by Ian Irvine
Finally he saw the ruddy glow ahead and knew he was close. He located the spot along the deeply shadowed wall where he had left his sword. It was not there.
The drumming started again, though softly now, a heartbeat slowly fading towards death. Aviel! Wilm checked along the wall in case he had the place wrong, though he knew he did not. The floor began to judder beneath his feet and for a few seconds it felt as though the walls were squeezing in around him.
He pressed his hands against the wall and took deep breaths until the panic passed. It was swelteringly hot here. He took off his coat, left it by the wall and continued down, around the corner and, after a heart-pounding hesitation, into the cavern. It was empty. He headed across to the summon stone, slowly, warily.
“Lost something?” said Unick.
Wilm jumped and looked around frantically. The trilithon brightened until the scalding red light hurt his eyes. He shielded them and made out Unick standing to the left of the stone. He was barefoot and missing two middle toes. The stone had fed again.
“You won’t find her,” said Unick.
“What do you want Aviel for?” Wilm’s voice was a squeaky croak.
“I don’t want her. The summon stone does – when it’s ready.”
“So she is alive!” cried Wilm. He almost choked.
Unick bestowed a sour smile on him.
“When… when will it be ready?” said Wilm.
Unick shrugged. “Soon.”
“Does it want me too?”
“Not particularly.” Unick stretched up on the tips of his remaining toes to the top of the capstone and grasped something lying there – the black sword. He raised it to the vertical and scarlet light reflected off the blade. “But it’s going to have you.”
Unick swung at Wilm’s right arm with all his strength. Wilm barely got it out of the way; the blade shaved hairs off the back of his hand. But the fury of the blow threw Unick off balance; he slipped in the curdled blood on the floor and Wilm attacked. He swung his right foot at the leg supporting Unick’s weight, hooking it out from under him. Unick went down hard and the sword jarred out of his hand.
Unick scrambled after it on hands and knees, but his toe stubs scraped across the floor and he threw back his head in a silent scream. Wilm got to the sword first and swung at Unick’s face. Unick threw himself backwards, came up against the stone, and his whole being seemed to fill with crimson light.
The pain lines faded from his ghastly face; he slowly stood up and smiled. It was the ugliest smile Wilm had ever seen: malicious, venomous and utterly corrupt. The stench of him in the hot room was so overpowering that Wilm was hard pressed not to vomit.
Unick extended his right hand. His remaining fingers were twisted as if they had been broken many times, and the nails were black. There was no time to think, only to react by instinct. Wilm swung the black sword round and flung it up at Unick’s throat.
Unick jerked sideways and the sword speared through his right shoulder into the crack where the two vertical stones touched, impaling him. Blood sizzled and smoked on the stone; it flared more brightly than it had ever done before and red lightning radiated out from the sword’s hilt. The drumming grew louder, the juddering of the cavern floor more frantic.
Unick was not smiling now. He wrenched the blade out with his shaking left hand. The sword was so hot that the blood on it was steaming. Awkwardly he swung it at Wilm, who dived, propelled himself up and drove the top of his head up under Unick’s chin. Unick’s head cracked against the wall. Wilm snatched back the hot sword and a shock zipped up his arm. His vision blurred.
“She’s dead now, you little swine!” snarled Unick.
When Wilm’s vision cleared a few seconds later, he was gone. Gone to kill Aviel.
Where? His reek was everywhere in the chamber but drops of blood on the floor showed the way. Unick had gone behind the stone, then down through a low archway into a tunnel that plunged down at a steep angle. The stumps of his recently lost toes left twin blood spots every yard. Larger, less frequent spots were from the wound in his shoulder.
Despite the injuries he was moving faster than Wilm, who dared not risk falling and injuring himself. He went down for fifty or sixty yards. This tunnel, like the summon stone chamber, looked very old and not man-made, but appeared to have been eaten out of the rock.
He turned a corner and caught a fleeting glimpse of Unick looking back – he knew Wilm was following and probably wanted him to. Wilm turned another corner and stopped. Ahead the tunnel branched like a three-fingered hand. Where had he gone?
Aviel’s voice rang out: “Wilm, it’s a trap. Go back!”
Her voice came like a physical blow. Wilm struggled for breath and tears formed in his eyes when he most needed to see. He looked around frantically. Where was she? Where was the trap?
He was struck over the head, then a blow in the back sent him skidding down and down.
76
HE’S COMING. HE’S CLOSE!
Wilm slid on his back, head first down a smooth, steep slope, then slowed as it shallowed out, and the top of his head thumped into something warm and sweet-smelling. No, someone. She let out a yelp as the impact pushed her a foot across the floor and he heard the tinkle of small objects being knocked over.
“Sorry,” he said.
Wilm opened his eyes. He was at the bottom of a steep-sided pit, perhaps twenty feet deep and the same in width. He looked up at Aviel, who was sitting on the floor, cross-legged. It was hot; her feet were bare and her sleeves rolled up, and many little phials were set up in a line in front of her. The impact had knocked some over and she was picking them up and putting them back in their places, looking at him from the corners of her eyes.
He sat up and embraced her a trifle awkwardly. She clung to him for a couple of seconds, then gave a little twitch; he let go and moved away. She tucked her twisted foot out of sight under the other.
“Why didn’t you go back?” said Aviel.
“I came to find you. To help you.”
“But—”
“I had a friend,” he said haltingly. “A student I met at the scholarship test.” How meaningless the test seemed now, how silly the whole idea of becoming a chronicler. “Dajaes was her name. We rescued Llian from Snout, who was about to kill him, then Unick murdered her right in front of me, for no reason at all.”
She laid a hand on his hand. “I can’t imagine what that must be like. What you’ve been through.”
“I’ve lived a lifetime in six weeks.” A shudder racked him. “And when I realised that he was after you too…”
“How did you know?”
“After he killed Dajaes he picked up your broken scent phial – Shand dropped it – and sniffed it and said, ‘I’ll have her too.’ Though I didn’t realise it was yours until days later.”
“I made it for you – to remind you of… home. But I’d accidentally made a scent potion and when Unick smelled it, it linked him to me.”
“That was bad luck!”
“It’s the only kind I have. Unick must have realised I was a threat to the stone.”
“Why would he think that?” said Wilm.
She lowered her voice. “Because I’d read Malien’s second letter. I couldn’t contact Shand, so I had to destroy the stone.”
“That was taking a lot on yourself.”
“Malien said the world was in danger,” she said simply. “And when Unick was linked to me for those few moments, I was already working on an… um, dangerous scent potion to find the stone.”
“How did you know how to make it?”
“I’d rather not say.”
He looked around. “Where’s Unick gone?”
She gave him a sad little smile. “He planned all this, Wilm. He told me you’d left your sword behind and he was going to use it to trap you, so he could feed us both to the stone.”
“I’ve made it worse,” groaned Wilm. “I always get things wrong.”
“I… I wish you ha
dn’t come.” She gave him another of those enigmatic sideways looks. “But I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been so alone. Just me and him.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Escape, of course. Then I’m going to use the scent potion I’m blending to make Shand destroy the stone.” She gestured at her array of phials.
How she had changed! Her self-confidence was astonishing. “Are scent potions a kind of mancery?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know you had a gift for it?”
“Shand told me. I made one by accident years ago, and it gave him a terrible case of the runs.” She laughed.
Wilm felt a small unworthy joy at the thought, but suppressed it. Shand might be a cranky old sod, but he had treated Wilm well enough. Better than Wilm had repaid him.
“But in a way I’ve always known,” Aviel went on, thoughtfully. “Being a twist-foot, a silver-hair and a seventh sister, it’s only right that I should have a gift to balance my bad luck.”
“Is it a good idea to use mancery so close to the summon stone?”
“No. I’m planning to use it up in the tower, after we escape.”
“How?”
“The stone feeds every few hours. It forces Unick to… cut off a finger or a toe. After each time he collapses for a few minutes. That’s our chance to get out.”
“How will we know?”
“The drumming gets louder and the crimson light is really bright, and it flares in time to the drumming.”
“I wonder why it takes his fingers and toes,” said Wilm, “and not yours?”
She looked down at her foot. “Apparently I’m not corrupt enough, though the way I’m going…”
“You’ll never be like him!”
“I can feel the stone working on me. Maybe that’s where I got the idea of using a scent potion on Shand.” She went pink. “I’m so ashamed; he’s been so good to me.”
“The stone is working on me too. Only it’s got more to work on.”
Wilm felt the need to confess his folly in keeping, then losing, Unick’s Origin device.
She did not judge or criticise him. But then she never had. Aviel nodded. “We have to look out for each other, Wilm. If you see signs that the summon stone is taking me over or making me do something I shouldn’t, you’ve got to tell me.”
“All right.” It was impossible to imagine Aviel ever doing anything really bad.
“I’ve got to finish this potion now. Don’t talk to me. See if you can find a way out. We may not have long.”
Her face took on the familiar closed-off look she wore when she was working. Wilm felt pushed away, but told himself that it was just her being focused.
He studied the pit, which was smooth-walled in some places, such as where he had slid down, and slightly corrugated in others, like the back of a caterpillar. The rock consisted of alternate light and dark layers, sometimes in gentle undulations, sometimes twisted and contorted. It was very hard and there were no cracks in it, but the pale layers stood higher than the dark ones, providing small handholds.
Could he climb it? The shallowest angle was about sixty degrees. After his experience on the wall earlier, Wilm thought he might be able to manage it, and if he fell it would not be fatal. But how to get Aviel out? She could not climb such a steep slope, and neither could he carry her up it. Unick had chosen their prison well. The possibility of escape was enough to give them hope, but it surely could not be done.
Nevertheless he began. The first ten feet proved easy enough, though after that it was steeper and the handholds were shallower. It took five attempts before he made it up. He sat at the top, looking down. Aviel was carefully adding tiny amounts of one scent, then another, to a phial, shaking it then setting it down while she uncapped the next.
The drumming started. The light went from a dull brick-red to a lurid crimson and began to pulse.
“It’s feeding on him!” said Aviel, with a little shudder.
“Is the potion ready?”
“It’s way off. Can you get me out?”
She packed the phials in her belt loops. Wilm felt a momentary panic. With a length of rope or strong cord it would have been easy, but he hadn’t thought to bring any from Shand’s house.
“Have you got any spare clothes in your pack?”
“Yes…?” she said hesitantly. “Trousers and shirt and… underwear.”
“Chuck your pack up. I’ll tie the clothes together.”
She did not move.
“It’s the only way,” said Wilm. “Hurry.”
She threw the pack up. It didn’t go high enough. She tried again with a similar result.
“Sorry,” said Aviel.
Wilm checked the passage behind him. There was no sign of Unick. He was turning back as Aviel swung her pack by the straps and gave it a mighty heave. The edge of something hard and heavy struck him across the forehead and knocked him off his feet.
“Wilm?” she cried.
He sat up, his head spinning, then crawled to the edge and looked down. Blood dripped off his forehead down the slide.
“I’m really sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean…”
“It’s all right.”
He opened her pack and took out a pair of trousers and a shirt, and some underwear. He hastily shoved the underwear back in, tied her shirt to the legs of the trousers and tested it. It would not take his weight but it might hold hers. She had climbed as high as she could go but could still not reach his makeshift rope.
“Can I have your coat?”
She tossed it up and he tied it on. Still not long enough. He took off his sweaty blood-spotted shirt and tied it to her coat. After checking each knot, he lowered it down to her.
“Can you grip tightly enough?” he said.
“I’m not sure.”
“Make a loop in the sleeve.”
She did so, took hold of it with both hands and he began to raise her. Though she was slender and small-boned, it proved surprisingly hard work and his head was throbbing by the time she stood beside him. She flicked a glance at his bare chest and looked away hastily.
“How are we doing for time?” said Wilm, untying his shirt and putting it back on. “The drumming doesn’t sound as loud as it was.”
She stuffed her clothes into her pack. “The light isn’t as bright either. That usually means he’s rousing.”
They hurried up the passage and came to a fork. “Which way?” said Wilm.
Aviel gnawed at her lower lip. “This way… I think.” She indicated the left.
They continued. Wilm’s pulse was racing, and he felt a troubling prickling on the backs of his hands. He wanted to run but the best Aviel could manage was a fast hobble. They turned a corner and she said, “Ugh!”
“What’s the matter?”
“I can smell him. He’s coming. He’s close!”
Wilm could see the fear in her blue-grey eyes. He felt a fierce surge of protectiveness, followed by black rage. She reached out to him without realising it. He took her hand. They turned another corner and Unick stood in their path. He was dripping with rancid sweat, swaying from side to side, and a filthy flagon dangled from his right hand. Two more of his toes were gone.
“I was hoping you’d get her out,” said Unick. “Saves me the trouble.”
Whatever he had in mind, it was bound to be bad. Wilm’s fury surged. He pulled free of Aviel and, without thinking, ran at Unick.
Unick blinked at him, then smiled and began to raise the flagon. He was by far the heavier man but his reactions were dull, his movements slow. Wilm lowered his head and, running full bore, drove it into Unick’s midriff and kept going, forcing with all the strength in his legs. The impact lifted Unick off his feet and hurled him backwards several yards. His head struck the floor and he lay still.
Wilm stared at him, breathing hard. His head was throbbing again. “Is he…?”
“It would be too much to hope for,” said Aviel. “That was reckless, Wilm, but
well done.”
It was his chance to avenge Dajaes. He was standing there, trying to convince himself to strangle Unick, and that it was the right and only thing to do, when the brute leaped up and bolted into the darkness.
“I should have done it,” Wilm said bitterly. “Why did I hesitate?”
“Because you’re a good man, not a cold-blooded murderer.”
“What if he kills someone else? Or lets the Merdrun in?”
“What if, by sparing his life, you’ve done the right thing?”
“Ha!”
“We can’t see the future, Wilm.”
They hurried on and shortly emerged outside the summon stone cavern. Wilm headed in.
Aviel grabbed his arm. “Every time you go near it, it’s more likely—”
“I’ve got to be armed.”
He darted in and knew that Aviel was right. The drumming was not as loud as before yet he could feel the stone trying to get at him. The black sword lay on the top, though it was in its copper scabbard this time. He lifted it off. It was blood warm. He raced back to Aviel, took her hand, and they headed up through the thick, confining darkness. He retrieved his coat.
“How long was your sword on top of the stone?” said Aviel.
“Hours.”
“What if it’s picked up something from it?”
“I have to be armed.”
“Where did you get it? I’ve never seen black metal before.”
“Neither have I.” Wilm explained where it had come from, and that it could be enchanted.
“Mendark wasn’t a very nice man,” said Aviel, her eyes searching Wilm’s.
As he hurried on, she stifled a cry. He realised that he was walking faster than she could manage.
“Would you like me to carry you?” he said without thinking.
“No!” she said sharply. She had always been fiercely independent. Her hand went round his wrist. “But thank you. You’ve done more for me than I can ever repay. Is it much further?”
“No.” He hesitated. “I should warn you that Shand isn’t happy with me at the moment.” He explained. “Ussarine is nice, though.”
