Vengeance ttr-1

by Ian Irvine

  Its arms shifted to wings, to crab claws and back to arms; the shadows writhed and fluttered all around it. It drew Tali towards it, hissed a visible breath in her face and a silver aura appeared like a halo above her head. The facinore snatched at it, tore part of it away and swallowed it. The rest of the aura faded.

  Rix’s skin crept. Was it trying to feed on her psyche, attacking her mentally as well as physically? He raised the sword, wondering if he could hurl it true and impale the beast. No, the risk was too great.

  Rannilt shrieked in fury and thrust her folded hands up again. The facinore reared backwards, Tali tore free, tumbled and landed hard on her feet with the beast close behind.

  She darted towards the shelves, looking around desperately. The facinore’s legs shifted to frog’s legs; it leapt over her head and blocked her, spreading its arms wide. Bare feet skidding on the black floor, she shot back towards Rix. It sprang over her head again.

  Its back was to Rix, only three steps away. He lunged, aiming to pierce its heart from behind, but it shifted and the sword tip skidded off thick, ridged armour, then it leapt over Tali again, out of reach. Rix cursed and went after it.

  ‘Tali, you can kill the beast,’ cried Rannilt. ‘I know you can.’

  Tali was trembling, her eyes darting. What was she looking for? A moan burst from her but she strangled it. She made hand-over-hand motions as if raising a bucket from a well, then extended her right hand towards the creature. A jagged grey clot shot forth, though it only shattered against the facinore’s chest like mushy ice.

  ‘Your gift’s there!’ yelled Rannilt. ‘I can see it.’

  Rannilt flung a golden globe at the facinore, which ducked and shot out a chitinous fist, striking her a glancing blow to the left temple and sending her tumbling. She took a shuddering breath and rolled over, holding her head with both hands and trying not to cry.

  ‘Rannilt, stay down!’ Tali blasted again and again but her feeble gift could only produce harmless, rotten ice.

  ‘Out of the way,’ said Rix.

  Tobry yanked him back by the shoulder. ‘The facinore was created by magery, and only magery can finish it.’

  His arm was trembling, his voice thick. Fear of the shifter was choking him and Rix knew he couldn’t do it. If Tobry took on the facinore he would die.

  ‘I can deal with it, Tobe,’ said Rix.

  ‘I let you down last time,’ Tobry said bitterly. ‘I’m not doing it again.’

  Rix knocked him aside and extended the titane blade, gauging his foe. It did not retreat. It was leaning towards Tali, a humanoid core with those eerily shifting limbs and the fluttering shadows surrounding it that made it nine feet tall. It reeked of blood and sweat and the carrion it had been feeding on.

  It was a creature of the magery he had always feared, and powerful magery at that, stronger than anything he had come across outside these caverns. But Rannilt had hurt it out in the Seethings and surely he could do as much here. Rix lunged and struck at its back.

  It whirled, the left fist clubbed and shot out like a Cythonian war rocket. Rix tried to parry it but the air clung to his blade like tar and he barely got it up in time to protect his face from a blow that would have pulped it. The facinore’s fist struck the flat of the blade, driving it against his forehead so hard that Rix saw coloured lights. He staggered, momentarily dazed, went to one knee then recovered as the other fist came looping around, shifting and opening like lobster pincers.

  Instinct jerked the edge of his blade into its path. The pincers split down the limb and the left half shot past his head. The right half struck him a skidding blow on the cheek that knocked him sideways and almost tore his ear off. Defence was going to be fatal. His only option was to attack.

  The severed pincers withdrew, shifted to the serrated blade of a sawfish and the muscles behind it swelled as it prepared for a killing blow. Rix settled into the warrior’s mindset where his sword became an extension of his arm and he simply reacted. The sawfish blade swung. Rix did too, hacking it off, and when it clattered to the floor it sizzled into a black, glutinous stain.

  The facinore shifted its other arm to a narwhal’s tusk and tried to spear him through the groin. He leapt onto the six-foot tusk, swung low and clove it off at the shoulder. The facinore shrieked and stumbled, and its enveloping shadow shrank, retreating into flesh. The shifter seemed smaller than before, though it was still bigger than he was. He was only one lucky blow away from death, but luck was an unreliable ally.

  His own warrior’s heart was not; attack was the only defence worth pursuing. He lunged, weaving between the blows, and struck at its chest, turning the sword tip in a circle as if to cut out its heart. Fire seared up the blade, the facinore reared and the sword withdrew. He’d hurt it.

  A rhino’s foot struck his kneecap, numbing the whole leg. He staggered sideways and the blow that would have smashed his pelvis glanced off his hip and spun him around. He went with it, whirling and putting the momentum into his swing, and was aiming for its neck when an icy needle blast pierced his shoulder.

  Before Rix could check behind him the facinore attacked with a pile-driving flurry of blows, driving him backwards, and suddenly he was fighting for his life. A dozen chisel-shaped protrusions shot at him. He severed three, then another two, and ducked the rest. The facinore shrank and withdrew a step.

  Ha! Rix thought.

  Before he could strike a fatal blow, another rain of cold needles spiked into the back of his shoulder. He was under attack with magery. The ice set alight his nerve fibres, spread to his heart and it began to race and burn as it had done when he had been attacked by Mijl the pothecky, by the lake. When he had nearly died …

  There was no one behind him save Tobry. Rix turned, free hand pressed to his heart, the other hand fighting the titane blade which had begun to shudder as though thirsting to drink the blood of his dearest friend.

  A friend with someone else glaring out of his eyes.

  Lyf had returned, and in the chaos he had slipped into Tobry’s unprotected mind like a key into a lock.

  CHAPTER 84

  ‘What’s the matter with Tobry?’ Rannilt whispered, probing the huge bruise where the facinore had struck her.

  Tali swayed, struggling to take in all that had happened. Her magery had been pathetic; she had done more with it as a little girl. And Rix, who had driven the facinore back in that furious attack, was gaping at Tobry, his free hand clutched to his heart and the titane sword shuddering so violently that he could barely hold it.

  The mixture of horror and revulsion in Tobry’s eyes chilled her, but worse was the familiar yellow growing in their centres. Tobry’s right hand pointed the elbrot at Rix as if to blast him apart. Tobry’s left arm kept jerking upwards, his hooked fingers clawing at his own eyes as if to tear them out, but it was forced down again. He was fighting Lyf with everything he had, but that was not enough.

  ‘Lyf’s possessed him,’ said Tali.

  ‘What do that mean?’ said Rannilt.

  Tongues of fire sizzled from the elbrot, crimson and jagged. Rix deflected most of them with the sword and they shot upwards, striking a red-haired king in Lyf’s ancestor gallery and dissolving him in an instant. A single flame caught on Rix’s left ear and flared, singeing hair. He yelped and smashed it out but it flared again, and again until Rannilt directed a wobbling little globe at it. It splattered on the side of Rix’s head, drenching him and extinguishing the flare.

  ‘Thanks!’ he said without looking around.

  ‘Tali?’ said Rannilt.

  ‘Lyf has got into Tobry’s mind and is making him attack Rix.’

  ‘But … that’s horrible.’

  Rix’s eyes were locked on the yellow eyes as if he could drive Lyf out by sheer force of will. The facinore stood to one side, statue-still now. Awaiting Lyf’s command? Or an opportunity to break free of him?

  ‘Possession is an enemy you can never escape,’ said Tali. ‘He can take you over at any time, make
you do terrible things, and you know that even your friends are afraid to trust you.’

  ‘I’ll always trust Tobry, same as I trust you,’ Rannilt said fiercely. ‘No one’s stoppin’ me.’

  Tali hugged the child, overcome by her loyalty and her simple faith. Tobry and Rix had risked their lives to return to this terrible place, to help her. Rannilt had done the same, and what greater gift could anyone give?

  ‘Can’t we drive Lyf out?’ said Rannilt.

  ‘I don’t know how.’

  ‘Get her out of sight,’ Rix said from the corner of his mouth. ‘Don’t let her use her gift.’

  Tali jerked Rannilt behind her. ‘Stay there. Don’t move. Don’t try and help.’

  ‘But no one else can stop the beast,’ said Rannilt.

  ‘Rix can. Just do what I say.’

  Tobry’s elbrot fired a spray of tiny emerald shot. Again Rix’s sword deflected the attack, seemingly of its own accord, the little balls pattering against the walls and eating fuming holes where they touched. If one touched Rix, presumably it would eat into him, too.

  A shudder wracked him. Once more the sword leapt in his hand and he dragged it back only inches before it spitted Tobry’s throat. Lyf threw Tobry backwards, away from the blade, but Tobry drove himself forwards again. Tali pressed her hands to her cheeks. What if Rix could not stop it next time?

  Tobry moaned, his right arm jerked up and he tore open his shirt, baring his chest to the blade. He made a series of incoherent grunts, trying to force out the words Lyf was holding back. Foam oozed from his mouth.

  He gasped, ‘Do it, Rix!’

  Rannilt took a breath that seemed to go in forever. ‘You’n me, we’ve got to save ’em, Tali.’

  But Lyf was far more powerful than they would ever be. For two thousand years he had been strengthening his plans and tightening his control. Tali’s spirit faltered; her feeble and troublesome gift could never stop him. ‘How can we, child?’

  ‘They helped us so we can’t let them go. I’ve still got some golden magery left.’

  At the earnest look on Rannilt’s face, Tali bit her tongue. The war, if Rannilt survived it, would force her to grow up all too soon. Let her cling to the absolutes of childhood as long as she could. And who knew, maybe she was right. She hugged the skinny, determined waif.

  ‘Keep it ready, but don’t use it unless it’s an emergency. I’ll think of something. We’ll save them, somehow.’

  How? The heatstone! Where was her pack? She had dropped it before climbing the wall.

  Rix’s sword leapt in his hand so powerfully that his boots slipped on the floor. This time the tip drew blood on Tobry’s scarred chest before Rix heaved it back.

  ‘Why is the sword trying to kill Tobry?’ said Rannilt. ‘Has Lyf taken it over too?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Tali. ‘That would be like attacking himself. I think … the sword hates Lyf, and Rix said Lyf was afraid of it. Oathbreaker’s blade, he called it.’

  When had Lyf encountered it before? As a wrythen, or as a living man two thousand years ago?

  The foam oozing from Tobry’s mouth went pink. He was gasping and grunting as he tried to fight the possession, but the yellow eyes within his eyes were relentless and his arm was slowly rising, the elbrot in his left hand glimmering as if Lyf were charging it up for a killing blow. And the facinore stood guard to stop Rix getting away.

  Tobry spat out bloody foam. ‘Cut me down, Rix, or all’s lost.’

  ‘I — can’t.’ Rix jammed the point of his sword against the floor to hold it back. It screeched across the polished stone and whipped up at Tobry again, shrilling as it cut through the air. Rix grounded it at the last second.

  ‘Once he’s fully — possessed me — never be free. Sooner — be dead.’

  ‘Rix, don’t!’ gasped Rannilt.

  The sword lunged, dragging Rix with it, and he barely managed to turn it aside from Tobry’s heart. If Rix had to kill his friend, how could he live? And if Tobry killed Rix, even while possessed, it would destroy him.

  For the moment, no one was looking at Tali. She backed away, motioning to Rannilt to stay out of sight. Lyf wanted Tali’s pearl and it was almost within his grasp, for whatever Rix did, it would fail. If he killed Tobry, Lyf would reoccupy his wrythen form and attack again, or order the facinore to kill Rix, and Rix would surely give up. She could see the horror in his eyes at the thought that he might cut Tobry down.

  Ah, there was her pack, at the base of the wall. She felt inside it for the wrapped heatstone and began to peel the wrappings away. Her fingers were shaking so badly she could barely hold the cloth. She pulled and the stone slipped through her fingers. It was uncannily warm and the feel of it on her skin made her squirm. Her heart was beating wildly as she drew it out.

  The heatstone was an inch and a half thick. How to break it? The walls of the flaskoid looked like rock glass but the surface was rubbery and would not serve. And the bookcases were of the same material. She raised it above her head, mentally prepared herself for the pain and the surge of power when it broke, and hurled it at the floor.

  It bounced and flew towards Tobry, but Lyf thrust Tobry’s elbrot into its path and the heatstone slammed into it, bursting in an implosion of light and sound that wrenched a scream from Tobry and speared pain through Tali from skull to groin. She was reaching out desperately for the power when the facinore snatched part of it and grew two sizes. Lyf swirled the elbrot in a spiral, gathered the remainder into himself and forced Tobry to bow, ironic thanks.

  The mud in Tobry’s eyes disappeared — they were Lyf-yellow now. Frustration rose inside Tali like a scream. She had hurt Tobry, strengthened Lyf and gained nothing.

  She searched her inner eye for the patterns she had seen so clearly in the Abysm, patterns that were both the source of power and the key to magery. They were faded here, and so blurred it was a struggle to bring them into focus. As she tried to draw on a small loop, Lyf’s eyes flicked towards her and her head gave a painful throb. Her protective shell snapped shut and the colours vanished.

  He smiled with Tobry’s mouth, a sneering twist of the lips that mocked her pitiful attempt to use the pearl he regarded as his. She stepped backwards, involuntarily, and smelled alkoyl again. Why was she smelling it here?

  The sword dragged Rix a step towards Tobry. Rix’s eyes were starting out of his head and a trickle of blood ran from his left nostril, luminously red in the uncanny light. Tali could hear his teeth grinding.

  ‘If you care for me at all,’ said Tobry, ‘do it!’

  Rix did not move.

  The facinore’s eyes revolved as it digested the stolen power. It doubled over, choking up wisps of brown shadow, then exploded across the chamber, smashing down the bookcases and colliding with the platina still, sending it crashing to the floor. Droplets of green sprayed from its lower end and fumes belched up. It was an alkoyl still.

  Alkoyl held a different kind of power and it had saved Tali once before. She surreptitiously checked around her through the spectible. On a stone table, thirty feet away in the gloom, a book lay open with a silvery aura of magery wisping up from its pages. An iron book.

  In the Seethings, Wil had mentioned a series of secret books called the Solaces. Touched the iron book, I did. Saw you in the future. But not this book, surely, since Wil had never been out of Cython before. What was the connection between Wil and that iron book, and this one, and alkoyl?

  The eyes in Tobry’s eyes were fixed on the titane sword. No one was watching Tali. She edged towards the table. The book had cast-iron covers and its thick pages, numbering no more than thirty, were sheets of beaten iron, deeply engraved with Cythonian glyphs she could not read. The book lay open at the third-last page, the writing ending halfway down it, and the last two pages were blank.

  The smell of alkoyl was strong here. Her head was spinning. Then, standing over the book, she saw that the bottom of each etched letter was thickly crimson, as if half filled with boiling bl
ood. She turned the pages forwards and discovered that she could read the title on the cover — The Consolation of Vengeance. Vengeance she understood in her bones, but why consolation?

  ‘Paralyse — him!’ Lyf forced the words through Tobry’s unwilling lips.

  Tobry’s eyes appeared for a second over Lyf’s and he cried, ‘Rix, he’s eating me alive. Cut me down.’

  Rix’s jaw knotted like a bag of walnuts. He raised the sword, took a slow step forwards, then another. The elbrot spat more emerald shot at him but the blade diverted it, almost contemptuously. The yellow eyes retreated to the back of Tobry’s eyes. Tobry’s free hand rose, making a hand signal to the facinore.

  It came hurtling back, out of control. Its muscles bunched and it formed new appendages on its arm stumps. The stumps lengthened, extending towards the back of Rix’s head, crossed and joined. Rix did not notice; his eyes were fixed on Tobry as he took another slow step, like a marcher at a funeral. He was close enough to strike. The facinore’s two hands formed a set of nutcrackers, yawned wide enough to crack a skull-sized nut, then slowly began to close around Rix’s head.

  Tali threw out her arms, knowing she could do nothing to save him and momentarily forgetting her most important duty. Rix, that wonderful, generous, heroic man, could not die this way.

  Rannilt ran out into the open, screaming, ‘Rix, behind you!’

  Tali dived, trying to stop her, but Rannilt hurled a ball of light at the facinore.

  ‘Ah, quessence,’ said Lyf, and smiled, and reached out to draw the golden globe to him.

  And in that second, Tali realised that every good thing she and Rannilt and Rix and Tobry had done in the war was about to be undone.

  CHAPTER 85

  ‘Take it back!’ Tali shrieked as Rannilt’s little globe shot across the chamber.

  Lyf was smiling, reaching out for it with Tobry’s glowing elbrot. Rannilt evaded Tali’s clutching fingers, raced across the chamber and tried to draw the globe back, but it shot up beyond her reach.