by Jen Williams
The men and women in the first row began to writhe and twitch, bodies twisting unnaturally as though they were dolls tormented by some invisible hand. Death-bruised flesh burst apart and long shards of bone pushed forth, from wrists, from elbows, from shoulders. One man staggered as the skin across the tops of his legs split open to reveal twin knives of yellowed bone. The woman next to him threw her head back as twisted bone horns erupted from the fleshless expanse of her chest.
‘I gift them with this pain, Sebastian,’ said Bezcavar, still speaking through the woman at the front. Behind her, the terrible transformation was sweeping back through the ranks of the dead like a fever. ‘A farewell present. And they are so hungry.’ She grinned, her face covered in blood, and the rest swept past her, screaming wordlessly.
Sebastian had time to fall back into a defensive stance and then they were on them. They had no swords, but the long bone shards protruding from their bodies were razor sharp, and they fell on the Narhl and the brood sisters with the mindless abandon of the starving. Sebastian chopped down several in front of him with his broadsword, moving in an awkward circle, but they were pressed in around him and his sword was too big for such close combat. A Narhl soldier next to him fell to the cobbles, dark blood bubbling at his throat. The husk that had killed him knelt over him, mouth hanging open. A brood sister – Umbellifer, he thought, as he struggled to reach her – stumbled past him, clinging to a decomposing woman who had sunk the bone shard protruding from her wrist deep into her stomach. Umbellifer’s teeth were bared, her yellow eyes furious, but she was lost in the press of bodies.
Sebastian threw a gauntleted fist at the nearest demon-possessed corpse, feeling grim satisfaction as it fell to the ground in a heap. All around him was chaos, and running underneath it like a silver thread, the joy of the fight. The brood sisters were a comforting presence, their swords, their fury, their deaths. They would not die alone. Sebastian gripped his broadsword in both hands, and grinned without humour.
This time, there was no enchanted armour; there was only him, and the roar of dragon blood in his veins.
Nuava leaned forward, testing the limits of the leather harness. Beneath them the forest canopy rustled swiftly past like a choppy sea, and here and there birds flew, startled at this sudden intruder. The Destroyer stomped through the trees, pausing here and there to tear one up by its roots to clear a path. Next to her, Tamlyn Nox was leaning heavily in her own harness, a sheen of sweat on her dirty forehead. She was breathing in ragged gasps, but her eyes were fever bright.
‘I can’t believe this actually works,’ said Nuava, more to herself than to her aunt. ‘That this thing can move at all.’
‘It is the Edeian,’ croaked Tamlyn. ‘The Edeian . . . so strong. It’s almost as though the mountain itself . . . is listening.’
Nuava looked at her aunt. The older woman was avoiding her gaze, keeping her eyes on the path ahead.
‘Do you mean—’
‘I need you to watch for obstacles, child. Shut up and make yourself useful.’
Nuava turned back, needing no excuse to do so. As terrified as she was, as exhausted as she was, this was exhilarating; to be this high above the forest, and to know that her own work had helped put them there. I am a crafter, she told herself fiercely. If I die today, at least I will know that.
The unbroken expanse of green ahead of them began to thin out, and there was the outer wall of Skaldshollow, a thin grey line with the northernmost gate sitting in the middle. Beyond that she could just make out the spindly top of the Tower of Waking, clouded as it was with the strange red storm that haunted the city. And there would be Joah Demonsworn, skulking within his Rivener. For better or worse, they were taking the fight to him.
‘Straight on,’ she told her aunt, ‘straight on and through the northern gate.’
‘There it is, the northern gate,’ said Wydrin, urging the werken on. ‘Once we’re through that, we’ll be safe.’
They had seen no more husks since they had all run off, and now the gate was in front of them. Xinian leaned forward, peering up at the great wooden doors. They were made of dark witchwood, and reinforced with huge iron studs.
‘They look to be locked up tight,’ she said, indicating the thick wooden struts, each the length of a tall tree, slotted across the doors. ‘How do you propose we get through?’
‘There hasn’t been a door invented that can keep me out, I’m sure I’ll think of something.’ Wydrin paused. Sounds were distorted under the red caul as much as the daylight was, and it was difficult to tell, but she thought she could feel a slight vibration working its way up the werken’s body. It was rhythmic, almost like footsteps. ‘Hey, can you feel that?’
The enormous wooden doors in front of them exploded. Wydrin was briefly aware of a smattering of wooden splinters pattering with dangerous force against her leathers, and then she was more concerned with the fact that she appeared to be flying through the air. All at once it was impossible to tell what was up and what was down, and she had no sense at all of where Xinian was. She crashed heavily into something that broke into pieces under her, and she rolled over and over, finally coming to rest in something cold and wet, which she quickly realised was a snowdrift. Her head was full of thunder.
‘Ye gods and little fishes.’
For a few moments her vision went dark around the edges, but she forced herself up into a sitting position just in time to see an enormous stone monster go stomping past. She saw its leg, as wide as four tree trunks lashed together, swinging past her like a battering ram, its huge slab-like hands at the end of arms riddled with veins of Edeian. Wydrin shook her head and blinked in disbelief. All around her were bits and pieces of shattered gate, and then stumbling across the street towards her was Xinian, looking equally shocked.
‘See?’ she called across to the mage. ‘I told you I’d find a way through the gate, didn’t I?’
The older woman opened her mouth, possibly to form several curse words, but Wydrin was already on her feet. She had caught sight of something on the back of the enormous werken that had looked strangely familiar.
‘Oh you stupid princeling, what are you doing?’
‘What was that?’ Xinian ran over to her.
‘I don’t rightly know, but I think I have business with it.’
‘What? But the gate—’
‘Sod the gate.’ Wydrin looked around desperately – the giant werken was already halfway down the street, making steady progress with its enormous strides. ‘Quick. Did any of our werkens survive that?’
She was already reaching out with her mind, and Mendrick answered in the form of the one werken still standing – a lithe cat-shaped creature, its head a narrow triangle. It lumbered towards her, trampling over the wreckage of the gate.
‘Wydrin, what are you doing? You have a chance to get out of the gate.’ Xinian glanced towards the retreating giant’s back. ‘It’s him, isn’t it? The shadow-mage.’
Wydrin grinned at her, already scrambling up the side of the cat-shaped werken. ‘Oh don’t worry, I have no intention of getting killed for him this time, Xi. I intend to save both our arses. That’s what I’m good at.’ She settled into the riding seat, and waved at the mage. ‘Come on, are you going to help me get up there or not?’
Xinian shook her head abruptly, and then climbed up after Wydrin. When she sat down the werken lurched off in pursuit of its much bigger cousin.
‘How exactly do you plan to get up there?’ said Xinian. ‘He was quite some way up.’
‘Hold on.’ Wydrin urged the werken on and they sprang off down the street, skittering across cobbles and snow. The giant werken grew so that it filled their entire field of vision. Each footstep seemed to shake the city to its foundations. ‘I saw a rope,’ she said as they approached. ‘Hanging from a ladder. I think it’s nailed into the werken’s side.’
They came alongside the giant, the werken running flat out. Carefully, Wydrin stood up, half crouching to keep her balance.
Above them, a tattered end of rope swung back and forth, a good six feet above their heads. From there it would be a short climb to the wooden ladder, and then a longer climb to the platform where Frith was. That was, if she could get to the rope.
‘You’ll never make that,’ cried Xinian, shouting against the noise of the werken’s progress. ‘It’s too far to jump!’
‘That’s why you’re going to help me.’ The werken was running at a steady pace now, keeping as close to the giant as it could get. Wydrin reached out to Mendrick and found his cold presence reassuring, but if the giant veered off its current course within the next few moments, they could be in a lot of trouble. ‘Here, give me a boost.’
Frowning, Xinian also stood on the back of the werken, her legs planted as far apart as she could for extra balance, and crossed her arms in front of her. Wydrin nodded to her, and winked.
‘And assuming you aren’t immediately smeared into paste, what should I do?’
‘Find Sebastian if you can,’ said Wydrin. ‘If he’s alive, he will need help. Tell him . . . oh, I don’t know. Tell him something.’
Keeping one eye on the precariously dangling rope, she thrust her boot into Xinian’s waiting hand and then she was up and in the air, her arms outstretched. There was a terrifying sensation of yawning space beneath her, and then her fingers caught hold of rough rope. She grasped it to her, already turning too much, her heart hammering in her chest. There was a split second of nothing, her ears ringing, and then she collided with the solid stone leg of the werken, smacking the air out of her in one blow. Gasping, Wydrin’s grip slipped slightly and she fell, only to grab the rope again just in time. A bright burning sensation on the palms of her hands told her how close she had come to crashing back down to the cobbled streets.
The rope was spinning now, sending her bouncing off the stone again and again, and very quickly her head was swimming. Scrambling for purchase, she got her feet flat on the stone and pushed, sliding to one side as the werken took another ponderous step.
‘Keep going!’
She risked a glance down to see Xinian waving at her, she and the cat-shaped werken already disappearing from sight as they lost speed. Ignoring the burning pain in her hands, she began to climb the rope, hand over hand. It was hard, especially with the constant back-and-forth movement of the werken’s giant leg, but Wydrin had spent much of her childhood on pirate ships, and climbing the rigging was second nature. Quickly, she was onto the rickety wooden ladder, and this she shot up, eager to reach the relative solidity of the platform, which was now a darker shadow above her head.
This close to the werken’s stony flesh she could see each crafter’s mark, a darker grey against the stone, linking everything together. It made her think of the web of light that had caught her when Joah had struck her with the lightning. She was sure that Nuava would be interested to hear that, if she ever saw the girl again.
In minutes the platform was in reach, but before she could drag herself over it the ladder lurched sickeningly to one side; the iron studs attaching it to the side of the werken had shaken themselves loose. The whole thing swung outwards, threatening to cast her back down to the stones. Wydrin clung on, still not quite able to reach the lip of the platform. She filled her lungs.
‘Frith, you idiot, help me up!’
For a few moments, there was silence. Wydrin looked down; the lower half of the ladder had already broken away, and the rope was nowhere to be seen.
‘Perhaps this wasn’t such a great idea. Frith, if you don’t get over here . . . !’
An arm reached down over the platform and grabbed her hand. Awkwardly, Frith yanked her up, with Wydrin pushing herself off the remains of the ladder. They fell together onto the platform, the whole thing reeling sickeningly like a ship at sea.
‘I had to undo the straps,’ said Frith, and then he shook his head. ‘I thought you were dead!’
‘Well, that’s still up for debate.’
At the sight of his dear, confused face – filled with health now, his grey eyes bright – her chest felt oddly tight. She was lying half on top of him, the momentum of the werken holding her there for the time being, so she leaned down and kissed him firmly on the mouth, letting herself close her eyes for just a moment. He responded immediately, one hand buried in her hair, the other circled around her waist to pull her closer.
If nothing else, this, she thought, trying to sear every moment of the kiss into her memory.
The platform beneath them shuddered, throwing them both out of the embrace and nearly over the guardrail. They both scrambled to their feet, clinging to each other to keep from going over the side.
‘Ye gods, who’s driving this thing?’
‘I thought you were dead,’ said Frith again. He didn’t seem to be able to take his eyes from her. ‘Wydrin, I have done things, terrible things—’
‘Let’s worry about it later. When we’re not travelling through a city of dead people on the belt of a giant stone monster.’
‘You don’t understand. I have done things I can’t take back. To wreck vengeance on Joah, to stop him—’
She put a hand on his arm, and squeezed it. His eyes were full of confusion.
‘Frith, do you have a way to kill the bastard?’
He nodded once. ‘I can destroy his magic. I just need to get close enough. Wydrin, I need to tell you—’
‘There’s a lot we need to talk about, but for now, I need you to focus.’
As if listening to her words, the werken took one final step and shuddered to a halt. Wydrin and Frith looked at each other, and then ran around to the front of the platform, just beneath the werken’s broad and craggy chest. The air filled with the sound of agonising screeching as two hundred tons of ruined metal and stone began to move.
They had reached the Tower of Waking, and the Rivener was uncurling from its resting place, violet eyes flashing.
77
Nuava saw the Rivener move, turning its baleful eyes on them, and she felt her breath stick in her throat. She felt hopelessly exposed. It was looking right at them.
Next to her, Tamlyn choked out a cry of triumph. She was leaning forward in her straps, her face twisted into a fierce grin.
‘I will tear you apart,’ she spat, and the Destroyer’s enormous right arm drew back, its great shovel-shaped fist level with its shoulder, and then it flew forward.
Nuava had perhaps half a second to brace herself before the blow landed, crashing into the Rivener’s rounded shoulder. The metal and stone monster was actually pushed backwards for a moment, so that it sprawled against the Tower of Waking, its strange claws grasping at the sky.
‘That’s right!’ bellowed Tamlyn. ‘How do you like that, you ugly demon-tainted bastard?’
The Destroyer’s left arm drew back, but this time when the fist flew, the Rivener reacted; one of its serrated claws shot up and batted the blow away. Its twisted, insectile head swivelled in their direction – Nuava caught sight of the ragged hole in the top – and then it pushed itself away from the Tower towards them. Tamlyn was already bringing the right arm back for another shot, but the Rivener scrabbled up close, getting in under their guard. All at once the violet windows that were its eyes were terribly close – for a brief moment Nuava thought she could see a figure standing beyond the glass, staring out at them, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be human.
‘Push it away!’ she screamed at her aunt. ‘We need space!’
The Destroyer took a step back, both stone arms crossing over its chest and then pushing out. The noise as the stone squealed across the metal was deafening, and Nuava found she was pressing her hands to her ears without even being aware she was doing it. Gradually, the Rivener was edged away, and her aunt even snuck in another blow, bringing the right fist up and across the Rivener’s head. There was a brittle ringing noise, and glass was falling in bright shards from the creature’s eye. Next to her, Tamlyn hooted with triumph.
‘We may actually do this,’ gasped
Nuava. ‘We may actually bloody do it.’
Amazingly, they were losing the fight.
The knowledge settled over Sebastian’s heart like a shroud of cold silk. It was a simple case of numbers; his brood sisters and King Aristees’ Narhl soldiers, against what appeared to be an entire city of resurrected dead, each of them armed with the jagged bone-knives that Bezcavar had gifted them with – weapons that could not be knocked out of hands, weapons that did not move as swords did, weapons none of them had faced before.
Normal wounds would not take them down. Sebastian had torn the guts out of a tall man, scattering his intestines to the cobbles, only for the man to lunge for him with a handful of scythe-shaped bones sprouting from his wrists. Sebastian had instinctively fallen back, saving himself from being blinded, although the very last shard had torn open his cheek under his right eye.
The others weren’t faring any better. The brood sisters were as fearsome as ever, but they were pressed in on all sides, constricted by the streets and alleys of the city. The Narhl were struggling, faced with an enemy that only stopped if you could sever its head from its body.
At that moment, the ground beneath them shook violently, rocks and debris scattering in all directions. Sebastian looked up to see an enormous werken, impossibly huge, trading blows with the Rivener itself.
‘By Isu,’ he muttered, ‘the mountain itself has come to our aid!’
Dragging his eyes from the sight, Sebastian brought his sword around in a deadly arc, disembowelling two husks at once, before pushing them to the ground with his boot and making short work of chopping their heads off.
‘We must do something,’ came Ephemeral’s voice. She was next to him now, her face smeared with blood and decomposing gore. Her silver hair was stained red.
He could feel them now, each of the brood sisters, their connection heightened in the fury of the fight. A silver thread that joined them all, and beyond it, another presence . . . confused, alien, but familiar. The wyverns. They were still at the back of the main force.
