he could to keep her safe. That was what it meant, to be of the Tower.
The dark-haired woman stepped forwards and took Emperor Sarmin’s hands. ‘Remember, my son: you are the emperor. The desert is yours. Nobody can defeat Cerana on the sands.’ The emperor squeezed her hands and let them fall. The fair-haired woman Farid had met before climbed into the carriage together with the emperor. With a jerk they set off again.
‘Empress,’ said the duke, bowing as best he could in the close space.
Farid concealed his surprise. The empress! A week ago he might have questioned the wisdom of bringing a woman on such a dangerous mission, but he knew Grada and he knew Mura – he knew much more about women now. He would not want to fight without them.
‘The Scar is close,’ said Duke Didryk. ‘I can feel it.’
They rode southwards in silence and passed through the Low Gate. The roads east were unused and often covered by sand, slowing the carriage. They waited, rocking in the darkness. Farid could feel a buzzing against his skin. After a time, against all expectations, he fell asleep.
*
He woke to Austere Adam’s voice. ‘Here – here. I can feel him.’ Someone hit the roof of the carriage and they stopped moving. Farid sat up, trying to get his bearings. The inside of the box was as hot as an oven, but the air outside promised no relief. Everyone moved sluggishly, stretching arms and legs; somehow the urgency of their mission had left them during the long journey.
The door was opened by the coachman and Grada climbed out first, her eyes scouring the sands for enemies. Mura followed her, then the duke, until all of them were standing under the heat of the sun. The sweat evaporated from Farid’s skin in seconds. He turned and looked all around. Behind them flowed a train of carriages, one for the sword-sons and Azeem, the rest full of Blue Shields.