He stepped up to Corres, and his arm came up and drove the spike into the hollow at the base of Corres's throat. Corres' eyes bulged, and his lips writhed back. No sound came, only blood.
Armiger took another step, his arm rigid before him, and the force carried him and Corres outside of the circle of lantern light.
Choltas stopped screaming, and ran. The wrong way. And that was too much for Enneas, who also ran. He banged into the stone jamb of the door to the hall, and swung himself around it to stagger in total darkness toward their entrance shaft. Anything could be waiting ahead, but he knew what was waiting behind. He heard Choltas start screaming again.
He tripped over a loose stone and fell, banging his chin and twisting his arm. Pain lanced up his neck. He stood anyway and lurched into the opening he knew was there. He expected fingers to encircle his ankle as he grabbed for each hand-hold in the rough stone shaft.
Enneas pulled himself out of a pit into starlight on the top of the hill. He ignored his sacks and supplies, and ran until he tripped and rolled over and over down the slope. He came to rest at the bottom, not badly hurt but bruised and shaken. When he stood up, he continued on at a limp, eyes fixed on the horizon where dawn was hours away.
And though the fear didn't go away, as the hours passed, Enneas began to feel again all the anger of injustice and betrayal he thought he'd overcome years ago. When he wept it was from frustration, at the end of the only chapter of his life that had been in any way successful.
§
Armiger's eyes had dried out, but he could see. His ears had withered in his skull, but he could hear the sough of wind across the top of the shaft as he neared it. Stars glowed above the lip of the pit.
He had already forgotten the humans. A deep passion they would not have understood moved him now. He climbed swiftly, as if chasing something, but what he pursued was his own meaning.
§
Choltas had heard the footsteps of the devil fade away. He knew it would be back unless he stayed very still. This was the thing's home; it would never venture out into the world above. So though he couldn't hear it, he knew it was there. If he stayed completely still, wrapped around himself in this corner in total darkness, it might not find him. But if he so much as sneezed, he knew it would be on him instantly.
Even now it might be creeping up on him silently. He wrapped more tightly around himself, and tried not to breathe.
Time passed, but Choltas did not move. When thirst began to torture him, he stayed still. He wet himself and shat in his pants quietly. And eventually, delirium overcame him; he heard his mother's voice, saw drifting pictures of his home.
He kept his arms around his knees, and his face buried there against his own flesh. And he breathed weaker and weaker, aware at last only of the murmur of his own heart and the torment of cold and thirst, overridden by a fear he could no longer identify.
Stay still, stay still.
Its hand hangs above me.
6
Jordan became aware that the jolting of the cart they rode had stopped. He blinked and looked up. He didn't remember much of the past day; all he could see was the startled face of that man in the tomb, as an arm that seemed to be Jordan's own pushed the spike through his throat. And then the ticking footsteps to the stone shaft, and up and out into bright starlight.
Armiger was walking in the world again. Jordan could hear the creaking of his dry joints, as if the dreams had begun to infect his waking life. If he closed his eyes, he could even see the afterimage of some other place, a field or clearing. Armiger's steps fell like the beat of a metronome, far past human confidence. Steady and fast, day and night, he was going somewhere.
He hadn't told Lady May much. She knew Armiger was out and moving, and that he still seemed to be dead. In the dream Jordan had looked down at himself, and awkwardly buttoned up his jacket to cover the hole in his chest. The skin of his fingers was taut and black, but in the last day it had turned an awful yellow, and become more flexible.
A horrible thought had come to Jordan this morning. Surely Armiger could see what Jordan saw; wouldn't he know that Calandria May was after him by now? He had asked Calandria, and she had said, "The changes I made to your implants are supposed to prevent him from receiving you." All Jordan heard of that was the phrase supposed to.
He was sure Armiger was coming after them. If Armiger had power over life and death, how was Lady May going to destroy him? She seemed gay and unhurried. The only reassurance he had was the memory of her apparent invulnerability during the fight with the mechal butler at the manse.
He was numb by now from fear and horror, so he said nothing. He'd only spoken once or twice, when Lady May pressed him for details of the countryside Armiger moved through, and when he had asked her, "Are you like him?"
"No," she had answered vehemently. "I am flesh and blood like you." She took his palm and put it her cheek. "I've sold nothing of my self to gain the powers I have. Remember that." She smiled in her quietly confident way.
Now she was smiling in that same way, looking at the stone posts of a large gate they had come to. The road ran on, but the track through those gates was well-rutted, as if from much recent traffic. This belied the impression given by the dead ivy thronging over the posts and the verdigrised metal gates, which seemed frozen open.
"Where are we?" he asked weakly.
Her arm encircled to hug him quickly. "Refuge," she said. "We'll meet Axel here. Then we'll decide how to eliminate Armiger."
She flicked the reins, and the horse obediently turned through the gates. They'd bought this cart and the horse in a village yesterday. Lady May had paid the startled ostler well for it, foregoing the usual haggle over price and quality. Although she treated the horse well, Jordan had the feeling she took her ownership of it lightly, and would cheerfully abandon it and the cart the moment she ceased to need it. Jordan would have to work two years at Castor's to afford such a beast.
They passed down an avenue of trees. Gaps to the right showed well-tended grounds, much more extensive than Castor's. At first no one was visible, then Jordan spotted three children in bright clothing running across a lawn. The path wound down, and Jordan revived a little at the sight of warm shafts of sunlight piercing the green canopies, one lighting a stone trough by the road carved with well-worn images of the Diadem Swans.
Two giant oaks signalled the end of the grove. In the bright sunlight beyond, Jordan could see green grass and the beige stone of some vast mansion in the far background. But nearer, a few yards past the oaks, a table had been planted on the lawn. A clean white cloth draped it, held down by bowls of fruit and meat, plates and cups and tankards. Three people dressed in white livery stood by, gathering up platefuls of food. Now he could hear a continuous murmur of voices, laughter and the thud of hooves, coming through the remaining screen of trees.
As they passed beneath the twin oaks, two attendants appeared from behind them. They bowed, and one took the bridle of the horse.
Jordan barely noticed them. He was staring at the beautiful lawns, where a party was taking place.
Tall beribboned poles had been planted in the ground at wide intervals. At least six tables were scattered around the field, each piled high with food. Servants ran back and forth between knots of people—and the people, when Jordan turned his gaze on them, were amazing. They were brown-skinned, white-skinned, dressed in bright colors, or sombre black, or barely dressed at all. Sunlight flashed off jewels at the throat of a laughing woman. Nearby, a man with iron-grey hair patted his hands on his velvet trousers, and tried again to mount a pair of stilts held for him by two long-faced jugglers. A small knot of red-skinned men were having an archery competition, their target a melon on top of one of the poles.
Calandria May looked puzzled. "What's the occasion?" she asked the servant leading their horse.
He looked back, arched his eyebrow, and said, "Aren't you family?"
She hesitated almost imperceptibly. "Guests," she said. "Of In
spector Boros. Our arrangement was made some weeks ago, but we were delayed, I fear. It seems we've arrived at an unfortunate moment."
The servant smiled arrogantly. "We have plenty of room." He gestured to the manor.
This place put Castor's to shame. Massive fluted pillars framed the entranceway, iron lamps perched upon their capitals. They did not hold up a roof, but were open to the sky. The building's facade was of tan stone, filled with windows, each framed by pillars. Statues posed on the rooftop corners, and more stood in niches in the walls. Three storeys were indicated by the windows, and by the width of the place it must sprawl around a central courtyard large enough to hold Castor's mansion.
Behind the profusion of chimneys on the roof, a bleak grey fortress tower rose incongruously. Its sides did not curve smoothly, but in juts and acute angles; it seemed to have been built of stone triangles. Black stains like tear tracks wove down its sides.
As the cart passed near a group of revellers, a tall woman in severe black and scarlet excused herself and walked over. The servant stopped them as she approached, and Lady May hopped down from the cart and curtsied to her.
"Good grief, are you a boy or a woman?" laughed the lady in a deep voice; Calandria was still dressed in buckskins. The lady made a fluttering gesture with her hand near her breast. Silver chain in her hair glinted as she cocked her head. "And which side of the family are you from?"
Lady May curtsied again. "Neither side, I fear, Madam. I am Lady Calandria May, and this is my charge, Jordan Mason." Jordan started at the sound of his own name. He stood awkwardly and bowed. "I wrote asking for the hospitality of the house some weeks ago, and received it," Lady May went on. "If we have come at the wrong time, please let us know."
"Nonsense," said the lady. "Make yourselves at home. I am lady Marice Boros. My husband is, alas..." she smiled for the first time as she looked around, "missing. You see, we are having the first family reunion in a full generation, and the clan has grown to unmanageable proportions. These are all my kin." She swept her hand to indicate the throng, then turned and frowned at the vista. "Oh dear, they are, aren't they? Well, no matter, we will accommodate you. Alex," she said to the man holding their horse, "put them in the tower." She nodded sharply to Lady May. "I trust you will join us for dinner? I'm afraid we shan't be able to give you too much attention today; I've not spoken to some of our family members yet, and will be doing that at dinner."
"We understand. Though I hope we will be able to converse at some point, your obligations are clear," Lady May said. "Oh—we were to rendezvous here with an acquaintance. Sir Axel Chan. Has he by any chance arrived?"
"Chan. Ah, of course." Lady Marice's eyes narrowed. "I think you can find him right over there."
Jordan and Lady May followed Marice's pointing finger. In a clear area of grass, two men circled each other. One wore a sky-blue silk uniform with winglike feather epaulets. The other, shorter man wore black leather. They were surrounded by a small crowd of young men, who either sipped delicate glasses of wine or negotiated bets among themselves. Abruptly the man in black stepped forward, took the wrist of his opponent and, without appearing to move, flipped him over to land with a thud audible all the way to the cart. Scattered laughter and jeers drifted over.
Lady May sighed. "I was afraid of that. I will take him off your hands, Lady Marice."
"Thank you." Marice curtsied, and walked away. Lady May started in the direction of the fight, and Jordan stepped down to follow.
The youth who'd been flipped stood up angrily. "—Slipped!" he shouted. Two of his friends shook their heads as they paid the ones with whom they'd bet.
The man in black grinned like a gargoyle. He was not tall, slighter than his black jacket and leggings tried to suggest, but broad-chested. His features were strange—flat, with a broad triangular nose and dark hooded eyes. His hair was a black tangle kept tied back in an unruly pony tail. But when he smiled, his teeth were perfect, and he smiled very broadly when he saw Calandria.
"My lady," he shouted, spreading his arms and stepping forward to embrace her.
Lady May shifted her weight slightly and shrugged. Axel Chan flew over her cocked knee and onto his face.
The crowd erupted in laughter. The young man whom Axel had humiliated smiled, and bowed to Lady May as Axel picked himself up.
Jordan's attention wavered between Axel and Calandria May. As she had before, now she changed before his eyes, her mobile face taking on a rakish smirk as she played up to the young men. "Dear sir," she said, "Our friend is not well known to you; he is to me. Hence, you can be forgiven for not being prepared for him. I, however, am surely ready for any meeting with Axel Chan." She put a hand on Axel's shoulder and shook him lightly. Axel grinned stupidly.
"Axel, you will show your worthy opponent what you did to him—later. For now, I need your ear. Get yourself cleaned up and I will meet you in your quarters."
Axel winked at the youths. "In your dreams, Axel," added Lady May, as she turned to go.
Jordan stayed where he was. After a moment, Axel noticed him, and his expression became serious. He waved away the questions from the other men, and came to stand before Jordan, hands on his hips. He smelled of wine and sweat.
"Well. Mason, isn't it?" He stuck out a grimy hand. "Axel. I met your sister."
Jordan wasn't sure he liked the idea of this rogue coming anywhere near Emmy. "How is she?"
"Fine." Axel glanced after Lady May, who was remounting the cart. "Don't tell her ladyship there, but I told Emmy what's up. I have a letter she wrote you." He grinned at the way Jordan's face lit up. "Don't do that! She'll figure it out. This is between you and me. I'll let you have it later, whenever we can escape from her clutches for a minute or two."
Jordan opened his mouth, countless questions crowding for expression. Axel gave him a friendly shove. "Be on your way, boy. She wants you. We'll talk later."
Jordan nodded, and practically ran back to the cart. He remounted it next to a scowling Calandria. "...About as inconspicuous as a tart at communion," she was muttering. "He'll be the death of us all."
They were led to the main doors of the manor, where they dismounted. Another servant preceded them into the giant rotunda of the place, and through a wide greeting hall to a glass-walled chamber which let out onto the central courtyard.
The manor wrapped almost all the way around the courtyard, which was packed with statues like a forest of stone. The neat procession of pillared windows and beige wall was broken at the far end by the strange angles of the old tower. The manor seemed to have grown out of one of its corners.
Jordan marvelled at the workmanship of the statues. They depicted men and women, mechals and desals and other fabulous creatures, and one or two were attempts at modeling the Winds themselves. He paused before one of these, which was a human form made of tortured folds of cloth carved in marble. It looked realistically windblown. The servant noticed him looking and said, "Lady Hannah Boros, six generations ago now. This was her workplace. She made all our statues," he added proudly.
One statue near the dark entrance to the tower was missing its head. The blond stone in the wound was fresh; Jordan could see a few chips half-covered by grass at its feet. "What happened to that one?" he asked.
"Hush," said Lady May. "Be discreet." The servant pretended not to have heard them.
Jordan was still puzzling over that exchange when they were shown their chamber. It was squarish and about six meters on a side, but the ceiling was a spiderweb of buttresses. One narrow window looked out over the courtyard. There was only one bed, but the servant told them another would be brought up. Other than that, the place held only a dresser and wardrobe, and a small writing desk. Sheepskins were scattered about the stone floor; it smelled of camphor and woodsmoke here.
Lady May thanked their guide. "I need clothes," she said to him on his way out. "Can you send me a tailor?"
"We have the best here, lady. Dinner is at six."
"Thank you." He lef
t, and she collapsed backwards onto the bed. "Whew."
"Why are we here?" Jordan asked. He was admiring the stonework. This place was very solid, much more so than the manor house itself. It might even be strong enough to keep Armiger out.
Lady May had stripped off her left boot and was massaging her toes. She peered at him through the window her legs made. "We will be staying here until we know exactly where Armiger is. You have to get hold of yourself now, Jordan. We need you tell us exactly where he is, and where he's going. When we locate him, we'll strike."
"Why should I help you any further?" he asked. "When I tell the Boros' what you did to me..."
"Do you want the nightmares to stop?" she asked quickly. "When Armiger is no more, they will cease," she continued. "But only Axel and I of all the people on Ventus can destroy him. You can surely escape us, Jordan, but by doing that you guarantee you will never escape Armiger.
"Well?" she asked after they had glared at one another for a long moment.
"He's coming here," Jordan said sullenly.
She dropped her foot and sat up. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, he's after me!"
"How do you know that?"
"I... I just know."
She grimaced. "I don't think so. At least, we've seen no evidence that he's aware that his connection with you is still open. As I told you, we've taken steps to disable it so he can no longer see through your eyes. But we'll determine all of that soon. This is our headquarters now, Jordan. We are also guests here, and I expect you to behave accordingly."
"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.
She patted the bed next to her. He sat on the linen; it was softer than any bed he'd known, except maybe the one in the manse. Lady May leaned over and massaged his shoulders delicately. "I'm going to go talk to Axel. When the tailor comes, I want you to ask him to dress you. Not in servants' clothing—you are no one's servant now, you are the equal of anyone in this building. So waistcoat, evening dress, the lot. Do you understand?" He nodded. "And do not wander too far, but please do not enter any of the servants' areas—when you walk, you will walk in the main halls like the owners. I think this might be hard for you, but it is necessary."
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