The colonel had dissected his opponent with typical grace, dodging its clumsy lunge and dancing behind it to neatly sever the muscles in its thighs with his lighter blade. It fell facedown, and Marcus gave it a slash in passing, smashing its face into a ruin. Once they were down and blinded, the demons presented a danger only if you managed to step on one.
“There.” Janus pointed with his sword. A small campfire burned up ahead, banked against the base of one of the statues and invisible from a distance. “Come on—we have to hurry.”
He trotted toward it, and Marcus heaved a deep breath and lumbered after him. Janus’ reserve of strength seemed boundless, and keeping up with him made Marcus feel like a milk cow trying to race a warhorse.
The little half circle of firelight looked as though it had been someone’s camp. A small sack and a waterskin were propped neatly against the statue, and a thick blanket was unrolled over the hard flagstones for use as a bed. Lying on the bed—
At first Marcus thought it was a corpse. It looked more like a corpse than the green-eyed demons did. The young man’s flesh was withered and shrunken, and his skin hung in loose folds from protruding bones. Ribs and hips were clearly visible, moving slowly under his gray skin like puppies squirming in a sack, and Marcus realized with a start the boy was still breathing in short, sharp gasps. His eyes were closed, but at the sound of the two Vordanai approaching they flickered open.
Janus crossed the flagstones to stand beside the boy in a few quick, sure strides, and flicked the point of his sword to hover just above the throat of the emaciated youth. He spoke in Khandarai, loud and clear enough that even Marcus could follow him.
“Call them off. Now.”
A dozen pairs of green eyes turned to stare at them. Marcus raised his sword. The closest of the demons regarded him through the curtain of white smoke rising from its lips.
“Call them off,” Janus said. “All of them, or I slit your throat.”
The boy’s mouth opened slowly. His voice was a thin rasp.
“I am dead already,” he said.
A hollow boom echoed through the chamber, followed by two more in rapid succession. Marcus tried to see what was happening, but there were too many statues blocking the way. He could hear a tide of shouts rising above the hissing of the demons.
“Call them off,” Janus said.
“He won’t do it,” said a woman’s voice, also in Khandarai. “You should know better than to try to reason with fanatics, Colonel.”
Jen Alhundt walked between two of the frozen demons, for all the world as if she hadn’t noticed them. Her spectacles gleamed white in the light of the campfire. She held a pistol in one hand and had another thrust through her belt.
“Jen.” Marcus’ sword arm dropped slowly to his side. “Jen? What the hell—”
“Miss Alhundt,” Janus interrupted. “I take it you have a suggestion?”
“Only the obvious,” Jen said. She leveled the pistol abruptly and pulled the trigger. The boy’s body jerked and stiffened for a moment, blood blooming from his chest, and then sagged.
All across the vast cavern, the green lights went out. The corpses dropped into place with a final exhalation of white smoke, staggering drunkenly into one another or sagging against the statues. Silence fell throughout the vast cavern as the inhuman hiss of the demons finally quieted. Marcus couldn’t hear the shouts of the Colonials anymore, either. He swallowed hard.
“Jen,” Marcus said, trying to keep his voice calm, “what are you doing here?”
“She’s doing her job as a member of the Concordat,” Janus said. His gray eyes were fixed on Jen. “Completing her assignment from the Last Duke.”
“Her assignment was just to observe,” Marcus protested. It felt weak, even as he said it.
“It was to observe,” Jen said, “unless circumstances warranted other action.”
“And they do now?” Janus said.
“I believe so.” She tossed the empty pistol aside, drew the other one from her belt, and pulled back the hammer. “Colonel Vhalnich, in the name of the king and the Ministry of Information, I place you under arrest.”
• • •
“Interesting,” Janus said, after a long moment of silence.
“Drop your sword, if you please.” Jen raised the pistol to a level with his chest.
The colonel shrugged and let the weapon fall. “May I ask the charge?”
“Heresy,” Jen said. “And conspiracy against the Crown.”
“I see.” His expression was thoughtful. “His Grace may have difficulty making that case to a military court.”
“That’s not my affair,” Jen said. “You’re welcome to take it up with him once you return to Vordan.”
“If I return. Much better for all concerned if I were to suffer a little accident during the crossing. Swept overboard in a storm, say. I’m sure an appropriate storm can be provided. Sea voyages are so dangerous.”
She regarded him in stony silence. Janus sighed.
“I suppose it would be uncouth of me to mention that there are close to four thousand men outside who answer to my orders? I assume you have the appropriate paperwork tucked away somewhere, but they may not be inclined to examine it.”
“The men will obey their commanders.” Jen looked sidelong at Marcus. “Senior Captain d’Ivoire. I have a commission from the king and the Ministry to assume overall command of this expedition if I deem it necessary. As such, I am placing you in command of First Colonials. Your orders are to detain Colonel Vhalnich and return the regiment to Ashe-Katarion, where it will rendezvous with the transport fleet.”
The formal language made Marcus draw himself up automatically, his aches and pains forgotten. He gritted his teeth. “Jen, you can’t be serious. Heresy?”
“I believe you are aware of the colonel’s interest in acquiring Khandarai relics. If you wish to label yourself an accessory, I am willing to expand the charges. No doubt Captain Kaanos would be willing to assume command.”
“Fucking saints.” Marcus blew out a long breath. “You said you were a clerk. You were lying to me all this time.”
“I neglected to tell you everything.” Jen gave a slight shrug. “It comes with the job.”
“Of course she was,” Janus said. “She’s Concordat, Captain. This is what she does.”
“I’ll thank you to be quiet,” Jen snapped.
“Do you intend to shoot me?” Janus flashed a quick smile. “I doubt it, now that I think about it. The Last Duke needs to know what I know, doesn’t he?”
“I intend to bring you to trial,” Jen said, raising the pistol slightly. “If possible.”
There was another silence.
“Jen . . . ,” Marcus began.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Marcus,” she said. “Please. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“On the contrary,” Janus said. “I think he finally understands.”
“I’m not going to let you shoot him,” Marcus said. “We’ll go back to the camp, talk this over. I’m sure—”
A flicker of motion over Jen’s shoulder was the only warning. Marcus dove forward, cannoning into her, and they both slid across the dusty flagstones to fetch up against the base of one of the statues. The pistol clattered and spun to a halt beside them. A silver blur hummed through the space where Jen had been standing, hit one of the nearby statues, and bounced off with a single ringing note, sending stone chips flying. The long, curved dagger bounced twice more, leaping like a fish off the flagstones, before it finally clattered to a halt.
The young assassin Marcus had last seen in the colonel’s quarters stepped between two of the statues. He had another dagger, which he tossed idly from hand to hand. Apart from a loose pair of shorts, he was naked, his shaved head gleaming with oil. His chest was striped with bright red welts, as though he’d been whipped.
Marcus didn’t spare the time to think. He grabbed for the pistol, brought it up, and fired. The assassin didn’t even brea
k his stride, skipping gently to one side as if dancing, and Marcus heard the ball ping uselessly somewhere out in the darkness. He was already scrambling to his feet, clawing for the sword where he’d dropped it, as the young man advanced on him and Jen.
“Idiot,” Jen said from behind him. “Get out of the way!”
She gave him a sideways shove, sending him stumbling drunkenly against a statue. The assassin whipped the other dagger at her, bright steel blurring into a line too fast to see. Jen brought her left hand up, fingers splayed, and something sparked in front of her like caged lightning. The knife glanced away as though it had struck a stone wall, and went ringing and clattering off into the cavern.
The young man’s face clouded.
“You are abh-naathem,” he said in Khandarai. “A minion of Orlanko. We have expected your coming.”
Jen let out a long breath. A grin spread across her face, a savage joy that Marcus had never seen on her before. She let her arms dangle in front of her, fingers working like a violinist limbering up.
“You pestilential goat-fuckers,” she said, in perfect Khandarai. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“You think you are the first to come in search of the Names? We have held them for four thousand years.”
“Until today.” Jen brought one hand up and made a double circle over her chest, the traditional ward against evil. “Ahdon ivahnt vi, ignahta sempria.”
He blurred into motion, covering the distance between them with the horrible, inhuman speed Marcus remembered from Ashe-Katarion. Jen’s hand came up, palm out, and the Khandarai crashed into a wall of brilliant silver sparks just before he reached her. He’d been moving so fast he bounced, twisting nimbly in midair to land on his feet. His next attack was more circumspect, circling Jen and feinting a few jabs to test the limit of her defense. She faded backward, raising her right hand above her head.
The assassin guessed what was coming, or else had access to some sense that Marcus lacked, and he dove sideways as she brought her hand down. There was an enormous ripping sound, as though the air itself were being torn, and something flashed out from Jen in a vertical wave. It hit a statue behind where the Khandarai had been standing, a snake-headed thing with tree-trunk limbs, and cut it cleanly in half from top to bottom with a billow of dust. The separated pieces fell to the ground in a cacophony of shattering stone.
Demon. There was no doubt in Marcus’ mind, not anymore. Janus had warned him the Concordat was after the Thousand Names, but he’d never mentioned anything like this.
He levered himself to his feet and looked around for the colonel. Janus was staring after Jen as she followed the retreating creature. He didn’t seem surprised so much as in awe. That wasn’t quite right, either, though. Marcus was reminded of the very first time he’d seen the man, holding up a venomous scorpion and watching it twist with the same raw admiration a patron of the arts might show for a masterpiece painting or symphony.
“The Panoply Invisible,” he muttered. “Borracio said it passed into Church hands, but . . .” He shook his head slowly. “I never thought to see such a thing.”
“Sir,” Marcus said. When Janus took no notice, he grabbed the colonel’s arm. “Sir! We have to get out of here.”
“What?” The deep gray eyes blinked and seemed to focus once again on the here and now. Another shower of sparks lit up the clouds of dust flowing away from the battle, accompanied by a screech like a glassmaker’s knife across a windowpane.
“Come on,” Marcus said, tugging the colonel’s arm.
Together they stumbled into motion, heading away from the little campsite and toward the center of the room, where the Seventh Company had made their stand. Janus soon recovered enough to set the pace, and before long Marcus was fighting for breath. Another of the tearing sounds sent them both diving for cover, and more statues exploded behind them.
“What is she?” Marcus wheezed, rolling over and putting his back to a stone plinth.
“Concordat,” Janus said grimly. “But matters have gone further than I thought. I’ve underestimated Orlanko’s allies.”
“Is she really a demon?”
“Someone who has summoned and contracted one, yes. Ignahta sempria, the Penitent Damned. She works for the Pontifex of the Black.”
“There hasn’t been a Pontifex of the Black for a hundred years!”
Janus gave him a grim look, but said nothing. Marcus risked a glance around the corner of the plinth. With the dust of ancient statues, the white gas from the corpses, and the powder smoke, the cavern was full of an unpleasant miasma that made it hard to see much. The air reeked of saltpeter and blood, mixed with the gritty taste of blasted masonry. He couldn’t see either of the supernatural combatants at first. A curl of smoke off to his left disgorged Jen, peering around with an unsatisfied expression. She caught sight of Marcus at the same moment, before he could duck back, and an ugly smile spread across her face.
“I wondered where you’d gotten to,” she said. “Marcus, if you sit down and wait quietly until all this is over, I guarantee things will go well for you afterward. I owe you that much, for everything we had.”
“Everything we had?” Marcus used the plinth to pull himself to his feet, breathing hard. “You’re not even human!”
“That depends on your point of view,” she said. “But I’ll spare you the metaphysics. Just step aside, please.”
He gritted his teeth. “I won’t.”
“Idiot,” Jen sighed. She raised her right hand—
The assassin emerged from the smoke like a shark from the depths, hurtling horizontally at an incredible speed. Jen turned to meet him barely in time, and the wall of sparks flared between them. His bare feet scraped for purchase on the stone floor as he leaned against her with all his inhuman strength, fingers flexing to try to tear the intangible shield that guarded her.
Marcus grabbed for Janus again, dragging him back to his feet and away from the statue. He was just lumbering into a run when Jen noticed. Her frustrated scream melded weirdly with the nails-on-glass sound of flashing magic.
Her right hand came around in a fast horizontal swipe. Another ripple tore out, and Marcus threw himself to the floor, dragging Janus down with him. He heard shattering rock behind him as the wave hit a statue, and then the ominous groan and crack of shifting stone. On blind instinct, he rolled sideways, and a moment later bits of rock were crashing down all around him, small fragments pattering off his coat and pinging away across the floor.
When it was over, he raised his head. His blue uniform was coated in a thick layer of pale dust, which cascaded off him as he rose. Chips and fragments of stone lay all around. The main body of the statue, an armored figure with the head of a chimpanzee, had fallen near where he and Janus had been lying. Marcus hurried around it to find that the colonel had thrown himself mostly clear. One of the ape’s outstretched arms had crashed down on his leg, leaving him pinned under its weight.
“Colonel!”
Marcus knelt and tried to get his fingers under the statue, then gave it his best heave. The mass of stone barely shifted.
“Leave it,” Janus said. His voice was still calm, but Marcus could see the strain in those deep gray eyes. “My leg appears to be broken in any case.” He pushed himself up on his elbows, shivered, and lay back down. “Yes. Definitely broken. Get out of here, Captain.”
“But—”
Janus turned his head, fixing Marcus with an implacable stare. “What are you planning to do? You can’t stop her. The whole regiment might not be able to stop her.” Janus gave a cough as the clouds of dust swirled past. “I suggest you go along with her. For the sake of your career, not to mention your life.”
“I can’t just leave you with her!”
“Go, Marcus,” the colonel spat. “Now. That is an order.”
“Damn it, Marcus!” Jen’s voice drifted through the smoke. Sparks flared again, and Marcus turned and ran.
WINTER
Feor coll
apsed all at once, as though every bone in her body had turned to jelly. One moment she was scurrying along at Winter’s side, the next she was dangling from Winter’s hand like a corpse.
At the same instant, distant light flared, cutting through the miasma of smoke and dust that choked the ancient temple. The sound that accompanied it set Winter’s teeth on edge, a high-pitched scraping whine that seemed to bypass the ears and resonate directly in her gut. She stumbled under Feor’s sudden deadweight, then managed to drag the girl a few more feet and prop her against the base of a nearby statue.
“Feor!” Winter bent over her worriedly. Feor’s eyes fluttered open, but she seemed to be having difficulty focusing. “Feor? Can you hear me?”
“I . . . can.” Feor blinked.
“What happened? Are you all right?”
“I felt . . .” She sucked in a breath, then coughed. “Power. So much power . . .”
“Is it Onvidaer?”
“No,” Feor said. “I have felt his naath many times. He is here, but this is different.” She looked up, fear suddenly showing in her face. “I think it is your leader. The abh-naathem, the sorcerer. He has finally shown himself.”
“The colonel?” Winter frowned. Maybe he doesn’t need rescuing after all. “Come on. We’ve got to see what’s going on.”
They took a circuitous route, bypassing the mounds of formerly animated corpses where the Seventh’s square had been. There were more flashes of light in the distance, and a sound like a giant ripping sailcloth. Feor flinched each time, though she didn’t collapse again.
Hurrying around another of the weird, misshapen statues, Winter caught the gleam of distant light on dull metal. Feor pulled up short, dragging Winter to a halt. They had reached one of the walls of the cavern, and leaning against the dressed stone was a long row of enormous steel slabs, each taller than Winter and several inches thick. Their surface was covered with the densely packed curls of strange script incised deeply into the metal.
The Thousand Names Page 59
