by Jen Williams
‘As fascinating as it is to listen to your ridiculous declarations –’ Y’Gria’s voice preceded her as she stepped out from behind a tree. Her arms were split into multiple twisting tentacles, and her green hair was a wild tangle down her back. ‘I think we have some interesting company approaching.’
Following her eager gaze, Sebastian looked back towards the mountains. A green shape was flying down from the foothills, like a giant beetle. It was a carapacer.
‘Wait, that could be Wydrin!’
Y’Gria’s flying palace was already moving, swooping down towards the carapacer with a violence that made Sebastian dizzy. The world below them was a blur.
‘Mage scum, is what it is,’ said Y’Gria. She was grinning widely, and as she spoke, she grew larger, her pulsing roots pushing her up into the sky. ‘I will tear them and their little toy apart.’
‘No!’
It was too late. The carapacer was swerving away, having apparently finally seen what was descending from the clouds above, but Y’Gria was faster. Her tentacles whipped out and embraced the small flying contraption like fronds of seaweed wrapped around a wet rock, and then she was dragging it back towards the palace.
‘She’s bringing it back here,’ said Sebastian. ‘Come on.’
Tracking her movements, he and Oster ran around to where she clearly intended to drag the carapacer – a wide stretch of open grass, framed by a series of fallen walls. They got there just as she landed, in time to see the flexing roots drag one figure from the back of the contraption and hold him up to the sky. It was a man wearing scarlet robes, and he pelted her with a few minor spells – Sebastian saw the glitter of ice crystals in the air – before Y’Gria casually pulled him apart like a child pulling the legs off a spider. A hot red rain fell on the grass.
‘Wait!’
To a wonder, Y’Gria did stop, but belatedly Sebastian realised it was because of something inside the carapacer rather than anything he’d said. He and Oster staggered to a stop in the clearing as Y’Gria carefully lifted another figure from the carapacer and set it down on the grass.
‘This one carries the mark of my sister,’ said Y’Gria. ‘How unexpected.’
The woman looked half out of her mind with awe, her unruly black hair swept back from her face, the tattoos at her neck a dark shadow. Sebastian felt his skin grow cold. After all this, Y’Gria had brought Estenn straight to him.
Before he knew it, he was running. He saw Estenn turn a startled glance towards him – did she remember him from the Eye of Euriale? – and she drew her cutlass. He had no weapons, but it was too good an opportunity to miss. Dancing past the blade he moved in close under her guard and barrelled the woman to the ground, using his superior size and strength to hold her to the grass. If she hadn’t been dazed by Y’Gria’s capture, he doubted he would even have been able to get near her.
She kicked and punched wildly at him and landed a blow directly on his ear that made his eyes water. In the second it took him to recover she had wriggled out, taking a moment to kick him solidly in the neck, and was scrambling for her sword. Sebastian rolled over and took hold of her ankle, yanking her solidly to the ground again.
‘Please!’ she gasped. ‘I am here to help you, Y’Gria of the garden. I am a loyal servant!’
She twisted in his grip and crashed her elbow into his face. His nose didn’t break, thankfully, but he felt blood gush in a sudden hot stream. There was a hiss and a shimmer of lights, and Oster was there in his dragon form, horns bristling and amber eyes wild. Sebastian felt Estenn go rigid in his grip.
‘Enough!’ cried Y’Gria. ‘I would like to hear what this servant of mine has to say. It is time for your human pet to still himself, Oster.’
Sebastian pushed himself up on his elbows as a swarm of roots shot through the grass towards him. He had time to see the look of pure hatred that Estenn turned on him – she is even less sane than when we saw her last – and then the tentacles were looping round his throat and pulling fast. He tried to stagger to his feet, to get away from them all, but his vision was already growing dark.
Sebastian fell back onto the grass, fingers twisting around roots stronger than any man’s arm.
73
The dark mountains floated beneath a pall of smoke and cloud. As they neared the jagged peaks, Frith saw great chasms in the rock, where molten lava winked and boiled as bright as the sun, and the air stank of sulphur. Feveroot brought them in low, under Xinian’s instruction, and the air grew hot and acrid.
‘Poledouris is not far now,’ said Xinian. She was watching the shifting patterns of smoke and stone below them with a careful eye. ‘It can be easy to miss, if you are not familiar with the entrance. Which is, of course, the point.’
Feveroot sank lower, walls of smoky grey rock rising to either side of them. Just to their right, the rocks seemed to shift and a cascade of lava surged down the mountainside, sending up a cloud of black smoke.
‘Is this safe?’ asked Frith. ‘The place looks as though it might collapse – or explode – at any moment.’
‘Nothing is ever safe,’ murmured Wydrin. She was sitting down, leaning against Feveroot’s cage with her arms wrapped around her.
‘The mages at Poledouris have been holding this mountain together for centuries,’ said Xinian. ‘It is unstable, and there is a great deal of molten rock at its heart, but they have bound it together with a series of spells. Selsye has even elaborated on them, so that they can use the heat from the lava to warm the rooms and heat their water.’ A rare smile touched Xinian’s lips. ‘She has so many ideas. Sometimes I can barely keep up. Here, demon, around this tall jagged rock. You may have to make yourself smaller, if you can.’
‘Of course,’ murmured Feveroot. The demon shrank, wide black wings drawing back into themselves – Frith could feel the creature shivering under his boots – and then they were round the corner and alighting at the mouth of a cave. There were two iron brackets screwed into the rock, but both torches were out. Beyond them the passage led into deepest shadow.
‘This isn’t right,’ said Xinian. ‘There should be guards out here. We shouldn’t be able to just walk right up to the front door.’
The black lattice cage shrank back, and the three of them clambered down onto the rock. Frith pulled the staff from the belt on his back and held it securely in both hands. It felt good to have it back, to have the power at his fingertips again, although he caught Xinian giving him a dubious look and, not for the first time, he wondered if Selsye had told her anything. Wydrin drew Glassheart, and paced from foot to foot.
‘Let’s get in there and find out what’s going on,’ she said. Her face was shiny with sweat. ‘What about Feveroot?’
‘The demon?’ Xinian shook her head. ‘It can just stay here.’
‘Seems to me it could be useful,’ said Wydrin. She shrugged one shoulder. ‘We don’t know what’s waiting for us in there.’
‘Fine, let’s just get this over with.’ Xinian told hold of the phial and drew the chain from around her neck. She passed it to Wydrin. ‘You can have responsibility for the bloody thing. Keep it out of my way.’
Wydrin put the chain around her own neck. ‘Feveroot, change yourself into a salamander, or something.’
‘As you wish.’
The great black bird perched awkwardly at the cave entrance became liquid glass again, swirling down to the size of a small black lizard with a fat tail. It was covered in red glowing patches, rather like the pattern on a real salamander’s hide. Wydrin bent down and extended her arm, and Feveroot scuttled up it to rest on her shoulder, tiny obsidian claws clutching at her leathers.
‘Keep your eyes open,’ said Xinian. She lifted her fingers and summoned a small ball of light to hover above her outstretched arm. ‘Stay alert. I have a bad feeling about this.’
‘Don’t we always?’ murmured Frith.
‘There is blood ahead. I can smell it.’
The demon pitched his words for her ears only. He was a warm presenc
e on her shoulder, heavy and oddly reassuring. As soon as they were out of sight of the cave entrance, she saw that he was right. Two bodies lay on the ground ahead, and someone had apparently taken a sword to them with some enthusiasm. She saw a severed hand lying palm up, fingers curled inwards like a dead spider.
‘Estenn has been here,’ she said to the others. ‘She did have a head start, after all.’
‘She could still be here,’ said Frith. ‘If we’re lucky we may catch her on her way out.’
‘Luck,’ murmured Wydrin. ‘Remind me again when we ever had any of the good variety?’
As they walked past the bodies, Feveroot scuttled down from her shoulder and padded silently into the dark pool of blood. Wydrin paused, letting the others get a few paces ahead, before hissing to the demon. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just a taste,’ replied Feveroot. ‘Your mind is swarmed with heat, and is not as rigid as Xinian Battleborn’s. It’s easier to move under your control.’
Wydrin blinked rapidly. This felt like something she should tell the others, but it was hard to think. ‘Well, stop it, or I’ll show you how rigid my boot is.’
Reluctantly, Feveroot scuttled away from the bodies, leaving tiny bloody claw marks in the dust. ‘Their blood is all wrong,’ he said. ‘They taste how you feel. It is the same thing that is wrong with you. Can you not feel it?’
‘Be quiet.’
They followed the tunnel deep into the mountain. It was warm and smelled of sulphur, the air clawing at the back of Wydrin’s throat. Eventually they emerged into a great hall with a cavernous ceiling, stretching off into the dark. The walls were lined with what Wydrin initially took to be a series of long, thin alchemical lights, until she saw that the bright orange light was moving.
‘Is that lava?’ She looked up. The lines glowed softly, bathing everything in light like a bloody sunset. ‘By the Graces, how is this place still standing?’
‘It is lava tamed,’ said Xinian, a faint note of irritation in her voice. There were statues of men and women in robes towering off to either side of them, carved from red rock, and a big plinth in the centre surrounded by benches carved directly from the rock. On the far side was a huge angular doorway. ‘I told you, they have achieved great things at Poledouris. Most of them thanks to Selsye.’ They edged into the room, Xinian trying to look in all directions at once. ‘The grand mages, they use this place when they want to show off. This hall should be busy, full of people.’
‘What is that?’ Frith pointed up at the plinth as they navigated their way through the benches. There was a widening pool of blood on top of the stone, and as they watched a series of ripples broke the surface. As one, they looked up, and saw at least twenty bodies hanging motionless near the ceiling. Blood dripped from them in a slow steady rain.
‘Oh shit,’ said Wydrin.
‘I was just trying to tidy up.’ The voice came from behind them. A ragged mage in blue and green robes sat up from the bench where she had been lying. Her curly brown hair had been burned off on the right side, leaving her scalp crisped and bloody. ‘I thought, get them up out of the way at least, get them out of the way, make it easier to clean up.’ She shrugged and the effort almost sent her to her knees. ‘But it just keeps raining …’
‘What happened here?’ demanded Xinian. ‘You will answer me!’
‘It’s the strangest thing,’ said the woman, smiling slightly at her own foolishness. ‘I can’t really remember. There was a woman here who wasn’t a mage, and we were all very upset about that, but then she touched me, and have you ever noticed how warm it is here?’ Absently she reached up and patted her blackened scalp. ‘Too many people, that’s what I said. It wouldn’t be so warm if there were fewer people here. Some of us decided to thin the numbers.’
‘There is madness in her blood,’ murmured Feveroot by Wydrin’s foot. ‘They all have it.’
‘You’re not fucking kidding.’
‘It is the same madness you have, you fool. Can’t you feel it?’
Wydrin squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. What had the woman said? Estenn had touched her, and then apparently the mages had all decided to kill each other. Estenn had barely needed to wet her own blade. There was something there, something important, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. Xinian was raising her voice to the woman, and her concentration was broken.
‘Where is this woman now? Where are the rest of you?’
The mage shrugged. ‘I can’t think about that. It’s taking all my concentration to keep them all tidy.’ She nodded towards the ceiling where the bodies hung, motionless. ‘The others won’t help.’
As if she’d summoned them, there were a series of shouts from across the hall, and a handful of mages sprinted into the room. Wydrin had time to see that their eyes were wild and unfocussed, that most of them were bloody with wounds and burns, and then they were hit with a barrage of magical attacks. She ducked down behind the stone bench as a ball of emerald fire shot over her head.
‘Stand down!’ cried Xinian. ‘I command you!’
Wydrin peeked over the top of the bench and saw Xinian and Frith standing side by side, flinging magical attacks back at the pack of mages. Frith conjured a wall of ice and swept it across the plinth, and he and Xinian used it for cover as they crept forward, but a wild fireball swept past them and caught the woman in the blue robes. She went down screaming, and a second later the bodies that had been hanging near the ceiling were plummeting towards them. Unbidden, an image of the sword bursting through Frith’s chest blotted out all other thoughts, and Wydrin’s lungs felt crushed with the horror of it.
‘Look out!’ Without thinking, Wydrin scooped up Feveroot and threw him at the plinth, picturing what she wanted as she did so. In mid-flight, the demon expanded like a roll of black silk to become a great manta ray, the shiny black surface of his back shimmering like water. The dismembered bodies of the mages bounced off him, with only a few hitting the plinth – those that did shattered apart like over-ripe fruit. Wydrin saw Frith glance round at her, his eyes wide, and then his ice barrier was gone, melted under a barrage of fireballs. Xinian stepped out from under Feveroot’s shadow and flung a wave of force at the rogue mages, sending half of them skidding back across the room. Their faces were wild, lips peeled back from their teeth in expressions of mindless fury; they conjured their counterattacks even as their bones were shattered against the far wall.
‘Stand down!’ screamed Xinian again. ‘You must stand down!’
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ said Wydrin. It was difficult to breathe still, and the mark on her cheek seared her flesh. She reached up a hand for Feveroot and the demon slunk back to the form of a salamander. ‘Estenn has driven them mad somehow. I’m sorry, Xinian.’
Frith met her eyes then, and nodded once. He lowered the hand holding the staff and his body began to glow from within with the strange white light.
‘No,’ said Xinian, even as she erected another barrier against the mage attacks. ‘There must be something else!’
‘We can’t do anything for what they’ve got,’ said Wydrin. As she said it, she felt a worm of dread twist in her stomach. And nothing we can do for me. ‘They won’t stop until we’re dead.’
Frith raised his hand, and several of the rogue mages crumpled inwards, mouths opening wide with terror as their flesh turned to dust. One of those left made a mad dash towards them, and Wydrin stepped forward to meet him, stabbing him quickly through the chest. Even as he died he scrambled at her, fingernails clawing at her leathers, and then he grew still. For an odd moment, Wydrin found she could not look away from his eyes, frozen in a frantic expression in his last seconds of life, and then she pushed him off the end of her sword. The rest of them fell swiftly to Frith’s lethal new magic until the light that surrounded him winked out and his shoulders dropped, his face grey. Instinctively, Wydrin went to him and pulled him up by his elbow. Xinian stood watching them, a bereft expression on her face.
‘On your
feet, princeling, we still have to move.’
‘It takes so much out of me,’ he murmured. He put his hand over Wydrin’s, and the mark on her cheek burned fiercely. She pulled away, wiping the blade of her sword against her leg.
‘She will pay for this,’ said Xinian. She was looking around at the remains of the mages, her mouth twisted into a bitter line, at the dismembered men and women scattered all over the plinth, at the dusty remains of the others.
‘The Red Echo,’ said Frith, with some effort. ‘Where was it kept?’
She could hear in his voice what they all knew – that they were too late.
Xinian nodded once. ‘Follow me.’
The chamber was empty, as they had known it would be. The small space was lit by the softly glowing lava lights, and there were dusty scuff marks on the floor. At least they hadn’t kept this half of the spell in darkness.
‘What would she do now, Xinian?’ asked Frith. Some colour had returned to his cheeks, although he was still holding himself carefully. ‘Where would she go with it?’
Wydrin took a slow breath. She was leaning against the wall and trying to make it look casual. ‘She will want to kill as many mages in one go as she can. Where is the biggest population of your people?’
Xinian was glaring at the dusty floor as though it might suddenly produce the Red Echo for them.
‘Our biggest city by far is Raistinia, in the north of Relios. It doesn’t hold the military might of Krete or the knowledge of Lan-Hellis, but it’s where most have settled. There are families there, people raising children. Most mages have a home there. If she wanted to deal us the biggest blow, she would get the Red Echo within range of Raistinia. The effects would be devastating.’
Wydrin ran a hand over her forehead and shook the sweat away. Her head was thumping. ‘Right. Does this place have a carapacer?’
‘Of course.’
‘Great. Get yourself on it and as far away from Relios as you can. Go back to Lan-Hellis, or even better, get you and Selsye somewhere in the middle of bloody nowhere.’
