The Iron Ghost

by Jen Williams

  A woman fell against the cart, sobbing loudly. The bottom of her furred skirts were blood-stained. A man came and put an arm around her shoulder, leading her away. Ip shuffled back into the shadows again.

  If only the girl were older. If only this were the body of a warrior, a man or a woman with brute strength behind their sword hand. In a different body Bezcavar might have been able to clear a path towards the great stone gate, but Ip was hardly big enough to lift a sword, let alone wield it successfully, and every guard would be on the lookout for her now. It was just a matter of time before she was found and brought before Tamlyn Nox.

  In the dark under the cart, Bezcavar twisted Ip’s face into a grim smile.

  ‘I am not out of tricks just yet.’

  Ip took a dagger from her belt and began to chop at her hair, now mostly loose from its braid. It came away in clumps, until her hair was cut closely to her scalp and she could feel the bitter cold around her ears. Once this was done to her satisfaction she picked up a handful of the dirtier snow and let it melt into her hands, before rubbing the muck over her face. Finally, she stripped off the warm fur overcoat, and rubbed some more dirt into her linen shirt. Not much of a disguise by anyone’s standards, but she had only ever been seen clean and well-dressed, and she had spent most of her time behind the thick gauze curtains of her bedchamber.

  Ip scrambled out from under the cart and began to walk slowly down the street, not making eye contact with anyone. It was important not to run, not to appear guilty. If she looked like she belonged in Skaldshollow – just another lost child, reeling from the unexpected attack – then no one would look too closely, or wonder who she was. And she might be able to survive a few days, by which time Joah would almost certainly have returned from his unexpected trip.

  A pair of soldiers walked past her, their werkens following. The men looked at her but she turned her head away, her gaze focussed down the street as if she’d spotted someone she knew. Ip moved away easily, still not running, still not running.

  Frith awoke and looked up into a clutch of glowing ruby eyes.

  Blinking rapidly, he scrambled to his feet, almost colliding with a low stone table directly behind him. He was in a cavernous patchwork room with a domed ceiling, the air stinking of ancient dust. The walls were constructed from a confusion of stone and dark pitted lumps of metal, layered over the top of each other like scales. The eyes he had seen were red lamps in the ceiling, casting a ruddy light down over the jumbled contents of the room. Someone, presumably Joah Demonsworn, had lit an oil lamp and left it on a stone bench.

  Frith held on to the table for support. His head was swimming, and his vision was dark at the edges. There were tables everywhere, all of them covered in tools that looked like they’d seen better days, the dust on them nearly half an inch thick, and there were other items that Frith was less than pleased to see: a tray of knives of various sizes, like those Yellow-Eyed Rin had once used, along with rusted hacksaws and an ornamental dagger covered in dark stains. One of the walls was made of black iron plates, daubed here and there in strange dark writing that Frith didn’t recognise. There were steps on either side of this wall, leading up to a flat platform at the top that Frith couldn’t see properly, although, set directly below it, was a chamber with a wide glass section, like a window on to nothing. The glass looked very fine indeed, even better than the glass the Secret Keeper had made, and the chamber shone with a strange pale light. Underneath that was another smaller aperture with no glass, and it was empty. Looking at the metal wall, with its glass prison and its ragged black writing, Frith felt a fresh stab of fear. What was this place?

  ‘Ah, you’re awake.’

  The mage who Nuava had named as Joah Demonsworn appeared from behind him, wiping his hands on an oily rag. There were several doors leading out of the room, although Frith found he couldn’t have said which one the mage had come through. It was difficult to think.

  ‘Good to see you up and about,’ he continued. His voice was calm, even slightly distracted. ‘I was beginning to think I’d hit you too hard.’

  Frith glanced quickly down at his hands. His last bandage was the one for Force – all the rest had vanished into dust by now. He flung his arm up, planning to throw the rogue mage against the iron wall with enough violence to disable him, but Joah merely waved at him and Frith collapsed back onto the floor, suddenly unable to breathe. It felt as though there was a steel band around his chest, slowly contracting.

  ‘No . . .’ he gasped.

  ‘No indeed,’ agreed Joah mildly. ‘Can’t be having any more of that, my friend. It’s all very well, a bit of a scrap when we’re getting to know each other, but we have work to do now.’ He bent over Frith and quickly untied the remaining silk strip, tucking it away inside his robes. ‘I’m going to let you up, but please bear in mind that I can remove your ability to breathe at any time.’

  The steel band vanished, and Frith hurriedly sucked in some air.

  ‘There’s a good man.’ Joah turned away from him, looking around the room. ‘It is much as I left it. Somewhat musty, of course, but that can’t be helped. All the important parts are still operational.’ He slapped one of the stone tables fondly.

  ‘Who are you?’ said Frith eventually. His head was still throbbing, and deep inside he was starting to panic. This mage was alarmingly powerful, and obviously much more at home with the Edenier than Frith was. Save for the glass chamber, there was nothing resembling a window in the strange room, and the sense of claustrophobia was overwhelming. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I am Joah. Here,’ he came over to Frith and carefully pulled him to his feet. He even paused to brush some dirt from Frith’s clothes. ‘You must forgive me, brother, for bringing you out here without even a chance to fetch your belongings, but as I’m sure you can see, the situation is not ideal.’

  ‘I am not your brother.’ Frith shook his head. ‘Where have you taken me?’

  ‘You are my brother, of course you are.’ Joah took his shoulder and squeezed it. ‘The only one left, if Bezcavar was not lying to me about that too. How glad I am to find that I am not entirely alone.’ He smiled then, and it was the friendly smile of someone who was slightly nervous and eager to please. Frith had to remind himself that this was the same man who had appeared out of nowhere and killed so many of Dallen’s soldiers.

  ‘I didn’t . . . I thought there were no other mages,’ said Frith, hating himself for the confusion in his voice. ‘All dead, for centuries.’

  Joah nodded, full of sympathy. ‘Yes, you would have been quite alone. Luckily, Bezcavar, wily creature, made it possible for me to join you in this new age.’ He grinned. ‘And now, instead of labouring by myself, I will have you to help me.’

  ‘I will not help you do anything,’ said Frith flatly. ‘You have taken me against my will.’

  Joah’s grin faded and he shook his head, as if Frith were a child refusing to eat his vegetables at dinner time. ‘It’s quite all right, Aaron. I understand completely. You’re bound to be disorientated.’ He chuckled a little. ‘I am rather disorientated myself. The world is so different now, and so much has changed. Still,’ he clapped his hands together, ‘we have all the time we could need. We’ll come to terms with this together, Aaron.’

  ‘Do not call me that.’ Frith felt a wave of dizziness move through him. The last people to call him Aaron with such easy familiarity had been his brothers. ‘How do you even know that’s my name?’

  ‘Ah, well,’ Joah wagged a finger at him, ‘just one more little trick you’ll come to learn in time, my friend. A most useful one, one that will make things much easier for us here.’

  Frith leaned heavily against the table. There was a weak fluttering against his chest, and belatedly he remembered pushing the small bird-body of Gwiddion inside his cloak. He rested his fingers on the feathered warmth hidden there, hoping it would bring the griffin some comfort. He realised he had no idea if Joah Demonsworn knew he’d taken Gwiddion with him.
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  ‘What is this place? Are we underground?’

  Joah beamed, pleased to be answering civil questions.

  ‘This place? It is my secret workshop, and now, I suppose, it is the heart of my greatest project. I did much of my best work here, you know, Aaron. I used to call it the Forge.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You know, obviously, that there are two types of magic in Ede? Edenier and Edeian? Of course you know, you are a mage.’

  Frith nodded cautiously. ‘Well, the old mages were so obsessed with the Edenier that they were uninterested in the possibilities of any other magic.’ He went over to one of the stone tables and began fiddling about with pieces of what looked like broken plate armour. ‘They didn’t understand what you could do if you combined both of them, you see.’

  ‘From what I heard, you were more interested in the powers granted you by a deal with a demon,’ said Frith, staring at the armour. He knew it was unwise to antagonise the man, but he felt strangely reckless. ‘And deals with demons cost lives.’

  Joah shook his head irritably. ‘You’re missing the point. You’re missing the point just like they did.’ Joah’s hand tightened around a piece of plate until his knuckles turned white. ‘Don’t . . . don’t be like them. It will make things difficult.’ He forced a smile. ‘Please. Listen. The demon, Bezcavar, was another tool, another way of using magic. Through what it knew, we could move away from relying on the language of the gods. We could become independent! I made some extraordinary things, blurring the Edenier and the Edeian together, through the lens of that demon’s knowledge.’

  ‘You made the armour,’ said Frith. He couldn’t believe it had only just occurred to him. ‘The armour that Sebastian wore at the battle of Baneswatch, the one that summoned the Cursed Company.’

  ‘That’s right!’ said Joah. ‘And a fine piece of work that was too, if I do say so myself. It’s one thing, of course, to create enchanted armour, but to make armour that still has magical properties – different magical properties – when the pieces are separated . . . I was rather proud of that one.’ He took a slow breath and nodded before turning back to one of the low tables. There was a thick squarish package there, wrapped in cloth and furs. He began unwrapping it. ‘That is nothing, of course, in comparison to what I can do now that you are with me, brother, and now that I have this.’

  The fabric fell away to reveal the Heart-Stone, its green crystal light subdued under the red lamps.

  ‘And what do you intend to do with that?’ asked Frith. He wondered if he could ever get close enough to use a conventional weapon; there were plenty in the Forge, after all.

  Joah raised an eyebrow at him, as though Frith were teasing him somehow. ‘That will all become clear, Aaron, I promise you, but I do not wish to overwhelm you at this stage. You’ve had quite a shock, after all.’ Joah held out a hand to the Heart-Stone and it gently lifted off the table to hover in mid-air. ‘I have never seen such a pure source of Edeian. This is a remarkable find. All the plans I had, all those years ago, will be possible now with this.’ He grinned, and gestured at the stone so that it moved smoothly through the air towards the smaller aperture in the iron wall, and it was into this dark crevice that he gently flew the Heart-Stone. It settled with a hollow clang, and the soft green light of the stone immediately turned a darker shade, painting the rag-tag walls in eldritch hues. Looking at that light, Frith felt ill again, and he clutched at his stomach. It was difficult to think, with that light.

  ‘Can you feel that?’ cried Joah jubilantly. ‘It’s already having an effect. Soon, my Rivener will be working again, and better than it ever did.’

  ‘Rivener?’ asked Frith. ‘What’s that?’ But the words were clogging his throat, and his head was swimming. He pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to concentrate.

  ‘You are wearing yourself out.’ Joah went to him and put an arm around his shoulders, guiding him away from the work benches. ‘Aaron, I am sorry, I have put you through so much, and then thrown all this information at you. I am such an inconsiderate host. Here.’ He took Frith to a door and opened it to reveal a small cavity with bunks built directly into the walls. The blankets looked musty and ancient, but when Joah sat him down on the nearest one, Frith found that he could barely keep his eyes open. ‘That’s it, rest for now, my brother. We have plenty of work to do yet, and I need you at your best.’

  Frith opened his mouth to protest, and even that small action was too much. Instead he lay down on the elderly blankets. I must leave, he thought over the tide of sleep now approaching. This place is demon-tainted. Evil.

  Just before unconsciousness took him, he thought he saw a face in the darkness watching him – not Joah, but a woman with dark skin and a shaved head. She watched him with eyes that were fierce and full of anger, and somehow he knew that Joah did not know she was there. He tried to speak to her, to ask who she was, but she turned back into shadows and left him. Frith slept.

  29

  ‘Tell us everything you know.’

  It was the next morning, and the sky was a pure, thankless blue. The sunlight had revealed the full extent of the previous night’s terrors – dark blood on the snow, the twisted forms of the arachnos young, their skeletal legs stained red – so they had moved away from the nesting site to a rocky bluff that sheltered them from the wind. Wydrin had spent some time looting the Narhl packs and was now doing what she could to prepare a breakfast for them all. Nuava sat with her, taking the food that was offered with her eyes downcast. When she looked up at Sebastian again, he saw that the defiance he had heard in her voice the previous night had turned into a fragile sort of reserve.

  ‘I am afraid I can’t tell you much beyond what was written in our history books, but it may still be of some use.’ She took a savage bite from the black bread Wydrin had handed her and chewed for some moments before continuing. ‘When Joah came to the northern lands, he built himself a great workshop in which to perform his terrible deeds.’ Her mouth twitched with some sour amusement then, and Sebastian guessed that this was a line she’d read often in a textbook, never expecting to experience Joah’s ‘terrible deeds’ herself. ‘He called it the Forge – a twisting labyrinth of rooms hidden somewhere in the snowy territories of the north. There were rooms, they said, where he would commune with his demon, and rooms where he would make terrible objects dedicated to its name. And there were rooms where he would keep the men and women he stole. Children too, sometimes.’ She swallowed hard. ‘His own sacrifices weren’t enough to feed the demon, you see. Sometimes he would sacrifice other people to its appetites.’

  Wydrin scowled. Sebastian knew she was thinking of Frith now, and their own history with this particular demon.

  ‘He was making something within the Forge, something enormous, they say,’ continued Nuava, ‘but he was killed by the mage Xinian the Battleborn before he could complete it. The Forge was hidden within the Wailing Hills, a huge stretch of treacherous land, some miles from the edge of Skald territory, and no one ever knew where it was exactly. It was said that he moved it around, that it was never in the same place twice. I don’t know if that’s true, but there’s nothing in any of our ancient texts that indicates where it was.’ Nuava chewed on another piece of the black bread. ‘But if he’s gone anywhere, and if he’s not with the Prophet – I mean, the demon – then I bet he has gone back to the Wailing Hills.’

  ‘Of course he has,’ commented Wydrin dryly. ‘All his demon-encrusted crap is there.’

  ‘Then we need to find it,’ said Sebastian. ‘A giant forge can’t be that difficult to spot—’

  But Nuava was shaking her head. ‘You don’t understand. It was hidden deep inside the hills themselves, and that stretch of land . . . it’s huge. It would take us a month to walk it end to end, and it was not marked. Joah may have been mad, but he was by no means stupid.’

  ‘This Xinian the Battleborn, the mage who killed him the first time round.’ Sebastian glanced again at Prince Dallen, but the young prince was sitting
some feet away from them, taking no notice of their conversation. ‘How did they find Joah, then?’

  ‘I don’t know, not exactly,’ said Nuava, shaking her head. ‘The mages would have had methods to find him, and in any case, he did not die at the Forge. She killed him in the lost city of Temerayne.’

  Wydrin shook her head abruptly, and touched a hand to her temple. She looked as though she’d come down with a sudden headache.

  ‘Wait. Mendrick may have something here. He says there is a way, if we could—’

  There was a sound, like a number of giant flags flapping in a gale, and it was coming from above them. Sebastian glanced up in time to see seven enormous wyverns swimming through the sky towards them at a tremendous speed, the bright sunlight glinting off their gold-chased bridles. He stumbled to his feet, instinctively reaching for his sword.

  For the first time in hours, Prince Dallen spoke, his voice low and hopeless. ‘It seems that my father has caught up with us.’

  The wyverns came straight at them and turned sharply in the air. Sebastian caught sight of King Aristees himself, his muscled arms bared to the cold. They landed with a crash, throwing up sheets of snow to either side. Next to him, Wydrin was on her feet, Glassheart held loosely in one hand. She had clearly not forgotten that their last meeting with King Aristees had ended with him ordering their execution.

  When the king dismounted, however, he ignored both of them and strode straight over to his son, who was still sitting cross-legged on the ground. Aristees had already pulled his great battle axe from the strap on his back and had it gripped in both hands. He stopped in front of his son, and kicked a shower of snow and dirt into his face.