by Ben Galley
A weight snapped into his hand. Farden opened his eyes to see a key of cold and polished obsidian lying in his palm.
The shadow at his back faltered, falling away from him. Farden whirled on Utiru, finding that masked face hissing, arms raised and claws spread.
‘Cut the throat of your dreams,’ he uttered before the steel flashed in the morning light.
Grey blood sprayed his face as Utiru screeched. The countryside folded into the darkness of an endless well, whisking Farden with it. He howled once last time for good measure.
‘Cut the throat of your dreams!’
Vomiting silk, Farden awoke to find himself falling. Legs kicking, arms whirling, he slashed at every thread he passed on his plummet. Fortunately, Utiru had not dangled him too high.
Farden struck the sand with a wheeze. It took him a moment to recover himself enough to check the cold object in his palm. The key of stone lay there, unassuming, somehow inconvenienced by the whole affair.
Warbringer retched beside him, trying several times to get to her feet before she had prised the silk from her face. She roared, almost bringing her warhammer down on Farden before realising she stood, once again, in reality.
Durnus had also fallen, leaving Aspala and Mithrid dangling above still, thrashing about in the throes of Utiru’s pain. The masked creature was no more. All six hands clutched at her throat.
‘What do we do now? How do we fight this thing?’ bellowed Warbringer as she reduced a huge spider to shards. Utiru’s legs stabbed at the sand around them. Farden ducked and rolled, sweeping the vampyre with him.
‘We have to hope they heard me!’ he cried.
Mithrid stood in a tent of emerald cloth. Soft carpets lay beneath her bare feet. Braziers crackled softly, wafting the smell of sandalwood and spices. She stretched, feeling unexpectedly joyous. Then, she heard a murmuring behind her and spun on her heel.
Before her knelt Malvus Barkhart, bruised, bloodied and beaten. A rag had been stuffed in his mouth. A dark shadow of six limbs stood behind him, two hands on his shoulders. A smiling porcelain mask tilted its head to look at her. Mithrid knew no fear.
‘It is time,’ it said, and she nodded solemnly.
A knife was at her belt. Malvus watched her unsheathe it with muffled curses and promises of all kinds. There was nothing between the blade and his death but moments, and he knew it. Mithrid tested the steel with her thumb.
‘For your father,’ the mask whispered.
A voice hollered from beyond the green canvas.
Cut the throat of your dreams.
Mithrid echoed the voice’s words. ‘I know that from somewhere…’
The masked shadow tensed, arms raising up, hooked claws menacing.
‘Kill him!’ it retched. The dark shuddered and gargled at her side. In a swooping moment of horror and realisation, Mithrid swung the knife without hesitation and slit the creature’s throat.
The ground punched Mithrid in the face as she crumpled to numb legs.
‘What in the fuck…’ she garbled, after she coughed up most of her insides.
‘Come on, Aspala!’ somebody cried. ‘Yes! She did it!’
Mithrid looked up to see a colossal, deformed spider reeling in pain. Its screeching was deafening. For some reason, Aspala was tumbling through the air, limp as a discarded sock. Mithrid was still trying to figure where the tent had gone. It had all felt so… real.
Warbringer caught her with as much care as the iron muscle of a minotaur can offer.
‘I think it’s time we left!’ yelled Farden as he dragged Mithrid up from the sand. She reeled, dizzy. To her fright, a giant claw stabbed the ground in front of her, barely feet away. Spiders the size of cats reared up at her. She kicked two in the face before she was hauled onwards.
‘Move, Mithrid!’
She needed no encouragement. Plenty of dragging and holding upright, it seemed, but she was utterly on board with fleeing whatever nightmare she had awoken from and into.
‘Was that you?’ she shouted at Farden over the sound of the spider crashing about the cavern. Rocks fell around them. Durnus held a shield spell over their heads as best he could.
‘It was. That creature Utiru feeds on happiness. Deny it, and she has nothing to feed on!’
‘Then I’m glad I slit her throat.’
‘In our dreams, maybe. We won’t have long before she comes after us, I think!’
Farden was irritatingly correct. Utiru came after them with a cold and calculated vengeance. Though they had cut her throat in the dream, grey blood still spattered the sand around them as she raced from the gloom at terrifying speed. Shards of crystal shattered around them as they dove into the tunnel of mirrors. Blinkered by their hands, they ran back the way they had come. Their reflections raged silently, mouthing every curse and flinging every gesture at them. Their hold over them was no more. Mithrid gladly put them behind her, occupying herself by kicking or slashing at every spider that nipped at their heels.
‘Keep going!’ Farden cried as he faltered behind. His swords slashed in vicious arcs as he freed himself of spider after spider.
Mithrid ran back to help him, reversing roles as she now dragged him onwards and upwards. They could hear a roaring ahead, that of a dragon calling their names. Light surged through the crystal walls.
Breathless, they burst from the tunnel. Mithrid had to grab ahold of the minotaur to keep herself from tumbling onto a patch of dagger-like crystals.
‘What is in there?’ bellowed the dragon.
Farden fell against her wing and heaved out his words. ‘Remember what we did in that mountain in Albion?’
Though it meant nothing to Mithrid, Fleetstar apparently knew exactly what Farden had in mind.
The dragon unhinged her jaws and opened them wide, almost matching the mouth of the tunnel, and filled the crystal hole with dragonfire. Glass shattered alongside the howl of flame. High up above them on the cliff-face, fire sprouted from fissures. When Fleetstar recoiled, the crystal had either been charred black or was glowing softly.
‘What was in there?’ she asked, as she watched the others slowly stumble about, hands pressed to their temples.
‘Do you like spiders, Fleetstar?’ groaned Farden.
‘No. Dragons despise them.’
‘Then pray you never know.’
‘The things we saw in there… I saw myself in ages long gone. A prince among…’ Durnus began to say, and soon realised he had no desire for the answer.
Farden said it anyway. ‘Daemons. Just as I saw myself without my Book, bearded and grey. It proves they are lies. Lies of the great spider.’
‘How big?’
Farden ignored Fleetstar, instead letting his gaze linger close to Mithrid, unable to quite look at her. ‘I have to believe they are lies,’ he muttered.
It took perhaps an hour for all of them to feel remotely normal enough to press on. Mithrid had no idea how the others felt, but her mind reeled, flitting from thought to thought, image to image. Reality blurred with memory and imagination. She had to touch the crystals and test their sharp edges once more to feel alive. Real.
‘Fuck that cave,’ she muttered after some time, over the monotony of crunching boots. ‘Fuck those spiders. Fuck this quest.’
Nobody answered her for a while. Mithrid needed to hear the others’ voices. To know if any of them had dreamed of murder. ‘What did you see, Aspala? In your dream?’
‘I…’ Aspala shivered uncharacteristically. ‘I was with my mother.’
Warbringer spoke up. Her voice broke at the edges. ‘I saw my clan. Saw Efjar gleaming with cook-fires and younglings.’
Mithrid was still breathing hard. ‘Farden?’
The mage took a while to answer. ‘I saw what I needed to see to help me cut Utiru’s throat.’
‘How did you know it would work?’
‘She made a mistake tangling with my rat’s nest of a mind. There’s not much happiness here,’ Farden offered with a wry smile
.
‘Thank you for saving us,’ Mithrid offered. It sounded somewhat foolish, as if there had been no other choice, but Farden nodded all the same. The mage still couldn’t face her. The mirrors’ reflections had scarred him just as they had her. All she could think was why. Was that truly who she was? A murderer or warlord in the making? A queen? Trickery or not, a divide had been driven between the mage and her.
Durnus caught Farden as he stumbled, but he shrugged away. ‘And did you get the final key?’ asked the vampyre.
Farden produced a third and matching skeleton key of jet or obsidian. It seemed more roughly hewn than the last two. ‘Somehow,’ he admitted. ‘Didn’t think it would work, but here we are.’
Durnus retrieved it from him, but it took reaching the canyon’s mouth to find enough moon and starlight to see the key’s script by. There the dragon preened her scales while the others took some time to gather themselves.
Mithrid hovered over Durnus’ shoulder as he studied the key. A script ran along its ridged spine. It was in a language Mithrid had no hope of understanding, but she trusted the scholar of a vampyre.
‘Madness you may have survived but darkness calls you on. South, go you, to Gunnir’s birthplace. Nothing but the wrath of the gods awaits you behind cursed doors. The final payment to claim Gunnir awaits. The highest price,’ Durnus read.
‘Is that it?’ Farden said, hands on his knees and breathing hard. Whatever he had done to free them had exhausted him. He kept a lookout while the others gathered around the key to see.
‘Does that mean anything to you?’ Mithrid asked.
Durnus shook his head as he brought out his elvish tome. ‘Not much beyond the word south, and that Gunnir’s birthplace must be where the clan of Ivald forged the spear. I presume we must find Ivald’s forge, but south of here, the map becomes no more than a rough sketch. Labels are few. Several markings are spread across the desert in that direction. All of them are Khandri names I have never seen before. Ezera. Hasp. They could be cities or countries for all I know. Several are around the coast. This one might say Khanat. One lies at the very southwestern tip of this scorched country. Azanimur, I think it says…’ He rubbed his tired and scarlet eyes. ‘All utterly unhelpful.’
Farden coughed hard and repeatedly into his hands, bringing a glisten to his eyes from the effort. Whatever he saw in his gauntlets afterwards, he was sure to keep it hidden. ‘Keep those keys safe, Durnus. We go south.’
‘We should rest, surely,’ suggested Mithrid, feeling a strong need to stare into a campfire and burn out the memories of the evening. The mage didn’t seem so convinced. He was already pointing himself south.
Farden tottered three steps before lightning carved the sky in two. He whirled to the north, where a bank of mist rolled like a humongous arrowhead across the plains of scrubland. Towns were swallowed as it swept forwards at great speed. Farden pushed past the others to look upon the sweeping storm. Mithrid joined him. A darkness swarmed at its centre. She swore she could see a great beast galloping in the shrieking flash of the storm’s lightning. It gained on them quickly.
‘Get on the dragon,’ Farden growled.
The others did not argue. All except Mithrid. She stepped out onto the hilltop and narrowed her eyes at the storm.
‘This is no time for your arrogance, Mithrid! I saw what was in those mirrors just the same as you.’
Mithrid didn’t answer. She reached out to the storm with crooked fingers and sensed the magick sparking within its clouds. The hairs upon her neck stood on end. She could feel the figure bent double upon the beast’s back. Shutting her eyes, she could almost see him shining in the dark, an incandescent rage.
Magick punched the air as Durnus threw out a shield. Not a moment too soon. A fork of lightning struck it not seconds after. ‘It is time to go!’
‘FARDEN!’ the storm spoke with a thunderous voice. At the centre of the sweeping clouds galloped a fenrir wolf. The figure on its back raised his arms wide, dragged the beast to a halt and jumped to the dust. Lightning crackled around him as he strode towards them, unrelenting.
‘Mithrid!’ Farden’s hands seized her arm. ‘Get on the fucking drag—’
‘It’s Malvus!’ she cried, shrugging him away. This was no smirking creature of a mirror, or the prisoner of her dreams. This was a man changed and transformed. The magick peeling from him in waves was enough to dizzy her, as if she had learned nothing since her first day in Scalussen.
Colours burst in Mithrid’s eyes as another bolt of lightning struck the sand far too close for comfort.
‘Do you not recognise me, Farden? Or you, girl?’ boomed the creature marching towards them, seemingly enraged by the lack of recognition. ‘You will scream my name and beg for mercy before the sun rises on your corpses!’
The voice. No matter how changed it had become, it still held the same vehement spite. The same haughty assuredness that only an emperor learns. ‘I don’t know how, but I know it’s Malvus!’ she yelled. ‘He carries your magick with him, Farden.’
Farden was shaking his head over and over. ‘No…’
Another lightning bolt struck the cliff, leaving a grinning Loki in its wake. He was utterly out of reach, even from the dragon’s fire, but Mithrid could see his smile all the same.
‘Old friends meet again!’ the god crowed. ‘I had hoped to let you get further, of course, but this will have to do. He is rather impatient, you see.’
Farden slammed his vambraces together in habit, even though he had no magick to wield. ‘What have you done, Loki?’ he bellowed. ‘What in Emaneska have you meddled with now?’
‘What should have been done years ago! The Books of Written – most notably a certain Forever King’s – and daemonblood entwined. Enough to bring the skies crashing down as they should have years ago. And the perfect vessel, if I might add,’ yelled Loki. ‘Oh, and Mithrid? I’m expecting much of you.’
Farden snarled as Malvus showed himself piece by piece as the distance shrank, in every crackle of lightning. Jet runes covered his swollen, chalk skin. Every inch of him between the rags had been tattooed. Even his face, now devoid of hair and half of it a bloodthirsty grin. Muscle contorted across his shoulders and arms. He stood as tall as the minotaur and almost as broad.
‘He has made an abomination!’ yelled Durnus, trying his hardest to maintain the shield. ‘We have to leave! You cannot fight him without your magick.’
‘But I can,’ hissed Mithrid, and before she could question herself, she was marching out to meet him.
‘Mithrid!’ Farden chased her.
She matched Malvus’ stance, arms spread and power sprawling around her. She unleashed the shadow aching to be free of her skin. Aching to be of use. It swarmed around her in arcs and coils, spinning ever faster as she and Malvus grew closer.
Despite his momentary surprise at dealing with the girl before Farden, Malvus accommodated her challenge willingly.
‘You have chosen to die first, I see. Very well.’ Fire spells detonated like thunder in Malvus’ palms. The frenzied magick railed at Mithrid, blowing her shadow across the scrubland like a ragged pennant. She snarled against the roar, drinking in the power she felt, and readied herself to face the magick.
The stream of fire hurtled towards her, faster than expected. Mithrid barely caught it, levelling a wall of black shadow against the searing white heat. Her heels dug furrows in the sand. The heat scorched her fingers and face, but she held fast. It took every shred of effort to battle the onslaught. She almost pitched forwards when Malvus ceased the spell. He chased his own flames, his fist glowing with a bright green fire. Now that he was close enough, Mithrid flung out her shadow, strangling the spell until it shrieked like a gale. Lightning sparked as Malvus battled her, sheer force against sheer will. Shadow against sputtering fire.
However Loki had transformed Malvus, he was still the foul soul he always was. Between the rush of black shadow and magick, he managed to kick sand under her guard. Mithrid s
pun away, blinking furiously. She caught the fist too late. The impact was like a hammer. A searing pain ricocheted through her body. The ground was unyielding, and Mithrid arose breathless but defiant to the core.
Malvus bore down on her, claws raised and lighting churning in a blinding orb. She threw out her hands in panic. Malvus choked as if she had gripped his very heart. She snarled as she squeezed. Face to face, they came in their struggle, Malvus rasping in his tortured voice, Mithrid trying desperately to keep his claws from closing inwards. His breath was foul, rotten teeth dripping saliva as he spat curses at her. White light burned through the tattoos across his face. Mithrid felt her eyes blurring as she dared to look upon them.
‘You peasant! You don’t deserve these powers!’
‘Neither do you!’ she strained.
It was Voidaran that broke their stalemate. The warhammer clouted Malvus square in the face. Any normal creature would have had their brains splattered across the grit, but Malvus spat a tooth and wiped black blood with a fist. His face shone with white script.
Two fireballs forced him backwards in quick succession. Along with the mage’s swords, cutting two deep gashes in the bastard’s ribs, but Malvus repulsed them with a shield spell. It was so powerful Mithrid somersaulted through the air before landing wheezing on the hillside.
‘We can’t stay here!’ Aspala yelled. ‘I believe in you, Mithrid, but he has the strength of a dozen Written behind him! Live to fight for glory another day, damn it!’
Aspala’s shrieking tone cut through Mithrid’s fury. Flames billowed as daemons began to emerge from the storm’s shadow. Ragged soldiers, too, dregs hailing broken weapons and limbs, doggedly drawn by the magick. Trolls and other fenrir howled as rain began to fall upon the dry plain. Mithrid bellowed at the unfair fight.
‘Aspala is right! Today is not our day for revenge, Mithrid!’ Farden yelled in her face.
