The Revenants

own might inherit….’
‘Ah, Pellon. I have been used by you before. Still, Lord Hardel of the Marches is not – distasteful to me.’
‘I am grateful for that, Lady. Be that as may, your son is distasteful to the great lord. Might we say that a quest for Medlo might become a bequest for his mother?’
‘You have a quest in mind?’
‘I have consulted the virgins. I have paid for a night’s dreaming.’
‘Lovely.’ The lady laughed, slivers of crystal which fell from a high, cold place onto a pave of stone. ‘And what have the virgins dreamed?’
‘They have dreamed a quest for the Sword of Sud-Akwith.’
The lady shivered as though a chill draft had crossed her delicate flesh, but made a mocking mouth. ‘Which is?’
‘We had the same tutors, Lady. You know what it is.’
‘One pays more attention to some things than to others. Remind me what it is I have forgotten.’
‘When Sud-Akwith, Lord of die Northkingdom, sought to reopen the ancient city of the Thiene, my lady, the city called Tharliezalor, he was beset by creatures of darkness from beneath that city – beset, driven back, nigh on defeated. ‘Twas then he dreamed of a Sword, sought it and found it, and drove the ghastly serim back into the chasms beneath Tharliezalor. Do you recall?’
‘You tell stories so well, Pellon. Go on.’
‘Tashas,’ he cursed at her, ‘so I will tell you what you know well. He grew old, Sud-Akwith, and proud and arrogant, like one we knew well, Lady, you and I…’
‘Speak kindly of our father, Pellon. He made us rich.’
‘He would have made us richer had he died sooner. I say on. Sud-Akwith grew proud, and when reproached by his flower-minded son, he cast the Sword into the Abyss of Souls rather than share the honour of his victory at Tharliezalor … if victory it was.’
‘And he fell down dead,’ purred the Lady Mellisa. ‘Dead. And the Sword went into the Abyss – where you would send poor Medlo in search of it. Is it still there?’
‘Mayhap there, Lady.’ He bowed. ‘Mayhap elsewhere. Mayhap beyond the Gate.’
‘Such a pity to throw it away, all in a fit of pique. He should have kept it. Let me recall… what was it the tutors told me he shouted when he found it? In the fire-lands, it was, where the very mountains burn.’
Pellon admired himself in a strip of mirror-bright steel as he answered. ‘He called out, “What wiliest Thou, Lord of the Fire?’“
‘Oh, yes. And a voice answered him, didn’t it? “Strike where fire burns as thy need burns, O king.” Is that what you are doing, Pellon? Striking where thy need burns?’
‘My need, yes, Lady-my-sister. And thine. Let us not forget thine.’
Medlo, when informed of the quest, was unwontedly silent. It was noted by some that he stopped either sulking or fluttering for the space of several days, a new self-possession which Pellon watched with narrowed eyes. On the third day, Medlo was escorted almost forcibly to the High Temple of Rhees and into the great enclosure where the virgins chanted at him a message notable for its length. He was given a transcript of the chant (a document ready suspiciously promptly) by a temple clerk, blessed by a high priestess, given an amulet by another temple clerk, and escorted home once more. He spent the next several days locked in his suite, ‘thinking of the great honour awaiting him,’ according to his lady mother.
Meanwhile, Pellon proceeded with selecting the horses, putting together an appropriate equipage, and seeking out an escort from among those who, while not overscrupulous, were not known as outright ruffians. While it was not his intention that Medlo should return, he did intend that there should be no speculative talk.
Much was his surprise, therefore, and that of the lady, when on the morning of the third day they unlocked Medlo’s door to find him gone. They had foreseen almost everything except that Medlo would act. Medlo, however, had listened outside the door while Pellon had been instructing the hired escort, had read over the chant of the virgins several times, and had overheard one lengthy and explicit conversation between Pellon and his mother. He had, after a time of sickened shock, realized that while the quest chanted by the virgins led to a search which might occupy his life, the quest planned by his uncle and assented to by his mother would soon leave him no life to occupy. He wrote twenty angry, bitter and heartbroken letters and burned them all. What he left, at last, was a laconic note saying that he was honoured to be going on such a quest, that all quests should be solitary ones, and that he had taken the necessary supplies.
What he took included a seven-stringed jangle and an embroidered sash to sling it from, both gifts from a great aunt, a woman with a passion for antiques and rarities; some sausages from the smokehouse; changes of clothing; a spare pair of boots; needles and thread; a few medicines that he Knew and trusted; the transcript of the chant and the amulet from the Temple. He left in the dark hours before dawn and was well away on the northern road before either Mellisa or Pellon knew he was gone.
When, several days later, they decided in a fit of sudden disquiet to send searchers after him, his cloak was grey with dust and he was lost among the byways of Rhees-march on his way to the meadows of Sisedge and the coast of the Sorgian Sea.

SELECTIONS FROM THE CHANT OF THE VIRGINS OF RHEES
Sud-Akwith, Lord of the Northlands
Lord of wide plains and great mountains,
King of the people of Lazen
from the far sea to the deserts,
Prince of the people of fire…
Sud-Akwith, with his battalions,
Sud-Akwith, pride overweening,
seeking to bring to its glory
ancient Tharliezalor.
Hearing no word of the warning
minding no archivist’s caution,
marching on into the city,
ancient Tharliezalor…
Sud-Akwith, leader in battle,
challenged by legions of horror,
serim from under the city,
those who do battle