by Greg Curtis
“You speak for these people?” the noble asked.
“No, I do not Sir. I believe there is an ancient tradition that says that the spell-casters speak with their own voice. But I stand with them and lend my skills as I can.” Actually he didn't know if there was such a tradition, but it sounded like the sort of thing the man would believe and he knew he couldn't speak for them.
“You are clearly not a spell-caster,” Sir Dante replied, “but you stand with them? Why?”
“Many reasons. But their cause is just and it is my place.”
“And your skills?”
“Thanks to my education I have an ability to solve complex puzzles, which aids them in their work.” He did not want to tell the man that he had magic – it would only throw doubt on his claims.
“I see.”
He did see, Manx knew. The man was no fool. But what he saw was that things had changed. The spell-casters weren't going to stop no matter what he said. And worse, he might not be doing the right thing in trying to stop them. He clearly didn't believe the story he was being told. Who would? Manx himself wasn't sure he believed all of it. But a member of the nobility had confirmed it which meant that he couldn't simply reject it out of hand. All of which meant that he needed to speak with the Court and take instruction. So Manx wasn't surprised when he agreed to do as he said. The man had little choice. And it was good to see him leave with his soldiers in tow.
That in turn meant that he could return to his place with the others and begin work once more. Though of course there were questions.
“I do not appreciate being spoken for,” Larissa told him the moment their visitor and his escort were out of earshot.
“For which I apologise,” Manx replied. “But as minor a noble as I may be, my word carries weight that others don't. It was the easiest way to get him to leave us alone for a while.”
“But he'll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Oh no he won't!” Manx smiled at the thought. “He'll go to the telegraph office and send a message. It will be with the Court in maybe an hour. Then that message will be carried to one or more of the committees. It will be discussed at length. Debated. Then undoubtedly thrown to the entire Court for further discussion. Plans will be formulated. There will be votes taken. And if we're very lucky, Sir Dante will have his instructions before winter arrives!”
“Winter?” Adern stared at him with an eyebrow raised.
“This year or next! It's Windhaven. Nothing happens quickly in Windhaven!”
“Nothing happens quickly when it comes to feeding me either,” Whitey added. “Why haven't you finished here already?!”
“Oh I'm sorry, cat.” Manx reached out a hand to pet her with. “But we took a vote, and we all agreed you're gaining too much weight. So we decided to put you on a diet!”
“You wouldn't dare!” The cat stared at him in horror. “And I'm in perfect shape!”
“A perfectly round shape you mean!” Larissa told her.
“What?! You cow! Insolent slut! Watch your boots!”
“Now, now, that's enough of that.” Manxn't help but smile as he said it. “You'll spoil your appetite, and I have a lovely salad being prepared for you as we speak.”
“Salad?!” Her eyes grew even rounder and her tone more worried. “Grass?! You wouldn't dare! After all I've done for you! I even saved your life! How can you be so ungrateful?!”
But when he and Larissa and a few of the others who could understand cats burst into laughter, she realised he was just jesting with her. Not that she appreciated it. In fact she stared at him with eyes filled with accusation.
“So this is how you treat me! Your saviour! You make fun of me! Make light of my suffering!” She sniffed unhappily at the air. “It's not right! Don't you know how adorable I am?!”
She clearly wasn't happy when they started laughing even louder. In fact if glares could kill they would all have been dead. But it seemed she had realised that there was no point in fighting any more. She wasn't going to win. So instead she stood up, stretched a little, turned around and then made herself comfortable on the broken footpath once more.
“Monkeys!”
Chapter Thirty One
Sorsha was restless. Nervous as she had never before been in her entire life. And yet she was sure they were safe. Mostly sure.
Now, five days later, four dozen walkers were holding the portal wall and it was half a dozen leagues across. The spiders weren't getting through. Unless they could fly of course. Or burrow very deep. The portal wall dug eight feet down into the ground.
But the spiders hadn't attacked. Not since the first city anyway. And that city was now completely gone. Where it had been there was now only dirt. And as for the spiders themselves, they were in another dimension entirely, probably as little more than dust. But how many more of the spider cities were there? She didn't know.
The crakes had spotted three more, one of them at least twice as large as the one they'd destroyed. But there could be more. Many more. And she didn't know how they would set about destroying them. If they advanced on one of the cities Sorsha feared the spiders from the other two would simply come around the sides of the portal wall. And she doubted they could make the wall wide enough to swallow up all three at once.
It was easier when the spiders came to them, as much as she hated to admit it. Because they attacked in formation. Great long lines of them all walking to their doom. It helped. But it seemed that they weren't going to do the same stupid thing a second time. They'd learned from their mistakes.
And then of course there was this spider queen – Ramora – if she existed. This could all be some fabrication of the Silver Order. The fact that they'd found cities full of great green spiders, didn't mean anything. Jayla Marshendale might simply have known about them and woven them into her tale. Sorsha didn't trust that woman one tiny little bit. But still she might be out there. And the question was, what could she do? She might be even more dangerous than her spiders.
So she could be attacked and eaten by spiders. Killed by their queen. Her people could end up at war with the King and his Court at any time. And she still had no word on her family, whether they lived or not.
How many worries could one woman have?!
Then a gust of wind blew, messing up her hair and causing a few tresses to fall in front of her face, and she remembered that she had still one more. She could die of old age at any moment.
It wasn't fair, she thought as she brushed the offending length of white hair out of her face. She was twenty seven – if she forgot about the four hundred years she'd spent locked up in another dimension being fed on. Now she had the hair of a sixty year old – or some of it anyway. After the battle with the spiders, she'd known she'd pushed herself too hard. But she hadn't realised how bad that could be. Not until great streaks of white hair had greeted her in the mirror the following day.
And she wasn't alone in that. All the walkers, all those who'd pushed their magic to its limits, had discovered the same thing. They were ageing. What they looked like was catching up with the age they were inside. In her case, quickly. The youth she'd had, was gone and her body couldn't hide it anymore. And the more magic they used, the faster the change would go. But even those who hadn't pushed themselves so hard, would sooner or later find the same thing happening to them.
At a guess they'd lost thirty to forty years of their life in that hell. And as far as she knew there was no way of getting it back. She'd been robbed – of her life. They all had been. And it was a horror. Even though the Silver Order hadn't actually killed them, they might as well have. The chances that any of them were still of an age where they could bear children, were slim. They might well be the last generation of spell-casters to walk the world.
But of course, if she'd lost thirty or forty years, so had all the others. Which made her physically in her late fifties or sixties. But what about those who had been older when they'd first been taken? She looked across at Peth, and wondere
d. He looked about forty something. But that was what he'd looked like when he'd gone in. But inside he had to be in his seventies at least. And her family? The same? They could die of old age before she ever saw them again. That didn't stand thinking about.
“Visitors!” Someone shouted unexpectedly, distracting her from her woes.
Sorsha let her gaze follow the line of the outstretched arm and unexpectedly realised that it was pointing up into the sky. Then she saw why.
There was one of the strange looking ships of the sky heading towards them. A great cylindrical bag filled with something called water gas, a gondola below and two massive propellers as the back pushing it along as they spun. These things were the height of this technology the modern Redmond was so proud of. She wasn't so impressed. But still they could fly. And they also had a way of trapping lightning in wires so they could light the darkness without magic. Maybe she shouldn't be so dismissive.
And, it occurred to her, they could use someone who could fly. The crakes could only remain aloft for so long, perhaps half an hour or so, and that wasn't long enough to survey the spider queen's realm. Especially when they didn't dare land anywhere in it to rest. But worse, they like her, were starting to show signs of ageing.
Of course the real question was why they were here. They'd sent messages to the Court using the strange copper wire device called a telegram, but heard nothing back. Sorsha wasn't sure what that meant. That the messages hadn't made it through. Or that the Court wasn't interested. But now maybe, it seemed that they were at least interested. And as the ship of the skies drew ever closer and she could make out more about it including its size, she thought – really interested.
The ship was a monster. A whale of the clouds. How could they have built such a huge thing? And how did it even get off the ground without magic? Maybe, she thought, this science of theirs wasn't so puny after all. Of course it was slow and their gliders could leave it in their dust – if they'd created any dust. So really it was just the size and the majestic way it floated among the clouds that impressed.
She and the others watched as it approached and slowly lowered itself down, fascinated by the ship. And by the way it took so many people to operate it – and so many ropes. First came the anchors, literally like the devices real ships used which were thrown over the sides of the gondola to hit the ground and then drag along it. Then came more ropes with men sliding down them with hammers and pegs. Men in blue and white uniforms – soldiers.
They hammered the pegs into the ground and then tied the ropes to them, stopping the great ship's movement completely, and then started pulling it down. It was a complicated dance they were engaged in, but they did it well. As if they had performed it many times before. And slowly the great gondola of polished timbers settled on to the ground.
It was then that the important work began she realised as a ladder was dropped over the side and a bunch of people in elegant clothes clambered down it. Nobles and members of the Court she guessed, here to discuss some sort of business. She stood with the others and waited patiently to find out what it was.
Half a dozen nobles in their finery gathered together into a group and then walked towards them, but one of them led. A man overdressed in puffed up black velvet robes and chains with a stupid looking hat on his head. A man who from his expression, clearly believed in his own importance.
The King, she wondered? Though that seemed unlikely. But surely someone closely connected to him. Something that seemed even more likely when she noticed that there were soldiers with weapons pointed their way, standing on the bridge of the gondola.
“Miss Hooper?” The man addressed her when they were standing maybe eight feet apart.
“I'm Mistress Hooper,” she answered him, glad that he knew her name. It meant that their messages had obviously got through. Unless of course it was their spies that had told him her name. But at least he didn't seem bothered by her third eye. Had he seen other walkers before? “Welcome to the war.”
“Things seem peaceful,” he remarked. “I'm Sir Benedict Henley, Steward to King Willhelm, by the way.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance. And for the moment the spiders seem to be sticking to their cities. But we don't know why or how long that will last.” And she also didn't know why a steward would be meeting with them. Didn't stewards manage the servants and keep estates in working order? Weren't they actually servants themselves? But things had probably changed in four hundred years.
“Still, we were expecting to see something … more,” he replied dismissively. “And what are these … shimmering walls?”
“Portal walls. The spiders step into them and end up in another dimension – one where the light turns them to dust.”
The steward stared at her suspiciously, clearly wondering if she was muck spouting. Then he straightened up a little and took control of his doubts.
“In any case we've come to end this war. If that's what it is. If you and the others could stay here where its safe, we'll finish them off.”
With that he turned on his heels and marched straight back to his waiting skyship, with the rest of the nobles behind him, leaving Sorsha and the others standing there, wondering what exactly he had in mind. Was the man mad, she wondered? Because she couldn't imagine any other way to explain what he was claiming.
Still they did as they were told, and watched as the great skyship was readied once more for flight – a process that mostly seemed to involve undoing the ropes and hoisting the anchors back up, Soon the great ship was floating again. Gently lifting up into the sky, and they were left to watch as the steam engine started chugging away and the propellers began beating at the air.
“Any thoughts?” Peth asked her as the ship gained height.
“Not a one,” she replied. She had even less when she watched the ship float majestically over the top of the portal wall they'd built and then out into the spider's territory. But there was a knot in her stomach. This could all go horribly wrong she realised. Even though the skyship was surely a thousand or more feet up.
Then they had to wait as the ship headed towards the nearest of the spider cities at a steady walking pace. Damn the thing was slow!
It was close to an hour before the ship was in position, and by then it was little more than a dot in the clouds. Too far away really to see anything. But they knew the battle had started when the ground suddenly filled with yellow and brown clouds.
“By all the gods!” she muttered. “What technological evil is that?”
Sorsha knew it had to be a weapon of some sort. But what sort of weapon was made of clouds? She'd never seen anything like it. And the clouds were expanding, billowing out wider and wider until they covered the land right around the distant city. But what could a cloud stop?
“It's poison,” the druid whispered in horror. “I can feel the land dying. Everything. Plants and animals both. Birds falling out of the skies.”
“And the spiders?”
“I can't feel them.” He looked at her with fear in his eyes. “But they're underground.”
Of course they were. The poison clouds couldn't reach them. And Sorsha knew what would happen next. And ten minutes later she was proven right. The brown clouds dissipated and the spiders came out of their city in their millions. And naturally they came marching straight for them.
“Everyone up! Prepare for battle!” Sorsha yelled at the others, and soon had them all waiting for the attack. And as she did she had to wonder, how could things have gone so wrong? Again?! But there wasn't time for blame. Just to prepare. And to hope that the spiders hadn't worked out a way to cross the barrier.
The spiders were actually quicker to cross the land between them than the skyship. But it still took them half an hour. Half an hour for them to spend worrying. But by the time they arrived the crakes had raised their mist across the entire length of the wall so the spiders couldn't see what they were marching into, and she hoped it would be enough.
Then the first o
f the rivers of the green spiders stepped into the portal wall and she felt them cross the distance between realms. Sorsha knew a moment of relief when she felt that. Their barrier was still working. The spiders hadn't learned.
But then she saw them sailing out of the mist on balloons made of silk and she realised she was wrong. They had learned. They'd learned to fly!
“Shite! Wind! Blow them back!” She screamed the command at the top of her lugs knowing that it was their only defence. Or their best one anyway. But even as she yelled she saw the nearest of the green spiders dropping from their balloons of spiderweb, and knew they had to face them on the ground as well.
Sorsha began summoning her hell-hounds as fast as she could and soon there were burning spiders everywhere. But there were also screams that she knew were her fellow spell-casters. And some of them were surely dying.
