by John March
He felt his heart jump inside his chest, his arms felt loose and disconnected — useless. But years of training with Master Yale took over, and without conscious thought he started summoning a ward.
It felt like trying to lift a slippery ice-covered boulder many times his own weight, his efforts slid away from an impossibly vast obstacle. He'd forgotten about the nearby spike — double the height of a man, and made entirely of sevyric iron.
Even as he struggled, part of his mind seemed to detach, watching the unfolding fight dispassionately, as if from behind his own shoulder. Malign tentacles spiralled outwards from Fla, sweeping up soldiers and bystanders indiscriminately.
He saw Elouphe scramble towards the fountain, and fall in a mass of limbs, and Teblin heave his bulk over the balustrade into concealing shrubbery on the far side of the steps.
A half-dozen crossbowmen lining the top of the side wall trained their weapons on him and Addae. He could see a few of the soldiers had fallen, but the number of attackers increased as more entered the courtyard behind them.
It took him less than a heartbeat to realise they had no chance without their craft. Even with Addae, he could see no other hope against the odds they faced. He ducked down over Sash, turning his body to shield her, remembering the first time he'd vanquished a large chunk of sevyric iron — finding a way to encompass its boundaries.
He forced himself at the resistance, reaching out to find the limits of the sevyric block, using everything he'd learnt from Ben-gan to extend his reach. Instantly drenched in sweat, he felt as if his head would break open, dimly aware of burning golden threads bursting from the air around him. He cried out with the strain, and something shifted — like an avalanche precariously balanced. He slid to his knees, still holding Sash, as a wave of pain swept over him, throwing everything he had at the spike.
With a deafening crack, like the sound of a rock splitting, the resistance vanished.
The ground heaved violently, throwing nearly everybody off their feet, and his ward appeared abruptly to protect the space around the stairs.
Sash felt like a dead weight in his arms, a sticky wetness penetrated the front of his shirt. His body shook as he lowered her to the ground. There seemed to be blood everywhere, drenching the front of her top. He found it hard drawing breath, a new fear lodging inside him, like something hard caught in the centre of his chest.
“Addae, help,” he called hoarsely. “Sash is hurt—”
Addae was by his side before he'd finished speaking, pushing his hands aside, lifting her tunic. Blood flowed from a single narrow stab wound in her side, just below her ribs.
“How can it be like this?” Addae said.
“What do you mean?” Ebryn asked.
“Sashael should not be like this. The wound is slight, there are no vitals to pierce here—”
Fla let out a sound like a injured animal. He clutched his staff before him as if warding off a blow, and hobbled forward shaking violently, the single eye visible under the fold of his cloak focused on Sash.
All around them men, clambered back to their feet. A crossbow bolt brushed Fla's hood, but he seemed oblivious.
Ebryn found his eyes drawn involuntarily from Sash to Fla. He sensed something terribly wrong. Fla seemed to be going into some kind of convulsion, but Ebryn felt something else — as if a vast chthonic force had uncoiled in the ground beneath them, and was forcing its way upwards, sucking light and warmth from the air. Fla groaned as a swirl of glistening ebony motes erupted into the space between them, and, all at once the world skin ruptured.
The shock rippled along the membrane separating the reality of Vergence from the between, and struck with numbing force. Addae's head rocked as if bludgeoned, and prepared as he was, Ebryn's ward rippled, and nearly fractured. The cloud of fragments burst outwards, and in a heartbeat formed a vast dark corona around the middle of the square, sweeping over and around Ebryn's ward.
The armoured men halted as the darkening wave caught them, some in impossible postures, held in place by some powerful, but invisible, force. All movement outside the ward stopped, and a deadening silence replaced the confused noise of the fight.
Nothing happened for a long moment as Fla sank slowly to his knees, leaning heavily on his staff. Then the motes nearest men and plants grew, and Teblin screamed like a man on fire. The finest of jagged threads, as black as pitch, spread from each point, creating a host of tiny fractures in the air, each arcing towards the nearest living thing.
Ebryn held his breath as thousands of midnight cilia pushed downwards, like black lightning, towards his ward. But as he watched, the motes across the courtyard faded, and nearly everyone in sight collapsed. Only Addae remained on his feet.
A bird fell from the sky — a bundle of splayed wings and feathers, and Teblin rolled out of the concealing shrubbery sobbing. Ebryn knew with a choking certainty that every other living thing around them had died.
Addae recovered first, wheeling quickly to take in the entire courtyard.
“Addae, why is Sash like this?” Ebryn asked urgently.
Addae scooped up the nearest soldier's weapon and examined the edge of the blade, turning it in the light. He sniffed at the weapon, looked at Sash, then Ebryn, the lines in his face rigid.
“This blade has a venom on it,” Addae said, his tone grim. “I am sorry, my friend, there is no help for one who has this poison inside them.”
“There must be something,” Ebryn said, hearing the disbelief and fear in his own voice as if it belonged to somebody else.
“It is a poison of my homeland, nothing can be done.”
An iron resolution formed inside Ebryn, a determination not to give up, his mind racing to think of something, someone who might be able to help. “How long does she have?”
“The strongest will live half a day. No more.”
“No, she's strong,” Ebryn said. “She'll live, I'll make her live.”
Addae put out a hand, but Ebryn shook him off. “Ben-gan will know how to help Sash. See about the others — see about Elouphe.”
Help
EBRYN STRUGGLED up the last flight of stairs to the inner library, taking them two at a time, carrying Sash in his arms. His shirt stuck to his back, and the front soaked through where she'd been pressed against him.
At the top, the doors were inexplicably shut. He leant against them expecting them to give way, but they wouldn't budge. He could still feel Sash breathing, but the movements were rapid, and shallow.
He pressed his face against her cheek. She felt cold against his skin.
“Please don't die, were nearly there,” he whispered.
He stepped away, muscles shaking. He'd carried her hundreds of yards, and for most of it nearly at a run. To find the door blocked was almost too much to bear. It hadn't moved at all when he'd pressed on it, which it would have, if simply locked or barred.
Ebryn tried extending his awareness through the door, only to encounter the familiar damping effect of sevyric iron. He nearly started to fold it away, before he remembered it must be the manacles on Hoi and Sevoi.
The double doors were constructed from heavy metal-bound wood, and must have been sealed physically, he realised. Any casting holding it shut would have failed with so much sevyric iron nearby. Whatever had been done must have permanently cemented them in place. He'd need a battering ram to breach them.
Ebryn cast about desperately for another way through. He ran back down the stairs, beyond the range of the sevyric iron, extending his far-sensing left and right, feeling through the heavy stonework of the building to find another set of stairs. He strained, reaching out for any suggestion of a gap.
And he remembered the churlwood in Alobria, pushing aside the huge stone slabs covering their underground lairs, gathering around him, and watching from within shadowy pits. He didn't know the words to summon them, but in his need he reached out, and found the points of contact.
He knelt to free a hand, while supporting Sash, and
a hard grip closed around his outstretched fingers. He imagined looking into those dark sunken eyes, the rich humus smell of something which looked like a living knot of tree roots, until a heavy mass grew before him, and a sour smell filled the stairway.
Where his fingers touched it, the churlwood's stone-hard skin glowed gold. As with all creatures of the wild, and of the green, no words were necessary. His need lent it urgency, and their purpose became one.
It stepped past him with heavy, deliberate footfalls, and when it reached the nearest door it leant forward to push. The door groaned under the strain but held fast.
Undeterred, the churlwood spread out against the door, half a dozen strong fingers exploring sideways, forcing their way through gaps in the stonework around the frame. With a loud splitting noise, the centre of the staircase cracked, almost down as far as Ebryn's feet, and the door burst. Sections of masonry fell, bouncing off the churlwood, and crashing to the floor. As the last fragment came to a rest, Ebryn release the churlwood to clear the way.
Gasping for breath, Ebryn staggered through the wreckage, and slid Sash onto the nearest table. Hoi stood clutching the back of a chair, looking wide-eyed at him. Sevoi sat, leaning back, narrowed eyes flicking between Ebryn and Sash, and back to the remnants of the door. At the far end of the room Suru stood next to Tuk-myrr, on the far side of the last table. She looked as if she'd been about to run.
“I need Ben-gan … where is he?”
“He's gone,” Hoi said.
“What do you mean — gone?” Ebryn asked.
Sevoi reached out a leisurely arm and waved it towards a far table. “He means Ben-gan has departed … left … vanished … gone.”
On the table Sevoi pointed at, Ebryn could see a solitary glow-globe, and a pair of manacles.
Ebryn thought he heard a distant commotion behind him, but ignored it. “Gone — how?”
“Well,” Sevoi said, clacking his own manacles together for emphasis. “It would seem the great Ben-gan never really had need of these after all. He put his there, sealed the door and wished us good luck, and I don't think he meant good luck dealing with you.”
Sevoi looked him over from head to foot and Ebryn took a deep breath to calm himself. Beyond the room the noises were louder — sounds of shouting and smashing wood, but he remained focused on Sash.
“She's poisoned. I need him. Do you know where he went?”
Sevoi go to his feet in a leisurely fashion, sauntered to the other side of the table, and looked down at Sash.
“Oh, dear, she doesn't look like she's going to last much longer, does she? And so pretty. Such a waste.”
Ebryn felt a sudden hatred for the man, unlike anything he'd ever felt for anyone in his life. He felt helpless, unsure what to do. He'd been so certain Ben-gan would know how to help.
“Fortunately, I know another way to save the girl.” Sevoi's lips curled as he looked at Ebryn. He raised both arms, allowing the sleeves of his robes to drop, showing his manacles. “There's just the small matter of these.”
“How do I know you'll tell me, if I remove them?” Ebryn asked.
“You'll just have to trust me,” Sevoi said. “I wouldn't wait too long. My ears tell me whatever Ben-gan shut the door against will be with us very soon.”
He could hear something scrabbling at the bottom of the stairs — Sevoi was right. Some chance was better than none and he knew, even without Sevoi telling him, Sash was in dire danger if he did nothing.
He leant forward, lifted her into his arms again, and folded away all the sevyric iron in the room. After removing the spike, all the small separate pieces in the room felt easy. He looked up and found Sevoi was already translucent.
“Tell me,” he shouted.
“Take her home—” Sevoi said.
“How?” Ebryn called after the vanishing man, but Sevoi had gone.
He looked to where Sevoi had been. How could he to get her to somewhere he'd never visited? And Senesella had been described as hard to reach. He could hear something approaching up the stairs, sounding like a hundred dry leaves driven along by a strong breeze.
Ebryn turned quickly and walked down the room, imagining the woodlands in Fyrenar, trying to reach out and create a path between the here of the library, and the there of the cool dark green forest. From Fyrenar, he hoped it would be easier to find a way to Senesella.
A creature, mottled grey and serpentine, slithered through the shattered entrance, propelled on hundreds of spines which extended out in every direction along the length of its body. There were no eyes, simply an open maw as large as a man's head at the front of its cylindrical body, filled with rows of inward-facing serrated teeth, and lined with hundreds of small suction pads.
Ebryn tried to shout a warning, do something to protect Hoi, but he was already too far into the between, committed beyond the point of return. He struggled to cast a shield around Hoi, but nothing more than a faint golden glimmer crackled along the surface of his skin.
As the old man turned, the creature reached him, completing the last two yards with a violent lunge, and struck him in the centre of his body. The force lifted Hoi from his feet and the creature's mouth-part clamped down with a brittle crunch, sucking lips gripping and holding him in place. Hoi made no sound, but a moist sucking sound came from the creature as it worked its mouth parts — gulping once, twice.
Rearing to the height of a man, it flung the limp form of Hoi away. His body hit with a wet smack and slid, trailing fragments of organs and entrails across the floor of the library.
Ebryn looked back over his shoulder with horrific fascination even as the tides of the between seized him and propelled him forward. The creature lurched forward, turning towards him, accelerating as it slithered over the top of a table, spines rippling. Fragments of flesh clung to its teeth, and he could see the red-stained lip pads puckering obscenely as it closed.
He threw himself forward, gripping Sash to him as he forced himself into the down-flow. Rainbow colours enveloped them as the creature launched itself at his back.
Jaquit
PALONA AND JAQUIT were cleaning up the mess an hour after the ground tremor. Palona harried the servants to sweep up broken glass and pottery, to right toppled furniture, and restore fallen ornaments.
Everyone looked anxious. Even the elderly cook, summoned from the kitchens, could recall nothing similar in her lifetime. Palona had dispatched an errand boy to discover what had happened, and waited impatiently for him to return with news.
They were in the entrance hall when Doctor Elali returned, looking dishevelled, with his headdress undone at the rear, his clothing torn and covered in dust. He looked tired, exhausted, as if he hadn't slept in days, with wide darting eyes, and sudden jerky movements.
“Doctor Elali?” Palona asked. “What's happened to you?”
He didn't answer, but looked at her as if he'd just seen her. There was no trace in Elali's face of his usual calm authority. Now he carried himself in the manner of one of her young Kurbehzian guards, like a battle hardened soldier. Palona became aware of the servants looking from her to him, knowing how bad it would appear if he didn't respond to her, show proper respect.
“Doctor Elali, did you hear me?” she asked.
Elali walked directly up to her, grabbed her left hand, and examined her rings. Palona was so surprised she didn't resist, letting him take her hand without protest.
“Are any of these sevyric iron?” he asked.
“Sevyric iron?” Palona said.
“Do you have sevyric iron?” Elali asked, the tone of his voice hardening.
He held out his hand, palm upwards, and a cool blue flame appeared there, suspended just above the surface of his skin. The flame produced no heat. It was there for the briefest moment, then gone.
“No,” he said, dropping her hand, and turning away.
Palona felt lost, without any idea what might be happening, thinking for a moment she must be dreaming, or she'd mistaken somebody else for
Elali.
It seemed impossible that Doctor Elali could have produced a flame like that from nothing. All she could think was if her uncle knew about him.
As Elali walked away the entrance door sagged, as if under a vast weight. It groaned, then cracked, and split — falling inwards. Outside, the two guards assigned to the door struggled silently, as if wrapped in the coils of a vast invisible serpent.
Between them stepped a man, broad and powerful, with wild red hair. In one hand he held a short axe, the other closed with something molten dripping between the fingers. Numb as her mind felt, Palona thought she recognised him from somewhere, and then she recalled — the man almost always standing behind Vittore at receptions — Orim, who held the position of Ronyon.
Vittore's “steel fist” was the politest thing said about him when she'd asked, but she knew enough to also sense the fear, even at a civic banquet, from those seated around her.
“Master Yale, wherever you run to, I will follow. You cannot escape. It is not you I want — give me the name, and on my oath you are free to go for now,” he said.
“I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than you would if you were standing in my place, Orim,” Elali said. “I made my allegiance a long time ago, before you first set eyes on Vergence. I will not break it now. You work with Vittore to suppress your own kind, but a change is coming, a war, and you're on the losing side.”
Palona stood with her mouth half open, looking from one man to the other, trying to understand what Elali might be talking about, and why Orim called him Yale. She understood enough about Vergence to know it could never be threatened by war — no army could ever reach it in sufficient number to mount any kind of threat, and her uncle had never even suggested the possibility. The idea was preposterous.
She heard a grating sound, like hundreds of rough-edged stones dragging over the wooden floor, and a flash in the air between the two men, like a tiny flicker of lightning, splaying out a dozen blinding threads in all directions. When Palona looked at Orim, the after-image of the discharge forming dark lines in her vision, she found he'd disappeared into a group of indistinct figures of similar size and appearance.
