the leader called. ‘The Emperor Meshurek awaits your arrival at his castle. We have been sent to ensure your safe passage across the mountains and into the Emperor’s presence.’
Ashurek looked from one rider to another, but he recognised none of the men. They all looked similar, expressionless and apathetic; Meheg-Ba’s influence. With a bitter sigh, he took Silvren’s hand and they walked on in the midst of the horsemen.
Silvren felt tired, disorientated and fearful. She tried to use her sorcerous vision to see the truth of the situation, when and how the trap might be sprung, but each time she glimpsed something the ground shifted beneath her feet and fog clouded her eyes. Her head ached with the strain of trying to see. The horses looked translucent to her; with a gasp she turned to look at Ashurek, but he appeared perfectly substantial.
‘I feel cold,’ she said. ‘I can’t see properly.’ He wrapped the edge of his cloak around her and pulled her to his side. It was unlike her to sound so afraid and unsure of herself.
‘The easiest route is along the edge of this volcano, Your Highness,’ the leader called. ‘There is no danger, but it will be very hot.’
Ashurek felt Silvren shudder as the man spoke; his voice sounded unreal, full of sinister echoes. They completed the long climb up the trembling side of the volcano and were led through a cleft in the rock wall. Then they found themselves in the vast, circular crater at the volcano’s peak. Acrid smokes drifted from the depths.
The men pulled their horses to a halt. Silvren stared at them and rubbed her eyes, but the horsemen had become quite transparent. As she and Ashurek watched, astonished, horses and riders dissolved into mist and were blown away on the wind.
‘It’s not at the castle. It’s here,’ Silvren whispered. ‘Ashurek, I’ve lost–’
She broke off, because Meshurek had appeared as if from nowhere and was standing in front of them. He stooped as though weighed down by his brocade robes, and his eyes flickered ceaselessly to and fro, glittering with a mad light.
At the sight of him, painful emotions and memories swirled in Ashurek’s mind. His brother was foolish, destructive, evil; but he was also a victim and slave to Meheg-Ba’s cruelty. In one way he despised Meshurek and could never forgive him for the deaths of Ordek, Melkish and Orkesh. But in another he still loved him, felt he would sell his soul to save his brother from this torment.
‘Meheg-Ba spoke truth!’ said Meshurek. ‘I did not believe you could be naive enough to respond to such an obvious trick. Yet here you are, my brother, with your lovely sorceress.’ He opened his arms in a mocking gesture of greeting.
‘Ready yourself,’ Ashurek whispered to Silvren, and began cautiously to summon the power of the Egg-Stone. Inside the rim of rock on which they stood, a pit of yellow-hot lava swelled and boiled sluggishly. The heat seared their faces and the sulphurous steams were hard to breathe.
‘Meshurek,’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady, ‘the trick was obvious indeed. But so was your real need for my help.’
‘What?’ Meshurek sniggered uneasily. ‘You are more of an idiot than I thought you. The last thing I have ever needed is your “help”. You are expendable. All we need is the Egg-Stone.’
‘You delude yourself. You know the words you spoke in the “dream” were true. Meheg-Ba has not increased your power; in fact you are now so feeble that you can only rule with the Shana’s necromantic help. You are the weakest Emperor Gorethria has ever had.’
‘You lie!’ Meshurek shouted. ‘I don’t need Meheg-Ba – he serves me!’
‘You serve him. But he has bled you dry – sucked all your intelligence, determination and judgment from you. And how has he increased Gorethria’s power? The Empire is falling into anarchy, all our father’s work undone. Even Gorethria herself is held together only by strands of evil
Ashurek looked from one rider to another, but he recognised none of the men. They all looked similar, expressionless and apathetic; Meheg-Ba’s influence. With a bitter sigh, he took Silvren’s hand and they walked on in the midst of the horsemen.
Silvren felt tired, disorientated and fearful. She tried to use her sorcerous vision to see the truth of the situation, when and how the trap might be sprung, but each time she glimpsed something the ground shifted beneath her feet and fog clouded her eyes. Her head ached with the strain of trying to see. The horses looked translucent to her; with a gasp she turned to look at Ashurek, but he appeared perfectly substantial.
‘I feel cold,’ she said. ‘I can’t see properly.’ He wrapped the edge of his cloak around her and pulled her to his side. It was unlike her to sound so afraid and unsure of herself.
‘The easiest route is along the edge of this volcano, Your Highness,’ the leader called. ‘There is no danger, but it will be very hot.’
Ashurek felt Silvren shudder as the man spoke; his voice sounded unreal, full of sinister echoes. They completed the long climb up the trembling side of the volcano and were led through a cleft in the rock wall. Then they found themselves in the vast, circular crater at the volcano’s peak. Acrid smokes drifted from the depths.
The men pulled their horses to a halt. Silvren stared at them and rubbed her eyes, but the horsemen had become quite transparent. As she and Ashurek watched, astonished, horses and riders dissolved into mist and were blown away on the wind.
‘It’s not at the castle. It’s here,’ Silvren whispered. ‘Ashurek, I’ve lost–’
She broke off, because Meshurek had appeared as if from nowhere and was standing in front of them. He stooped as though weighed down by his brocade robes, and his eyes flickered ceaselessly to and fro, glittering with a mad light.
At the sight of him, painful emotions and memories swirled in Ashurek’s mind. His brother was foolish, destructive, evil; but he was also a victim and slave to Meheg-Ba’s cruelty. In one way he despised Meshurek and could never forgive him for the deaths of Ordek, Melkish and Orkesh. But in another he still loved him, felt he would sell his soul to save his brother from this torment.
‘Meheg-Ba spoke truth!’ said Meshurek. ‘I did not believe you could be naive enough to respond to such an obvious trick. Yet here you are, my brother, with your lovely sorceress.’ He opened his arms in a mocking gesture of greeting.
‘Ready yourself,’ Ashurek whispered to Silvren, and began cautiously to summon the power of the Egg-Stone. Inside the rim of rock on which they stood, a pit of yellow-hot lava swelled and boiled sluggishly. The heat seared their faces and the sulphurous steams were hard to breathe.
‘Meshurek,’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady, ‘the trick was obvious indeed. But so was your real need for my help.’
‘What?’ Meshurek sniggered uneasily. ‘You are more of an idiot than I thought you. The last thing I have ever needed is your “help”. You are expendable. All we need is the Egg-Stone.’
‘You delude yourself. You know the words you spoke in the “dream” were true. Meheg-Ba has not increased your power; in fact you are now so feeble that you can only rule with the Shana’s necromantic help. You are the weakest Emperor Gorethria has ever had.’
‘You lie!’ Meshurek shouted. ‘I don’t need Meheg-Ba – he serves me!’
‘You serve him. But he has bled you dry – sucked all your intelligence, determination and judgment from you. And how has he increased Gorethria’s power? The Empire is falling into anarchy, all our father’s work undone. Even Gorethria herself is held together only by strands of evil
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