A terrible roar echoed up a staircase entering the long gallery. The glow of blacksmith’s fires tinged the walls with orange.
“What now?”
Josan turned about in a panic. “I... I don’t know.”
“Think!” shouted Garten.
She swallowed, her head bobbed in that odd, dracon-like way. “This way,” she said.
She ran for another door that slid up into the wall as she neared. The Draathis hauled itself up the staircase, iron hide scraping on the sides, fingers biting into stone and melting them with their heat.
They went into a long corridor covered floor to ceiling by delicate jade cameos set into the marble. Hundreds of thousands of faces looked out of the rock, all Morfaan.
“The Path of the Commemoration of the Beloved Dead,” she said. “We should not go this way, but we have no choice,” said Josan.
The Draathis followed, bursting through the doorway. It ran its hands along the cameos in the wall, shattering them and leaving their sockets smoking.
Josan moaned to see her ancestors’ images defiled. Garten snatched her hand and tugged her along. The corridor was broken into shorter lengths by numerous low arches, each too small to admit the Draathis, but though they bought precious moments for the fugitives, the arches only slowed the Draathis for as long as it took to smash its way through. The racket of demolition harried them up the corridor.
“Are there not more of your magic doors?” he said.
“No. Only the straight way now,” she said breathlessly. Her face was lined with pain. She clutched the Heart of Mists to her chest like an infant. “But we are nearly there.”
The corridor curved, then straightened. The door at the end was so far away it look no bigger than Garten’s thumbnail. “We’ll never reach it,” he said, slowing. His words came out between heaving gasps.
“Let me out,” said Tyn Issy. “I will face it. But you must be away. Once I have dealt with the Draathis, I will be a far more terrible enemy to you than it is.”
“Do not free her!” said Josan.
“Let me out. Break my collar,” said Issy heavily.
Garten stopped. The Draathis was stuck in an archway a hundred yards behind, pounding away at the stone. Marble shattered under the assault. In moments it would be through.
“Quickly! It will be through soon,” urged Issy.
“I thought I could not.”
“You can, if I allow it. You see, my friend. We do not go into slavery unwillingly. Do it!”
He placed the case on the floor and opened the outer door, then unsnapped the catch holding the inner cage door closed. Issy gave him an unsettling grin. Garten paused.
“Your geas,” he said.
“I can contain myself long enough for you to be away. Technically, we are not on the Earth any longer, and so technically the geas do not hold so strongly.”
“Technically?”
“Technically. Your choice. Your chance.”
“She will kill us both!” said Josan. “These Y Dvar are sworn enemies of my kind.”
“Your people have a lot of enemies,” said Garten. He opened the door. Issy extended her neck with her head on its side. Delicately, Garten undid the tiny clasp holding her collar shut. His fingers brushed her skin, sending a pleasurable tingle up his arm. He feared to harm her she was so small, but no sooner was the collar undone—a little bit of wire, that was all it was—then Issy drew in a deep breath, and swelled in size.
“That’s better,” she said, her voice deepening. “That’s better!” She stepped from the cage, growing as she did, miraculously emerging as large as human woman. Now she was as big as he, Garten was struck even more by her beauty. She could indeed have passed for a goodlady, and one any man would have been glad to accompany her. Then her eyes shone, and she opened her mouth, displaying her sharp teeth, and the illusion was gone.
“Away with you Garten Kressind,” she said. “I quite like you and your funny little family. I really don’t want to eat you.” She continued to grow, her human form melting away. Her limbs stretched, her head thinned, and she transformed into a shining creature made of sparkling light.
“Hello little Draathis,” she said. The iron monster smashed its fist through the apex of the arch, bringing down a shower of stone on its broad shoulders. It pushed through the rubble, and stood tall. “Come to auntie.” The shape of Issy’s new body was lost in its own radiance. Garten had the impression of wings spreading, or perhaps long arms clad in shining raiment, then Issy blazed like the sun, and he was forced to turn away.
“What have you done?” said Josan. “You have set it free!”
“I did what I had to,” said Garten. He took her arm and dragged her into a reluctant jog.
“You do not know what they are,” she said.
“Then perhaps you should have told me,” said Garten.
They reached the door and fell through it as Issy struck the Draathis with calamitous impact.
They found themselves back in the Corridor of Gates. The acrid stink of hot metal polluted the air. Some of gates that had not been smashed by the Draathis were active, their edges defined by light seeping around them, but the ones Josan wanted were dark. When she opened them there was only bare marble behind. She swore in her own tongue.
“This one will have to suffice,” she said, pointing at a door that was lit. “It leads back to the World of Will, at least.” The castle shook, and a tremendous blaring came from the Path of the Dead. The lights of the gates blinked and flared. “The magic of the castle is fading. The locks are breaking. I only hope that the gates left on the Earth will remain closed a while yet.”
“The Draathis could be coming through now,” Garten said, imagining an army of those things let loose in Ruthnia.
“Not yet. We have time.” She yanked open the door. More dazzling light was behind. Garten resolved then and there to spend some time in a dark room once he got home. “Go through. I will meet you. Find somewhere safe to wait for me. Stay an hour, no more. If I do not come by then, then I will not be coming.”
“Leave with me,” he urged. “Staying here is suicide.”
“I have to save Josanad, what is left of him. Do not attempt to convince me against this course of action. He is my love, and I will not listen. Do not come back through the gate.”
“Wait!” he said. But she pushed the Heart of Mists into his arms, and shoved him hard through the door. Unlike before, there was no sense of a tunnel here. Nothing met his feet, and he fell through a void of light. He caught one final glimpse of Josan peering down at him from the door, high above, and heard the roaring of the Draathis. Then she shut him out of her world.
He fell for an age, until suddenly he found himself trying to breathe water. A storm of bubbles bore him upward, he turned over and over, clutching at the Heart of Mists like his life depended on it, but still there was no air. His vision swam, became patchy, and went black.
Garten came to on a beach walled by cliffs. Hot sun beat down upon him. The sea shushed on the shore. Taking the great opal under one arm he fled the sand, not halting until he found a vantage point up on the cliffs.
From the clifftop he watched the beach for far longer than an hour, until the sun plunged its fiery orb into the bosom of the sea.
Josan did not emerge.
CHAPTER FIFTY
A Very Fine Vessel
THE DOGS RAN hard, the sled slewing behind Valatrice and his team. Ice shattered on every side of them, tumbling down in glinting, deadly falls. The narrow streets of the city echoed with the tumult of destruction. The passengers were silent, grimly holding on, snow-stung eyes fixed forward. Ice growled and screamed as it fell to pieces, the sonorous noise of the city’s collapse a carillon of destruction. Antoninan held helplessly to the rail of the driver’s perch as Valatrice led the dogs without his direction.
“Halt, Valatrice! Valatrice! You will kill us all!”
The giant dray paid him no attention, intent on his own c
ourse, left, right, left again, the sled tipping onto one runner and slamming into walls as Valatrice switched course again and again, taking them down a seemingly random route, the second sled following his lead.
But random it was not.
“The sun!” shouted Ilona. A broad sweep of daylight sliced the dome wall, shining in through a tall crack to illuminate the jagged fragments of buildings. Rainbows rose from the destruction, hanging on the sprays of ice crystals filling the air but the catastrophe was not yet done. At the sight of daylight Valatrice pulled harder, the dogs panting explosively as they put all their efforts into the harness. The dome overhead trembled, ice snapped apart musically. The crack ran crookedly up the wall, opening up the roof. Great chunks fell from the sundering, and slowly, the dome there began to collapse.
Valatrice let out a bark. The dogs heaved harder. The sled flew up a ramp of crushed ice and snow, out through the dome wall and into the sunlight. The second followed half a second later as the dome fell inward. Once indestructible, now it seemed as fragile as fine porcelain. From the rear of the city, a column of light stretched into the sky, piercing the blue and disappearing beyond it.
“Run! Run! Run!” shouted Valatrice. His dogs obeyed, though it taxed them hard, and their pink tongues lolled long.
“To the ship, get us to the ship!” shouted Persin. Valatrice had already turned toward the docks, running parallel to the massive dome as it cascaded into final ruin, crushing everything inside. They came round the front of the city, unable to see the ship at first beyond the heaped ice of the ruined entrance cavern and the clouds of ice particles billowing from the city. Ice had spread itself across the flat ground between city and docks, and Valatrice was forced to take them around it, nigh to the edge of the water. Shouts of dismay went up from the passengers, Maceriyan and Karsan alike.
There was Haik’s ice-bound schooner, but of the iron ship, there was no sign. The camp was wrecked, much left behind. Bodies were scattered around the dockside, Ishamalani sailors, Maceriyan bravos, Olberlander mercenaries.
Valatrice plunged on, skirting the water’s edge.
“There she is!” shouted Darrasind. Bannord leapt from the still moving sled, along with others. Antoninan called to his dogs to stop. Finally, they obeyed.
The Prince Alfra had descended the slope of water, and was making at full speed toward the channel that led out under the wall of ice.
“They’re escaping. I cannot say that I blame them,” said Bannord. He spat into the snow. “I suppose they’ll hide out down there until the next low tide, then sail away.
“The caverns do not completely fill with water?” said Persin.
“Not that it’s any of your business you murdering bastard, but I suppose not,” said Bannord. “We’re going to have to look to our own survival.” He addressed the mixed group on sleds. “Men, get these supplies gathered up. Anything that might be useful. Quickly now, I’ve a feeling we’ll not be alone for long.”
“What are you doing?” said Persin. “Who are you to command these men?”
“I’m an officer in the Karsan Maritime Regiment, that’s who, and you’re an inch away from being shot,” Bannord said. Persin’s hired guns halted, torn between moving at Bannord’s command and heeding their employer.
“He’s right,” said Antoninan, switching to his native Maceriyan to win over his countrymen. “We’ll need everything we can find to survive.”
“We could descend the ice, wait for them to come out,” said Darrasind.
“We’ll be caught and killed before that happens,” said Ardovani. “We have to flee.”
Antoninan looked at the mixed band of men, so recently thrown together. Despite him sharing nationality with some, their mistrust of him was all too obvious. “This is no longer about pride or nation,” said Antoninan, “but simple survival. You’re either with us, or you can stay here to die. There is no other option.”
One of them pointed his gun at Antoninan. “We could kill you all, and take your sleds. We could catch the ship, or wait for our comrades aboard the other two vessels of our expedition.”
Antoninan strode up to him aggressively, arms out, and pressed his chest against the gun’s barrel. “What is your name?”
“Mazarine,” said the man, eyes narrowed.
“Go on then, Mazarine. Kill me. Do you know the way north? It looks like your fellows are dead, and in all likelihood the Prince Alfra’s crew will kill you too. If you cannot rendezvous with the Prince Alfra or your fellows, what will you do then? Only I know the way to the Sorskian passage. Without me, you are doomed. Without me, Ruthnia is doomed. I am the greatest polar explorer ever to have lived, and you would kill me? Kill me, you kill your mothers and your fathers, your sweethearts and your children. For if we do not return, then the knowledge of this threat will remain unknown until it is too late. Can you imagine what those things will do to Ruthnia?”
The man was unconvinced. The iron ship was nearing the channel. He kept his ironlock on Antoninan. Valatrice growled. The other dogs lay on the ice, chests heaving from their sprint, but he stood, fur bristling.
“I offer a simpler choice,” the great dog said. “Kill him, and I will kill you.”
His dogs stirred, yellow eyes fixing on the mercenaries.
Valatrice’s words cowed Persin’s men, and the rifle was lowered.
“Do you have your own dog sleds?” asked Antoninan.
Mazarine nodded. “We concealed them to the east. Three.”
“Then fetch them, and be back here swiftly. Take the supplies, the crates, everything!” said Antoninan. Hesitantly at first, the men obeyed, working with greater speed when Bannord pointed to the north. A high column of steam rose into the still sky there, filling the sky with a menacing rumble.
“They are coming,” Bannord said. “Mazarine, be quick.”
The Maceriyan nodded, and set off at a jog with a handful of his fellows.
Trassan watched all this with disinterest. The arguments of men no longer applied to him, he had his own journey to make.
“Ilona,” he said, faintly surprised at how weak his voice had become.
His cousin came to his side, solemn faced, and he groped for her hand, gripping it feebly.
“Tell Veridy I truly loved her. You will do that for me?”
Ilona nodded, her eyes filling with tears.
Trassan turned from her, and with the last of his strength lifted his head so he could watch the Prince Alfra enter the stone channel, and pass from sight under the crust of snow. A banner of glimmer-polluted steam trailed behind it for a moment after it had gone, and then spread apart and vanished.
“She was such a very fine vessel. Father always warned me against overreaching myself.” He smiled ruefully. “I suppose I did in the end. But it was a fine ship. Make sure you tell the world that I, Trassan Kressind, made it, and not my arse of a master, Vand.”
Ilona nodded, biting her lip.
A look of contentment suffused Trassan’s features. His eyes closed, and he never spoke again. Trassan continued to breathe while the sleds were stacked and their loads tied down. Mazarine returned, Trassan was lifted gently and placed atop Valatrice’s sled, but none could rouse him. The Draathis were coming from the gate, black on the snow, the immense heat of their iron bodies vapourising the ice into a spreading fog. He saw this, though not with mortal eyes.
“Can we survive?” he heard someone say.
Not I, he thought.
“First, we must outrun them,” said Antoninan. “We best pray they are slow. Valatrice, to the east, then north. If we can get onto the pack ice, we should be safe.”
I will not, he thought. The pain had gone. The sled hissed over the snow and the skies opened to Trassan. He saw the way clearly, he needed no Guider to help him on. What was revealed elated and scared him, but he had no choice but to leave.
Trassan needed no ship for his next voyage.
His ghost streaked heavenward as the sleds picked up speed,
the dogs labouring under the weight of men and goods. They would suffer for their exertions in the days to come. Trassan understood that, as he understood so many things he had not while he still lived. Terrible things would happen. He saw that, for the future was open to him now. But nothing of the Earth seemed particularly important any more.
Only one other saw the architect of the Prince Alfra depart. Tullian Ardovani followed Trassan leaving this world, a faint outline heading up into the sky and onward into a place his vision could not penetrate. On top of the pile of lashed boxes, Trassan’s breathing stilled.
Ardovani closed his eyes and silently wished Trassan’s ghost well.
Ardovani would tell Ilona later that her cousin was dead. For now, he stared resolutely at the northern horizon, away from the approaching army of Draathis and the end of the world.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Madelyne Transformed
MADELYNE AWAITED HER fate with her head hung. The duke seemed in no hurry to deliver it. He looked at the blind on the window of the carriage as if he could see through it, listening to the bells ringing all over the city.
“There will have been lights in the Godhome from my confrontation with Andrade’s ghost,” he said. “They will think the gods are returning.” The duke stared at Madelyne. She felt the heat of his gaze on the top of her head. She dared not meet it. “What balance have you tipped, I wonder, with your little adventure?”
Madelyne shook. Blood from her wounded arm soaked through her tattered clothes and into the upholstery of the seat. Fibres of cloth stuck in her wound and pulled painfully whenever she moved it.
“Are they wrong? Andrade is back already,” she said.
“That was not Andrade, not in full, only a remainder. Even gods have ghosts, Madelyne. If you had encountered the living Andrade, you would be on your way to one of the many hells by now. You met a wraith, a glimmer of her power, that is all.”
“I would have perished anyway. I am lucky,” she said. “You saved me.” She met his eyes, though it took all her courage.
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