I found myself staring at Constans. His clothes with stained in blood – none of it, I assumed, his own. "What are you doing here? Where's Jamar?"
"He told me to leave," he said, reproachfully. "Ari's my cousin."
I wasn't sure that I believed him. Jamar displayed profound belief in his own abilities, but I doubted even he would have sent away his only companion when fighting such odds. Then again, Jamar preserving a companion from an unwinnable battle was wholly in-character. I'd already seen him make a similar attempt in Otherworld. Either way, things couldn't be changed now. Jamar was very probably dead or soon would be.
"Come on," I said, heading for the next level.
We found Arianwyn on the next landing, in full retreat before one of Solomon's henchmen. And no wonder, for this wasn't merely another of Solomon's praetorians or hireling Thrakkians, but Balgan, the giant mute who'd happily fought Constans and I to a standstill. Arianwyn had a sword in her hand, but she held it loosely, far from confident in its use. Her eyes were wild with fear and anger, but I fancied her expression softened as she caught sight of me.
Balgan had no weapon, but he'd proven before that he hardly needed one. I skirted the banister and ran to confront the giant. Constans was faster. He sped past me, a dagger in his hand, and threw himself at Arianwyn's attacker.
For once, Constans was too slow – fatally so. One massive hand locked around Constans' throat, the other twisted the dagger from his grip and threw it lazily away.
As Constans struggled to break free, I charged at Balgan. The mute batted me effortlessly away. I crashed through the fire-weakened banister and spun out into the open space beyond. Letting my sword fall, I grabbed for a broken spar. I jerked to a halt, and scrabbling uselessly for a handhold as the fight raged above me.
Arianwyn advanced, sword levelled. She was a lifetime too late. With a speed I wouldn't have thought he possessed, Balgan plucked a dagger from Constans' belt, and thrust. Constans cried out once as the steel pierced his ribs. Before the sound faded, Balgan heaved Constans over the balcony. The limp body tumbled into the smoke, dagger still lodged in its torso. Then the black swirl closed, and Constans was gone.
It had all happened quickly, horribly quickly.
Unfortunately, Arianwyn was either too far gone with anger to think rationally, or too spent to draw upon her magic. She whipped the blade around at chest height. Balgan simply sneered and stepped back out of the arc.
Arianwyn swung once more. This time Balgan closed one massive hand around the blade. The steel cut deep into his palm, but he paid the blood no heed. He tore the weapon from Arianwyn's grasp and knocked her sprawling.
My free hand finally latched onto a handhold just as Balgan reversed his grip on his stolen sword. The charred wood burned my fingers. I bit my lip and kept climbing. Pulling myself onto the landing, I got to my feet and threw myself at Balgan's back, just as he was about to run Arianwyn through.
I had no weapon. My hopes of victory lay in pitching the giant forward and jarring Arianwyn's sword from his hand. It was like hurling myself at a wall. Balgan didn't move an inch, and I rebounded almost to the broken banister. I at least managed to draw him off Arianwyn, for he turned around to face his new challenger. With a grin of wicked delight, he tossed the sword over the banister and came to finish me with his bare hands.
I punched him as hard in the belly as I could. Another man would have collapsed or doubled over at such a blow, but Balgan barely slowed. He hardly even grunted.
In return, he slapped me hard about the head, knocking me face first into the wall. I was dazed for only a moment, but a moment was all it took to lose a fight with a man like Balgan. Smiling beatifically, he closed his hands around my throat and forced me to my knees.
I battered and clawed at Balgan's forearms with every scrap of fleeting strength. If he felt the blows, he gave no sign. Behind Balgan, Arianwyn rose groggily to her feet and threw herself forward. Locking her forearms around Balgan's head, she tried to pull him off me. The mute shrugged her away with an almost laughable lack of effort. Arianwyn shouted something, but I couldn't make out the words. My world was bordered by a dull red pain, and the sound of rushing blood was all I heard.
The door beside Arianwyn tore free of its hinges. Smoke billowed onto the landing from the chamber beyond, swirling around a newcomer's soot-stained form. She strode purposefully through the ruined doorway, a fury loosed from Astor's forge. Balgan staggered sideways as the back of Zorya's hand struck the side of his head. Released at last, I slumped, gasping for breath.
Were I of a more generous frame of mind, I'd have admired the bravery with which Balgan threw himself at Zorya. He must have known he couldn't have hoped to beat her. Or perhaps it wasn't bravery, but merely the last defiance of an animal who'd discovered his position in the food chain was not so lofty as he'd believed.
Zorya side-stepped his bull-rush, her hand whipping out as the giant went past. Stone fingers grabbed a trailing arm and jerked it viciously back. Balgan's agonised bellow just about drowned out the sudden snap, but it was a close run thing. Sobbing with pain, Balgan collapsed to his knees, but Zorya wasn't yet done.
Approaching from behind, she took Balgan's head in her slender hands. Balgan flailed madly at her with his one functioning arm, but he'd no more success than I had against him so short a time earlier. Ignoring the blows, Zorya twisted. There was a sharp crack. Balgan's lifeless body pitched onto the ash-strewn floor.
I ran to the balcony and peered over the edge. I could saw no sign of Constans through the smoke and the flames. The floor below had collapsed, as had at least one more below that. He'd fallen twenty feet, maybe more.
I turned back to Arianwyn. She'd gone. It didn't take a genius to know where. She was heading to the library and the portalstone. I swore under my breath, then spoke to Zorya.
"I need you to do something for me."
[[Of course Master Edric.]]
"Find Constans. Balgan threw him over this ledge. I doubt he's still alive, but if there's even a chance..."
[[I understand. I am sorry for my earlier absence. I was in the lower chambers. I encountered some... obstacles... when I tried to join Mistress Arianwyn.]]
For the first time, I noticed the bloodstains on Zorya's hands and sleeves. I felt an overwhelming relief that she was with me, rather than against me.
"Be careful. They've already destroyed at least three sentinels..."
[[I know. I felt them perish. Do not concern yourself with me. Mistress Arianwyn will need you. Do not let her down.]]
I bolted in the direction I felt sure Arianwyn had taken. I was operating on instinct now, but after the harrowing experience of trying to find my way in Otherworld, traversing a mere stone building – even one on fire – proved little challenge. I soon found myself standing before the library door. As soon as I passed into the library, I saw Arianwyn standing beside the great table. A moment later, I also saw – too late – Solomon standing opposite Arianwyn.
He set eyes on me in the same instant. "Ah, Edric Saran. Please join us. It seems a shame to exclude you at so portentous a moment."
With little else in way of options, I did as he asked.
The library's perimeter was ablaze. Fire raced hungrily across the shelves, rapaciously consuming centuries of learning. A great scar – several feet wide – had split the wall to my left, presumably where the fire had weakened the structure and stonework had shifted. The great window in the ceiling was all but invisible behind a swirling black smoke. The heat was almost unbearable.
Solomon stood proudly in the midst of that inferno, our section of the portalstone – no, the whole portalstone – clasped firmly in his hand. A thin smile split his face and a skeletal hand hung on a leather thong around his neck. That was a ghoulish affectation even for Solomon, but then I thought about the bone tokens I'd seen on several of his lackeys, and at last realised their significance.
Arianwyn shot me a look that mixed relief with worry. I smile
d back as reassuringly as I could as a trio of praetorians – who I had not seen from the doorway – moved to block any escape.
"As I was just telling the lovely Miss Trelan, I'd like to thank you both for helping me to complete this wonderful object." Solomon hefted the portalstone. "I'm also grateful for your ridiculous naïveté. All those years, Miss Trelan, and you thought I'd didn't know where to find you. It couldn't have been more obvious. I've had plenty of time to circumvent the tower's protections. I've just never had a reason to do so until now. Frankly, my dear, you've never been worthy of the bother."
"So that was the reason for the despoiled graves?"
I already knew the answer, but hoped to keep him talking. Zorya would surely come looking for us soon. Arianwyn shot me a questioning look. "Someone's been busy with shovels in the cemetery," I explained.
"Of course," said Solomon. "That's the problem with magical protections: they can be so... literal. This one doesn't make distinction between Trelans living and Trelans dead. Or even whether or not they're whole."
He held the skeletal hand between thumb and forefinger and addressed Arianwyn. "As it happens, my dear – and as I anticipated, I should say – your mother's bond to the Trelan line was not strong enough. A relative by marriage doesn't suffice, apparently, and the tower didn't recognise her mortal remains as a permitted entrant. Fortunately, I'd brought a few other parts and pieces of your ancestors..." For the first time, I glimpsed the necklace of what looked like finger bones that had lain hidden beneath the severed hand. "...and they proved sufficient. It does, however, mean I have no use for this. Besides, I doubt your precious tower's enchantments will work now so much of it is ablaze. Either way, I don't see the point of carrying it around any longer."
With that, Solomon snapped the thong about his neck and tossed the skeletal hand to the floor. "I'll just leave her here with you. There's something poetic about that – mother and daughter together again, if only in part." As one last horrible insult, he stamped on the hand, scattering the bones into the flames.
For Solomon, this needlessly cruel act came as naturally as breathing. It was as much a part of his nature as for the cat who toys with a cornered mouse for no better reason than he can. It was part of the legend he'd worked for himself, the reputation of cruelty and ruthlessness he wore like armour. Whether it was all a careful act or the outpouring of a truly evil nature, I could never be sure, but he certainly understood how to keep his legend stoked.
Right here and right now, however, Solomon would have done better to forgo his theatrics. But then, he was more ignorant than I of what Arianwyn was becoming and, at that time, my lack of comprehension was almost total.
Arianwyn screamed. It was not a sound of horror, nor loss, but raw, echoing rage. A white light burst from her body, crashing across the room like a stormy sea.
I was one of the lucky ones, by which I mean I slammed painfully into the table. Solomon was thrown headfirst into a column. One of his lackeys was flung through the scar in the outer wall to plummet the hundreds of feet to the ground below. Another was hurled into the flames at the room's edge. The last fell straight through the floor as the masonry gave way beneath the strike of his body.
The tower shook to its foundations, but the wave of force was not done. It rolled over the flames, dousing them, leaving smouldering books and charred walls in its wake. Galleries collapsed, spilling books and ornaments onto the floor. Masonry tumbled to block the main door, throwing clouds of dust and ash into the air. The wave expanded upwards to strike the great glass window in the ceiling which, already warped and cracked by the heat of the flames, shattered into a thousand pieces and rained down on the library.
Arianwyn advanced on the unconscious Solomon through the storm of shards. She bled in a dozen places from the slivers of falling glass, but her face was a mask of cold determination. A praetorian's dagger was steady in her hand.
I knew with utter conviction that she was going to kill Solomon, but I knew also she'd regret the murder once the heat of battle had faded. I staggered groggily to my feet and called out to her. She paid me no heed.
Wiping blood from my face, I staggered round the table and caught hold of her shoulder. "You don't want to do this!"
"Oh, but I do." Her eyes never left Solomon. "He's desecrated my mother's remains, invaded my home and killed my friends. I very much want to do this."
There was no anger in her voice, just lucid and terrible finality. I could have overcome anger with reason or at least restrained her until it had passed, but this? Cold calculation was another matter.
"Let me go," Arianwyn snapped, struggling against my grasp.
I prayed her magic was spent for the time being, otherwise I was in for a very rocky ride. Shifting my grip, I forced her to look at me. "No. I've walked that path, you know I have." I spoke quickly and desperately, trying to find words that would turn her from this course. "It's one thing to kill an enemy with a weapon in his hand. It's another to end his life while he's helpless."
She couldn't have failed to realise that I was speaking of Alfric. For a moment her eyes met mine. Her expression softened with pity. But the moment passed and the hardness returned.
"He deserves to die!"
"He does," I agreed softly. "But you don't deserve the guilt of killing him."
"So who does? You?"
"We'll give him over to Quintus. There's no escaping what he's done today. He'll die in public, shamed and broken. I can't think of a more fitting fate."
Somewhere above us, the tower gave a worrying creak. Arianwyn pulled away. "He'll get free somehow. He has half the councillors blackmailed."
"Then I promise you, I'll find him. He'll die in the dark, and we'll be rid of him. You'll be rid of him."
Finally, a little of the fire went out of Arianwyn's eyes. Her shoulders sagged, the dagger dropped from her hand and she embraced me.
"Thank you," she whispered.
It was the first time I'd been thanked for promising to end someone's life. I chose to believe I was being thanked for preventing a murder, rather than agreeing to one, and resolved never to ask her if I was correct.
"Very touching, I'm sure."
It was Solomon, back on his feet and altogether too unharmed for my liking. In his left hand he held a thin dagger and his right still held the portalstone. I swore silently; I should have made sure he was truly unconscious, or at least unarmed. As a bare minimum I should have retrieved the portalstone.
"You've spoilt things," he said testily. "I hoped she'd come to finish me off." He held the dagger a little higher, "I had a little gift for her. She'd have been dead before she felt anything. But as I said: you've spoilt things."
Arianwyn retrieved her own dagger.
"Give it up, Solomon," I said. "You're not getting out of here." And nor was he. With the main door to the library blocked by fallen rubble, his only way out was through Arianwyn and I.
"Don't you understand what's going on here?" he shouted. "The stakes are too high. I can't let you interfere." With an effort Solomon brought himself back under control, or nearly so. "We're almost out of time, don't you see? This is the only thing that can stop him." He started shouting again. "Do you think I want to live in the world he'll create?"
The ceiling fell in. For a second, the three of us gazed stupefied at the fire-blackened timbers as they descended. Then, almost as one, we threw ourselves clear.
Arianwyn and I were forced towards the centre of the room, and the charred avalanche slammed into the floor where we'd stood moments earlier. The air was a hazy mess of ash. I glimpsed a wisp of movement as Solomon clambered over the rubble and vanished into the hallway. Coughing and spluttering, I set off in pursuit.
Solomon ran through the ruined tower like a madman. Desperate to keep pace, I matched him insanity for insanity. We vaulted jagged holes where falling masonry had shattered floors. Where the stairs were intact, we took them two or three at a time. Where they were not, we simply jumped to t
he level below, risking broken ankles in the hope that risk would yield advantage. Twice Solomon was pitched to the floor as he missed his footing and each time I drew nearer, though never near enough. Fire was the only thing we didn't need to worry about. Whatever Arianwyn had loosed in that moment of rage had snuffed every flame.
We neared the ground floor, Solomon still far ahead of me. He scrambled around a blackened lump that was once an armchair. Redoubling my efforts, I forged after him. All that mattered was catching Solomon. I didn't care that he still had a weapon and I did not. I just wanted to get my hands around that scrawny bastard's neck. For all my fine talk, I was no longer concerned about handing him over to the embrace of the law. I'd choke from him everything that he knew, and then I'd end his threat for good.
Ahead, Solomon shot round a corner. He was about to descend the final stairway. If he got outside I'd almost certainly lose him forever. With one last effort I rounded the corner.
And saw that I'd lost.
Solomon was only halfway down the stairs, but he might as well have been halfway to the Burning Desert for all the chance I had of reaching him. Standing between me and my prey stood four praetorians, their swords drawn. I surmised they were part of the group that by now must have overwhelmed Jamar, but knowing this changed little. They were armed, I was not.
Solomon stopped and graced me with a mocking bow. "It seems I have a little time to spare after all." He held the portalstone high. "Thank you for this. It's a shame you won't see my moment of glory, but there's more than one way to get to Otherworld. Perhaps I'll see you there anyway."
The praetorians closed in on me. They came cautiously. Possibly they were as worn out as I. More likely, they were learning the value of not underestimating me.
I cast desperately around for weapons. There were none in sight. I was going to die, and the grey vulture was free to earn his 'moment of glory'. Funny, I thought inconsequentially, I'd have seen Solomon's future as a series of glorious moments as he bent the pathways of Otherworld to his will.
Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1) Page 28
