A Lady in Crystal

by Toby Bennett

  The swirling smoke that enveloped the skies of Niskar seemed close from the tower’s window and muted flashes of illumination in the vortex told of the energies buzzing through the churning clouds. Ilsar felt her hair stand on end and her stomach contracted as she looked down at the distant paving stones, the flashes eliminated the great curve of the roof, stretching impossibly far over the outer Asylm. Few in the Asylm would ever see such a sight; these heights had always been the privilege of priests and kings. Ilsar dragged her gaze back from the hypnotic maelstrom in the sky and focused on the ruined room behind her, here and there, jagged platforms marked a safe route over the shattered floor. There was still no way to tell how trustworthy these platforms might be, Akna seemed to be content not to take the risk, instead he was tying his end of the rope to the lift’s basket. Ilsar did her part and attached the rope to one of the pillars that framed the window.

  Akna had been so intent on Isar’s crossing the room that he had not noticed the sound dying down in the chimera’s chamber. His attention was forcibly redirected to the room behind him by the sounds of human voices. As yet the smoke was too thick for whoever was in the corridor to enter the chamber and Akna could hear whoever was out there coughing on the acrid vapours, as they tried to answer the last unheard utterance. There was no telling if there were two or twenty guards outside but Akna was certain of one thing, it was time to leave. In spite of the basket’s damaged cabling, Akna risked pulling the lever to return the lift to the ceiling, the gears screamed in protest and the basket lurched, threatening to tip him out. Akna hooked the leather strap of his satchel over the rope and threw himself forward both hands locked on either side of the heavy leather strap. The rope strung between the pillar and the lift was already stretched as far as it would reach so, despite his weight, the tension caused by the rising lift was enough to keep the rope relatively straight. Akna rode the taut rope down to the lip of stone, where Ilsar was waiting, her crossbow levelled at the other side of the chamber.

  “Best cut it loose.” Ilsar said indicating the straining rope, “it won’t take them long to work out that someone has been here, but with all the mess in the other room they might blame the chimera for the shattered floor.”

  “If they are even allowed to come this far.” Akna said, his sword already biting into the strong rope, “The noise might have drawn them but I’m willing to bet that no guard has ever been allowed past the chimera, after all Lothar thought the room was well guarded enough already.”

  It took several chops to slice through the straining rope and by the time Akna managed it the lift had stopped altogether, with the basket a few feet below the vaulted ceiling. The rope snapped back and hung limply from the broken basket.

  “They won’t miss it but it will take them a while to discover exactly what has happened. We’d better make the most of what time we have.”

  “A pity we couldn’t have kept that rope.” Ilsar said, looking wistfully at the strong fibres, of the severed rope.

  “No point wishing, we’ll just have to hope we don’t slip. Will your hand support you?”

  Ilsar clenched her wounded hand and winced but she nodded none the less.

  “It will just have to, which way shall we climb? If we just go down we will end up on the outside of the palace and have no way to interrupt Lothar’s ritual.”

  “More importantly the outer wall is crawling with his guardians, our only hope is to go right and climb round the outside of the tower until we find a viable window.”

  “Right now I’d settle for not being here when the smoke clears.”

  The rough stones of the tower offered many handholds, allowing them to make a quick decent. Chill winds bit and tore at them as they went but the serpentine guardians did not appear from out of the twisted moonflower fronds; all Lothar’s attention was on the ritual taking place in the square. The laughter that bubbled up from the festivities so far below them was wild and shrill; when mixed with the winds that swelled around the tower and Akna imagined that he heard answering shrieks echoing the laugher from beyond the clouds. Ilsar did not hear the daemon laughter, she was too intent on blocking out her pain; she was desperate by the time she reached the first unbarred window large enough to enter.

  The shutters on the window were drawn to and latched but Ilsar knew that she would not have the strength to carry on and had to take the risk that there might be someone in the room beyond. She took a grip on the stone lintel above the window and brought all her weight down against the wooden shutters, they cracked and gave a little but it took another three kicks to force her way into the dark room beyond. The air in the room was stale, the scents of caustic cleaning products and rotting canvas assailed her and Ilsar guessed, with some relief that she had entered one of the palace’s storage rooms. The Cardinal’s palace was one of the largest in the inner grounds of the Asylum, it had known many tenants from many different orders and it probably had many rooms that been abandoned or forgotten by successive inhabitants. The tower above was now the tallest structure on the palace’s western side but that had been Lothar’s doing since he had built up the original tower, making many of the older rooms redundant. The room Ilsar now found herself in had once been a single storey below the top of the tower and had seen regular use but since the tower had become off limits, it had fallen into relative disuse.

  Ilsar reached into a belt pouch to withdraw a match but before she could strike the tip against the wall Akna grabbed her wrist.

  “Stop!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The smell, it’s Calub oil.” Ilsar sniffed, she’d heard of the stuff of course, Calub was made from the fat of the Calub porpoises that inhabited Nishgul. Many sailors faced the dangers of the lake to satisfy the city’s constant need for light, warmth and food. Calub was rarely used in the Asylum because the priests had other ways of seeing to their needs, glow gems were not nearly as volatile, it was, however, a staple source of fuel in the lower town despite the risk of fires. Ilsar did not doubt that Akna would be able to recognise the smell, after living in the low town for three years.

  “It must be old, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone with an oil lantern in all the time I’ve been here.”

  “I’m willing to bet that Lothar’s predecessor was less ostentatious with his power, the oil might date from then or even earlier in the tower’s history.”

  “Or perhaps the workers who renovated the tower on Lothar’s orders had some use for it, why does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t except that luck has delivered us barrels of highly volatile oil, this might be just what we need to disrupt the ceremony.”

  “Or to heighten it! You remember that the daemons being called by the ceremony will feast on any emotion those children have.”

  “You needn’t worry, I’ve no plans to immolate them, but a fire at one side of the courtyard would serve the double purpose of emptying the courtyard and providing a distraction.”

  Ilsar’s breath caught in her throat as some hint of what Akna was planning leaked through their bond.

  “You can’t be thinking of going down there!”

  “How were you planning to stop the ritual?”

  Ilsar raised the crossbow in answer.

  “Even if we could get close enough for a shot, you have to remember Lothar’s body is inhabited by a daemon, Varkuz may be weak by comparison to his brethren but a single bolt or even two would probably not be enough to stop him, we need something more certain, I need to get closer. You knew that when you asked for my help.”

  “I thought you’d help me plan or hold them off, while I did what had to be done, I never thought that you’d be insane enough to go down there.”

  “Nor would I have, as things stood but now we have a way to throw some panic into the equation.”

  Ilsar studied Akna’s expression in the dimness of the musty room. She felt something else leaking through the connection between them, it was something she could hardly vocalise, just as it
was something that Akna could barely have admitted to himself.

  “No,” she said slowly, “it’s not just that you have a plan, there’s something else.”

  An image rose unbidden of Akna’s blade mere inches from Lothar’s fat throat. Ilsar could feel the sinuous strength of the scaly coils restraining her and then she knew the pain as the daemon tried to tear out her soul. The sensation passed in a second but she knew it was only an echo of the turmoil in her companion’s mind. It might be the proximity of the soul stones or the slow reawakening of Akna’s mind, prompted by his link with her but these were not the thoughts of the emotionless killer, who had questioned why they would need to even stop the ceremony.

  “You want to finish it.” Ilsar said, though she was not exactly sure what she was referring to.

  “And why shouldn’t I?” Akna shot back. “You say there’s nowhere we could run, so I’ll do what needs to be done. In three years Lothar is the only one who ever escaped me, now I’m going to see fear in his eyes.”

  “Even if it means risking everything?”

  “We are doing that already.”

  “You’re sure a bolt wouldn’t work?”

  “Not sure but I do know that slicing the motherless cur’s heart out will make sure the job is done.”

  “Surrounded by guards and summoning, what makes you think you’ll get the chance?”

  “You remember the dock front fires?”

  “I heard something of them, the Cardinal was upset at the disruption to trade.”

  “Well, I saw those fires first hand, they didn’t even attempt to put them out during the first cycle, because the thing about Calub is that it will burn, even under water. The flame may seem to have gone out but as soon as it is exposed to the air the oil will ignite again, throwing water on a Calub fire is most likely to spread the devastation, but my bet is that the guards will be as ignorant of the oil’s properties as you are, they’ll not realise their risk until it’s too late.”

  “If this stuff is as dangerous as you say it is, why does anyone use it?”

  “Because it’s cold and dark out there without spells and stones to give light and warmth, Calub is the most efficient fuel the peasants can get their hands on and there’s one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Calub is more easy to handle when it is fresh, as it gets older it becomes more viscous and unstable, that fire two years ago was caused by a situation much like the one we have here, the oil had been forgotten and allowed to ferment.”

  “So if I’d lit the match it wouldn’t have just been bad?”

  “You’d probably have brought the tower down,” Akna confirmed.

  “Well we’ve got a weapon that might work then, as long as it doesn’t end up killing us before we use it.”

  Akna crossed back and stared down at the courtyard. It was hard to make out what was going on from this angle, due to the flags and ribbons that had been strung over the space like a canopy. The colourful hangings had been cause for relief when they had been climbing but now they obscured those in the court yard below, just as effectively as they had obscured the climbing fugitives. At last he identified an area near the dais on the other side of the courtyard that might offer a clean shot.

  Akna beckoned Ilsar over to stand beside him. “You think you could hit something there?” he asked pointing to the open area of cobblestones where three children were engaged in a game of tag, their faces greasy with meaty fat and honey.

  “We’re still quite high up but it should be easy enough if the wind doesn’t pick up.”

  “Good enough, I’m going to have to ask you to look after these,” Akna said, opening his leather satchel and pulling out the canvas bag filled with the stones he had taken from Lothar’s crystal room. He kept a few back but the ones he felt were most significant went into the bag and he pulled the rough draw string taut, before handing them to Ilsar, then he gingerly lifted a small barrel of Calub oil, placed it into the satchel and carefully rubbed his hand on a bale of old cloth.

  “It shouldn’t prove too hard to ignite, the oil’s already seeping through the barrel. You’ll have to be very careful when handling the others.”

  “I don’t remember saying I’d agreed to handle them at all,” Ilsar said raising an eyebrow.

  “You didn’t have to,” Akna lifted the satchel cautiously and made for the exit to the room, “just make sure you don’t miss.”

  “It might be quicker if I just aimed for your head,” Ilsar said without taking her eyes from the small patch of clear cobblestones that she could see between the waving banners and flags.

  “When the time comes, take the shot that seems easier.”

  “If the shot was easy, I’d have taken it by now,” Ilsar muttered to herself and dipped the point of a bolt into the viscous oil leaking from one of the barrels Akna had left behind. She carefully set her match on the window sill and leant out to take aim

  Chapter 18:

  “In the gathering pools,

  where the water cools

  chill and red with a rising sun

  there bleed the last drops, the last crumbs, the last slops

  of all my dreams undone”

  Varkuz stared out through the pulsing network of veins that shot through his host’s eyes. There were some of his kind that would have revelled in the sight of those crimson cables but for the ancient imp, the vaguely pulsating cables were chains that bound him. He’d lost count of the years he had had to hide within the flesh of Niskar’s new masters, long enough certainly, that he no longer took any pleasure from the heavy mantle of mortal flesh. Lothar was heavier than most, Varkuz had to be careful that his own excitement did not overload the fat man’s sluggish heart.

  The eyes he stared out of swivelled and followed one of the pretty children as they played, Varkuz did not try to reign in his host’s interest in the child, it was of little concern to him what the flesh desired, he was a creature of spirit and found the Cardinal’s lusts as much a source of nourishment as any other emotion, the fear that they usually engendered was added spice for his feast. Truth be told, Varkuz had become jaded, over centuries. The hungers that usually drove his kind had become blunted. Until now only the greatest excesses would serve to give him the old rush, he had once felt when visiting the mortal world.

  The Cardinal’s tongue wetted his lips involuntarily and Varkuz felt the drool building in his host's mouth. Varkuz’s own feelings echoed his host's, after so long it would take a lot to excite him but the slaughter was about to begin and the fear that would fill the square would be like a fire storm, compared to the warmth of the children’s joy that surrounded him now. Varkuz and Lothar were very close in these moments before the ritual, Varkuz had ensured it by denying his host food or sex for the last two days. They shared a hunger, an urge which the imp would use to punch through the veil and free his brothers. Lothar’s eyes slid over to Takiaza, anything to stop the oaf drooling, Varkuz laughed to himself as he looked at the ghost. It was Takiaza’s grandfather who had imprisoned him and the boy, who had summoned him from his prison to use for his own ambitions. The ghost had waited almost as long as he had and that pleased Varkuz. The fool thought his ritual would be used to trap enough energy to bind him to new flesh.

  Never! Varkuz’s spirit sung to touch the white crystal, holding the ghost’s essence, through the folds of his robe. How the tables had turned, it would take him at least a thousand years to get bored of jerking the old sorcerer on his leash. Perhaps he should be grateful to the ghost’s grandfather for sealing him from whatever had driven his brothers off. Varkuz longed for Nishkaan’s sweet touch and the balm of his long shadows, he could not believe the priests when they said that the Lord of Shadows was dead and soon he would find succour in his lord’s realm again. The wind shifted slightly and Lothar’s eyes shot skywards, no mortal eyes could see the shapes riding the twisting vapour at the heart of the black vortex, no ears could hear their cries as they writhed against a membran
e stretched thin by the laughter of children. Sharp screams would soon puncture the veil and release a tide that had built for centuries, grown vague even to the souls that had survived them.

  Varkuz and his host were too distracted by shared hunger and anticipation to notice the commotion at one side of the courtyard. He did however smell the blood seconds before the shouts of panic reached him. Not yet the daemon murmured to himself in the sanctuary of the Cardinal’s skull, there are words that must be spoken. The chorus from beyond the vortex faltered but did not abate.

  “What is that? GUARDS.” The Cardinal called.

  Three more guards rushed over to where the intruder was standing but they would have no more luck in stopping him than his first victim. Before the deadly halberds could reach him, the man's hands blurred and a throwing knife appeared at the throat of two of the approaching guards. The third took a wild swing but the intruder stepped inside his guard, used the halberd’s shaft to throw his attacker off balance and thrust a thick bladed dagger into the gap between the guard’s chain mail and helmet.

  The stranger’s victory was as stunning as his boldness, it allowed him to cross halfway through the square before the rest of the men arrayed in the courtyard could react. The children scattered before the bloody scene and Lothar had to make surreptitious gestures for the guards set at the other exits of the courtyard to stop them leaving.

  “The ritual!” Takiaza hissed from behind the Cardinal. “It is not yet complete.”

  “Then speak what words you must, sorcerer, for the time for laughter is past.”

  “The energies we work for are delicate, Varkuz, it would be very easy to tear the veil wider than we’d need to.”