27

Doom and Devastation

The small group stepped through the moongate at Gwavas out onto the steep mountainside overlooking Adamant Bay. The waves glittered in the noonday sun, and the waves rippled in the wind. Under normal circumstances, Candle would have found the view enchanting. The vast bulk of the Old Man of Sterlester, his slopes rich with winter greens rose steeply behind them, dotted with fire roses and pink winter heathers. The mountaintop was wreathed in cloud, and the air was salty and keen. To everyone's relief, there was no one in sight.

The ruins of the once great city of Sterlester lay all around them in heartbreaking, derelict abandon. The blackened remains were eerily quiet. The only sound was the whistle of the stiff north wind that pushed through the cracks and crevices of the shattered walls. The only movement was the idle flap of ruined cloth. The moongate they had arrived through was soot-stained but otherwise unharmed.

The Mester gestured to it meaningfully, and with grim efficiency, they worked to scatter the soil out of the many jars stacked next to the gate. They hid what was left of the ceramic pots amongst the debris.

"Come on," said the Mester, turning her face toward the bay. They followed her down the stone stairs that led down the mountain, hearts thumping and eyes watchful. As yet there was no sign of the barbarians although the violent destruction of Sterlester stood mute testimony to their presence. How was it possible to wreak such havoc? Candle wondered as she followed the Mester's straight back down the twisting stone stairway. She felt as if she was in a dream, or more likely a nightmare.

The Mester's demon was barely visible in the bright sunlight, but Candle could see his shadowy outline if she looked carefully. Where he passed, a shadow fell, as if a cloud momentarily hid the sun. All her teammates trusted the Mester with their lives, that much was obvious. They didn't know about Moloch, however, and if what Pasco said was true... Was the Mester still rational, or was she leading them to ruin and death? Too late now, thought Candle, grimly. Too late. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as they descended towards the barbarian's camp. It was no time to lose her footing or her nerve.

The airships were visible down beneath them, five of them - great monstrous things that were tethered with iron chains. Each link was the size of a wagon wheel. The ships bobbed in the stiff wind, straining against their tethers and dwarfing the tiny men who worked in their shadow.

The barbarians had been busy. They had built a small village worth of buildings - strangely constructed architecture that was all angles and squares. They had built several formidable looking forges that belched out great clouds of smoke. All were encircled by a fortified wall in the shape of a star. The barbarians had posted watchers on their walls, and the Mester's group was soon spotted.

"Steady now," said the Mester. "Have faith the Ancestors will protect us." They came to a halt as shouts rang out below. Barbarians boiled out of every building, and Goron held aloft a stout pole upon which a white flag was attached. He waved it vigorously. Cautiously they moved forward, their hands held up palms out, following the Mester's example. A trickle of sweat crept down Candle' forehead, and she blinked it away. Every instinct roared at her to run and hide, but she followed Pasco, one step after the next until they were under the shadow of the great barbarian airships.

Men came running from every direction, yelling and shouting. Pasco and Locryn pushed Candle between them, protectively, and she was glad of it. They were soon surrounded, hemmed in on every side. Candle made herself to look at the barbarians, forcing herself to absorb the details rather than staring blindly at the ground. There was plenty on which to feast her eyes. They wore odd metal armour made of silver or polished iron, rather than the padded gambesons that were common amongst the Own. Some of them wore cumbersome looking iron hats with feathered crests and form-fitting leather trousers. It all looked very heavy as if designed for a much colder climate. They were all men, mostly young, and their skin was various shades of brown. Their hair was mostly black, straight and cut short. Their eyes - Candle had never seen so many different shades and colours - black, brown, grey and blue. Some of them had eyes precisely the same shade as Candle's own, hidden beneath her blindfold. She blinked at the closest men, staring hard, struggling to believe what she was seeing. Did they have demons? She looked carefully but couldn't see any. There was not a single telltale smudge of darkness. They had blue eyes, and no demons and the knowledge stunned her.

She was so confused she forgot to feel afraid, even though a ring of steel now surrounded them. Each barbarian held a weapon. Some had exotic looking swords others held iron-tipped lances and others held objects that she didn't recognise. All of these weapons, however, were pointed at the Mester's group.

"Easy now," said the Mester, over her shoulder, "don't make any sudden movements and let me do the talking." She turned to the barbarians and cried out in ringing tones, holding up her arms. "We come in peace!"

The barbarians quieted, then one of them shouted something out - calling to someone behind their gates. Their language was deep, guttural and utterly incomprehensible. Candle spoke Havi, Pystrier, passable Oglian, and a smattering of Ancient Teurek and she had never heard anything like it. Wherever these men were from, she thought, frowning up at them, they had come a long way.

The ring of barbarians parted to allow passage to two people - a man and a woman. The strangers reformed the ring of steel to include them, but gave them plenty of space, almost like none of them wanted to get too close to them. Candle applauded their instincts, for the pair brought with them not one but two demons.

The man's demon was small and imp-like; an evil, squat thing that perched on his shoulder, grinning wickedly at the crowd. The woman's demon was more substantial, its feature indistinct. It had rippling edges and flowing shapes that might have been hair. It's hair, (if that's what it was) blew against the prevailing wind.

Candle swallowed. Whatever advantage the Mester had hoped to gain by bringing her demon...it was an advantage no more.