by Morris, Dave
‘I don’t think it’s worth anything without the carpet. Incidentally, Caelestis, I still have a bone to pick with you about that business in Dourhaven...’
‘Oh, I didn’t steal much. It was more of a loan, actually. And the landlord gave us free board and lodging when I told him you were a duke.’
‘That still wasn’t honest! Fraud is no better than thievery.’
Caelestis waved this objection aside. ‘Oh, he’ll make a tidy sum from all the customers who’ll flock to his inn after what happened today. Now, can I have that amulet?’
Altor sighed and tossed it at him. ‘Go on, then, if you can think of a use for it. I’ll have the pommel stone back, thank you.’
Caelestis winced as he handed it over. ‘You don’t think I’d ever sell that?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’ Altor shivered. ‘Let’s get inside before we freeze to death.’
Entering the tower, they reached a circular gallery overlooking a stairwell. A stairwell—but with no stairs linking the floors. Looking down, they could see two more galleries and then the ground-floor hall.
‘Perhaps he used the carpet to move from floor to floor,’ said Altor.
Caelestis scratched his head. ‘Not very convenient. And how would the toad-things get about? No, there must be another way...’
A short search of the gallery led to a chance discovery. There were two thin white crystal rods running up the entire inner wall of the tower from the hall to the topmost gallery. Caelestis tentatively touched one of these and vanished, only to appear on the next gallery down.
‘Teleportation!’ he called up. ‘Don’t you just hate these sorcerers?’
By experimenting they discovered that one rod conveyed them down, the other allowed them to ascend. Since there didn’t seem to be any gold fixtures around the tower, Caelestis was all for leaving as soon as possible. Altor was more practical. ‘We’ll need supplies and warmer clothes to survive out on the pack ice,’ he said.
They found what they needed in Augustus’s private apartments. Along with fine fur cloaks and thick blankets there were cases packed with biscuits, wine and beef jerky. Altor made up haversacks for the journey while Caelestis rummaged inquisitively among the wizard’s effects.
‘Here is a jar of blue salve,’ he said. ‘And a silver plate marked with a pentagram.’
‘Better leave them,’ said Altor. ‘Who knows if they might be booby-trapped?’
Caelestis reluctantly tossed the plate back into the cupboard where he’d found it. Anything with a pentagram almost certainly could be trouble. At first he was going to do the same with the salve, but he reconsidered and slipped it into his pocket instead. ‘Are we ready?’
Altor finished fastening the straps to the bundles he’d made. ‘Yes. Take your pick from Augustus’s wardrobe and we’ll be on our way.’
Caelestis selected a long robe of silk-lined mink. Altor opted instead for a plain fur-lined coat with deep pockets, into one of which he put the pommel stone. They also took a pair of thick mittens each. That done, they descended to the ground floor and with great effort pulled open the massive iron doors.
‘Oh,’ said Caelestis.
In front of the door stood a huge bronze-scaled demon with its back turned to them. Apparently it had been there a very long time because snow was piled up around its tail and legs. In front of it, however, the snow was melted down to the rock in a broad icy channel.
They soon saw why. Every time the demon breathed out, it gave vent to a jet of hot steam that melted the snow.
‘What are we going to do about this fellow?’ wondered Altor. The creature was all of three metres tall. Even armed with a magic sword, he doubted if he could put a dent in those hard metallic scales.
‘We’ll have to brazen it out, so to speak,’ said Caelestis. Nerving himself, he squeezed past the mound of snow around the demon’s rump and strode out in front of it. Altor readied his sword, aware that if the demon made a lunge for Caelestis he would have only split-seconds in which to act.
But the demon continued to stare past Caelestis as if he didn’t exist.
Caelestis struck a fighting posture, relaxed, pulled a face, experimented with various insults. Still the demon ignored him, its tiny deep-set eyes fixed on the middle distance.
Altor came around to join his friend, studying the demon in awe. ‘You know what I think? Augustus told it to keep people out, but he never told it to keep them in.’
‘Just as well, really.’ Caelestis looked down from the pinnacle where they stood. All directions were the same—a blazing white haze of snow-covered pack ice. ‘Which way now? Shall we spin a bottle? Toss a coin?’
‘We’ve got to get down onto the ice first. It looks like a perilous climb. Particularly wearing gloves.’
Caelestis removed his glove and held up one finger—the finger on which he wore the golden ring. ‘Ah, I’d already thought of that. Faltyn! Come forth to serve me!’
The Faltyn took shape in the icy air. ‘Lost on the frozen Mistral Sea...’ it mused. ‘A slow death seems certain, if not for my aid. Bearing in mind the gravity of your predicament, what gift will you offer for my services?’
‘Oh for one of those magic lamps!’ sighed Caelestis. ‘Then I could have three wishes without having to pay a penny.’
Altor laughed in spite of himself. ‘It’s poetic justice. Your genie is as avaricious as its master.’
The Faltyn pretended to shiver, even though being ethereal it was no doubt immune to the cold. ‘Converse amongst yourselves if you wish,’ it said peevishly. ‘If you have no use for me, I will return to my own world...’
‘Not so fast.’ Caelestis took out the white amulet Augustus had used to control the carpet. ‘Here is a magic stone. Transport us safely to the island of Wyrd.’
‘You ask too much. I can take you to the base of this pinnacle.’
‘You offer too little.’ Caelestis held the amulet enticingly in front of the Faltyn’s nose. ‘Sniff the sorcery. Don’t you want this bauble? If not, just say the word and you can go back to the ring.’
‘No,’ said the Faltyn, its fingers hovering over the amulet. ‘But I say again: to take you to Wyrd is too far for my power. Down to the base of the pinnacle, that’s all.’
‘That, then—and you owe me a small service to be granted later?’
The Faltyn reluctantly agreed. As it took the amulet there was a shimmering and the whiff of unearthly perfume. They now stood at the bottom of the pinnacle.
‘Which way to Wyrd?’ asked Altor.
The Faltyn ignored him. ‘Answer!’ commanded Caelestis.
‘Is this information to be the “small service” you mentioned?’
‘Merely to give us directions? Of course not. Though the small service will be much more arduous if you refuse to help us now.’
The Faltyn considered this, then gestured vaguely. ‘That way lies Wyrd. As you walk, keep the north star just to the right of dead ahead. Each night when the comet called Red Death rises, you will be able to check your bearings. It should appear in the east, just at the edge of your vision as you face Wyrd.’
Holding the white amulet to its lips, it smiled and shimmered back into the nothingness from which it had come.
‘That creature gives me the creeps,’ said Altor.
‘Me too, but this time I think we can trust it. In fact we’ll have to.’
They started out in the direction the Faltyn had said. A feverish grey-white light shone off the ice, dazzling them. Flurries of needle-fine snow came on the bitter gnawing wind that blew down from the Arctic. They folded up the collars of their cloaks and trudged in silence.
They had expected the frozen surface of the sea to be flat and smooth, but soon learned otherwise. It was an undulating expanse of pitted ice as hard and grey as iron. A shroud of sparkling snow lay in patches over this petrified seascape and sometimes the ice jutted up in baroquely-shaped tors and jagged bergs carved by the wind.
The d
aylight leeched out of the sky at last. They found the best shelter they could in the lee of an ice crag. Here the snow had collected in a large mound which Altor scooped out to make an igloo while Caelestis hugged himself and stamped his feet to stave off the cold.
The igloo finished, they crawled inside. Caelestis pulled open his haversack and they both had a meagre supper of biscuit and leathery dried meat. Night had fallen by now and the interior of the igloo was pitch dark. The cold had become numbing. Wadding the blankets around them, they settled down to sleep.
‘Comfortable?’ said Caelestis in a sarcastic tone.
‘Quite snug, thank you,’ said Altor, knowing that he just wanted an excuse to grumble.
‘Next time you get a hankering to save the world, do me a favour. Leave me out of it.’
Altor did not reply. After a while, Caelestis gave a restful grunt and closed his eyes...
A millennial city stood in the midst of bleak tundra. Night enclosed it. Its walls began to shiver and crack as, in the clouds above it, phantom armies clashed in bloody conflict.
The battle reached its height. Bolts of red fire spat down from the heavens to strike the city’s ramparts.
The city shuddered and then burst apart like an over-burdened heart. Torrents of blood streamed across the land and poured into the sea, which became a boiling cauldron of scarlet. Hot blood coursed below the pack ice where two tiny figures lay in sleep. Cracks formed and red steam rose, melting the ice.
The red night was filled with eerie music from beyond the world. Five comets rose. Hissing blood washed over the two flailing figures and they sobbed with pain and terror as five blazing lords looked down from on high and laughed at their anguish...
‘By the Saviour’s holy toenails!’ Caelestis sat bolt upright, bathed in sweat.
Beside him, Altor grunted drowsily. ‘No profanities, if you don’t mind.’
Caelestis fumbled for his haversack and extracted the bottle of wine. After a swig or two he felt a little better. ‘God, Altor, I just had the most hideous nightmare!’
Altor yawned. ‘Tell me about it in the morning—if you must.’
Caelestis was about to make an angry retort, but then he heard something. Cocking his ear, he listened until it came again. A strange sweet singing, like the music in his dream.
‘Altor,’ he said.
‘I’m asleep.’
‘No, listen.’ He prodded Altor in the back. ‘Listen! There’s someone out on the ice—and they’re singing!’
Nine:
The Shores of Wyrd
Three figures the colour of ruby danced upon the snow.
Altor pulled his head back inside the igloo, out of the biting cold. ‘Perhaps it’s a mirage,’ he said.
‘Can mirages sing?’
Altor pondered this. ‘The best thing might be to ignore them.’
‘Certainly, if only we could be sure that they would ignore us.’
Altor sighed, but Caelestis was obviously right. Pulling on his fur-lined coat, he wriggled out through the igloo’s narrow entrance. A moment later Caelestis appeared beside him, a slender shadow against the dim red light gleaming off the ice.
Far away, the three figures continued to flit across the sparkling landscape. Altor and Caelestis set out towards them. As they trudged nearer, they saw that only two of the three were dancing: a girl and a youth. They wore no warm clothing or furs as they glided barefoot on the ice.
‘For a fact,’ whispered Caelestis, ‘I have never seen a more comely pair. They must be mirages.’
Altor’s attention was all on the third figure. He was less distinct, appearing to be a tall imperious man wrapped in a scarlet cloak. He returned Altor’s scrutiny with a baleful stare, eyes burning in a face of blood-coloured darkness.
Altor’s sword made a sharp vibrato note as it left its scabbard. Seeing the clean silver light, the red lord scowled and he seemed to grow bigger, becoming first a glowing haze and then a void starred with fading embers. He faded against the night sky and was gone altogether.
The other two still remained, singing wistfully as they danced close to Altor and Caelestis, reaching out towards them with entreating gestures. Supple red flesh gleamed in the icy air. Their eyes were blank with longing, their song wordless but somehow evocative of broken dreams and faded grandeur.
Altor took a step forward, half-raising his sword, instinctively wary. But he could not bring himself to attack an unarmed foe—if, indeed, the red dancers were his foes.
The two danced away and receded across the snow-drifts.
‘Where are they going?’ said Caelestis breathlessly.
Altor was struck dumb with wonder. He could only shake his head. Then he was off, chasing the flitting red figures, skidding hastily across humps of ice and snow in his urge not to lose sight of them.
‘Wait!’ shouted Caelestis, but Altor didn’t seem to hear him. He followed, having to quicken his pace until he was almost running. But, although the two beautiful dancers moved with unhurried grace, they stayed always tantalizingly just out of reach.
At last they stopped, the dance slowing to a final languid pose in which they stood frozen like statues. The song ended. As the last notes died away there was only the forlorn sigh of the wind.
Altor stumbled to a halt with Caelestis close behind him. The cold air felt raw in their throats. Warily they approached the now-motionless dancers.
The two straightened and turned.
They raised their crimson faces to display smiles of cruel pleasure.
A blink, and they were gone. Altor and Caelestis stood alone in the middle of the windswept wilderness. The snow crystals skittered like dust over the hard ice, showing no sign of footprints.
‘Magical creatures... if they were real at all,’ said Caelestis. Now they had stopped running, the cold seemed to intensify. He had to grit his teeth to keep them from chattering.
Altor shook his head as if waking up from a deep sleep.
‘Why did you chase them?’
Altor looked at him. ‘There was something in their song—‘ He broke off, scowled. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I do. It was Red Death.’ Caelestis gazed up at the comet carving a crimson trail across the velvet sky. ‘Remember the puppet show—each of the Magi has his agent. First Blue Moon’s werewolves killed the harpist. Green Flame sent the skeleton in the meteor, then Yellow Eye awoke the World Serpent.’
‘And Augustus told us he served White Light.’
‘Yes, that was a more subtle approach, apparently coming to our rescue like that. Now it’s Red Death’s turn, and he’s lured us into the middle of nowhere with his... whatever they were. Mirages, snow vampires...’
‘And we still have the Warlock King to worry about.’
Caelestis tugged his coat tighter. ‘The main thing we have to worry about is not freezing to death. Have you given any thought to how we’ll find our way back to the igloo now?’
Altor raised the sword that was still gripped tightly in his hand. ‘Once before its magic produced light.’
He held the blade out. Slowly a silvery radiance grew inside the metal, casting a moonshine track across the terrain. The thin snow was like dust, but in places the crystals had frozen onto the pack ice. Here and there they could make out faint footprints—their own, not the phantom dancers’.
With painstaking care they retraced their steps. The cold was so intense that it seemed to rise in throbbing waves from the frozen sea, through thick padded boot-leather that gave no more protection than threadbare cloth, up their limbs which now felt heavy and numb.
Caelestis sighed and his breath made a soft crackling in the air as it froze. ‘It’s no use. We’ll never find it.’
Was it his imagination, or was there a dark mist closing overhead? He swayed, mortally weary. To lie down just for a minute would be blessed relief. He felt weighted down by his thick coat and started to shrug it off his shoulders.
Altor caught the coat and pulled it back around
him. ‘It’s there. Just a little way further.’
Ahead against the sprinkled stars was the hunched shadow of the ice crag where they’d made their igloo. They staggered towards it.
There was a peal of mocking laughter as sweet as the music of heaven. Twin flashes of ruby-red light shot past through the night. They struck the igloo and two pillars of crimson mist rose up. For an instant the image of the two dancers appeared again, shimmering in the darkness, and then the igloo erupted in a blast of red fire.
Altor and Caelestis ducked as chunks of ice went hurtling in all directions. Spurts of fire fell hissing, drilling tiny pits in the pack ice. The laughter was sucked away into the distance and then was gone.
They looked up. The igloo was broken open like a giant egg, their supplies and spare blankets inside now ablaze in a sputtering fire that splashed liquid shadows across the red-lit ice.
There was nothing they could do but stumble over to the fire and warm themselves as best they could. If the blaze lasted till sunrise then they could hope to stay alive a little longer in the faint warmth of the day. There was no need for either of them to say it: they would have to reach Wyrd before night fell again, or they were surely doomed.
In the western sky, Red Death dipped low, sent a brief thread of light along the ice, and was gone.
Dawn revealed a limpid green-blue sky like a dome of ancient copper. The north star hung low on the horizon, a glistening bauble obscured by haze.
Caelestis peered into the broken shell of the igloo. The fire had died down so that now only a few feeble flames licked around the remains of their belongings. There were deep holes filled with water where the heat had melted a metre or more into the pack ice.
‘No sign of the money pouch,’ he said glumly. ‘I think we’re doomed never to keep anything but the clothes on our backs until we finish this damned quest.’
‘I’d rather have salvaged one scrap of food than all the coins from here to Tamor,’ said Altor. ‘That would be worth more than gold to us right now.’
