by Ian Irvine
‘What?’ croaked Skald. How much more did Rulke know?
‘To tap the power of the Skyrock node, the greatest on Santhenar. Now you’re cutting the pinnacle down and shaping it into a rather familiar tower, heedless of how many workers and slaves die in the process. Your people are engaged in the most desperate enterprise of their existence – that’s why you need more power, and ever more. That’s why you’re here now, Skald.’
Skald swallowed. Did Rulke also know why they were doing it? He would do everything he could to thwart them.
Rulke glanced at the broken door, anxiously, and Skald realised that he actually cared about the woman with the opaline hair. Skald’s stomach throbbed, more painfully than before.
‘Lirriam had better be unharmed.’ Rulke took a step towards Skald.
With an effort, he held his ground. ‘When we blasted the door in, it struck her. She’s not badly –’
Rulke backhanded Skald in the mouth, knocking him down. He sprang through the doorway and, in mid-air, blasted the sergeant, who fell dead as a stone. Rulke bent over Lirriam, speaking softly. Her eyelids fluttered but her eyes did not open.
Skald wiped blood off his mouth and controlled his fury. Backhanding a Merdrun officer was a mortal insult, as Rulke well knew. But if Skald attacked, Rulke would kill him.
Rulke whirled, jerked Skald in by the breastplate and dumped him on the floor, then beckoned to Tiaan. She came in, bright-eyed now. He heaved the sergeant’s body out, forced the metal door back into its frame and used his thick fingers to smooth the metal so that it fused there, immovably.
Skald was at Rulke’s mercy now and the entire mission rested on the edge of a blade. Was there anything he could do to save it?
‘Hold her shoulders down,’ Rulke said to Tiaan, and she did so.
He stroked Lirriam’s opaline hair and she gave a little sigh. He stretched her right arm out, held her forearm above the break, took hold of her wrist and pulled slowly and steadily. Her lips drew back, baring her teeth, though she did not wake. The broken bones withdrew beneath the skin and the wrinkled flesh smoothed out.
He manipulated her arm this way and that for several minutes, then said, ‘Hold it, here and here.’
Tiaan held Lirriam’s forearm. Rulke clamped a hand around the breaks and subvocalised a healing charm. Skald sensed the aura from it and felt a wash of heat.
Rulke wrenched the side table apart and fashioned a splint from two flat lengths, which he bound together with strips torn from the bedcovers. He probed Lirriam’s nose, which was not broken, wiped the blood away and examined her bruised foot and ankle. Though his back was turned, Skald knew Rulke was aware of his smallest movement, and he dared not attack.
‘Put her boots on,’ Rulke said to Tiaan.
When she had done so Rulke rose and, without any change of expression, backhanded Skald across the left cheek, knocking him sideways. Another calculated insult. A warning pang struck him, low in the belly, and he was stricken by the fear that he had already failed. He felt an overwhelming urge to tear the door open, abandon his troops and run for his life. He fought it.
I am not my father! If I have to die, it will be on my feet, facing my enemy.
Rulke caught Skald by the shirt, held him up and backhanded him with the other hand, then swapped hands and backhanded him on the left cheek again, and let him fall. ‘Got anything to say, boy?’
Tiaan, who had the sergeant’s knife and, clearly, knew how to use it, wore an enigmatic smile.
Skald’s cheeks throbbed. He put the pain aside. The insults were harder to overcome but he had to. He had made a monumental blunder. How could he have thought to steal from Rulke, who had fought hundreds of battles and defeated or outwitted all manner of cunning enemies, with so few at his back? Skald’s squad, tough and experienced as they were, were insignificant to a mancer of Rulke’s power.
Behind his back, he rotated the red jewel on Pannilie’s ring. She was the only advantage he had.
‘How did you get in?’ said Rulke.
Skald did not want to mention Maigraith. If she was lurking about, she might, just possibly, intervene in his favour. ‘Secret door. Our spies found it. South-west drain.’
Rulke looked disbelieving. He also looked as though he was considering battering Skald to death. The way Skald felt, it would not take much. He clutched his belly, no longer trying to hide the pain.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ snapped Rulke.
Skald did not answer.
‘When he returned from trying to assassinate Flydd,’ said Tiaan, ‘blood was running from every orifice.’
‘The life-drinking damaged you,’ said Rulke. ‘Why on earth did they send you?’
Sweat flooded down Skald’s chest and sides. ‘I pleaded for this mission.’
‘But you’d done great things.’ Clearly, Rulke was intrigued by him. ‘You’d earned a rest.’
‘When he was a boy, his father was executed for cowardice under fire,’ said Tiaan. She seemed to take pleasure in saying it.
‘And it tainted your life, didn’t it? You’re desperate to prove yourself.’
Skald did not answer. Why hadn’t Pannilie attacked? Or was she waiting for Rulke to unseal the door? Yes, that had to be her plan.
‘Heroes have short lives,’ said Rulke. He eyed Skald shrewdly. ‘I wonder how your magiz feels about your fame.’
Skald maintained a blank face but knew Rulke was not fooled. He prised at the jammed metal door, tore it open at the top and peered out.
Skald braced himself. It would have been the perfect time for Pannilie to blast him in the face, but nothing happened. Pannilie, come on!
What if the magiz had given her other orders? Had she used the diversion to go after the Source? If she fled with it, Rulke would annihilate Skald and his troop, and he would die a failure.
An idea surfaced, one so reckless that it could not possibly succeed. But he had nothing to lose now. He kept his head low while he considered it, in case his face gave him away.
One of the sus-magiz spells Skald had learned during his convalescence was called Rupture and, if targeted by a master, it could tear open one of an enemy’s vital organs, or an artery or vein. It was too difficult for a sus-magiz of his experience, though. There was no way he could attack with it.
Could he use it on himself? Targeting would be much easier; he could tell from the pain if the spell was working. And no need to attack a vital organ – anything that had a dramatic effect would do.
But he had damaged himself so badly inside that such a spell might kill him. Dare he risk all to gain all? What did he have to lose? Rulke might cut him down at any moment.
Skald did not have much power left but the spell required subtlety, not strength. He turned away, clenched his fists and, as Rulke wrenched the door out of its frame with a squeal of tearing metal, Skald cast a small Rupture spell on the pit of his own stomach.
It felt as if his belly had been torn open with a barbed hook. He doubled over, clutching his middle and moaning.
Rulke propped the twisted door against the wall, heaved Skald upright and studied him dispassionately. ‘That the best you can do?’ He shoved Skald aside.
Another wave of agony tore through his middle, starting low and moving up, then his guts heaved so violently that blood exploded from his mouth, splattering the lower wall, the floor and Rulke’s bare feet.
Rulke sprang backwards, stumbled and clutched at his side, wincing. He recovered, checked outside and said to Tiaan, ‘Go first.’
She went out into the hall. Rulke carried Lirriam out, holding her tenderly in his arms. He beckoned Skald, who was clinging to the foot of the bed, spitting out blood. The pain was worse than the aftermath of his life-drinking spell and he was sure he was going to die.
But before he did, he had to bring down his enemy. He drew power to deny the pain and divert the needed strength to his legs. If he could just stay on his feet another minute …
He staggere
d through the door, moaning and dribbling blood. Rulke set Lirriam down on the floor and checked the corridors. Skald lurched past, turned and lowered his head and, using all the strength in his massive thighs, drove his skull into Rulke’s recently healed scar, slamming him backwards into the wall.
Rulke’s face contorted in agony, though he made no sound. Skald kept pushing with his legs and battering with his skull until he felt Rulke’s scar tear open. He doubled up and fell.
Skald ducked aside, clouted Tiaan over the head and snatched her knife, and pressed the blade to Lirriam’s throat. ‘Move and she dies,’ he gasped.
Pannilie appeared at the far end of the hall. She touched the three soldiers there and the paralysis spell on them broke.
‘Bind Rulke and Tiaan.’ She pointed to the other six guards and freed them, then ran towards Skald. ‘Then Lirriam.’
The soldiers raced up. Two held Rulke down while they tied his wrists and ankles and gagged him. They were binding Tiaan’s wrists when Lirriam’s eyes sprang open. She took hold of the silver chain around her neck and jerked a black, irregularly shaped stone out from between her breasts.
Clutching it in her left hand, she reached across with her right arm and took hold of Rulke’s shoulder. ‘Incarnate!’ she said. ‘Away, away!’
A dark red spark lit in the centre of the stone and a gate sprang into being around her, though it was unlike any gate Skald had ever seen before. It made no sound and its edges, indistinct and foggy, wavered in and out. A lobe extended from the gate and began to creep around Rulke.
They were going to escape! Skald struck out instinctively, hitting Lirriam’s splinted arm and knocking her hand away from Rulke’s shoulder. Pain stabbed him. Another mouthful of blood surged up. He swallowed it.
Lirriam cried out in agony and the gate, which had enclosed the top half of Rulke’s body, peeled away with a squelching sound. It was drawing tightly around her when Pannilie dived at Lirriam, reached through the opening in the gate, broke the silver chain and wrenched the black stone out of her hand.
‘Rulke!’ wailed Lirriam. She sounded tormented, desperate. ‘She’s got the Waystone!’
Rulke heaved at his bonds but could not free himself. Pannilie pressed the stone to the black glyph on her own forehead, winced, and subvocalised a spell that Skald did not catch.
She touched the stone to the edge of the gate, which crept around Lirriam.
In a commanding voice, Pannilie said, ‘Skyrock! To the guards at the gate of the officers’ compound!’
Skald saw, through the gate, the blue and white spirals of the partly completed tower. Rulke tore one hand free, wrenched off the gag and hopped towards Lirriam, but he was too late. The gate vanished, carrying her with it.
Pannilie pointed the stone at Rulke and attempted to enclose him in another gate, but no gate formed. She touched the stone to the glyph on her forehead again, wincing as smoke rose from it and from the fingers holding the stone. She turned her glove inside-out to enclose the stone.
Three guards caught Rulke and two held him while the third gagged him, tightened the bindings around his wrists and blindfolded him. Blood ran down his side.
‘This is a mighty object,’ Pannilie said quietly. ‘The moment I tried to look inside it, it burned me.’
‘Whad …id it?’ Skald’s mouth was full of blood again and it was oozing down his chin. He tried to swallow but it would not go down.
The Waystone now glowed deep crimson inside. She weighed it in her hand. ‘It’s incredibly heavy.’ Her eyes narrowed as if she had realised something important. ‘Where’s Ghiv? Did he locate the Source?’
‘Don’t know.’
She gazed at the Waystone and smiled, then turned and ran.
Skald forced some blood down. ‘Pannilie?’
She did not look back. Was she planning on gating the Source directly to Skyrock? That had to be it – the magiz’s revenge. Skald slumped to his knees, panting, and a clot slid out of his open mouth.
A few minutes later Ghiv appeared from the other direction. ‘Captain, what happened?’
‘Rubdure zpell. You know id?’
Ghiv shook his head.
With supreme concentration, Skald focused on his innards and did his best to cancel the Rupture spell. It made no difference to the pain, which was unrelenting. He cleared his mouth. ‘You see Pannilie?’
‘No.’
‘Find – Source?’
‘Not yet, but it’s up above us. Somewhere.’ He studied Skald, frowning. ‘You look dreadful. Better wait here.’
‘No!’ said Skald. ‘Coming.’
Ghiv took the field scanner, a triangular box with a pale grey, illuminated glass plate on the top side, out of its case. A red pinpoint of light was spiralling near the apex of the plate. Looking down at it, he headed down the corridor to their left, and then up a steep flight of metal steps. Every step sent a spike of pain through Skald. Twenty-six spikes. He could not go much further.
Behind him three soldiers led Rulke, bent double and with a rope around his neck. The middle of his robe was red. Three more guards followed, weapons drawn. Another two supported Skald and the last man watched Tiaan.
Her slave’s apathy was gone; she looked fascinated by everything around her. Did she miss the challenge and drama of playing an important role in the war against the lyrinx? She must. And perhaps she could sense the Source from here.
She had been one of the heroes of the Lyrinx War, Skald reminded himself. Brave, bold, an original thinker and a brilliantly creative artisan. He had to watch her.
At the top, where a passage opened out into a space some six yards by ten, Ghiv helped Skald to a bench. Two guards forced Rulke to the floor and the others stood around him.
‘Where is it?’ said Skald.
Ghiv jerked a thumb upwards. ‘Somewhere up there.’ He put the field scanner down. The red point of light was jerking all over the place. ‘Scanner’s no use, this close.’
Skald drew on his dwindling power to try and ease the pain. He could go no further in this state. ‘Take Tiaan and three guards. Bring it down.’
They went down a narrow corridor made of grey metal, and at the end Skald heard them climb a long ladder. He was slumped on the bench, breathing through his nose, when a dreadful thought struck him. Maigraith was a loner who did not trust anyone, and she was a master of illusion who knew Alcifer well. She would not be far away.
The pieces fell into place. She wasn’t a traitor and she would never let him take the Source. He, Skald, was just a tool, the means to get Lirriam without revealing herself.
But Lirriam was now at Skyrock. When Maigraith found out she would believe that Skald had double-crossed her.
54
He Would Have To Be Carried
Aviel heard soft footsteps coming their way. There was just enough light to see Maigraith rise into a crouch, her right hand extended. The senior sus-magiz crept past, looking through each doorway. An object in Maigraith’s hand gave out a small white flash, the sus-magiz grunted and fell, and something slipped from her right hand and clattered across the polished black marble floor.
Maigraith recovered the item, a small but clearly heavy black stone. She raised it high as if in exultation, then dragged the body into a side room and closed the door.
The cold-blooded way she had killed the sus-magiz hit Aviel in the guts. It wasn’t right to extinguish a living person from ambush. Had she done it for the stone, which Aviel had seen around Lirriam’s neck through the spy portal? Or did Maigraith plan on killing all the Merdrun once they took Lirriam?
Maigraith returned to her hiding place. Half an hour passed but no one else appeared. She rose and began to pace, casting anxious glances this way and that, perhaps fearing that the Merdrun had betrayed and eluded her.
The floor quivered, and again. A few seconds later there came a distant crash.
Maigraith let out a small cry and darted down the left passage. Aviel went after her. More crashes and th
uds were followed by the groan and squeal of metal on metal, as if some gigantic mechanism, not used in centuries, had been forced into motion. What was going on?
The sky galleon hurtled low over the Sea of Thurkad. Karan could see moonlight reflecting off the swell, not far below. But two days had passed since they’d detected that massive draw of power at Alcifer. What if they were too late? What if Llian was gone? Or dead?
‘How are we to get in?’ Flydd muttered. ‘Rulke will have locked Alcifer down tight.’
‘Go to the front doors and knock,’ said Nish. ‘We’re not coming like thieves in the night; we’re offering an alliance.’
‘And he doesn’t know our cupboard is bare as a bone,’ said Maelys.
She alone among them looked refreshed and ready; she had just risen from her bunk after a night’s sleep. Lucky her!
‘I’m afraid,’ said Karan, scratching herself.
The sky galleon did not carry enough water for bathing or washing clothes, and she still wore the gear she had put on before they left Roros. In the curtained-off space she shared with Maelys, Karan had a quick wash with a cloth, changed her clothes and scrubbed her teeth, fruitlessly ran a brush through her tangled locks, scowled at the three grey hairs and went up to the deck.
They were close; the dark outlines ahead were the eastern shore of Meldorin and the mountains a few miles inland of their destination. And there it was, less than a mile away, its myriads of towers, aerial stairways, sky gardens, arches and domes and pools picked out in red-tinged silver by the light of the moon. The astounding city of Alcifer, designed and built for Rulke by Pitlis the Aachim, the most brilliant architect who had ever lived. And the biggest fool, to have trusted the Great Betrayer …
Karan had been there with Llian only three months of her life ago, involuntarily gated from Carcharon at the end of Cumulus Snoat’s short, bloody uprising. They had gone close to dying there when Thandiwe had trapped Karan, at Maigraith’s behest.
‘There’s a clearing not far from the front doors,’ Karan said to Flydd, pointing.
