go back.’
‘So did I say, once upon a time,’ the woman said. ‘As my parents died, and their kingdom disappeared, and the sun rose and fell and the river flowed, and the children came, and the World changed beyond recognition. Kill me.’
His hand was on the butt of the gun. He stared at the thing in the water. How long? He thought. How long to exist like so, as falangs came, grew, made villages, built a city, this temple, how long for a story to become a legend? Without realising it the gun was in his hand, and pointing.
‘Kill me,’ the woman said. Her eyes never left him. ‘Please.’
His finger tightened on the trigger. And a soft, familiar voice behind him said, quietly, ‘Don’t.’
Gorel turned and saw Kettle. The Avian was standing erect, his wings folded. There was something different about him: the same quiet of his, the stillness of the hunter, was there still, but now it was overlaid with something else, stronger, perhaps: an air of command, of authority. Gorel said, ‘It took you long enough.’
The hint of a smile touched the corners of the Avian’s lips. ‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Doing what, exactly?’
The Avian shrugged. He came and stood beside Gorel and looked down at the pool. ‘So this is the Mirror of Falang-Et,’ he said. He nodded at the drowned woman. ‘Madam.’
‘You,’ the woman said. Her eyes moved, for the first time. She looked to Gorel and back to Kettle. ‘Get away from me.’ Her voice rose. ‘Tell him to get away from me!’
Kettle? Gorel turned and looked at his friend. ‘I need you,’ Kettle said to the woman. ‘Alive.’
‘I will not serve you!’
‘Oh, but I rather think you will,’ Kettle said. ‘Even as you are. I can give you a semblance of life, for a while at least. Enough for you to appear to your people.’
‘I will not do it.’
‘No? I could give you to the Mothers, to study. I expect they would be delighted. They are most dedicated students of reproduction…’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘But you know better than that,’ Kettle said, and his voice was soft, like the barely-perceptible tread of a hunter’s foot in the forest. ‘You can see what I am. You know what I am. You are the Mirror of Falang-Et, after all. The Mother of All Falang.’ He laughed, and it was a shocking sound in the silence. ‘Not to mention their god.’
‘Kettle?’ Gorel said. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I look at you,’ the woman said, ‘and I see, yes, I see. But where you are I see only shadows! The beat of wings and a black and empty land, and flames growing, and a shadow, falling over me, over us, a shadow falling from the west…’
‘Your master,’ Gorel said, realisation dawning. ‘Your master sent you here? To capture the mirror? You knew what she is?’
‘No,’ Kettle said, ‘and yes, and yes.’
What? And where was Sereli? He turned to look and saw her. She was lying on the ground, unmoving. Unconscious, dead – what had happened? He started to go towards her and couldn’t. His feet wouldn’t obey.
‘Yes,’ Kettle said, ‘I came here to secure the princess, and yes, I knew – or rather suspected – what she was. I studied the old stories for a long time, and listened to the rumours, and interrogated who I could – better than you, Gorel, if you recall.’ And he laughed again, but there was nothing warm in that laugh. ‘And no, my master didn’t send me here. I came myself.’
‘I don’t –’ Gorel began to say, and the thing in the water cackled and said, ‘You fool! This one’s no servant!’
‘You –’ Gorel said, and didn’t finish, and Kettle smiled and bowed, and said, ‘I.’
‘I heard a new dark mage is raising an army to the north and west of here, in the No Man’s Lands’, Jericho Moon had said.
And later: ‘I flew from Der Danang to Ankhar’, the avian had said. ‘There is an army growing in the No Man’s Lands, and it won’t stay there forever’.
The Ebong mercenaries
‘So did I say, once upon a time,’ the woman said. ‘As my parents died, and their kingdom disappeared, and the sun rose and fell and the river flowed, and the children came, and the World changed beyond recognition. Kill me.’
His hand was on the butt of the gun. He stared at the thing in the water. How long? He thought. How long to exist like so, as falangs came, grew, made villages, built a city, this temple, how long for a story to become a legend? Without realising it the gun was in his hand, and pointing.
‘Kill me,’ the woman said. Her eyes never left him. ‘Please.’
His finger tightened on the trigger. And a soft, familiar voice behind him said, quietly, ‘Don’t.’
Gorel turned and saw Kettle. The Avian was standing erect, his wings folded. There was something different about him: the same quiet of his, the stillness of the hunter, was there still, but now it was overlaid with something else, stronger, perhaps: an air of command, of authority. Gorel said, ‘It took you long enough.’
The hint of a smile touched the corners of the Avian’s lips. ‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Doing what, exactly?’
The Avian shrugged. He came and stood beside Gorel and looked down at the pool. ‘So this is the Mirror of Falang-Et,’ he said. He nodded at the drowned woman. ‘Madam.’
‘You,’ the woman said. Her eyes moved, for the first time. She looked to Gorel and back to Kettle. ‘Get away from me.’ Her voice rose. ‘Tell him to get away from me!’
Kettle? Gorel turned and looked at his friend. ‘I need you,’ Kettle said to the woman. ‘Alive.’
‘I will not serve you!’
‘Oh, but I rather think you will,’ Kettle said. ‘Even as you are. I can give you a semblance of life, for a while at least. Enough for you to appear to your people.’
‘I will not do it.’
‘No? I could give you to the Mothers, to study. I expect they would be delighted. They are most dedicated students of reproduction…’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘But you know better than that,’ Kettle said, and his voice was soft, like the barely-perceptible tread of a hunter’s foot in the forest. ‘You can see what I am. You know what I am. You are the Mirror of Falang-Et, after all. The Mother of All Falang.’ He laughed, and it was a shocking sound in the silence. ‘Not to mention their god.’
‘Kettle?’ Gorel said. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I look at you,’ the woman said, ‘and I see, yes, I see. But where you are I see only shadows! The beat of wings and a black and empty land, and flames growing, and a shadow, falling over me, over us, a shadow falling from the west…’
‘Your master,’ Gorel said, realisation dawning. ‘Your master sent you here? To capture the mirror? You knew what she is?’
‘No,’ Kettle said, ‘and yes, and yes.’
What? And where was Sereli? He turned to look and saw her. She was lying on the ground, unmoving. Unconscious, dead – what had happened? He started to go towards her and couldn’t. His feet wouldn’t obey.
‘Yes,’ Kettle said, ‘I came here to secure the princess, and yes, I knew – or rather suspected – what she was. I studied the old stories for a long time, and listened to the rumours, and interrogated who I could – better than you, Gorel, if you recall.’ And he laughed again, but there was nothing warm in that laugh. ‘And no, my master didn’t send me here. I came myself.’
‘I don’t –’ Gorel began to say, and the thing in the water cackled and said, ‘You fool! This one’s no servant!’
‘You –’ Gorel said, and didn’t finish, and Kettle smiled and bowed, and said, ‘I.’
‘I heard a new dark mage is raising an army to the north and west of here, in the No Man’s Lands’, Jericho Moon had said.
And later: ‘I flew from Der Danang to Ankhar’, the avian had said. ‘There is an army growing in the No Man’s Lands, and it won’t stay there forever’.
The Ebong mercenaries
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