Labyrinth of Worlds by Adrian Cole | eBook

Read an Excerpt

Labyrinth Of Worlds

Star Requiem: Book Four

By Adrian Cole

OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA

CHAPTER 1

THE RENEGADES

Silence and darkness.

They were one, like the great emptiness before time, before the birth of the first world. Complete and utter, infinite. Ussemitus was barely conscious of himself within it, like a lost thought, in danger of being smothered by the infinity that surrounded him. Used as a lens for the powers within the World Splinter, he had focused the Mother's power, directing the course of the servant spectrals out beyond this place, beyond Innasmorn itself, to Eannor and further, to the Warhive.

The first spectral he had sent was lost, damaged in the arenas of the Csendook world, absorbed somehow into the sword of their Warlord, Auganzar. But the other had succeeded in its task and guided Pyramors and the girl, Jannovar, back through the bloody path between world cycles to Innasmorn. There was terrible danger on this path: the blood-hunger of the Accrual, the monstrous parasitic being that stalked the path. It was aware of Pyramors, and what had been promised it. But the spectral had evaded it.

Even so, Ussemitus felt his own powers drained, his mind and body weak, in need of long rest. Somehow he had brought Pyramors back, but only just. He would have brought him here, to the World Splinter itself, to safety, to a haven where he could prepare him for what was to come. But the energy of the spectral was all but burned up. In desperation, a gate had been opened, somewhere far short of these western lands: in the mountains, east of the Sculpted City. There, at least, there should be a degree of safety from Pyramors's enemies, and possibly a way to the rebels that had filed the city.

But for now, Ussemitus had fallen again into the exhausted sleep, deep down in the womb-like retreat of the World Splinter, where fresh power could be tapped, pumped into him. He had no contact with Pyramors. There was no way that he could offer him further help. Not yet.

The dark closed in. The Mother gave him deep rest: there were so many things he must do for her if he were to fulfil the destiny she had planned for him. But she felt a tremor of unease. There was something within him, a fierce will, that would wake with him, and question. Would he accept the answers?

They had been travelling through the rugged mountains for almost two months. At first they had no real idea where they could be, but Pyramors calculated that they were in the eastern mountains, north and east of the Sculpted City. The spectral that had guided them so heroically through the paths of the Accrual's lair, had not been able to take them further, to whatever destination it had wanted to find. When its energy had been spent, it dissolved into the air as if it had never been. With it had gone all hope of contact with whatever controlled it.

Pyramors found it difficult to control his frustration. This was Innasmorn, in a totally different world cycle to Eannor, yet he was countless miles away from the city. But Jannovar was thrilled to be free of Eannor and the Csendook worlds, and said so repeatedly. She knew the urgency of Pyramors's quest, but to be here was, to her, like a part of a dream she had never-expected to fulfil. She did nothing to hold back their journey, but she would have been perfectly content to remain with him in these mountains, alone and wrapped up in the love that had grown between them. She could never be the woman who had once been his lover, her own sister – Jannovar, whose name she had taken, and which she would always insist on keeping.

Pyramors came through the tangle of undergrowth as lithely and as silently as a cat. Strapped to his shoulder was the recently slain carcass of a creature not unlike a young buck deer. They were mercifully plentiful in this part of the mountains, and he and Jannovar had been able to eat well.

He parted the branches in front of him to see the rock pool. It was one of the most suitable places they had found since beginning their trek through the mountains, naturally sheltered from predators by the rock wall behind it and the drop down to the valley below, with tightly packed copses on either side. The pool was fed by a tumbling stream that ran out at its far end as an overspill and dropped in a fine spray to the lands below.

Pyramors smiled. Jannovar had stripped off her clothes and bathed in the icy pool. Now, with the sun at its zenith, she was standing on a smooth rock at the edge of the pool, her hair flung back. She twisted it to wring the water from it, the sunlight gleaming on her naked body.

Pyramors drew in his breath. He knew that body now, every line of it, its texture. So like the Jannovar that had been, and yet not her. He accepted it now. They were not the same. At first he had made her a substitute, and she had encouraged it. But they learned quickly that it would be impossible to persist in this illusion. She must be loved for who she was.

Looking at her now he knew that he loved her, not as her sister. Their time in these mountains had opened a new way for him. Though his life was mapped out ahead of him, his time not his own, she was an intrinsic part of it. Did she understand? Could he ever make her believe that, although his past could never be wiped away, she meant so much to him now? It had taken him a long time to realise it himself.

He slipped from the bushes, confronting her with a grimace as if he were a bandit.

She gasped, not having heard him approach, and almost tumbled back into the waters.

He was beside her at once, arms about her, laughing. He bent to her and kissed her, and for a long moment they clung to each other above the valley.

'A beautiful creature like you should take more care,' he laughed softly. 'If you were attacked in such a remote place, who would come to your aid?'

Her arms tightened about him. 'Then I'm safe from attack, now that you've arrived?'

'That isn't what I said.' He kissed her again, but a moment later his head jerked up.

She knew at once that something was wrong. She had come to understand and trust his uncanny sense of hearing. He gestured to her clothes and she bent down to them, dressing swiftly while he dropped the carcass and slipped his sword from its sheath. She knelt among the rocks, eyes scanning the bushes around them and the rocks above. She saw nothing.

Pyramors had noticed a subtle change in their surroundings: she saw him tense. He held his blade ready. Were there men in these forests?

'D'you have a name, fellow?' came a gruff voice.

Pyramors did not react, but his pulse throbbed. The man had spoken in his own tongue. He was no Innasmornian.

'There are half a dozen arrows aimed at your chest, fellow. Spit out your name,' came the voice.

'Pyras,' said Pyramors, using the alias he had used among the Csendook.

'Never heard of yer. Who d'ya serve?'

Pyramors knew from the man's tone that he was not one of the Imperator Elect's guard, nor part of any unit of Zellorian's. He must be one of the rebels. But he had to be sure.

'Myself.'

'What about our illustrious Imperator?'

'I love him as deeply as you do.'

There was silence for a moment, and then the first of the branches were pulled apart. A weatherbeaten face poked through, the man's beard thin and ragged, his eyes as sharp as a hunting bird's.

The man grunted as if he recognised Pyramors but could not place him. It would be true of many of the rebel soldiery, who would never have met the Consul or been close to him. The man's attention strayed to the girl among the rocks.

Behind him another warrior emerged. 'Pyras my arse,' he said under his breath, his own face splitting in a grin. 'It's Pyramors.'

Pyramors knew him at once. It was Lascor, one of the soldiers from the Sculpted City whom he had helped to escape.

Lascor came forward, bowing. His wide grin suddenly changed as he straightened. 'Sire, I must apologise. For myself and for Kelwars here. Our life in the mountains has roughened our tongues.'

Pyramors nodded, though he did not mask his relief. He studied the two men critically. Lascor was of medium build, as fit and muscled as any of the moillum Pyramors had left on Eannor, his face clean-shaven and deeply tanned. There was something in his manner that spoke of his freedom, something that was missing in a moillum, as though he had been born to this terrain.

Kelwars, whose smile had become an unwitting scowl, was much the leaner of the two men, his chest thick with hair, his arms bare but tattooed exotically. The bow slung over his shoulder looked as if it would take two ordinary men to draw it, and his hands were scarred and calloused.

'How far is the city?' said Pyramors.

Lascor was puzzled by the question. Pyramors guessed that he would have assumed Pyramors had come from the Sculpted City. But the warrior pointed across the valley to the next range of peaks. 'Fifty miles or more.'

'And Gannatyne?'

Lascor gestured back beyond the woods. 'Ten or so. In the fortress of Starhanger. But it's not safe to go there. Zellorian has strengthened its defences.'

'I've arrived here by a somewhat tortuous route,' Pyramors told them. 'All of which I will explain in good time. Who commands you? Are you directly under Jorissimal?'

Lascor nodded. 'Yes, sire. He controls all our units. Sire, have you left the city altogether?' He glanced at Kelwars, but the latter looked away, as though uneasy.

'I have. It is no longer safe for me, nor for any of our sympathisers. Zellorian is conducting searches designed to destroy all who oppose the Imperator Elect.'

Kelwars was listening, but his eyes could not keep from Jannovar, who had risen up from her place of hiding. She tossed her head, freeing her hair of more water, unaware of how stunning she looked.

'This is Jannovar,' said Pyramors, holding out his hand to her, though his eyes remained fixed on the two men. They both saw the challenge in them, as if Pyramors expected them to comment.

Both Lascor and Kelwars inclined their heads as Jannovar took Pyramors's hand, but Pyramors could see the sudden tension in them. Her presence here would undoubtedly pose questions, if not to them then certainly to their stern leader. But maybe they would not know about Jannovar, and what had occurred on Eannor at the time of the Crossing. Possibly her name might mean nothing to any of them. Better if it did not.

'A pleasure to meet you, my lady,' said Lascor.

'Her father was an Ekubal,' said Pyramors. 'So you will accord her the respect that noble house is due.'

'But of course, sire,' said Lascor, and both he and Kelwars again inclined their heads.

Pyramors casually picked up the carcass of the creature he had slain and slung it over his shoulder, sheathing his sword. 'Will you take us to Jorissimal?' It was an instruction, not a request, and the men recognised it.

If they were curious, they kept their feelings to themselves, but the power of Pyramors was known to them, and their men, all of whom showed their delight at having the Consul among them, knowing that he was Gannatyne's strongest ally, the centre of the rebellion.

As the party made its way up through the forest, Pyramors asked for reports, and Lascor brought him up to date on their situation. Apparently there were a number of rebel nests, places hidden high in the mountains where patrols from Gannatyne's prison could not find them. Zellorian's guards spent as little time out of the garrison as they could, knowing that it was secure from any attacks. It seemed unlikely that Gannatyne could be freed. No one had been able to get into the garrison to find out anything about him although word from the Sculpted City had filtered back to the rebels that he was alive, living the life of a hermit within his prison. Lascor explained that the Sculpted City had fallen silent for some months and that there had been no fresh escapes, which seemed strange. He wondered if the rebellion there had ended somehow.

Pyramors was reluctant to say much about it.

Lascor told him that Jorissimal was undecided as to what to do. Should he make an attempt on the garrison and free Gannatyne if at all possible? If he succeeded, it would mean that more of the men of the Sculpted City would rally to the rebellion. Or should the rebels use their strength to help others out of the Sculpted City? Jorissimal had decided it must be one thing or the other: the rebels were becoming exasperated at the lack of decision.

'It's our families,' said Lascor. 'Many of us have wives, children, in the Sculpted City. They cannot be safe. We have always assumed Zellorian would not dare take action against them. He'd only be fuelling the rebellion, would he not? But at the moment it seems as if the rebellion is at a standstill.'

Pyramors listened to all that was said, encouraging the rebels to speak openly. He did not speak his own mind, offered no solutions, but promised them that when he sat down with Jorissimal, something positive would be done.

Out of hearing of the Consul, Kelwars spoke softly to a companion. 'The whispers I hear speak of betrayal. That Pyramors himself ended the rebellion in the city. Guard your back, Tennegar, and watch every shadow from now on.'

They sat alone, looking out from the high place at the mountains, the twilight glow beyond them. In the camp below them there was little sound, and the fires were carefully shielded. Pyramors had to remind himself that this was Innasmorn, an alien world, a world of other races, beings who were outside the wars of man. But how long could they remain so?

Jorissimal sat with him, equally thoughtful after their long, private talk. He was a sound warrior, a man in his early fifties who had seen considerable action in the Csendook wars, and Pyramors would trust him with his life. But even Jorissimal had frowned at the news his Consul had brought with him from Eannor. He had listened-thoughtfully as Pyramors had explained all that had happened to him since being sent through to Eannor by Zellorian. But he had deliberately played down the fact that he had told the rebels in the city to give up their rebellion.

'Csendook,' murmured Jorissimal at last, breaking the silence of the night air. 'Coming here.'

'In less than four months,' said Pyramors.

Jorissimal shook his head. 'You lead us. No one will deny you that, sire. But to bring Csendook to this world, this haven —'

'I have brought Zellorian's doom, no more than that,' said Pyramors curdy. He was well aware of the horror his decision would have for his people. It would seem like a betrayal. But he must teach them it was to be revenge for Zellorian's betrayals.

'Can you be sure Auganzar will keep to his bond? He is, after all, a Csendook. They are sworn to destroy all mankind.'

'I trust him to do what he promised me. But we have only a few months to save our own people. When Auganzar arrives with his Swarm, he will obliterate the Sculpted City and anyone he finds there.'

'And after that? When he has the head of the Imperator on one pole and that of Zellorian on another? What is to prevent him seeking mastery of this world?'

'He'll leave it. We'll be spared.' Because I could have had him and his Swarm killed, Pyramors told himself. I could have given them to the Accrual, though Auganzar found that out. I did not know, but Auganzar understood. How can I explain to my people the bargains that were struck? That he gave me Jannovar. How could they see that as anything but just another deceit, a betrayal? But how much do they know about her? The question burned, but he dared not ask it.

Jorissimal would have pressed Pyramors on this, but he could see that he would unlock no more detail than he already had. But Pyramors seemed assured. For whatever reasons, he trusted the Csendook. It was unprecedented. No treaties had ever been struck with the aliens before.

'Our position is critical,' said Pyramors.

'If we could free Gannatyne –' Jorissimal began.

'We don't have enough men yet. I've not seen the garrison, but we could destroy ourselves trying to get in. We need a stronger force.'

'Then you've decided to return to the Sculpted City?'

'We must get our people out, their families. Call all the rebels together, Jorissimal. Bring their leaders to me. We have to do it soon.'

Jorissimal rose, studying the black skies overhead as though they had been lowering, intent on listening to what had been said. He nodded. 'I'll send runners out within the hour.'

Some time later, in the shadows of the cave that had been provided for them, Pyramors and Jannovar held each other. He kissed her gently, meaning to talk softly of the things to come, but she silenced him and drew him down beside her on the skins and furs. They made love gently, forgetting for a brief time the fears they both felt about the coming weeks. Jannovar knew well enough that the conflict would begin soon.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Labyrinth Of Worlds by Adrian Cole. Copyright © 1990 Adrian Cole. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Labyrinth of Worlds

eBook

Customer Reviews

Read an Excerpt

Labyrinth Of Worlds

Star Requiem: Book Four

OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA

Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought

Recently Viewed