“No, Divinity. And between our main portal and the Broken Lands lie many weeks journey.”
“So you have a party in transit?”
The Abbot shook his head. “The trail would have gone cold by the time my people arrived.”
“What about the Cortège?”
“We would need the remains of his previous avatar.”
“You have those!” said Gronchard. “I. Gave. Them. To. You.”
The Abbot grimaced. “The fire, Divinity.”
“So you have nothing,” said Gronchard, his voice rising. “No way to chase him or locate him. And yet you said he would be recaptured.”
“Of course, Divinity. He is pledged to the Ineffable One. When he dies, the Cortège will Step Between to retrieve his remains, which in turn will enable us to harvest his new avatar, and thus the Great Circle will be restored. Ultimately, there is no escape for Acolytes.”
“And what of my Angelica?”
“The mission of the Cortège is constrained by our pact with the Ineffable One.”
“And what of our Pact, Abbot?”
“But Divinity, you yourself reneged on it by not warning us that he would have a rescuer.”
“Rescuer?”
“Clearly the Sacred Angelica’s current avatar—”
“Vessel!” corrected Gronchard.
“—current vessel intruded on our holy precinct in order to entice away Nee Berotspan for her own nefarious purposes.”
Gronchard bit back a gasp. So that was what Angelica’s vessel had been up to! She had Stepped Between from Yinkesia to the Monastery and back. This was all part of some plan. What could she hope to achieve??
If the vessel had just wanted to evade capture, she would focus on putting distance between herself and Gronchard’s realms. Not only would that make her exponentially harder to find, it would also—eventually—place her outside the range of his Mausoleum.
Instead, she had lingered on his borders, first in Yinkesia, which was closer to his Magisterium than the realm where he had first located her, then worked her way around to the Broken Realm.
The vessel must intend going on the offensive, and that in turn meant that she had some plan for attacking Gronchard. If he could work out what that was, he could intercept her and bring back his Angelica.
“Divinity?” prompted the Abbot.
“Next time you have Nee Berotspan, see that you keep him,” said Gronchard and ended the manifestation.
Chapter 30: Virago!
Zahna paused at the portal’s threshold and let the cool dry air flow around her.
Beyond the portal, crumbling steps wound through towering shards of rock. Behind her, a decaying wooden causeway snaked through an insect-ridden marsh with leather-winged pterodactyls wheeling overhead.
“Come on,” she said. “We can camp on the other side.”
Form 2. Performing Virago at Level 3.
Torstag did not meet her gaze as he trudged closer, boards creaking under his weight.
He was tall and broad, broader than when she had first sought him out—levelling up tended to do that to warlocks with physical vocations. However, there was still a puppydog boyishness about him. Would that fade as he grew into his warlock self?
Zahna wasn’t sure what she’d expected of her first time with a man, other than that it would be with Marvak, and not this stranger. She certainly hadn’t expected it to be quite so…acrobatic? Or so hungry and vulnerable all at once…
Which is what had led her to say yes to unlocking the Virago vocation…that and the way Torstag’s Mark had seemed to call it out of her.
Zahna’s fingers clenched on her staff.
All these years, she’d carefully kept that last Vocation slot empty! The other three had been filled for her. Mistress Zinaven hadn’t asked permission to awaken her as a Wizard, nor had she given her a choice about becoming a Flow Fighter. Their tea-making expeditions had also made it impossible not to embrace Scout.
Zahna didn’t resent any of that.
Without Mistress Zinhaven, Zahna would have ended up stuck as a temple virgin, tending the Sacred Flame in some backwater Realm.
However, that fourth Vocation slot had always been Zahna’s to fill. She would lie awake at night floating in dead memories considering becoming a musician, a farmer, or a great architect, or maybe adding another magical vocation…she had rather fancied being a fireball-flinging Goeticist.
And then suddenly she’d found herself with the gormless Boy staring at her like a startled owl and that precious last Vocation slot was filled by…She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what a Virago was.
Mind you, it did seem to help her get her way.
Commanding Presence had quelled Ingar well enough back in the canyon, though she had qualms at using it on somebody who had fought for her, however unwillingly.
“Couldn’t we have kept the horses?” groaned Ingar. A plank gave under his right foot, which plunged through the rotten wood. “Fuck.”
Torstag laughed. “You answered your own question.”
“Fuck you,” said Ingar. He offered his new axe to his friend.
Torstag flinched but took the weapon. He seemed to wilt under the extra weight.
He was wearing the lamellar body armour and helmet of the cataphract she’d killed—the limb defences, hadn’t fit—and, to be fair, Zahna had dragged him from desert to tundra to mountains to rice fields to icecap. Even so, it seemed more than that.
Ingar stooped to haul on his sandal strap. Foot and sandal came free in an explosion of soggy brown splinters. “I’d kill for some proper boots.”
“You did, only you were too squeamish to take them,” said Torstag, studiously not looking at the axe.
“Where are your new boots, then?” asked Ingar. “You don’t give a shit about dead bodies.”
Torstag’s smile became thin. “For a necromancer, walking a mile in another man’s shoes has implications, especially if the man is dead.”
“Fuck,” said Ingar. “My axe isn’t haunted?”
“What?” said Torstag. “No, not at all. Totally clean.” He offered it back while seeming to find something interesting to stare at in the swamp.
Ingar hefted the weapon over his shoulder. He glared at Zahna. “What are you looking at?”
Something splashed in the water under the causway.
“Come on,” she repeated. “We need to keep moving.”
“If we are in such a rush,” said Ingar. “How come we’re taking the long way round?”
Zahna sighed. “Each portal multiplies the possibilities, makes us harder to track using magic.”
“What about dogs?” asked Torstag, raising his gaze to meet hers. He immediately looked away.
“I kept using a purifying spell on our scent,” she said.
“That explains the weird chanting,” said Ingar.
She looked at him, fought back the urge to say something cutting. “Yes, the weird chanting is how I do magic.” She started to turn back to the portal. “Come on, we—”
“—have to multiply the possibilities,” completed Ingar. “I get it. But what if we just fucked off our separate ways?” He nudged Torstag. “Come on mate, you wanted to be your own man. This isn’t it.”
“I…” said Torstag. He looked Zahna in the eye. “What does Marked mean?”
Zahna felt herself flush. “Nothing I did. Something my past self put on the Marshal.”
“She’s flannelling,” said Ingar.
“I…” began Zahna. Her jaw clenched. She shouldn’t have to recite the whole business of the flaying again. What was she? A damsel in distress?
She squared her shoulders.
New Form 3. Cost 1 Potestas, 5 remaining.
Performing Virago at Level 4.
“Torstag. You’re coming because it’s your destiny. Ingar, you say you’re coming for the treasure, but really it’s because your Torstag’s friend. Isn’t that enough for both of you?”
Using Virago, C
ommanding Presence 3/6, cost 3 Potestas, 1 remaining.
Result = 4 (Performance) +2 (Feat) = Commanding at 6.
Effect on Burglar: 6 (Commanding) -3 (Will) -1 (Luck) = 2 (Tentative Practical Response)
“Fuck, she has a point,” said Ingar. “But are you really going along with all this ‘champion’ crap?”
Effect on Warrior: 6 (Commanding) -0 (Will Negated by “Marked”) +1 (Luck) = 7 (Purposeful Practical Response)
Torstag lifted his head. His eyes twinkled. “Ha! Apparently it’s who I am. Come on, lead on, my lady.”
Virago, Commanding Presence advances to 4/6 Grasp.
Yes, thought Zahna. Whatever it was, Virago certainly helped her get her way. If only she felt good about it.
Chapter 31: Council of Saints
The sacrifices ran the gauntlet of the shrubs. Every so often one of the plants bit off a chunk of flesh. Blood sprayed and splashed, but nobody screamed.
“You see?” said Gronchard to his Saints, who were lined up along the balcony. “Wiring their jaws closed stops their screams disturbing my repose, and yet the plants still enjoy a good chase.”
Saint Prescience flushed and lowered his eyes.
Gronchard led them inside to the council chamber. “I am immortal, not moribund. As I come into Myself, there will be changes. Now…” He settled in his throne and clapped for them to sit, “I need the counsel of My Saints. Angelica’s vessel has some plan to attack Me.”
They all looked at him in silence.
Gronchard sighed. “So, counsel Me. What are My weaknesses?”
Nobody said anything.
“Let’s start with you, Saint Incarnation.”
Saint Incarnation screwed up his face in concentration.
“Well…?” prompted Gronchard.
“Your physical form is well guarded, Divinity,” Saint Incarnation. “If an assassin could infiltrate the Flying Tooth Garden, he still could not reach your Divinity. There is always at least one Seraphim Wizard on guard using Backwards Remembering. An army, Divinity?” He made an open palm gesture. “An army would still have to breach the defences. May I ask, Divinity, does Angelica’s Vessel have an army?”
Gronchard shook his head. “She has but two followers.”
“An immediate direct attack seems unlikely, then,” said Saint Incarnation. “Perhaps she plays the long game.”
“Fool! If that were so,” said Gronchard, “then she would have fled far away with the plan to return once she had built her strength.” He surveyed the table. “Saint Mausoleus?”
“Divinity, if the vessel’s primary goal is to…keep the Holy Angelica imprisoned, then her objective may be to destroy the contents of the Mausoleum.”
Saint Incarnation raised a hand. “By your leave, Divinity, I shall assign Seraphim Wizards to guarding the Mausoleum.”
“That should already have been done,” said Gronchard. “Saint Prescience? You have witnessed my scrying of her. What do you say?”
“Divinity, if she has gathered so few followers, it must mean that she intends to move quickly while travelling light. That suggests that whatever she plans requires the completion of a quest.”
“At last,” said Gronchard. “A useful contribution. So she—the vessel—quests for something that may harm me. What might that be?”
Again Saint Incarnation raised a hand. “Attacking your Divinity directly seems impossible, as does attacking the Mausoleum. However, what if she had a way to attack the Flying Tooth Garden?”
“What?” said Gronchard. He laughed. “How is that even possible?”
The table exploded into mirth.
Gronchard snapped his fingers at one of the Seraphim. “You. Kill this Saint, take his Angel. You are the new Saint Incarnation.”
The Seraphim drew his sword and advanced.
“Wait,” cried Saint Incarnation, “You do not even know where the Flying Tooth Garden came from, do you?”
“An excellent point,” said Gronchard. He nodded at the Seraphim, who ran his sword through Saint Incarnation, detailed some other Seraphim to take away the carcass and then smoothly assumed his place at the table.
“So,” continued Gronchard, “what do we know of the origins of the Flying Tooth Garden?”
“Nothing, Divinity,” said Saint Prescience. “We are all mere latecomers to your immortal lifetime.”
“I…” began Gronchard. A hand seemed to clutch his heart.
He simply didn’t remember.
Had he created the Flying Tooth Garden?
Found it?
Stolen it?
His Saints continued to sit in silence, waiting for him to finish his sentence.
“…am disappointed in you all,” he said.
The silence continued, broken only by the wind and the sound of the shrubs rending the flesh of the sacrifices. It turned out that humans could make quite a lot of noise without opening their mouths after all. Gronchard still rated this as an improvement on full-throated screams.
“Divinity,” said the new Saint Incarnation. A drop of blood trickled into his eye. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, making an unsightly smear. “Surely what matters is what she—the vessel—knows.”
“Go on…” prompted Gronchard.
“Well, Divinity,” said Saint Incarnation, “though my predecessor failed to rescue Angelica from the wizard’s tower, he did confiscate the wizard’s library. Perhaps there is some clue to be had there.”
Gronchard opened his mouth to have Saint Remembrance initiate a search, then realised that it would be best to keep the knowledge to himself.
“Have the books brought to my Heaven. And gather up any of the archivists who have inspected them and feed them to the shrubs.”
It took Gronchard two weeks to get through the wizard’s library. He found neither spells nor esoteric accounts relating to the Flying Tooth Garden. In fact the only reference to it was in a chronicle, which told the story of Gronchard’s brief war with the Queen Rasinta, known as the Ice Queen.
As he recalled, he had broken into her realms and started salting her cities, but she in turn had discovered how to send attackers Stepping Through to the Flying Tooth Garden until he withdrew—her bleak northern kingdom hardly merited a fight to the utterance.
Gronchard had never discovered how she did it. Eventually, in passing from one vessel to another, he lost interest in the question. The Ice Queen had died long ago. No trace of her empire remained. Even so, perhaps there was a clue to be found in her tomb.
He called for Saint Remembrance.
At length, a young man he didn’t recognise hurried in and prostrated himself.
“You’ve changed, Saint Remembrance,” remarked Gronchard.
“My predecessor was among those who viewed the forbidden tomes.”
“Enough of all that,” said Gronchard. “Find me the location of the Tomb of the Ice Queen.”
Chapter 32: Irritated by People Stuff
They passed out of the portal into heat and gloom beneath a dark green canopy. Leaves squelched underfoot.
A big insect buzzed at Zahna’s face.
Torstag backhanded it out of the air.
She blinked away sweat. The perspiration just lay on her skin as if it had nowhere to go. “We’re here.”
“Treasure!” said Ingar. “Fuck!” he slapped his neck, flapped his monkish robes. “What the fuck?”
“Jungle,” said Zahna, laughing.
“As in Jungle Tomb of the Ice Queen,” said Torstag, flicking away another insect.
Zahna glanced at him. That was the most he’d said in days.
He met her gaze then looked away.
Zahna unshouldered her pack and took her time in extracting the samovar.
What was going on in Torstag’s head? He’d been avoiding talking to her since she’d used her Virago vocation.
“Where is it?” asked Ingar.
“Further off.” She brought out the samovar. “Stay covered up while I make tea.�
�
“Tea…?” said Ingar. “I thought we were in a rush?”
“Magic tea.”
Torstag leaned back against a tree, letting it take his armour’s weight. Zahna felt his eyes on her as she loaded up the charcoal and got it lit. She broke off a brick of black tea, set it to brew as a base. “Right,” she said. “Torstag. Don’t let this boil. Just simmer gently. Close the vent to control the temperature.”
“Don’t abandon us!” said Ingar. “We don’t know the portals.”
“I won’t be long,” she said, turning as she rose to hide her smile. For all that Torstag was behaving oddly, she had established her leadership. The raid on the tomb should go smoothly, and perhaps Ingar would see the benefits of tagging along for more treasure. His skills would be handy but also she wasn’t—she realised—ready for it to be just her and Torstag.
Torstag slapped at yet another insect. He contemplated the patch of blood on his palm. “Where are you going?”
“Foraging,” she said.
Which was mostly true.
You have 5 of 5 Potestas.
She began to chant.
Using Tea Making, Walk Unhindered, cost 1 Potestas. 4 of 5 Potestas remaining.
Challenge = 5 +2 (“Natural Environment”) = 6
Form 3.
Performing Wizard at level 7.
Not good enough!
The handy thing about Tea Making was that she could improve her form before completing the spell.
New Form 2. Cost 1 Potestas. 3 of 5 Potestas remaining.
Even Worse!
Zahna drew in her focus, tried again.
New Form 5. Cost 1 Potestas. 2 of 5 Potestas remaining.
Performing Wizard at level 9.
Now, she half-closed her eyes and started weaving around the muddy jungle floor. The Sight came over her and the jungle lit up with meanings. She was dancing now.
A piece of moss drew her attention. She pounced. “Ha!”
The Jungle Tomb of the Ice Queen (The Flying Tooth Garden Book 1) Page 20
