“Well,” I snickered. “Why would you fuck that up?”
“I won’t,” he snarled. “Listen. I’ll not work against Shannon. If you decide to stay faithful to Hel, I shall bow my head. I cannot and will not risk my life. I’ll help you, and risk seeing Hel stamp her rotten foot on all the Nine, and perhaps I’ll survive when she finally lets the gods back in to gawk at the smoking ruins. But if there is a chance to not let it go that far, I hope you will take it. You might, because you will be very upset with all of your friends, even if you win. Help me, when the time comes, and you will get all you ever wanted.”
“Where will I get all I want?” I asked, smiling. “Valholl?”
“Perhaps Valholl, if you fight well,” he said seriously. “It’s an honor to be taken to Valholl. I doubt I’ll ever see the place.” He slapped his knee and got up. “That’s all then.” He straightened his back with a groan. “Age, sorry. Now you have it. There are three chances. One, most likely one is that you die trying to capture the Scepter.”
“It’s held by Stheno,” I growled. “Of course we’ll die. We cannot—”
“Second,” he said, “the incredible and unlikely chance, you steal the Scepter. You escape and deliver it to the Dragon and get the Horn and I’ll be rich and powerful. Even more than I am now. Hel will reign supreme.”
“Go on,” I growled.
“Then the third one. You will see the light and take my offer. We help Shannon, but succeed in grasping the Scepter for ourselves. Taking this choice will ultimately help Shannon. She might not think so, but it is so. She is a cursed thing and the gods can help her, even more than Hel.” He smiled widely. “Oh, I’ll be honest. The third option will save the Nine Worlds, and I’ll be one of the mightiest creatures in the Nine.”
“Save the Nine Worlds?” I asked, confused. “How would this—”
He shook his head and looked at Szir, and ripped out a dagger. He grasped the chains, yanked hard, and stabbed down. I heard a hiss and legs thrumming the boards above me. Then blood dripped down through the floor and I scampered to the end of the cabin to avoid it. Itax kneeled before the cage again, looking sorry. “He heard too much. Too bad. He was expensive. But there we are. These are the three choices, Ulrich. I’ll survive all of them. And I meant when I said I can possibly offer relief to the worlds. The Nine Worlds might not suffer, indeed, might be restored, if you pick mine.” He hesitated and pulled at his ring and held it up to me. “This is a show of my goodwill. It will help you survive. Remember, you have to reinsert it on your finger every time your mirage has been exposed.” He tossed it to me and left.
I held on to the magical ring. I felt like a scalp on waves, indeed.
Third choice? I’d be very upset with my friends? Somehow, I had no doubt he was right. But I didn’t trust him either. The blood was dripping into my cage and I cursed where my choices had led me.
There was also a fourth choice. And it was about to present itself.
CHAPTER 13
A red dressed svartalf brought us gray bread. It was thrown inside, and a young svartalf gave us water in cups. It was icy and invigorating. I let it run down my throat, savoring the cool relief. I closed my eyes, trying to calm my nerves. From skulking into a hostile world with a hopeless quest, I had gone to being a puppet to those friends and now their allies. I was basically expected to fight when the time was right, and they’d probably perform some supreme act of thievery while I distracted the enemy.
And Itax?
Itax wanted the Scepter. He yearned for it, and he would try to get it, and I had no goddamn idea how that would even be possible in the first place. Stheno was a First Born. She was as near a goddess as there was in Svartalfheim, and we had no hope whatsoever. I rubbed my face and cursed. The Iron Trial. They didn’t hope it would destroy her?
Could it?
I shook my head. No.
The Masked One had not been able to defeat her. Especially if she had the Scepter.
Patience? I snorted.
I yanked at the bars, but they didn’t move. The chain got in the way, and I pulled it aside, cursing it bitterly. I wanted to escape. I wouldn’t get far anyway, but I wanted to be unchained and uncaged. Damn it. I’ll try, I decided. I put my back to the wall and pushed with my feet at the bars, and a bar actually moved. I blinked and tested it. It shuddered, indeed. Just a bit, but it moved. Perhaps I could escape. I could burst out of the cage, run to the deck and jump into a river carved into a tunnel and swim until I drowned or something ate me.
I hesitated and stopped pushing. At least get the bar loose, I coaxed myself, and pushed again.
The bar moved more.
The ship lurched, and for a moment I was sure I had sunk us in some bizarre way.
We were, in fact, going faster. You could feel it. The bow of the boat fell, making everyone groan. The speed picked up, water slapped across the deck and dripped from above. I heard the call for oars, the rattle of gear, and many guttural commands. The boat made a tight turn, and most of the prisoners rolled in their holds. I struck my face to the bars and cursed profusely.
“Straighten, now!” Itax roared on top. “Row, you pox-ridden toads, row, you filthy weaklings, row, you ass-kissing snake lovers!”
The ship groaned, striking the walls, then the bottom, and we fell a bit, creatures screamed, some in pain, and something else happened.
The ship went under.
You could feel it, the hull of the Bone Queen was shuddering and our ears were popping.
Then the ship broke. Like a twig.
It quite literally snapped in two.
I heard brief screams, guttural, unearthly laughter, the clank of chains, and then nothing but the gurgle of water as it invaded and left me submerged.
The water was freezing. It stole my breath. I grabbed the bars, and twisted. Then I noticed my chain was taut. It was pulling me at the bars. Then, with terrible power, I was yanked out of the cell through the bars. I howled with pain, and nearly drowned as I did. I shut my mouth, and continued screaming inside my head. The chain kept pulling me along. I tried to grab a piece of wood, but missed it as I twirled with the currents. I saw utter chaos around me, svartalfs, orcs, and thousands of pieces of wreckage and oars tumbling about in a whirling tornado of bubbles.
The chain still pulled me down.
It was attached to something heavy, and I yanked at it in panic.
But it wasn’t attached to the debris or a rock at the bottom.
It was attached to a man-shaped figure. It turned in the water, and I saw it.
It was a powerfully built, black-dressed creature. It could have been a man, svartalf, orc or an elf, because I couldn’t be sure. There was a pair of gleaming eyes, and darkness around the eyes, with a vaporous mask swirling around its face.
I had seen him before in the tower of Euryale.
The Masked One.
I struggled, but it yanked me so hard I went stiff with pain. It swam to me, tore the chain off my wrist, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, and pulled me through the water. It hauled me to the surface, threw me out of the river like a javelin and I rolled on stony ground. I heard the chains clinking on stone. I stopped rolling, took gasping, desperate breaths and saw lights. I felt dizzy through lack of breath, and also for the grand sights before me.
The lights were the Eight Cities.
They were far, some lights were like thick pillars, others like the normal clustered lights of any city, and one city emitted a thick, white beam of light that shot to the far heights. It was a truly massive city.
Scardark.
I was sure of it.
I saw mountainous towers, gigantic walls and lights twinkling all around it, like it had been invaded by fireflies.
Then I remembered my close escape, or rescue, or whatever it was and scuttled around in panic. Nothing. No sign of the beast. All I could see were tall crags, yellow and gray stone, shadows, the churning, strangely luminescent river, the chains. Nothing more. The last t
ime I had seen the dragon, it had invaded my mind with terrors, leaving me listless with fear as it dealt with Shannon.
Now? Nothing. Was it playing a game?
The pieces of the ship twirled away in the currents of the river, and I saw no survivors. I climbed on a tall stone, and looked over the huge cave, resolutely showing the dragon I would not play a game with it. It would have to come to me. What it wanted, why it had attacked the ship, and yanked me out? I didn’t know. I’d wait and see. I sounded brave to myself, but I felt the need to shit my pants. The beast was way beyond my powers.
I stared across the land. The stabbing light of Scardark seemed to be the beacon of the Vastness. The light was white, tall as a huge mountain, and stabbed like a finger to the great heights. All the denizens of all cities could see that, all over the Vastness no matter where they were. The river roared across the Vastness, joined by others. Looking to my left, I saw the end of the Way of Echoes. I was sure of it. There was a stone road gorging out of a wall. It was a hundred feet wide, and the exit was guarded by a doorway framed by a dark stone portico, tall as a hill. There was also the Markudin, the fabulous, graceful and obviously magically built white bridge crossed a hugely wide chasm called the Depths of the Night. The chasm was miles long and miles wide. The bridge was fortified by round towers that blocked each end. I kept admiring the Markudin. The impossibly long bridge had no supports, arches or pillars, and shone with silvery luminance. It ended near a long ridge and the road forked for Scardark and ran for other cities, not far away.
There, beyond Scardark, and on that ridge, there were distant flashes. A battle?
Beyond the flashes was a wide, dark city by the wall, which I was sure was Ban’s kingdom. Near it, the other rebelling cities shone dully. There were skirmishes ongoing in the land between the two great cities. The ridge looked like a warzone and they probably fought to control the bridge.
Before Scardark, there was a sea of light. A gigantic army was gathering its power.
I sat on the boulder and waited for the Masked One to tire of the game. Let it come, I thought, fear of the creature tearing at my bowels. I forced myself not to shake. Let it come and state its business soon.
But still it didn’t.
I tried to forget it and gauged the object of our quest.
Scardark.
The wall, the great bastion around Scardark was hundred feet tall, black as night, perhaps adorned with red paintings and symbols, millions of them decorating the huge bastion that might defy gods themselves. The great city was alight with red and white magical fires. There was one tower above the rest, red as blood, square, and it rose like the finger of might from the highest point of the city, bathed in the light that reached for even higher above. “What’s with these people and towers,” I muttered and coughed weakly, spitting out water.
If the dragon didn’t appear, I’d have to make my way there. The land ran downwards, passing the chasm to my left. There were rocky hillsides below and I was sure if I’d follow the river I’d make it to the city. And what then?
Itax was dead, surely. Thak and Kiera? I had thought them dead once already, but had they truly died now?
Also, I had no idea how dangerous it would be to travel the land. I wasn’t helpless, but alone. There was war, there might be predators? Even in the air?
The air above Scardark was full of life. Odd thin-necked birds glided above as far as I could see, and I realized I could hear some odd shrieks. Near the walls that I could see, were a great many large bat-like things. Their figures fluttered, gliding and hopping from one outcropping to another. Thousands. Millions.
I felt something touch me. I stiffened.
No, that was not right.
Something touched my mind. Something was slithering in the recesses of my skull, probing, and pushing inside.
The Masked One had tired of the game.
I looked around, trying to keep my composure, groping for a sword that was not there, and I saw a shadowy figure squatting on a rock below. Its eyes glowed, and it lifted a hand.
It disappeared, much like Shannon and Kiera did with their spells. I didn’t have to turn to know it was standing near me. I felt movement near, and I was sure it was about to touch me.
I couldn’t sit still.
I slipped the ring onto my finger and rolled away. I felt dizzy as I sprinted forward and stopped. I looked behind and saw myself, still rolling, but I was really standing ten feet away. The mirage figure had a life of its own, its movements not mine, the facial expression terrified. Oblivious to the fact it had been duped, the dragon laughed, a mirthless and dry sound that came from everywhere, and surged after the illusion. He was rushing forward like a mad thing, and he reached for my figure. It lay on the ground, shielding its face with a hand.
I should have run, of course.
I was tired of running. Of being the victim.
Instead I weaved together a spell. It was a spell of molten death, a thin and hot beam of fire, and I poured everything I had into it. The fire shot out at the dark figure, hissing as it cut through the moist air. It struck the dragon, exploding left and right and all around it. I kept weaving, braiding more and more power into it, and kept the spell going.
The dragon roared.
It was a savage sound, and out of place. His clothing was on fire. He tore away at the fiery tunic, his skin smoking.
Smoking, not burned to the bone.
I hissed and braided more power to the spell. He rolled away, while tearing at his flaming mask. His figure distorted, and I grimaced as I knew what was coming.
He disappeared.
He appeared over me, changed and stepped on me.
My flames licked the foot of a dark beast of some twenty feet, with rows of teeth on an elongated snout. He turned his orange eyes towards my face, and caught my eye.
I let my spell go, howling. He stabbed my mind with an excruciating pain that left me screaming helplessly. The beast ground me to the stone, and my chest was a molten volcano of pain. I felt my blood flowing from me.
The serpentine’s fanged mouth hovered over me. It was the size of a rowing boat, and a huge span of wings spread left and right like a storm cloud. The eyes and the pain remained, as the beast tried to get inside my head. The mental assault came from many directions. I knew Shannon had fought this fight before and lost, as had Dana. I lost sight of the dragon, and found myself looking at my cousin Lex’s honest, bearded, and handsome face. He was bleeding, dying, begging for help, blaming me for failing to help them in the Hall of Cerunnos.
I had failed.
I sobbed, despaired, loathed myself, and at that, I felt the dragon slip further in, like a brute forcing a foot inside a doorway of a feeble old grandmother. I pushed at the door, keeping it there, barely, but then I saw Shannon beyond the doorway, her eyes begging for help, her hand groping for me, and she was joined by Ron, whom I should have stopped from making a mistake the day we arrived. I felt filthy, miserable, and shamed, and let the door open. It had all probably taken less than a second. Shannon had been right. The plan would be in ruins, had I known of it.
You speak of dragon fear.
It was far more than fear. It was unreasonable horror. I writhed under it, it invaded my mind, and like a cat licking a cream bowl clean, it scourged my head, thoughts, wishes, hopes, and failures. I felt fouled, violated, and the magic of the huge beast was such I could not possibly stop it.
Then, he let go.
The claw came off, and I had no idea what it had learned. Not much, I thought. Not much at all. All of it, surely, but that’s basically nothing. I sat up, expecting to be impaled or devoured, and I grasped the ring, hoping to take it off and replace it as quickly as I could, and perhaps be able to escape. The Masked One would catch me sooner or later, probably sooner, but I had no wish to die in its claws just yet. The creature slithered around me, its wings blocking the light, and its black hide glimmered as orange eyes turned to regard me.
“What do you
want?” I finally asked as it kept its silence. “Didn’t you have your fun already? Get on with it.”
The orange eyes squinted and the beast actually looked amused. It spoke, its voice melodic and deep. “What do I want? Why, to know what they plan to do. Alas, you gave me nothing. Nothing I didn’t already know or guess. You are headed to Scardark for Shannon. And you are Ulrich. We met before. I silenced you back then, but didn’t look into your half empty head.”
I crawled back a bit so my neck would not ache as I looked up at it. “I’m not your toy now, Masked One,” I cursed. “What did you find? A recipe for a delicious mutton stew? My father made a wicked brew of ale as well.”
He snorted and looked around the vast area. “Yes, I saw that. I also saw you have been lied to time and time again, and still you lift your rear for them to hump you some more. I saw that Shannon wants my Horn, that Itax wants my Scepter, and that you are a pawn of people who care nothing for you.”
“Care?” I cursed. “Such a word hardly suits a worm of the night. You care for nothing, and least of all for my suffering.”
He shook his serpentine neck. “I do not care for your suffering. But all the creatures of the Nine care for something. I have cares. And I can sympathize with your fears. You feel cheated. I do as well. Shannon made the Dragon Pact with me. She made a Pact so I’d help you escape Euryale. Make no mistake. You only escaped because Euryale lost her hold on your Bone Fetters. Then Shannon died and denied me what was mine, and I’m not happy.” His eyes went to slits. “I wonder what Shannon is planning? I do wonder. I saw what you did to Eris. And you burned me. I have control of the fetters that should block you lot from accessing magic, and yet my control is meaningless, isn’t it? I blocked you from the might, but you burned me nonetheless. I find that troubling. You few humans have such odd powers.” He chuckled and went serious. “There is a reason they sent you. And I doubt your murder of the beautiful Eris is the only thing they expect of you. Yes, you will need to fight, and you will have to use the artifact you call Iron Trial. Though I have no idea, like you do not, what the actual plan is. How will they steal the Scepter?”
Throne of Scars Page 21
