Suviel crossed the passage in two swift steps and grabbed Falin/Nerek by the arm.
"Keep your voice down!" she hissed. "Don't make me use a spell on you."
The other turned his head slightly to glance at her. Starlight glinted in an eye full of malice.
"I hate this place...and I hate you!"
Without warning he lashed out with both hands, shoving her backwards. Suviel tried to turn as she fell and her left hand and hip struck the stone floor first. She gasped at the pain but bit back a savage oath as she scrambled to her feet in time to see a wildly-running slender form reach the bottom of the steps and bolt out of sight.
"Curse him for a fool!" she muttered, then dashed after him.
From the bottom step all her surroundings were swallowed by an inky darkness. Suviel paused a moment, then moved over to the wall and followed it round. This had been a students meeting hall of sorts, with a higher floor reached by spiral stairs, and she recalled that there were several exits at both levels. Then she heard a noise, a scraping footfall, and she froze. A cold stone silence reigned in the blackness. Calming herself, she focussed her awareness and reached out, striving for vision. At first there was nothing, then she began to distinguish tenuous outlines, the contours of pillars, seating alcoves, and doorways that were no more than shades of darkness amid the darkness.
And there was movement, a figure stepping through an archway over on the right. She hurried as quietly as she could across the chamber and followed.
She felt her way along a passage till it turned left into a stretch where the murk was broken by a meagre illumination. The walls and the high arched ceiling were marred by patches of glistening lichen which gave off a faint grey glow. But it was sufficient to reveal the corridor ahead and Suviel had just started along it when a cry of horror came from the shadow-veiled far end. Falin/Nerek appeared at a panicky run, saw Suviel, stumbled to a halt and darted up a side passage. Suviel lunged after him.
When a pair of half-open doors loomed before her she realised that this was one of the ways to the Forge, the great debating hall. There was another fearful cry from within and as she slipped between the doors she could smell the same bitter odour from before, only stronger and more acrid.
The Forge was a great oval chamber nearly one hundred yards across at its widest, with steep, surrounding tiers of seats and benches and heavy balconies which jutted out over the lower floor. Three podiums on broad plinths were arranged around the centre, one each for the opposing debaters and the third for the adjudicator. Falin was crouched whimpering at the foot of one of the plinths and staring off into the shadows. At the sound of Suviel's approaching footsteps he jerked round, looked at her for an instant then flung out a trembling, pointing hand.
"Kill her! She's the enemy..." Glancing back at the shadows he began shaking his head desperately. "No, not me, her! She wants to destroy you! - I only want to help..."
Every instinct Suviel possessed shrieked retreat, but when she turned she found herself staring at a hulking shape so black it merged with the lightless murk beneath the balcony. Ice-blue eyes gazed pitilessly down at her from an indistinct head, and an unanswerable fear made her back away in Falin's direction. The eyes moved after her a little way, as if examining her, and a sepulchral voice rang in her mind.
A mage, brothers and sisters. A mage!
A sussurus of eager malice came from all sides. Looking up at the tiers of seating, Suviel saw masses of shadowy forms shift in the darkness and hundreds of eyes regarding her.
Our guest is a mage, the voice continued. Be welcome, mortal, and behold.
The amorphous shape before her suddenly gleamed with spreading light, metallic greens, blues, purples. It resolved into scaly haunches, a heavy torso that was two, three times the size of the biggest ox Suviel had ever seen, a long fanlike tail, and wings folded along the upper flanks. A thick neck curved up to the head, wide blunt-snouted jaws parted to reveal a double-row of tearing teeth. A single horn grew up from behind the head, pointing forward over the eyes, and two similar protrusions jutted beneath the lower jaw, except these looked corroded, their tips broken and split.
We know you. We have not forgotted the sweetness of mage-flesh, the creature said as others emerged from the shadows, monstrous forms brightening. Do you know us?
Suviel knew. These were the nighthunters, the Acolytes' most feared servants. It was said that many years before the Mogaun invasion, the Acolytes had delved into the deepest, darkest pits of the earth and captured a multitude of vile beasts, survivors from a long-gone age. With this seed-stock, they bred new monsters for war and terror.
Hundreds of them, now revealed, watched her restlessly from the looming tiers of the chamber and from atop the podiums, an assembly of fanged menace. Suviel had come to a halt at the centre of the floor and could now see an alcove set into the seating directly above a broad entrance. Dark ruby light came from the too-red flames which burned and flickered around a carven figure seated there in a high-backed throne of stone.
An image of the Lord of us all, a shrine that burns with the force of our relentless devotion.
Down on the floor, the nighthunters began pacing round, circling Suviel and Falin who lay curled up, keening quietly to himself. And other voices spoke in Suviel's mind, heavy and intrusive.
Drain them, pain them...
I can taste their pride and fear...
Drink their power...
Old woman, young woman, yet the older one is stronger...
Are we not the ones who broke their temples and feasted on their spirits?...
Sacrifice them to the shrine...
Crack their bones, eat and dance and fly...
Suviel stood with one hand pressed against her head as the voices drove into her thoughts. Then her fear changed and became anger, her raised hand she clenched into a fist and lowered to her waist as she glared straight at the nighthunter who had spoken to her first. When there was no hope of reprieve or rescue, all that was left was defiance, loud defiance.
"When you are defeated, as you will be," she began, "my voice will rejoice from the Void, and when you are broken and dead, my spirit will dance on your bones." With the toe of her boot she scraped a line in the dust on the floor and backed away till she was near Falin. "Now, enough talking - unless you intend to brag me to death."
The creature parted its jaws in a semblance of a grin and its voice sounded in her head once more. My claw-name is Avorst. Prepare to die.
As Avorst drew back his head, Suviel let the Cadence thought-canto she had readied unfold from her thoughts. The nighthunter made a deep coughing sound, its head jerked forward and from the broken-off horns beneath its jaws twin streams of dazzling flame jetted forth.
Suviel flinched as they struck the shield of her spell. Dense flames raged against the Cadence barrier, rivulets and tendrils clawing for purchase, but it held. Suviel could feel heat in her face and the thudding of her heart from the strain. Perspiration tingled on her scalp and neck, yet her mouth was dry.
As the fiery onslaught died away Avorst looked closely at her for a moment before launching another assault, then a third and a fourth. After each, the monster paused to examine Suviel who, by the fourth attack, was remaining upright by sheer force of will. Beside her Falin crouched with hands pressed tightly against his eyes. I had hoped that this spell would be enough to save us, she thought. Sadly, it seems not...
Just then, Avorst gestured to the other nighthunters as they circled - three paused, turned their heads towards Suviel and unleashed their fire. As the barrier was engulfed Suviel felt her last strength start to drain away, feeding the Cadence thought-canto. Her legs gave way and she fell to her knees, and harsh words rang in her mind.
You cannot withstand us forever.
Avorst had come nearer and Suviel watched helplessly as he raised a foreclaw and began to slowly push it through the Cadence barrier. A faint drone emerged from somewhere, and Suviel could see pain and fury in Avorst's e
yes as the Cadence spell took its toll on his limb. Talons lost their shine, callused pads were scoured and chafed, scales chipped and split, scores of tiny gashes rasped by the barrier. The drone was now a howl and still Avorst persisted, the clawed forelimb bleeding from a multitude of wounds, trembling as it came closer and closer to Suviel's face...
"Enough!"
The streams of fire died and Suviel felt the Cadence canto simply stop. As Avorst snatched his forelimb away, a man robed in dark blue walked calmly into view, carrying a long, plain staff. Of average height and build, the man had short grey hair, was clean-shaven, and had the milky white eyes of an Acolyte. As he surveyed all before him, Suviel felt a mounting sense of familiarity and dread and when those eyes gazed straight at her a horrible recognition finally dawned. It was Ikarno's brother, Coireg Mazaret.
The Acolyte Coireg and the nighthunter Avorst looked at each other and Suviel felt some kind of unspoken exchange take place. At one point, Avorst stirred his wings and uttered a deep, angry hiss but when Coireg held up a hand wreathed in green, flashing fire the nighthunter succumbed, bowing his head and refolding his wings. Coireg then turned his attention to Suviel but before he could speak, Falin dashed over and sank to his knees. Coireg had not come alone and several leather-masked guards leaped forward, swords bared, but he waved them back.
Falin opened his mouth to speak but Coireg quickly took hold of his lower jaw and moved his head from side to side, examining him.
"Half-made thing," Coireg said, raising a foot to Falin's chest and thrusting him roughly to the floor. A swift, sharp gesture, and three masked guards pounced on Falin and dragged him bodily away. As his protests and pleadings receded, Coireg turned smiling to Suviel and considered her for a moment.
"A mage," he said thoughtfully. "Lesser Power, but skilled."
"Coireg, what happened to you?" said Suviel.
The Acolyte was momentarily puzzled, then, "Do you know this outerness? It is now mine, reborn I, living I!" The white eyes shone, boring into her. "You, too, will give us much, serve as we serve."
"Never," Suviel said, suddenly feeling tired and old. "I will never be one of you."
Coireg barked his laughter and as the rest of his guards bound her limbs he bent in close and whispered:
"Your flesh, our vessel. Your soul, our clay."
As they carried her off through darkness in the direction of the High Basilica, Suviel listened in despair as the Acolyte said over and over, "Reborn I, living I!"
Chapter Twenty-Six
Seize the enemy's city and you wrap yourself in risk. Every wall becomes both front and rear, every gate holds the key to calamity, and every meal eats at the future.
Yet you are where you want to be, and the enemy must come to you.
—Marshall Gostrian, The Endless Battle, ch7, xiii
Then, at last, the waiting was over.
"Yarram's men are in position near the Riverside Barracks, Lord Commander," said the black-garbed runner as he stood panting at the doorway. "His scouts will begin dispatching the sentries in several minutes."
The small but crowded room was suddenly alive with a tense expectancy. In the glow of a hooded lamp on the floor, faces took on looks of eagerness, or composure, or stored-up hate as officers quietly sheathed thrice-whetted blades, or pulled on gauntlets, or tightened armour straps.
"Good," said Mazaret, turning to a couple of men dressed in the rough garments of labourers. "You and your people know your tasks?"
"Aye, milor', we do," said one as they stood, their air of readiness and coiled threat belying their stolid appearance. These were Kodel's most valuable spies, men who volunteered over a year ago to live in Besh-Darok, noting the enemy's every strength and weakness in preparation for just such a day as this.
"Then be swift and merciless," he said. "There must be no-one to raise the alarm when we follow."
Each gave a sombre nod then slipped out the front door and off into the night. When they were gone, Mazaret issued the brief, final orders to his officers, especially Cebroul, a young banner-lieutenant he had put in charge of the attack on the Ironhall Barracks. All left by a passage leading to the rear of the building, a disused tannery, till only Mazaret, his aide, and Medwin remained.
He looked at the mage. "What is happening at the palace? - have you learned anything more?"
Medwin sighed, fingers tugging on his grey beard, now clipped and neat. "It is... difficult to be certain of these things when one is a passive observer, especially when the powers involved are so strong. But the rite is continuing, this I know."
"I understand," Mazaret said, nodding. "Our troops will be here soon. Let us wait outside." Then to his aid: "Dim that lantern and bring it."
Outside, the air was cold and clear without being icy. The front of the tannery faced the rear of a warehouse across a dark, deserted alley. This place had been carefully chosen as a staging post - the warehouse was abandoned and in a state of semi-collapse, there were few dwellings nearby, and the alley was a lightless gulley which ran, with few interruptions, straight towards Mazaret's objective, the Imperial Barracks.
Standing in the darkness, cold and alert, Mazaret thought about the great city of Besh-Darok and its tens of thousands of citizens lying asleep and unsuspecting. Many a time in the last few years he had envisaged his return as a glorious victory, a bright and joyous triumph conducted in the open for all to see. Yet here he was, about to dash through the shadows towards desperate combat in the service of an uncertain purpose. Cloaked figures would be stealing across back courts, or dropping from overhanging eaves to subdue guards with the silent flash of knives or the twist of a knotted cord around the neck. Accuracy and surprise were vital - according to Kodel's spies, the city forces, including the Watch, outnumbered Mazaret's by almost two to one. But they were mostly confined to the three main barracks and several guardposts scattered across the districts. If they could be taken quickly and with the minimum loss of life, then the city would awake to freedom.
But if we lose the advantage of surprise, we risk setting some of the people against us. And if Bardow and Kodel fail to halt that foul sorcery, our hours are numbered.
At least Tauric and his Companions have the Armourer with them, and if Yarram follows my advice, they will be out of harm's way...
Then he laughed a soft, wry laugh, and Medwin gave him a puzzled look.
"It's all right, my friend," Mazaret said. "I have just realised that all of us are risking everything just by being here, yet we pretend that somehow there are degrees of danger in this pit of hazards."
"That is not a comforting observation," said the mage.
"Alas, neither is our situation."
Medwin was about to answer when he glanced past Mazaret and said, "The men are here."
In shadowy double files they approached along the alley from the south, all buckles, metal armour and weapons muffled by cloth, all footsteps deadened. Mazaret watched them approvingly for a moment then went over to the officer at the front of the leading company.
"Kalno, pick up the pace to double-time and follow me."
With that, he set off at a steady trot towards the Imperial Barracks, and behind him the rustling sussurus grew, the thud of rag-wrapped feet and the hiss of cloth on cloth merging into a rushing, drumming sound, a river of warriors flowing after him down the alley.
The Imperial Barracks was an austere, three-storey building erected nearly two centuries ago in the reign of Emperor Mavrin. It had no windows below the top floor and a barrier of fenced pillars surrounded the square drill yard laid out before the main entrance, a large pair of doors flanked by burning torches and long banners in dark colours. As it came into view, Mazaret saw three hooded figures straightening from a pair of motionless forms sprawled in front of the entrance. Two of them went to the doors with sets of keys while the third came out to meet Mazaret, who had meantime brought his troops to a halt.
"All is well," the scout said. "The sentries on the roof have
been disposed of. Only those at the rear postern gate remain, and your men must be there, ready to rush the inner guardroom."
"They will be," Mazaret said, turning to nod at one of his officers. A moment later, fifty or so soldiers, mostly knights of the Order, peeled off from the main body and hastened round to the rear of the barracks. The remaining two hundred Mazaret led across the flat, empty drill yard and up to the doors as they were pushed open by the scouts.
Within was a square hall where only a pair of nightlamps burned, one either side in cressets on the plain mortared walls. Swords and maces were drawn and bucklers were stripped of their muffling rags, as they advanced into the hall. Pre-arranged squads were moving towards the doors of the dormitories to the left and right when those same doors burst open and armed soldiers rushed out to the attack. With a dreadful crash of metal and men's voices, battle was joined.
Mazaret cursed inwardly, realising that they had been expected, and the hollow fear of ambush bloomed in his stomach. Then a moment of swift appraisal with a keen eye allayed much of his fear - the enemy numbered no more than three score wiith a dozen of them fanned out at the back of the hall. This was no ambush, but a delaying action. He bellowed orders, and with most of a full banner-squad at his back he charged the enemy at the rear.
One soldier came at him with a hooked poleaxe. He ducked the lunge, swung his sword with all his might and sliced the attacker's leg off at the knee. Another shoulder-charged him as he came up out of the crouch, a fist-held dagger driving towards his chest. Mazaret grabbed the soldier's wrist, twisting it as they fell together. The soldier's face went from horror to agony in a second as his own dagger punched into his vitals. As he screamed in pain, Mazaret pushed him away, scrambled to his feet and took up his sword from where it had fallen. Grimly pleased that few of the enemy still stood, he cried "To me!" and tore open the door at the back of the hall.
A wide corridor led straight to the guardroom at the rear of the barracks. It was deserted, and when they emerged from the postern gate his worst fears rose up in his thoughts once more.
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