“Great,” Aralus said. “He thinks you’re a god. Now, Ifferon, is there any chance you want to do something godly and get us out of here?”
“I would if I could,” Ifferon said, “but I claim no power.”
“Perhaps you should start claiming,” Herr’Don suggested. “Or this will really be a dead end for us.”
“We need to get out of here,” Thalla said. “In moments they will be here. They know where we are. All they have to do is get through that door.”
“Is there naught that a Child of Telm can do?” Herr’Don said, and Ifferon saw a desperation in his eyes, as if for once the Prince of Boror did not feel powerful.
Ifferon took the burned Scroll from his pocket, and his heart sank. Half of it was still there, charred and smouldering, but what is half the power of a dead god? What are the Last Words if they no longer make a sentence? Herr’Don hung his head as Ifferon showed the ruined parchment.
“We are safe,” Geldon said, “for a time.”
“You Garigút have some strange notions of safe,” Aralus said. “Lock me in the house of my enemy and call me safe.”
“We are safe!” Geldon yelled.
But they were not.
Suddenly there came a great bang upon the door, as if a heavy hammer had been launched against it. The door shook, the hinges loosened, and dust sprang from the walls from the force of the quake.
“They are trying to get in!” Thalla cried.
Long black wisps of fingers probed beneath the door, feeding through the recess and crawling further in, like the spread of a wave of black beetles. Another thump came upon the door, and then a second set of clawing fingers.
“Can you do something?” Herr’Don asked Thalla. “With magic. Surely there is some ward you can use? Did Melgalés not teach you aught?”
“I do not have a Beldarian,” she replied.
“You won’t have a life if you don’t do something!”
“There is a word of warding,” she said. “But it takes time. I need time!”
“We shall give you time!” Herr’Don said, unsheathing his sword.
“Cerranath!” Théos cried in the tongue of the Ferian. He cowered in the corner, clutching Délin’s hand.
“Keep that child quiet!” Geldon shouted. “He’s not helping!”
“What’s he saying?” Herr’Don asked.
“The Shadow!” Elithéa said.
“Ashanath em nasseleth,” Théos whispered, his voice quavering like his limbs. It seemed that he was about to collapse, so Délin took him up in his arms.
“The hands of darkness,” Elithéa translated. “It seems he can see this shadow better than the keenest of sight among us.”
“He has the clearsight?” Ifferon quizzed.
“We must barricade the door even more,” Délin shouted, and so he set Théos down upon a sack of grain in the corner and dragged another sack towards the entrance. There was another monstrous bang, followed by more reaching shadow at the base of the door.
“We must get something to block their hands,” Herr’Don said. He and Aralus went to the cabinet on the far side of the room. They grabbed one of the doors and reefed it from its hinges. It splintered and broke, but the piece they had pulled from it was large enough to span the width of the door. They stamped with their boots upon the shadow at the door, and they shivered, for their feet grew icy cold through the leather from the mere touch. A shriek was heard outside, followed by an even greater bang against the door. Then they shoved the plank of wood into the gap beneath, pushing it until it jammed and no more shadow leaked into the room.
But something pushed back. The plank was shoved into the room, and a great black smoke poured in. Then a horrid black hand, like the claw of Death, came under the door and grabbed at Geldon’s ankle. He gave a ghastly yell, as if he had suddenly been immersed in a lake of ice. His eyes went grey and his jaw went limp and wide, and it seemed to all that he would be swallowed in his own mouth, sucked into a newly-crafted abyss.
“Help him!” Thalla called, and as she spoke Elithéa sliced at the hand with her dagger, but it merely loosened the grip. Herr’Don took his sword and slashed down at it, and it was severed by the force, which tore into the floorboards, splintering the wood. The black hand around Geldon’s leg began to fade, but it faded into him, causing a thick black scar where it had touched, as if it had already gone gangrenous. Délin caught him as he fell, but his foot snapped off and the blackness seemed to spread within him. Délin recoiled, for it seemed that it was rising up to meet him.
“We need to seal the gap!” Herr’Don said. He jammed the wooden plank at the base of the door again, and Aralus helped him haul bags of grain on top to stop it from being pushed back in again.
Then they all withdrew from Geldon, for they did not like his look and feared his touch might infect them. None were familiar with the maladies of the Molokrán, but they needed no lessons, for Geldon’s affliction was enough to plague their minds.
But even as they retreated from him, Théos stepped forward, and Délin called him back, but could not get to him in time. The boy walked to Geldon and placed his hand over his mouth, where the lips were turning black, and he held it there for a second and seemed to whisper something. Then there was the sound of a long, slow exhalation as the last breath of Geldon filled the air—and he was dead.
Suddenly the room dimmed, as if the candles had been put out by a sudden breeze. Fear fell upon them like the collapsing of buildings, crushing their spirits and making rubble of their courage. They thought the door had been breached and that the room had been consumed entirely by blackness and shadow.
But they were wrong. A new light shone forth, and they saw that Thalla’s face was glowing blue. She looked suddenly older, sterner, more terrible to behold. Her arms were upraised, and upon her palms were pale blue circles filled with pale blue runes. She walked towards the door and placed her hands upon it. There was a terrible sound of rending steel, as if a great metal door had slammed shut. The gaps between the door tightened until not even an insect could crawl through. Then Thalla was thrown back, collapsing into Herr’Don’s arms, and they saw that upon the door were blue handprints filled with the runes of warding. Thalla’s hands were scorched, for the power that was channelled through her was too potent without the protection of a Beldarian.
But even as Thalla sealed the door, it seemed that an immense force had come upon it, and the ward was instantly strained. What might have stayed armies was turned to a single bolt across a wooden door which faced an onslaught like a dozen battering rams.
“The Lichelord is here!” Ifferon cried. It seemed as if the Shadowlord had come forth not only to the door, but into Ifferon’s mind. Dark eyes peered into his soul, threatening to devour him. I will eat you, he whispered to Ifferon. I will eat your family. I will eat your friends.
But the others needed no announcement, for they had sensed him too, and before they could answer, the walls around the door began to shake. Bricks loosened and scree fell. The stone answered to the Lichelord’s call.
A dark, chill voice seeped into the room: “Your little magics are a mockery of Aelor. Do you really think that a door can stop us? Do you really think that stone can stay me?”
An earthquake came. The ground shook, boxes fell, and the company stumbled. It seemed as if the very cement between the stone burned away. Bricks pushed in, breaking in pieces as they clattered to the ground. The company’s fortress was breached, their haven crumbling.
But this new Lichelord had yet to confront the full might of the Alar Ardúnar. The time had come.
“Avaunt, Shadow!” Geldirana called from the hallway, her voice strong, her tone menacing. “Flee as your brothers do before the light. You know me not, yet we have duelled, but you know my station, and it is by the grace of Corrias that I stand before you now, strong and fearless!”
A blast of light followed, and it seemed as though a supernova had occurred, blinding and burning them all. When they had come to ag
ain, the presence of the Molokrán had gone. Ifferon could see in the eye of his mind that they were chasing her down the hallway, hounding her as she led them away from Ifferon with some spell of luring. He did not know if it was love or duty that made her do such a thing.
“They’ve gone,” Herr’Don said, breathing again.
Aralus approached the door, which crumbled as he placed his hand upon it. “I don’t think that would have held them much longer,” he said.
But all were too shaken to respond, and Thalla still gazed at the remains of Geldon, which slowly crumbled onto the floor, as one turned to sand. “Is this the fate of those struck by the Molokrán?” she asked.
“Let us not linger to find out,” Herr’Don replied. “This is but a brief reprise, though may it be long for Geldirana’s sake.”
He peered out into the corridor, still wary, for he expected some dark figure to jump out and seize him. But nothing did. All that lingered in the hallway was silence, deathly and haunting. Grey smoke rose from the floor, which looked like rubble, burned and broken as if the siege had made its way right into the heart of the citadel. And perhaps it had, Ifferon thought, for he wondered how Geldirana had managed to get in.
“I think they went left,” Herr’Don said. “So we should go right to avoid them. If it were up to me, I would go left to chase them down like the moon chases darkness into the crags of rocks. They would flee, as all things of right mind do, before the terror that is Herr’Don the Great when unleashed like a ball of flaming might from a catapult of justice!”
“Perhaps you’d like to do that while we go right?” Aralus suggested.
“Dear Olagh, no! Who would defend you should they come back this way? No, Geldirana must fend for herself, for I am honour-driven to go right, or left if they went right, for that is where Ifferon goes, and he is in my charge.”
“I did not know of such contract,” Ifferon said.
“It was not of verb,” Herr’Don replied. “An understanding between two great minds, you might say. But come, we must carry on with our journey. We succeeded in our mission to infiltrate the Bastion, but I think perhaps that Geldirana used us to distract the Molokrán from her armies. Never trust the Garigút to tell you the whole of the matter.”
“Even if that were so,” Ifferon said, “has she not played a distraction herself? It was a dangerous thing to challenge them alone, but I expect she shall return.”
“You give her too much credit, Ifferon,” Aralus said. “She may not return at all!” He laughed heartily, but none of the others were much amused.
“Let us move on,” Thalla said. “Ere we think our own deaths are amusing.” She stepped out into the corridor. “We go right.”
* * *
And so they went down the battered hallway, stumbling over fallen bricks and slipping on a sea of dust. Often they grabbed at the walls to stable themselves, but it seemed that the walls would shift. They did not touch them again, for fear that they would collapse inwards. They turned a corner in the corridor, and their hearts sank, for there, ahead of them, was an identical corridor, and further on: the anticipation of another. They stopped at the second turn, tired, for the corridors were long, longer in thought for their monotony. They rested as they could, leaning upon some fallen bricks, and drinking of what water they had brought with them, for the dust frequently caught like sand in their throats.
It was then, after a moment of silent rest that Théos stood before Ifferon and talked to him. “Callim i thú Arithú,” he said, staring deeply into Ifferon’s eyes, and for a moment Ifferon felt as though the boy could somehow see through all the veils and masks he had put up. “Callim i thú Éalel em Arithú, Súilel em Éala. Éala? Éala bis bha?” He looked about, confused. It seemed as though he did not know where he was, or who these strange people were. Bewilderment mingled with fear and he recoiled from them.
“What is he saying?” Ifferon asked, partly from curiosity, but mostly to wrestle his mind from the intent gaze that had been set upon him.
“I see Light in you,” Elithéa said. “I see a God of Light in you, a Child of God. God? Where is God?”
Théos started panicking then, shaking and clambering, shouting and screaming in the tongue of the Al-Ferian. Délin grabbed him and held him, but the boy struggled and grew more and more distressed.
“We need to do something,” Délin said. “This is all going wrong!”
“You should not have brought him,” Herr’Don said.
“I told you to leave him behind,” Aralus added.
“You told him to kill him!” Elithéa shouted.
Délin shook his head violently. “I didn’t bring him. He followed us.”
“You brought him to the Old Keep,” Aralus stated.
“He’s just a risk,” Herr’Don said. “We don’t even know who he is. He could be one of them, for Olagh’s sake!”
“He’s not,” Délin assured them. “I know he’s not.”
“How do you know?” Aralus asked. “Do not tell me it is your heart that told you, for the heart is the deceiver of great minds. It is the subtle slayer of sharp thinking, and its wounds are hard to undo.”
“I know it in my soul,” Délin said. “I know because ... it seems like Corrias is telling me that there is more to this, something big, something important. It seems like Issarí wanted me to join Ifferon on this journey, not just to help him, but for something else. Maybe Théos is that something else.”
“Or maybe you have deluded yourself,” Aralus said. “And that seems more likely to me. Ah, so much for your idol, Herr’Don. He is much weaker in person than he is in the fables. And fables they are, are they not?”
“They are not,” Délin snapped. He stood, holding Théos close to him. The boy had quietened, but still mumbled strange words to himself. “And if you would know the validity of the tales about me, about my might, about my honour, and about how I have no quarrel with using my might to defend my honour, then I am game to play your little game, to put your foul mouth and sly hands to the test.”
“Oh, the knight has gotten a bit upset,” Aralus mocked, placing his hands over his mouth, pretending he was fearful. “What are you going to do, Délin? Tuck me into bed when you’ve said goodnight to the boy?”
“I will say goodnight to you first,” the knight spat, setting Théos down again and unsheathing his sword.
Thalla stepped in front of him, holding her hands out; they still smoked from the char of the door. “This is not the way, Délin.”
“Idle threats are the way for Délin,” Aralus said. “He’s too old to act on them.”
“But you’re not too young to die!” Délin shouted, pushing forth. Herr’Don joined Thalla between the two, keeping them at bay from one another.
“Stop this! This won’t solve anything!”
“Leave them be, Thalla,” Elithéa said. “I know who Éala favours in this battle, and Aralus will come out of it without a tongue, if he comes out at all. Let them fight. Délin’s honour has been questioned. It is the way of our people that such cases be tried under an open sky in an open battle.”
“But Délin is not one of your people!” Thalla shouted. “This is madness! Do you not see? This is playing right into the Adversary’s hands! He does not need to harm us if we do it to ourselves. All he has to do is create enough fear and doubt in us and we will do the rest. Resist the urge, be it righteous or not, and you resist Agon; you do not hearken to his call.”
Délin lowered his sword and sighed deeply. “Thalla is right. Agon wants to tear us apart, but it is more fun for him to do it from the inside out, for it is from the inside that comes his own torment. Whether you will it or not, Aralus, you are a pawn in his game and your insults come as if from his mouth. Do you speak with the voice of Agon, Aralus? Do you speak not as a Man of Boror but as a Nahamon, a Dark Man?”
“Oh, spare me your speeches, Délin,” Aralus said. “I speak for myself here. Don’t be so arrogant to assume that anyone who speaks aga
inst you is voicing the thoughts of the Beast. Do you really think I serve anyone? I serve myself, Délin. That is your problem—you try to serve Arlin, to serve Iraldas, to do justice and honour, to defend the righteous, the poor and the innocent. But where does it leave you, Trueblade? If you take a platter of bread to everyone before you, you will soon find that there is none left for yourself. Who do you serve, Délin, and have you ever questioned why you serve them?”
“Yes, yes,” Délin said, “I have. But I feel it is your time to spare speeches, for it will be a dark day ere I stoop to heed them.”
“Come!” Herr’Don said. “Let us forget this moment of turmoil and continue on our journey, for there is long yet to—”
But there was a strange sound from around the corner, and all saw a wisp of shadow speed by. They recoiled, fearing the Molokrán had caught their scent, had finished with Geldirana and come back for them. But it was not the Molokrán. It was the voice of a man, deep and sonorous, brooding in some arcane tone. They peered around the corner to see a dark robed figure, cowled in shadow and veiled in darkness. He held a book aloft and spoke to an empty room, yet as if he thought there was an audience there.
“Arise Agon! Arise ere the Ardúnari slay your most potent servants. I am your emissary, your servant, your summoner. I bring the Book of the Beast and the Serpent Stones to channel your energy. It will raise the Gormathrong, the Circle-Serpent of Iraldas, the Snake of the World, the Elad Én of the Void. He will come out from the Void and he will enter Halés, and there he will confront the Gatekeeper and kill him, kill that arrogant fool. Then you will be free, my Lord. Then your chains shall be broken, your bonds lifted, your cage unlocked. Climb up to me Agon, for I have word from your servants that the Scroll of the Last Words is burned. It is useless now. It cannot stop us. Arise Agon! Come forth to me! Come forth to devour the world and all who dwell in it!”
“No,” Herr’Don whispered, shaking his head. “The Gormathrong? Corrias exiled him to the Void. Surely he cannot be raised. He’d eat us all, Agon included!”
The Children of Telm - The Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 27
