by Ian Irvine
Karan clenched her fists helplessly. The evil old slukk had to die.
“Won’t be long now,” said the magiz, panting.
“How can you tell?” said the acolyte.
“A while ago I jerked Snoat’s string again. I warned him of an assassination attempt by his enemies. He’ll strike back very soon, and it will be the end of all resistance in western Santhenar.”
“How did you know about the assassination plan?”
“I embedded a link in one of the enemy leaders a month ago. What he sees, I see, the fool!”
Karan, who had forgotten about the spy in their midst, froze. He and one of their leaders could mean Nadiril, Shand, Yggur or even Hingis at a pinch, but who? Yggur was the most likely traitor, given his previous mental breakdown and fragile emotional state.
She remembered the odd look he had given her in Chanthed, when she’d revealed that she had sent Sulien away with the Whelm. Could the magiz manipulate Yggur into hunting her down? Well, no one alive knew the Whelm better than he did. But would he hurt or kill an innocent child – even under the magiz’s compulsion?
Yggur had been a ruthless warlord once, but there was also a soft side to him, a kindness in him. And he was tough – he had survived ordeals, mental and physical, that would have broken most other men. Karan did not want to think him capable of killing a child… yet she had not thought Benie capable of killing either.
The magiz hobbled to another dying defender, twenty yards away, while the three acolytes remained where they were, staring at the corpse of the young man whose life she had just drunk with such sickening ecstasy. Was this Karan’s chance? There were no other Merdrun within a hundred yards; they were much further up the slope, occupied with the attack.
She would have to be quick, though. Malien had said that materialising oneself was incredibly exhausting. Karan drew her knife. One quick thrust was all it would take, then she would dematerialise and return to Alcifer.
She zoomed down and, just before landing a few yards behind the magiz, triggered the materialisation spell. Her boots struck the ice, but the moment her weight came onto her knees, they buckled. She had no strength at all; she could not even hold the knife! It went click-click as it hit the ice, then skidded past the magiz.
She whirled, colourless eyes shining out of those horrible soot-black sockets, grinning savagely. “I’ve pulled your string too, you little fool.”
The magiz lunged, surprisingly quickly for someone who had an artificial leg, and caught Karan by the left shin. Her hands were as cold as the ice beneath her; so cold that they burned. Karan tried to dematerialise but could not speak the words. She could barely move.
“Make a link to your daughter,” said the magiz.
Karan managed to shake her head.
The magiz laughed. “You can’t save her. When I have direct contact, you can’t stop me.”
The magiz let go then, with the bony forefinger of her other hand, tapped Karan on the top of the head three times, and each tap was like a metal spike being driven deeper. “Link to your daughter!”
Karan managed a grunt of defiance, but it wasn’t enough – the magiz was forcing a link to form. It was already complete in Karan’s mind; it was questing out, searching for the emotional connection to Sulien, and she could not stop it.
No! she thought desperately, as if she could stop the link through will alone. No, no, no!
But the magiz’s will was stronger, and her mancery was overwhelming. “Yes,” she said. “And the moment it’s complete, I’ll drink her little life.”
She forced so hard that the spike seemed to spear right through Karan’s head. She could not make a sound, but every fibre of her mind was screaming.
Mummy, what’s she doing to you?
The magiz had succeeded, and Karan was crushed by a terror so complete that for a moment she could not think. Then it burst out of her: Sulien, break the link!
“Ahhhh,” sighed the magiz, then tensed. She was preparing to send a killing blow across the link, and Karan could do nothing about it; the pain had utterly disabled her.
But she’s hurting you, Mummy, said Sulien. She’s trying to kill you.
Break the link! NOW!
The pain grew; the magiz was about to strike Sulien dead. Karan had to do something. Her tongue unfroze and she screamed.
Leave… my… mother… alone! cried Sulien.
Karan sensed her desperate rage. Don’t, Sulien!
“I’ve found the brat, Gergrig!” yelled the magiz. “I know where she is.”
Sulien’s fury exploded and a searing, blue-white flash burst in front of the magiz’s eyes. She shrieked and tried to shield her eyes but little blisters formed all over her face, then her eyes turned blood-red.
“I can’t see!” she howled. “Gergrig, I can’t see.”
“I’m coming!” he roared.
And then it happened. Across the link, through Sulien’s eyes, Karan saw the Whelm stand up, a dozen of them, and they were staring up at the sky as if in awe.
Gergrig? said a squat bony man. Master?
Every hair on Karan’s head stood up. No, no!
We have no master, Idlis said coldly.
But we could have, said the squat Whelm yearningly.
The pain in Karan’s head was gone and she could move again. Sulien, get out of there now!
There was no reply. Sulien, did you hear me?
The magiz flailed around blindly and caught Karan by the shin again. Karan kicked but could not break free; the magiz’s hand had frozen to her skin. But Gergrig was only yards away. She had to break the link and go.
“Dematerialise!” she gasped. “Spell-stop, spell-stop!”
Rip! She felt an agonising pain in her lower left leg – the skin had torn off in a bloody inches-wide strip all the way around.
“Amplify the drumming, magiz!” bellowed Gergrig. “Corrupt everyone on Santhenar.”
Karan tumbled into blackness, the drumming loud in her ears, then went skidding across the polished stone floor of Alcifer, dribbling blood from the ragged skinless ring around her shin. Everything, including Sulien’s earlier cry, had been part of a lure to bring her back to Cinnabar – and into the trap.
She forced herself to her hands and knees, realising that she had been gone a long time and Llian must be in torment. She had to find him. But before she could stand up, something hard pressed into the middle of her back.
“Welcome back,” said Maigraith.
82
THEY’RE AS GOOD AS DEAD
“Ussarine?” bellowed Shand.
“What’s happening?” Ussarine cried as they tumbled through the gate. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.” The wind was howling in his ears and he could barely hear her. “I was trying for Alcifer, but—”
They were jerked one way then another, as if two people were fighting over them. Ussarine’s flailing fist struck Shand in the nose so hard that his eyes watered. He grabbed her wrist with both hands and held on. They were spinning in a flat circle now. Ussarine pulled him against her.
“I’m afraid—” he said.
“Of where we’re going?”
“And who’s sending us there.”
“Did the summon stone open your gate?”
“Yes, to get rid of us,” he said grimly. “But I’m not sure it’s controlling it now.”
“Who is?”
“Either Snoat or the magiz.” Could the Command device really give Snoat the power to seize control of a gate? It was a troubling thought.
“Wherever they’re sending us, we don’t want to go there,” she said.
“Hang on! I’ll try to find Tallia.”
Ussarine clamped her arms around him. Shand closed his eyes and attempted to visualise her, but all he could see was old Nadiril, sitting at a table with another of those ridiculous ear-shaped listening devices in front of him. He would do.
The gate ejected them and they landed with a thump that to
re them apart. Shand skidded across a tiled floor on his knees, bump-bump-bump, and crashed into a row of chairs, knocking them over one by one. Some distance away a table was turned upside down. Crockery smashed and cutlery went ringing and tinkling across the floor.
“What the blazes is going on!” A door was thrown open and Yggur stood there swaying. “You!”
“Displeased to see you too,” said Shand.
Both knees had been torn out of his trousers and his knees were bleeding. He rubbed them furiously, then went looking for Ussarine. She was lying under the ruins of the table, which had lost three of its legs in the impact. A long bruise ran from one side of her forehead to the other.
“Shand?” said another man. “Is Ussarine…?”
“Here,” said Shand, heaving the top of the table aside and helping her up.
Ussarine probed the bruise with her fingertips, winced, then stood up, beaming. “Hingis!”
The ugly little man was staring at her, his eyes shining. She ran four steps and threw her arms wide. “It’s so good to see you.”
Shand scratched the back of his neck. They made an odd couple. Though, he supposed, not much odder than he and Yalkara had been. Esea appeared in the doorway, frowning at the commotion, and when she saw Ussarine with her arms around Hingis, Esea’s breath hissed between her teeth and she stalked out.
“About time you got back from holidays,” said Yggur to Shand.
Yggur looked stronger now, almost like his old commanding self. Shand felt a surge of hope; he could be a powerful ally, and he had gifts that no one understood.
“I might say the same to you,” said Shand.
He went into the adjoining room, where Nadiril sat in a chair by a fire, toying with the enchanted leather ear and talking to Tallia. They shook hands. The others trooped in. Hingis was sweating, and Esea very pale.
“I gather things aren’t going so well here,” said Shand. “Wherever here is.”
“Vilikshathûr,” said Tallia. “I wonder how you got here if you didn’t know where you were heading.”
“I was originally aiming for Alcifer.”
“Why there?” said Nadiril.
Shand summarised what had happened in Carcharon. “How goes the war?”
“Bad,” said Tallia. “Snoat’s armies are rampaging down the length of Iagador and there’s nothing we can do to stop him.” She summed up the situation. “Since he lost Pem-Y-Rum, he’s been making war like a man obsessed.”
“It undermined his very identity,” said Shand, “and to a narcissist that’s unbearable. He’s got to prove himself all over again. Any news from Malien?”
“No.”
“Are you riding back to Carcharon?” said Hingis.
“Only if there’s no other way. It’s more than a week’s journey, through lands occupied by Snoat’s army. We don’t have the time, and if we’re caught our last hope will be lost.”
“What are you going to do about the summon stone, then?”
“I’ll try to reopen the gate,” Shand said wearily. “That won’t be easy or quick, and given that the stone just expelled us, I can’t imagine it’ll let us return.”
“Someone has to kill Snoat,” said Tallia.
“Where is he now?”
“On the flagship of his fleet, offshore, blockading Vilikshathûr.”
“It’s not easy to protect a ship, even in the middle of a fleet. On a dark night, one man can sink a ship if he knows where to place the charge.”
“How would we do it?”
“Not with mancery. We’ll send in a dozen saboteurs in black canoes, carrying incendiaries and barrels of blasting powder.”
Tallia nodded. “It could work. Nadiril?”
“Do it!”
She rose. “I’ll get it organised for tonight.” She went out.
Shand sat with Nadiril and Yggur, telling them the grim details of the past week and a half. It felt good to be working as a team again.
Before he finished, Tallia ran in. “Snoat’s flagship separated from the fleet an hour ago and is racing south.”
“Why south?” said Yggur.
“He must have traced Llian’s gate to Alcifer,” said Shand. “Snoat wants Llian’s manuscript back desperately.”
“Can we get there first?” said Nadiril.
“We might, if we had a fast enough ship.”
“I’ve made an arrangement with a fat lout of a fellow called Pender,” said Hingis. “Can’t say I like him much, but he does have a lot of ships.”
“I used to know him well,” said Shand. “Tell him we want the fastest one he’s got and we need to leave in –” he consulted the chalcedony clock on the mantelpiece “ – three hours. Have your saboteurs ready to embark, Tallia. If we can catch him, we’ll send him down with his ship and put an end to the bloody business.”
Hingis was sweating as he lurched into the little room at the back where Esea was waiting. Since her return from Chanthed three days ago they had maintained an uneasy peace based on never mentioning the betrayal that had torn them apart, but he had known it could not last if Ussarine came back.
Esea looked haggard. Their schism was eating her up as much as it had him.
She forced a smile. “Hingis—”
Breath rasped into his good lung. “Please don’t force me to choose.”
“I wasn’t going to. I want you to be happy, and if that means you have to be with her…”
“It does.”
“Then as long as we’re reconciled, I’m happy too.”
She did not look it, but he said, “Thank you.”
“I’ll even give you my blessing… if you can do one little thing for me.”
“Anything!” he said hoarsely.
“Would you change my bandages? It’s hard to do by myself.”
He froze. It was a test, one he must not fail. “Yes,” he croaked. “Of course.”
He could do this. He went down on his knees, took off her left shoe and sock, then slowly unwrapped the bandages. He told himself that the loss of two toes was insignificant; Esea was still a hundred times more perfect than he.
The ragged wounds where her toes had been were almost healed now. Their loss hardly changed her at all. His twin was still beautiful, and Hingis needed her to be, to balance his own hideousness – inside and out. He looked up. There was a sheen of sweat on her lovely forehead; she was desperately hoping he could do this.
He smiled. It was all right after all. Esea let out her breath.
The drumming sounded, very soft, very low, but not low enough. Hingis looked down at her maimed foot, gave an involuntary shudder and ruined everything.
83
IT CAN’T BE FAKED
Maigraith always appeared at the worst possible time.
Karan could not deal with her now. The magiz knew where Sulien was and might attack her at any time. And the Whelm had seen Gergrig – what would they do? She could think about nothing else.
Her bloody shin throbbed, dragging her into the here and now, and she forced herself to focus. Maigraith had lost so much weight that her arms were like jointed sticks, and her face was a skull dominated by the eyes that betrayed her Charon heritage.
They were locked on Karan, unblinking. “Your hrux nearly killed me,” said Maigraith. “Perhaps you hoped it would.”
“I had to protect my daughter,” Karan whispered.
“You knew there would be a reckoning, and now it’s come. Who are you going to give up? Sulien or Llian? You can’t have both. Refuse me Sulien, and Llian dies. It’s that simple.”
Karan’s only hope was to act instantly, exhausted though she was. She caught Maigraith by the ankles and heaved. Maigraith teetered, but before Karan could topple her a cord flashed over her own head and tightened around her throat.
“Lead us to Llian,” said Thandiwe. “Now!”
Llian had been searching for hours in deepening despair. There was no sign of Karan in any of her usual haunts. He was pacing around the gr
eat chamber containing the granite statue of Rulke, when Maigraith’s ring on his finger clicked against the embossed silver wall. A section slowly dissolved to reveal a cubic vault of lustrous black obsidian, twenty feet on a side. It was empty but for a table, two chairs and a plain rectangular chest made of the immensely hard black metal, titane.
The chest had no lock. He opened it, looked down at the neat stack of journals, codexes, scrolls and loose parchments, and choked. This was it! After ten years of dreaming about them, and days of searching, he had found Rulke’s records right where he should have expected them to be – at the point where the statue’s gaze was focused.
He took the documents out one by one, handling them lovingly, and sorted them into those he could read, one small pile, and those written in the secret Charon script – three larger piles. The unreadable documents, written in indigo ink on pages made of beaten silver, would be Rulke’s true Histories of the Charon from the time they were exiled into the void.
Llian doubled over, scarcely able to breathe. Rulke had devoted his long life to protecting his people from the Merdrun, and he would have had a plan in case they found a way into Santhenar. But to find that plan, Llian needed the key Thandiwe had stolen.
He was flipping through the silver pages of a slim codex, aching to read it, when he heard a gentle thump behind him. His heart soared. “Karan?”
“Perfect timing,” said Thandiwe. “Put the book down and raise your hands, or she dies.”
The codex hit the floor. Karan was on her knees and Thandiwe held a cord tightly around her throat. His heart stopped. A gaunt, feral Maigraith stood to one side, and from the look on her face she wished him dead. Join the queue!
With aching slowness Llian picked up the book and laid it on the table. Dust wafted up in little clouds, one from either side. The leather cover had a small patch of mould on its centre shaped like a bee in flight. He raised his hands.
“Let her go,” he whispered. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“She dosed me with hrux,” grated Maigraith.
