The Perilous Tower: The Gates of Good & Evil Book 3

by Ian Irvine

  ‘Shoot him, quick!’ she whispered.

  Nish was shivering fitfully. He supported the crossbow on a branch and aimed. ‘By the bloated look of the bastard he’s drunk quite a few lives.’

  ‘At least five.’

  ‘He’ll be difficult to kill, then.’

  Karan’s speaking device came to life. ‘No!’ Chissmoul shrieked. ‘I can’t take it. I won’t!’

  The sky galleon whirled, hurtled up into the sky, looped over and plummeted down towards the two campfires and the sus-magiz between them. His right fist was clenched around the raised rod in triumph. Clearly, he hadn’t realised what she was going to do.

  ‘Now!’ Karan hissed.

  The crossbow went snap and blood sprayed from the top of the sus-magiz’s head. He crumpled to his knees, dropping the crystal. Nish swore.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Karan. ‘You got him, didn’t you?’

  ‘Bolt only grazed his skull,’ Nish said sourly. He dropped the now-useless crossbow.

  Would Chissmoul realise she had control back? It seemed that she was going to slam the sky galleon into the ground at full speed, but she levelled out, just missed the sus-magiz and struck the soldiers a glancing blow. One was hurled twenty feet up into the forest, missing the trees and landing in front of Karan with a heavy thud, his blade still in hand.

  He wasn’t badly hurt, and he swung at her, blindingly fast. Karan hurled herself backwards, tripped and fell. The soldier was reaching forward to thrust into her middle when Nish jammed the curved blade through a gap in his armour. He toppled and she rolled aside, the blade sliding into the ground beside her. The soldier fell sideways, dead.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said to Nish.

  He attempted a smile. ‘Least I could do.’

  The other soldiers had also been tossed off the track, but some or all might have survived. It was far from over.

  The sus-magiz was on his knees and had found the pink crystal. Blood ran in curtains down both sides of his head and across his bloated face, but he wore a look of savage triumph. He thrust the crystal high and spoke a different spell.

  A few yards ahead of him the air began to shimmer in a man-high oval. The gate was forming, and nothing could be done about it. The sky galleon had disappeared.

  25

  You Miserable Grub!

  The gate vanished, flinging Skald down onto a hard surface. His uniform was ablaze; he rolled over and over to put it out. Sight returned. He was on the roof of Durthix’s command centre, but where was the mechanician? Had he lost her? Failed?

  No, she was twenty feet away, her trews covered in licking flames. He scurried across and put them out, crushed out a smouldering patch on his sleeve and sprang up.

  And froze, because Durthix stood to one side, massive arms crossed across his chest. Had he known Skald was coming back? He must have, and another man was with him, a meagre fellow with claw-like hands and an offensive smell. The magiz would have sensed the gate before it opened.

  ‘You’d better have a good explanation for your flagrant disobedience, Sus-magiz Skald,’ Dagog said coldly.

  Skald quailed inwardly but managed to keep it off his face. He was caught in a power struggle and either man would sacrifice him in an instant, if it became necessary.

  ‘He went as my captain, not your sus-magiz,’ said Durthix.

  ‘When I appoint a sus-magiz,’ said Dagog, ‘all military commissions are revoked.’

  ‘Unless I say otherwise. Which I did.’

  ‘Why was I not told?’

  ‘You didn’t need to know.’

  Dagog shook in fury but said no more, though Skald knew he would pay later. The magiz’s malice was legendary.

  ‘Your report, Captain Skald,’ said Durthix. He gestured to a pair of guards, who bound M’Lainte’s hands and led her away. ‘Make it brief.’

  ‘The targets were fleeing up the mountain with the secret weapon,’ said Skald. ‘I secured the mechanician and my troops attacked the other nine. They were in a cave at the top of a steep scree slope, with no approach from the sides. We killed their six guards …’

  ‘And you lost all twelve, Captain?’

  Merdrun never made excuses. ‘Yes.’ He glanced towards Dagog, uncertain about saying more.

  ‘You may speak freely,’ said Durthix.

  Dagog’s eyes glittered with fury, not just because Skald had looked to Durthix first, but because he had given permission to speak in front of the magiz. Skald would pay for that insult.

  He described the secret weapon. ‘It flew out of the cave, hovered and blasted the rest of my troops down.’

  ‘Why didn’t you take it, as ordered?’

  ‘Because he’s a stinking coward, like his father,’ said Dagog.

  ‘Well?’ said Durthix.

  ‘I had no defence against its blasts. Had I’d approached it, it would have killed me. And the mechanician, and everything I’d learned about the secret weapon, would have been lost. I reopened my gate and pushed her in but one of the enemy, a dwarf –’

  ‘Klarm,’ said Durthix. ‘A former scrutator and a dangerous man. Greatly skilled in mancery.’

  Skald committed the name to memory. ‘Klarm directed the secret weapon to blast at the gate, striking it. It took all my strength to bring us back.’

  He bent his head. It was a big failure, though not a total one.

  ‘Useless fool!’ said the magiz. ‘You are confined to your quarters, Sus-magiz Skald, until further notice.’

  Skald should have obeyed instantly but he was caught between two masters. His eyes flicked to Durthix for confirmation, and the magiz saw that too.

  Durthix held up his hand. ‘I’m not happy, Captain. You lost twelve of my most experienced soldiers, and all you brought back was the mechanician.’

  ‘And without a scratch on him,’ sneered the magiz. ‘Like father like son.’

  No greater insult could be made to Skald. ‘I – am – not – a – coward!’ he said passionately. ‘Give me another chance, High Commander. We must act quickly before the enemy’s sky galleon returns for the secret weapon. I’ll find a way to bring it back, I swear on –’

  ‘On your father’s honour?’ said Durthix coldly.

  ‘No,’ Skald said desperately. ‘I – I swear on – your honour.’

  There was a deadly silence. He had gone way too far.

  ‘You dare swear on your high commander’s honour?’ Durthix said softly.

  No backing out now. ‘Yes, High Commander.’

  ‘You do realise that if you fail such a mighty oath your entire family – grandparents, parents, siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews – will be dishonoured, and must be obliterated?’

  Merdrun oaths were sacred, and many and varied, and each had its cruel and ingenious penalty for oath-breaking. Skald had spoken without thought or consideration, but the oath could not be taken back. His entire family erased, because of his folly! Terror almost unmanned him, but he could not show it.

  ‘I will not fail!’ he said in a ringing voice.

  Durthix studied him for a full minute. ‘After making two gates across such a distance, in quick succession, you must be drained to the dregs,’ he said finally. ‘Write down and sketch everything you learned about the secret weapon and give it to me, then go to your quarters.’

  Skald was so exhausted that he could barely think straight, but he spent two hours writing and sketching, then handed his papers to the high commander. Durthix merely grunted. Skald saluted and went out, knowing Dagog would soon come for him, and dreading what he would do.

  Skald bathed, ate, dozed for an hour then, unable to sleep, went to the practice area and duelled furiously until every stiff black hair on his body had its own quivering droplet of sweat. Dagog did not come, and the longer he delayed the more afraid Skald grew. Had Durthix decided that a mere captain was not worth deepening the rift between himself and his magiz?

  Durthix had hundreds of junior officers. Sus-magi
zes were rarer, but there were dozens of them, and new ones could be made at need. Magizes, however, were exceedingly difficult to replace and it could take months for a new one to settle into his or her position. Months they did not have.

  Late that night, after Skald, desperate for sleep, had relaxed enough to doze off in his chair, the magiz came.

  ‘Sus-magiz!’ Dagog snarled.

  Skald cried out, tried to leap to his feet and fell out of his chair.

  ‘You miserable grub!’ said Dagog, standing over him. ‘Get up!’

  Skald scrambled to his feet, expecting Dagog to drink his life on the spot.

  ‘When I made you sus-magiz you swore an oath,’ hissed Dagog. ‘As a sus-magiz your loyalty is to me, and me alone.’

  ‘High Commander Durthix said that when I am acting as captain my loyalty is to him,’ said Skald. ‘Who am I to argue with the High Commander, who has authority over every Merdrun?’

  ‘For now!’ the magiz said direly. ‘I fear you’re no use to me, worm. And you know what that means.’

  A dishonourable death was Skald’s deepest fear, but he had to face the threat with courage. He must not show emotion. ‘I am a loyal Merdrun, Magiz. If I … can best serve by giving my life to be drunk … it must be so.’

  No one would ever know how much those words cost him, but nothing else would do. If he showed a hint of fear Dagog would end him. And Durthix would thank him for it, since Skald would have proven his utter unworthiness.

  The magiz looked even more put out. ‘Damn you, Sus-magiz! If it were up to me …’ He hooked his claw-like fingers. ‘But,’ he smiled evilly, ‘Durthix has accepted your oath – upon his honour.’

  ‘Accepted?’ Skald croaked.

  ‘You are going back to the Sink of Despair for the secret weapon. Return without it and your life, and your family’s lives, will be mine.’

  His smile dripping with malice, Dagog stamped a small, stinking foot, and vanished.

  Why had Skald begged for this mission, when going back was an almost certain death sentence? How could he hope to capture a weapon that could blast him to bits from twenty yards away?

  He had to find a way. For his family, his own honour, and the honour of the high commander he admired and respected. Desperate action would also shut off the howling inner voices, and the unmanning emotions that now had their claws in his innards and would never let go.

  If he were killed, at least it would put an end to them.

  26

  We Could Be Here For Weeks

  ‘You treacherous swine!’ Wilm roared as Klarm rode the spellcaster up the mountainside. ‘I hope it does for you.’

  Klarm did not look back.

  Wilm went inside. Ilisial lay in the rear of the cave, doubled up, though she had stopped screaming. He approached her warily, because he was covered in blood and it might set off another panic attack.

  ‘Ilisial,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s over.’

  She continued to stare at the back of the cave. ‘Klarm?’

  ‘Flew away on the spellcaster.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  She sat up. ‘He’s taken his pack. Why would he do that?’

  ‘I overheard Flydd talking to M’Lainte about Klarm,’ said Wilm. ‘Flydd wasn’t sure he could be trusted.’

  ‘He was always nice to me,’ said Ilisial, as though that proved anything.

  Because you’re an attractive young woman and he’s a filthy old roué! ‘The gate had closed; he didn’t have to run away like a stinking traitor.’

  ‘Klarm would never run away.’

  There was no point arguing. ‘We can’t stay here,’ said Wilm. ‘The bodies will attract every predator within miles.’

  Ilisial shuddered. Four of their guards lay in bloody ruin in the cave mouth, plus two Merdrun. The other twelve bodies littered the slope below and none had died easily.

  ‘I thought I’d just be helping M’Lainte fix devices,’ she said in a tiny voice. ‘I never imagined we’d see any enemy.’

  ‘I’ll be reliving today in my nightmares for years. Come on.’

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ said Wilm.

  ‘You’ll have to blindfold me.’

  Ilisial was far more fragile than he had thought. What had possessed her to volunteer for such a dangerous mission? And if the enemy came back, as Wilm was sure they would, how could he protect her?

  He dragged the corpses to the entrance and let them fall. It was not something he would ever forget, because the ruined bodies were still warm. Half an hour ago they had been living, breathing people and, whether allies or enemies, each must have had their all-too-human hopes and fears and dreams. Now they were corpses with severed limbs, maimed faces or opened bellies, they reeked of blood and piss and shit, and soon every carrion feeder within miles would be gorging on them.

  When this was over, assuming Wilm survived, he would take an oath of non-violence. Become a carpenter, perhaps. Or a gardener. A creator, not a destroyer.

  He washed his hands with a pannikin of water, collected all the food and water they could carry, one of the crossbows and M’Lainte’s spy scope, and stowed everything into their packs.

  He tore an unstained shirt into rags and went to Ilisial. ‘Close your eyes and I’ll blindfold you.’

  She recoiled. ‘You stink of blood.’

  And you of cowardice! But there was no point saying it. She could not cope, and that was that. He put the rags into her hand and backed away. She sniffed them, tied three blindfolds across her eyes, one after another, poked smaller strips up her nostrils, shuddered and got up.

  ‘Take my hand,’ said Wilm. ‘I’ll lead you out.’

  She backed away, the dangling strips of cloth quivering. ‘I can’t touch you. I – I’ll hold your pack.’

  As they went out and headed up the slope, she was shaking so wildly that she was pulling him off balance. He made allowances. Again.

  ‘You can look now,’ he said when the cave was no longer visible. ‘Which way do you want to go?’

  Ilisial took off the blindfolds and removed her nose plugs. Her eyes were vacant. ‘Makes no difference,’ she said listlessly. ‘We’re going to die.’

  ‘We’ve got enough food for weeks.’ He trained the spyglass along the side of the mountain, looking for another cave.

  ‘They’ll come back.’

  ‘An hour ago we thought we were done for, and we’re still alive.’

  But there was no consoling her; she had lost hope. They trudged across the slope, in the shade of the band of trees, heading for a distant, triangular cave.

  It turned out to be small and narrow; Wilm had to bend his head to enter. But it went in a long way, following a flaw in the rock, and seepage had formed a tub-sized pool twenty yards back. While Ilisial waited outside, he bathed, washed his bloody clothes and put on clean ones, and she finally stopped shuddering when he came near.

  ‘Why would Klarm betray us?’ she said that afternoon, returning to the inexplicable question. ‘What could he gain that would be worth having?’

  They were on either side of the entrance. Down into the trees, a crinkle-horned goat was tearing at a thorny shrub, a hornless kid at its side. Even in this desolation, life was everywhere. It lifted his spirits a little.

  ‘Why does anyone do anything?’ said Wilm.

  ‘But he was one of the heroes of the war.’

  ‘And afterwards he became one of the God-Emperor’s lieutenants.’

  ‘He ended up fighting on the right side at the end.’

  ‘Maybe Klarm believes the Merdrun are going to win, and he wants to earn their gratitude.’

  ‘Why don’t you like him, Wilm?’

  ‘I’ve never done anything to him, yet he treats me like scum. I’ll see if I can contact Flydd.’

  Wilm unpacked the farspeaker and called, the way he had seen Klarm use it. ‘Mister Flydd? Xervish?’

  ‘Who the hell is t
his?’ said Flydd, loud and clearly.

  ‘It’s Wilm.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To tell you what’s happed …’

  ‘I assume it hasn’t gone well.’

  There was no point dragging it out. ‘We found it.’

  ‘But?’

  Wilm told him about the air-floater and the attackers coming through a gate, and how Klarm had fled. ‘That was half a day ago and we haven’t seen him since. Flydd, surr,’ Wilm said tentatively, ‘do you think he’s betrayed us?’

  ‘Why would you think that?’ Flydd growled.

  ‘I overheard you warning M’Lainte about him.’

  ‘Next time, keep your ears out of other people’s business.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘What do you want us to do now?’ said Wilm.

  ‘How much food do you have?’

  ‘Plenty.’

  ‘And water?’

  ‘We know where to find it.’

  ‘You might have a bit of a wait. We’re half a continent away and up to our necks in trouble.’

  ‘What’s gone wrong, surr?’

  ‘Everything!’ said Flydd. ‘Though nothing compares to you losing M’Lainte. We can’t do without her.’

  Now Wilm felt personally responsible. ‘I went down to get her, but Klarm –’ The farspeaker went dead.

  27

  The Bitch Must Have Ensorcelled Him!

  ‘He’s got a woman!’

  Maigraith’s shriek of outrage echoed through the building. Aviel heard it clearly from her workshop, where she was reaching the end of her interminable work on nivol. Flydd needed much more than she had made last time and the key steps had taken three times as long.

  Who’s got a woman? Rulke, of course.