by Layton Green
Just as Will wondered why they had only sent two wizards to intercept a bird the size of a rukh, as well as six unknown passengers, he lost control of his body. Frozen in a sitting position, he noticed the others unable to move as well. Even the rukh was suspended mid-flight, poised in midair high above the city. Terror welled up inside him, as well as rage that these two wizards could rob him of his freedom so easily, and thought it was okay to do so.
The two wizards, a powerfully built man carrying a ruby scepter and an older, aristocratic blond woman wearing a diamond brooch that covered half of her chest, alighted atop the rukh’s head. They walked along the neck of the motionless bird, approaching Mala.
“Are you the leader?” the woman asked, in an imperious tone. Her hair was coiffed high above her head and she wore a hair band and earrings that matched the brooch.
“I am.”
“What’s the purpose of this unauthorized incursion?”
“We have an injured companion for whom we seek asylum and aid from a cuerpomancer.”
The woman gave an arrogant chuckle. “A cuerpomancer? Do you have any comprehension of the price of such a request?”
Will sensed Mala working to control her temper. “I do,” Mala said evenly. “If you would but release me, I’ll provide payment for the care of our companion. We seek only to leave her and return from whence we came.”
“Return? I take it you’re not citizens of the Protectorate?”
“Only the injured party. We’re travelers from the Barrier Coast. We were searching for treasure in the Mines of Malaztan and were attacked by a maw wyrm. The venom is powerful. I fear our companion will not survive the day.”
“And the rukh?”
“Injured and forgotten by her mother, found by my tribe when exploring the Jagged Mountains.”
The woman locked eyes with Mala. After a few moments, she broke away and walked the length of the bird, sweeping her gaze across the group and pausing to inspect Marguerite. Will felt himself wither under her stare, mind and soul stripped bare, a feeling he hadn’t felt since facing Zedock. This woman, he sensed, was even more powerful than the necromancer.
With a contemptuous wave of her hand, the woman freed Mala to move but left everyone else frozen. “Your offering, gypsy?”
Will could see Mala’s mouth tighten into a thin line, but she handed the woman one of the backpacks, which she had stocked with gems and coins. The wizard looked inside, eyebrows lifting. “This might suffice, if a cuerpomancer is available and willing. I will do my best. You’ll leave the girl with us, of course. And retreat immediately.”
Mala swallowed and gave a curt nod. Marguerite floated gently up from the rukh and hovered in a horizontal position beside the sorceress. Wrapped arm in arm again, the wizards and Marguerite floated towards the Wizard’s District. Will found he could move again.
Mala watched them descend with helpless fury in her eyes. Caleb moved to stand beside her, expressionless. When the wizards had almost reached the spires, the giant bird returned to flight, wheeling in midair and flying back the way they had come.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Caleb asked.
“I’m unsure. At least now she has a chance.”
“Mala,” Caleb said, after a time, “Can cuerpomancers heal mental illness?”
Will stilled at the question, and saw Val doing the same. Will knew what Caleb wanted to know.
Mom.
Mala shook her head. “I’m told that is beyond their powers. That the human brain is too complex.”
Caleb looked away, and Will lowered his eyes.
Just outside the city, the rukh landed on a wide stretch of the Byway. Mala and Allira appeared to be arguing about something, and it appeared that Mala had won. Allira turned to Will and the brothers, extending her arm towards Val’s side. Somehow Will knew Val was supposed to grasp it, forearm to forearm, and he also knew it meant goodbye.
Will waited until the others had exchanged farewells with Allira, and then pulled her close and gave her a prolonged hug. He knew almost nothing about this mysterious healer from a faraway land, but he knew enough to know she was a fine companion and an even finer human being. Just before Will pulled away, Allira smiled and said, “Those who lose dreaming are lost.”
Will was too stunned to speak, but before he could recover, Allira hopped off the rukh and started walking down the Byway.
“A saying of her people,” Mala said, looking at Will with raised eyebrows.
More than ever, Will wondered at Allira’s story, sad their paths would likely never cross again.
The rukh returned to the sky, leaving Will staring at Allira’s disappearing silhouette and the receding spires of New Victoria. After it gained altitude, the bird wheeled to the right, flying in a long arc south of the city.
“This is the way to Zedock’s stronghold?” Will asked.
“It’s not far,” Mala said, “an hour or two inside the swamp. Minutes for our avian guide. Which is good, because she won’t remain with us much longer.”
“Allira wanted to come, didn’t she?” Will said.
“Aye,” she said.
“Why didn’t you let her?”
“You ask too many questions, Will the Builder.”
A faint reddish glow illuminated the horizon as they crossed over the river Will knew as the Mississippi. Will stood beside Mala as they flew, watching as the pre-dawn hues morphed from black to gunmetal grey, smudges of the vast wetland sprawled beneath them visible in the dim light.
“Alexander told me of his conversation with your brother,” she said. “Of the portal which you seek.”
“You think we’ll find it?”
“I’ve no idea. But I will help you look.”
Will turned towards her and found her eyes, pinpricks of smoky merlot in the semi-darkness. He didn’t think he had ever wanted anything quite so much as he wanted to cup her face in his hands and kiss her.
He resisted, mainly because he didn’t want to be thrown off the rukh and plummet to his death. “Thank you,” he said instead.
She laughed, her musical timbre laced with scorn, the familiar mocking laugh of which Will had grown fond. He knew her laugh contained false notes, that she mocked to protect herself, and that underneath the scorn was a proud and noble soul.
Or so he hoped.
“You saved my life in the keep,” she said. “I repay my debts. I’ll see you to the portal, if one exists. And that is all.”
He tried to read her body language, dissecting her words to find an opening. He realized that if they found the portal and returned home, he would never see her again. So many mysteries swirled around her, but perhaps the greatest one of all, the enigma of attraction, drew Will to her as if he were caught within the gravitational field of a black hole.
“You sent Allira away to protect her,” he said.
“Allira owes me no debt. She can opt for altruism when she leads her own expedition.”
Will gently placed a hand on her forearm. Mala stiffened but didn’t pull away. “I realize I barely know you,” Will said, “but sometimes a stranger can know us better than we know ourselves. When I said thank you, I meant it. And it didn’t require a reply.”
She looked down at his hand on her forearm. “Look behind you.”
Will turned and saw that the rukh had descended to coast low over a bog, the wet gray light illuminating a landscape of watery channels and moss-hung trees. He couldn’t see much else, save for one thing—the enormous black obelisk rising from the murk, a tower of darkness swaddled in the decaying mystique of the swamp.
He didn’t need to ask if they had arrived.
-48-
The rukh glided silently to a patch of marsh grass a few hundred yards from the obelisk, its talons sinking into the muck. A lake of dark brown water, peppered with wooden platforms and rope bridges, surrounded Zedock’s stronghold.
Ghostly stands of cypress ringed the lake, tufts of Spanish moss draping the trees like shrouds. At the edge o
f the water, a pirogue was secured to a small dock. The rukh landed with its beak pointing towards the flat-bottomed boat, as if nudging them towards the next mode of transportation.
Will slid off the giant bird, grimacing as his boots squished into the bog. “I’m sick of swamps,” he muttered.
Val cast a wary glance towards the obelisk. “What if Zedock’s here?”
“One hopes never to combat a wizard in his own domain,” Mala said. “If he is present, your only chance is to distract him with the amulet, and draw close enough with the ring to use the spear.”
Caleb gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “You mean, someone has to stand in front of him with this amulet and hope it absorbs spells long enough to stay alive?”
Val started wading the twenty feet to the pirogue. Will grasped the spear and caught up to his oldest brother. “I’ll take the Ring of Shadows. I’m the fastest runner.”
“When we get to the boat, I’m giving it to Lance. And you’re giving him the spear.”
“Coming here was my decision. Lance just got stuck with it. I’m doing it.”
Will could see his brother’s wheels spinning, and knew Val was trying to figure out a way to do it all by himself. Though it would pain him, Will knew his oldest brother would have to admit that their best chance was to listen to Mala and let someone else have the ring.
Val’s face looked like an approaching hurricane, but he handed the ring to Will without a word. Will slipped the ring in his pocket and gripped the spear. Caleb continued to protest that he should be the one to wear the amulet, but Val wouldn’t relent.
Lance untied the pirogue, stepped inside, and picked up the pole. Mala stood at the prow while Will and his brothers hunched behind her.
Will inhaled a deep breath of miasmic air as Lance pushed off the dock, slipping the boat into the fen in the feeble dawn light. The fog was heavy on the water, cocooning them in mist as they poled towards the tenebrous beacon rising a hundred feet out of the swamp.
The Spanish moss thickened, hanging from the trees like icing melting off a cake. They poled around vines and branches dipping into the swamp, through patches of algae and scum, past platoons of dead tree trunks indistinguishable in the fog from reptiles. Thousands of cypress roots rose like gnarled fingers from the water. It was a gray and sinister wonderland, a tableau of hidden life, beautiful and still and strange.
A sense of menace filled the air, and Will jumped every time the water rippled. Mala stood at the prow, sword in hand, scanning the chocolate waters. The ebony bulk of the obelisk squatted in the middle of the swamp like a fat prince of darkness.
Will joined Mala at the prow just before he saw the first hand reach out of the water. Though human, it was pale and bloated, the fingers grasping for the surface before slipping back underneath the swamp. Will made a choking sound. Mala whipped her head around as two more hands surfaced.
Caleb gripped the side of the pirogue. “Good Christ.”
A succession of hands appeared and disappeared, and even the occasional head, all in various stages of decomposition. Zombified fish surfaced, along with crocodiles, nutria, and a few other creatures Will didn’t recognize. The decayed head of something that looked like a cross between a man and a fish followed the canoe for twenty yards, gills flapping, lidless eyes unblinking.
“Kethropi,” Mala said through tightened lips. “Or it once was.”
Will’s fingers clutched his sword as he stared into the water, an overwhelming sense of dread leaving his mouth dry and hollowing out his stomach. The lack of aggression from the things in the water made the scene somehow more disturbing, as if this were a typical pond, except instead of bass and trout it was stocked with the undead.
“I was wondering at the random placement of the platforms and bridges,” Caleb said, “isolated in the water without connecting to anything. Now I think I understand.”
Will’s voice was wooden. “Observation by the necromancer.”
Caleb swallowed in agreement.
Will had a flash of insight as he stared at the abominations in the water. His sword had stripped the manticore of its unnatural life, and Zedock craved the weapon.
Could it be the sword of a necromancer? In case his creations got out of hand, or a weapon to defeat a rival?
Will decided to test it. He moved to the back of the boat and leaned over, then waited for one of the things in the water to come close enough to stab. Mala asked him what he was doing.
“Have you heard of a sword that combats the undead?” he asked.
“Plenty of swords were wrought to affect the undead,” Mala said. “Though such a weapon would only work on true undead creatures. Not wizard-born undead.”
“So these are . . . wizard born . . . things?” Val asked.
Mala pursed her lips. “These appear to be experiments. Something in between.”
Will never got a chance to test his theory, because they had reached a dock connected to a long rope bridge. The bridge led to a floating platform attached to the base of the obelisk.
Lance tied off the pirogue as everyone clambered onto the bridge. It swung as they walked, but held their weight. Weapons drawn, they proceeded single file, Mala in the lead and Lance watching the rear. As soon as they stepped onto the wide platform, a concealed door in the bottom of the obelisk opened, and two men with shaved heads stepped out, wearing black robes cinched at the waist with silver belts. One of the men was very slight and pale, the other swarthy and tall. Their hands hung at their sides, palms facing inward, and Will knew at once what they were.
“Majitsu!” Mala screamed. “Go back!”
Will stumbled backward as the two majitsu advanced, their faces hostile and supremely confident. As soon as Will and the others reached the bridge, to his horror, Mala turned to face the two warrior-mages.
Will realized she had made a stand because she knew they would never reach the pirogue in time. He also knew it wouldn’t matter; the majitsu would dispatch Mala and hunt the rest of them down like mice.
But he couldn’t let her fight alone. It simply wasn’t inside him. With Val screaming in his ear to run, Will tossed the Spear of Piercing to Caleb, turned and drew his sword, and stepped next to Mala. Lance advanced to stand on her other side, war hammer in hand. Before Mala had a chance to protest, before Will had a chance to fumble the ring of invisibility on to his finger, the smaller majitsu attacked, coming at them so fast Will could barely follow his movements. He leapt at them, something between taking flight and jumping, a propelling of his body that brought him within striking distance.
And strike he did. Mala somehow managed to block his bare-handed strike with her sword, though the blade didn’t seem to affect the magic-hardened flesh of the majitsu, and the force of the blow sent Mala sprawling across the platform. Before Will or Lance could react, however, the majitsu kicked Lance in the chest, spinning him off the platform and into the water, and then hit Will in the stomach with an open palm, knocking the wind from him and thrusting him backward so hard he tumbled halfway down the bridge, knocking over Val and Caleb like bowling pins.
Will lay crumpled on the bridge, gasping for air. He had never seen anyone, or anything, move so fast. And the power! He could not help but marvel at the awesome might of the majitsu, the melding of martial arts and magic into an unstoppable killing machine.
It took all of Will’s strength to rise to his knees, but his air still hadn’t returned. It was then he realized he had dropped the ring. He kept an eye on the fight while he scrambled to find the magical object, fearing it had fallen into the water.
Mala was crouched in a corner of the platform. The majitsu who had attacked was stalking her, mouth curved in a cruel smile. The other majitsu was standing by the door to the obelisk, arms folded, expressionless.
Will saw Mala reach into one of her pouches, extract a small bottle, and quaff its contents. The pale majitsu sprang at her again, but midway through his leap the rukh appeared out of nowhere, swept up the majitsu
in one of its talons, and flew away.
At first Will wanted to cheer, but as soon as the bird ensnared him, the majitsu shouted a kiai and reached up to strike with a ridged palm at the pole-size tendon just above the bird’s talon. Will saw the rukh’s leg sag as if broken, releasing the majitsu. As the bird shrieked, the majitsu placed one hand on the hurt leg and swung his body upward, flipping through the air and landing on the bird’s back. He worked his way along its back, striking heavy blow after heavy blow. The rukh swerved and dipped and whipped its head, finally tossing the majitsu into the air. Judging by his magic-enhanced agility, Will knew the warrior-mage could have landed in a tree or in the water below, but instead he grabbed on to the bird’s wing at the last second, then swung around to land on its back.
He wanted to kill the rukh.
It all happened in seconds, and Will tore his gaze away from the spectacle when the rukh decided to fly straight up with the majitsu clinging to its back, disappearing into the fog.
The second and larger majitsu unfolded his arms and sprang at Mala. Whatever Mala had quaffed must have accelerated her movements, because she somersaulted out of the majitsu’s reach with just as much speed and agility, springing to her feet with both blades in hand, fighting through the pain in her injured arm.
Mala lowered and swung her short sword at the majitsu’s knees. He executed a low block, stopping the blade with his bare hands. Mala came right back with the curved dagger, and he smacked the blade away with a whip-like movement. Will started towards Mala, but Lance climbed out of the water and held him back with his arm.
“This isn’t our fight, Will. We’ll only distract her.”
He knew Lance was right, but the knowledge sickened him. He could only watch, helpless, as the majitsu threw a series of kicks and punches at Mala, so fast they became a blur of movement. With her newfound speed, she managed to block and parry the blows, until one of his fists struck her in the head, sending her slamming into the side of the obelisk. She tried to stand and slumped to the platform. The majitsu grinned and walked towards her, hands loose at his sides.
