Hakon shrugged. “I am telling you now, Miss Novoranya, am I not? And the habit of secrecy is hard to unlearn. Especially about this place.” The pale blue eyes roved over the strange terrain of the Shadowlands. “I have seen so many horrible things here that I never have spoken of to anyone who has not been here. Do you, Miss Novoranya, tell your brother about the things you have seen in the Shadowlands?”
I didn’t. I wasn’t going to, not ever, not unless Russell saw them for himself, and I hoped he never would.
“Yeah,” I said. “Okay, more useful information. We probably shouldn’t step on the Warded Way until the dwarves show up.”
“Why not?” said Hakon. “The spells on the Way will keep any wraithwolves or anthrophages or the weaker creatures of Earth’s umbra from attacking us.”
“Because,” I said, “the Inquisition monitors the Warded Ways, and checks up on them every so often.”
“We are Graysworn,” said Robert. “Completing our oaths as Graysworn does not contradict our duties to the High Queen.”
“Sure,” I said. “But running around with a woman who can open a rift way? You think the Inquisition might want to talk to you about that? And your families, maybe?”
Robert and Hakon shared a look.
“She might have a point,” said Hakon.
“Let’s just wait until the dwarves show up,” I said. “Once we join them, the Inquisition will think we’re part of their embassy, and they won’t care.”
“Very well,” said Robert. “Does anyone have any objections?”
No one did, so we crossed to the edge of the gleaming white road and waited in silence. I kept looking around, waiting for the wraithwolves or the anthrophages to show up.
The clanging noise jerked me out of my morose contemplations.
“Here they come,” said Robert. He glanced at me. “You should really let me do the talking, Miss Novoranya.”
“What?” I said.
“We don’t wish to offend the Exokrator,” said Hakon, “and I suspect your mouth sometimes runs away with you.”
I scowled at him but sighed and resolved to stay quiet.
A moment later the dwarven embassy of Nerzuramaxis came into sight.
I had never seen dwarves before, and I stared at them in astonishment. They were short, maybe even shorter than I was, but much wider and broader. Some of the dwarves wore short-sleeved robes of bronze-colored cloth, and the muscled arms I saw were thicker than both of my legs put together. Their skin was an odd reddish-gray that reminded me of granite, and their hair and eyes were uniformly black.
The clanging noise came from their armor. Dozens of soldiers surrounded the robed dwarves, and I had never seen anything like their armor. It looked as if it had been fashioned from gold, for one thing, though it had a hardness than real gold did not. As their arms and legs moved, I saw whirling gears in the shoulders and elbows and other joints of their armor, and the clockworks seemed to make them stronger, driving their legs against the ground with terrific force.
The dwarves wore clockwork armor, and most of the soldiers carried crossbows that made Riordan’s and Robert’s weapons look like toys.
Robert stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Exokrator Milaxes!”
The dwarves halted, dozens of pairs of suspicious black eyes turning in our direction.
“I am Captain Robert Ross, a man-at-arms in service to Duke Carothrace of Madison, himself a vassal to the High Queen Tarlia of the Elves,” said Robert, standing with parade-ground stiffness. “I remind you that once I saved your life in the Shadowlands, and in gratitude, you arranged for your world to have peace with the High Queen. I call now upon the memory of that debt.”
One of the robed dwarves stepped forward. This dwarf’s costume was more elaborate than the others. A belt of gold links went around the dwarf’s broad waist, and torques so large I could probably have worn them as belts rested on his massive arms. In his right hand, he carried a golden staff of office topped with some kind of incomprehensible clockwork mechanism, and he wore a diadem adorned with symbols.
“Robert Ross,” said Milaxes. His voice was deep, far deeper than any human voice, so deep that my teeth vibrated with it. It was also a cold voice. Not that he seemed hostile. There was simply a strange lack of emotion in the voice, one I had never heard from a human. It was almost like talking to a computer.
“Exokrator Milaxes,” said Robert with a bow.
“Humans will, of course, be purged from the cosmos,” said Milaxes. “All lesser races, save the dwarves, will be made obsolete and die out, and then we can, at last, continue the great work of finishing the titanic engine that is the cosmos. Nevertheless, I do not find it disagreeable to encounter you once more.”
I guess that was what counted as a warm greeting from the dwarves of Nerzuramaxis.
“My companions seek mercenary work,” said Robert. “We wish to accompany your party to the court of Venomhold.”
“Your companions,” said Milaxes. He held out a broad hand, and another dwarf stepped forward and placed a clock-like instrument in his hand. He flipped it open and studied the dial for a moment. It looked a lot like an aetherometer. “You are who you say you are, Captain Robert Ross.”
“I usually am,” said Robert.
If it was a joke, it didn’t register with the dwarves. Milaxes looked over the rest of us, sweeping the aetherometer before him.
“The older human male is a wizard,” said Milaxes. He looked at Riordan. “That male is in a symbiotic bond with a creature of the Shadowlands. The female is also a wizard, though I am baffled why you brought her to the Shadowlands. Human females are weaker and generally less capable of logical thought than human males, and the logical capacity of human males is already unimpressive.”
I don’t think I liked him.
“Nevertheless,” said Robert, “we wish to hire onto your company as mercenaries.”
“Why?” said Milaxes.
“Because you are going to Venomhold, and we desire to travel to Venomhold,” said Robert.
“Your course of action is inadvisable,” said Milaxes. “The Knight of Venomhold detests both humans and Elves, though she is herself of human origins. This is illogical, but her actions are driven by irrational emotional reactions, not by the clear sanctity of logical thought.” For the first time, something that might have been an emotion came over his face, but it seemed to be disgust at the idea of someone acting irrationally. “Does your action have the potential to injure the Knight of Venomhold?”
Alarm flooded through me, and I started to speak, to warn Robert to lie, but Riordan gripped my arm.
“Yes,” said Robert.
“Very well,” said Milaxes. “An accord can be reached. We will offer a contract as mercenaries. You can accompany us to the gates of Venomhold until we are admitted. After that, you are no longer part of our embassy. If the Knight’s servitors choose to admit you, that is their affair. If the Knight’s servitors continue to believe you part of our embassy, that is their affair. What you do then is your own affair…and it is also the Knight’s affair.”
“Wait,” I said, and the dwarf’s cold black eyes turned towards me. “You’re an embassy to the Knight of Venomhold.”
“This statement is correct,” said Milaxes.
“And if you know we’re going to potentially injure the Knight of Venomhold,” I said, “then why will you let us come along?”
“Is it customary for human females to address outsiders?” said Milaxes. “This female is defective.”
“What?” I said. Milaxes must have taken that as a prompt for further information because he began to expound.
“The cosmos is a machine, and each life within it is a component within the great mechanism,” said Milaxes. “The function of human females is to produce and rear offspring. Of course, the cosmos is defective and must be repaired and perfected.” The dwarves watched him with their full attention. I suppose Milaxes was giving the dwarven equivalent
of a sermon. “So you may be a defective component of the great machine. No matter. In time, all shall be perfected.”
“Nice speech,” I said. “That doesn’t answer the question, though.”
“She is right, Exokrator,” said Robert.
“Very well,” said Milaxes. “The Knight is irrational and driven by her hatred of the Elves and the High Queen. Normally, this would not present a threat to the dwarves. However, the Knight is the lord of the demesne of Venomhold, and while she is imprisoned within her demesne, she nonetheless wields great power. More, she has gathered powerful allies to herself, and her plans threaten the dwarves of Nerzuramaxis. Even worse, her plans threaten the cosmos itself, with the possibility of introducing further defects into the great mechanism.”
“In other words,” I said, “the Knight of Venomhold is crazy, but she’s powerful, so you have to deal with her so she doesn’t make trouble for you. If we make trouble for her in a way that keeps your hands clean, you won’t care, and you might even appreciate it.”
Milaxes stared at me for a moment.
“The human female’s summary is crude and uncouth,” he said, “but essentially correct.”
“Flatterer,” I said.
“Flattery is a rhetorical device employed by lesser races that lack the logical facility of the dwarves,” said Milaxes. With that, he decided to ignore me and turned instead to Robert. “You may accompany us, under two conditions.” He pointed his clockwork staff at Riordan. “First, the symbiont-altered human will keep himself under control. Should he attempt to feed on any of my soldiers, we will kill you all.”
“Agreed,” said Robert. Riordan said nothing, his expression calm.
“Second, humans are an uncouth race who are in heat constantly,” said Milaxes. “Should any of you attempt to mate with the human female, or should you fight among each other to secure mating rights with her, we will leave you behind.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said. Hakon coughed into his hand. I couldn’t tell if he was laughing, the jerk.
“This is a necessary condition, as humans are known to be irrational,” said Milaxes.
“Yeah, well, that robe makes you look fat,” I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but irritation and fear had gotten the better of me.
Milaxes didn’t even blink. “This is incorrect. My percentage of body fat is within the normal range for dwarven males of my age. Your distorted perceptions are further evidence of your irrationality.”
So there.
Milaxes turned back to Robert. “Are these terms agreeable?”
“They are, Exokrator,” said Robert. “I thank you for your consideration.” He glanced at me. “Despite the occasional…outburst.”
I sighed. He did have a point.
“It is of no concern,” said Milaxes. “It is the nature of humans to exercise irrationality. It would be irrational to expect anything else of you. Come along, Captain Ross. We shall depart for Venomhold at once.”
Chapter 9: Boyfriends
I had never actually traveled on a Warded Way before. All the other times I had come to the Shadowlands, I had been trying to avoid the eye of the Inquisition, so I had never actually used one.
I discovered something new about them.
They let us travel fast.
It reminded me of the moving walkways at airports and train stations, though this was much faster, and the road did not actually move beneath our boots. The Shadowlands blurred around us, and we walked through plains and deserts and ghostly forests and swamps. I suppose that explained how the High Queen moved her armies so quickly through the Shadowlands. If not for the deadly danger we faced, it would have been kind of fun.
Staying focused on the deadly danger was easy. Every so often I saw a pack of wraithwolves or a band of anthrophages or other creatures, but they all stayed away from the Warded Way. Either the magic of the Way kept them from attacking, or the creatures decided not to risk a fight with a band of heavily armored dwarven soldiers.
As we traveled, the terrain grew bleaker. The Warded Way passed through a desert of black glass, plains of jagged obsidian stretching away in all directions. Every so often I saw pyramids of human skulls heaped upon the ground, and in the distance, I saw packs of anthrophages loping along the horizon. Strange creatures floated overhead, things that looked like enormous clusters of eyes with slimy tentacles dangling from beneath them. They looked like jellyfish from hell if jellyfish were twenty feet across and could fly. I kept a wary eye on the creatures, but they never came close to the Warded Way.
“We’re in Venomhold now,” said Robert. “Every creature we see from here on out will be under the command of the Knight.”
A pack of bloodrats ran past the Warded Way. The bloodrat I had fought inside Venomhold had been the size of an ox. These were smaller, only the size of large dogs, but they were still a pack of rats the size of dogs with blood-drenched fur and tails liked barbed whips. I shuddered to think of what the creatures would do if they caught us.
“Those flying things, too?” I said.
“Cytospawn,” said Hakon, watching one of the things drift past, its mad eyes fixed upon us as we traveled. “Things from the deep Shadowlands. Very dangerous. A single touch of their tentacles can cause madness, and they can use magic as well. Many of them have sworn to the Knight of Venomhold.”
“The wizard is correct,” said Milaxes, who was within earshot. “The Knight of Venomhold is bound within her demesne, but her servants are not, and she has assembled a large force of them. Including, it would seem, agents upon your own world.”
I thought of all the stories I had heard about the Rebels taking refuge in Venomhold. I knew it was true since I had run into Martin Corbisher and some of his goons within the walls of Venomhold. Maybe the woman who had summoned Mr. Cane was inside Venomhold as well.
But who? I had suspected that Nicholas Connor had sent the banehound after me. He was the most likely suspect, and of everyone I knew, he had the most reason to wish me dead, unless Corbisher had survived his encounter with a bloodrat. But Mr. Cane had all but said that a woman had sent him. Was there a woman in the Rebel leadership? The Rebels tended to enslave women and keep them drugged as prizes for their soldiers, but the Rebels weren’t exactly a cohesive organization. Maybe a woman had founded her own Rebel cell and sent Mr. Cane to win favor with the Dark Ones by killing me.
Maybe Nicholas had a new girlfriend with magical skills.
Massive black mountains came into sight, filling the horizon like a wall of shadows. The Warded Way led into a valley between two mountains, curving around the base of a rocky cliff.
The citadel of Venomhold itself rose before us.
Venomhold…God. How to describe Venomhold?
Imagine a fortress the size of a city sitting on a mountain. I should add that the fortress was built of a strange black stone that looked as if it had been poured into place and that green light shone and flickered from within the depths of the walls and towers and parapets.
It was huge and mad and surreal. Its half-ruined look put me in mind of the spell-shattered towers in the wreckage of downtown Chicago. Venomhold resembled a castle, yet it was a strange mix of towers and cathedral spires and ziggurat terraces and palace colonnades, a dozen different architectural styles blended together. If I had given a demented architect a hundred trillion dollars, an unlimited supply of illegal hallucinogenic drugs, and a thousand years, he might have come up with something like the castle sprawling along the mountainside.
And it looked…wrong, somehow. Venomhold seemed like it was alive, yet it was a diseased and corrupted life. If I had to describe Venomhold in a single sentence, I would say it looked like a giant stone tumor, something spreading across the mountains like a malignant disease.
I was about to walk in there. Again.
Riordan, Hakon, and Robert all started at the fortress, their expressions grim. The dwarves watched the half-wrecked citadel as well, but they only seemed mildly disgust
ed. Given their devotion to logic and their unbridled arrogance, perhaps they disapproved of Venomhold’s half-ruined condition.
“By chance, Exokrator,” said Robert, “do you happen to know where the Tower of Regrets is within Venomhold?”
“I do,” said Milaxes. “It is located off the Great Hall. Once we arrive, we shall present ourselves to the Knight in the Great Hall. She has called all her vassals and her allies to Venomhold for a great council.” He gave Robert a sideways look. “If you wish to wander away to cause mischief, that would be an excellent time.”
“I thank you for the counsel, Exokrator,” said Robert.
“You might not before the end of your life,” said Milaxes. “If you are captured, I shall inform the Knight that our contract ended at her gate, and you entered her fortress of her own volition. I would suggest killing yourselves rather than allowing yourselves to be captured. The Knight is known to inflict a variety of torments upon her prisoners.”
“Thanks so much for that helpful advice,” I said.
“You are welcome,” said Milaxes. Evidently, the dwarves of Nerzuramaxis were too rational for sarcasm.
We reached the end of the Warded Way, and a came to a massive zig-zagging ramp that made its way up the face of the mountain. Step by step we climbed, and at last the ramp ended in a broad wall of black stone, fingers of green light flickering and shining in its depths.
Rebel soldiers guarded the gate, crossbows in hand.
The Rebels didn’t have uniforms since they were a bunch of different terrorist cells with a common mission. Nonetheless, every Rebel I had ever met had the same look, and the eight men at the gate had that look. They all seemed to dress in camouflage jackets and cargo pants and tactical harnesses, and they all had AK-47s slung over their shoulders and pistols at their hips. Those were useless here, so they all carried crossbows.
“Name yourselves!” called the lead Rebel. At least, I thought he was the leader since he had the fanciest patches on his jacket.
“I am the Exokrator Milaxes of Nerzuramaxis,” announced Milaxes, striking the end of his staff against the stone of the terrace for added emphasis. “By command of the Great Council of Nerzuramaxis, I have come to serve as the ambassador of Nerzuramaxis to your master, Natalya Karst the Knight of Venomhold.”
Cloak Games: Shatter Stone Page 14
