Gates of Ruin (Magelands Eternal Siege, #6)

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘But you know where they are?’

  ‘I think so. I was told that three of the palaces in the oldest part of the City have access to mines dug into the hills. I presume that’s why the palaces were built in those locations. I was only inside one of the palaces, in a place called Ooste.’

  ‘How much is left to dig out?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And the Quadrant that transported you from there, where is it again?’

  ‘I told you; it was taken by Karalyn Holdfast. Why are you asking about Quadrants?’

  ‘Because, Belinda, I fear we will soon have to give the news to Implacatus that we have failed in our mission. We have the Sextant, but it is inoperable, and we have been unable to track down either a Quadrant that has been to the salve world, or a person who has used a Quadrant to get there. Any one of these three things would be sufficient to bring us success.’

  ‘You could use a person to get there?’

  ‘Yes, if the person had operated a Quadrant to travel to that world. The memory of their finger movements over the device would be enough. If you were in Lostwell before going there, how did you travel?’

  ‘Karalyn Holdfast sent me; she doesn’t need a Quadrant.’

  Doubt shone in his eyes as he gazed at her.

  ‘She drew power from two demigods,’ Belinda went on, ‘and nearly killed them in the process. She then used that power to send me to the City of Pella.’

  ‘Then why did she need a Quadrant to travel back to her home?’

  ‘Because she was being cautious; she was worried about time, worried about making a mistake.’

  ‘Ah, so she’s not perfect.’

  ‘Karalyn Holdfast is far from perfect.’

  ‘Yet I sense you still hold her in some esteem.’

  ‘The Holdfasts are formidable opponents. I respect them.’

  ‘You love them, I think.’

  ‘Is this about Corthie? Are you concerned that I bear a grudge towards you for killing him?’

  ‘Yes, though Arete is not so sure about that. She thinks you revived him. Is that true?’

  Belinda stood and faced Leksandr. ‘It crossed my mind, but he was too far gone. He would have been an empty shell; a monster.’

  ‘But you were tempted?’

  ‘I admit it; yes, I was.’

  ‘It is good that you are honest with me, but I will have to inform the Blessed Second Ascendant about this. When I spoke about the objectives of our mission, I omitted our one success – you. As well as finding the salve world, we were ordered to bring you to Implacatus when our mission was complete. I would have taken you back there myself by now, Belinda, were it not for one slight problem: your allegiance.’

  ‘Did I not kneel and swear an oath?’

  ‘You did, but your subsequent actions in Yoneath have cast doubt upon your true intentions. Arete, of course, is rather more forthright about the matter; she believes that you are still a rebel, and has advised me to dispatch you to the Second Ascendant for judgement without delay. I, on the other hand, want to give you a final chance to prove your loyalty before resorting to such drastic measures. Forget the Holdfasts. I want you to find me a Quadrant that has been to the salve world, or someone who has used one to travel there. There is very little time to spare, Belinda. Any day, the Blessed Second Ascendant will send an emissary to demand an update on our progress, and when that happens I will have to inform them about the doubts Arete and I share concerning your loyalty. You have until then to prove yourself. Am I clear?’

  ‘Very clear.’

  Leksandr rolled his shoulders and settled into a meditative pose. ‘You can leave now.’

  Belinda inclined her head, and walked from the room. She ignored the demigod courtier on the way out and went down the stairs to her own quarters. Her head was buzzing as she swept past her servants, and she ordered those who were tidying her bedroom to leave. Alone, she sat on the bed, her stomach coiled, her chest aching.

  She thought about fleeing, but where could she go? The other Ascendants would track her self-healing powers and come after her. They would be relentless, and would chase her to the far corners of Khatanax. She tried to calm her breathing. She needed to act, but running away would achieve nothing.

  She lay down on the bed in the darkness, her head on the pillow as she gazed at the dark sky through the open window.

  She would think of something; she had to.

  Chapter 3

  Low

  K in Dai, Kinell, Eastern Khatanax – 17th Tuminch 5252

  Corthie’s stomach jolted as he lay in bed. He tried to get up, but pain shot through him as soon as he moved, and he vomited across the bed and floor of the small room. He hugged himself, agony reaching every part of his body. For a moment it was so bad that he wished he could die, then slowly, it passed, and he lay back down on the wet sheets, panting, his forehead glistening with sweat.

  He opened his eyes to the darkness. Even without any light in the room, his head spun, so he closed his eyes again, fighting a wave of dizziness.

  Someone knocked on his door, but he ignored it.

  Images of Aila swam round his head, as they had done on each of the thirty-five days since she had been taken by Amalia. He had failed her; he had failed everyone, and Aila was staring at him in his visions with accusing eyes, telling him that he was stupid to have believed he had a destiny, and demanding to know why he hadn’t listened to her.

  ‘Corthie?’ came a voice through the door. ‘Are you alright?’

  The words came to Corthie through a fog of pain and exhaustion. Were they real, he thought, or were they just another fevered dream?

  The door opened, the squeal of the hinges tearing through Corthie’s head.

  ‘By the Ascendants,’ muttered Sohul from the open doorway.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ came a woman’s voice from somewhere else.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Sohul, as he eased himself into the small room. He closed the door behind him, and opened the shutters, pulling the warped and paint-blistered wood clear to allow the morning light to penetrate the room.

  Corthie lay still.

  He heard Sohul sigh. ‘You have to stop doing this to yourself, Corthie,’ he said. ‘You’re still sick; you shouldn’t be drinking.’

  He felt a hand touch his forehead.

  ‘And you’re burning up,’ Sohul went on. ‘Listen, I’ll get a mop and some rags to clean this up; I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Corthie heard the door open and close again, and opened his eyes, keeping them narrow to avoid the light from hurting his head more than it already ached. He shifted on the bed, and felt a wet patch from the vomit touch his skin, and then the smell reached his nose, a strong odour of alcohol and bile. He began to swing his legs free from the twisted sheets, keeping his movements slow and gradual, then placed his feet onto the wooden floor as he sat up. He hugged his stomach again, fighting the searing cramps that threatened to immobilise him.

  He glanced around the small room as if in a dream. Clothes lay heaped and abandoned across the floor, and some of them had been hit by the vomit, while pools of it sat on the wood by his toes. He picked up a clean-looking pair of shorts, and pulled them on. A pounding began behind his eyes, worse than any hangover he had experienced. He felt for his battle-vision. He found it, but it was too weak to do anything to help him. It felt like a tiny spark inside him, instead of the raging inferno that was usually there. His powers hadn’t recovered since he had been brought back by Belinda. They were there, but were feeble and sickly compared to what they had been like before his death.

  His death.

  He almost laughed, but the thought of the pain it would bring stopped him. He had died, truly died in the cavern of Fordamere, and he could still remember lying on the stone ground with Leksandr’s sword through his chest. After that? After that, it all became hazy, and his first clear memory was of being in the back of a wagon as it had travelled down from a v
alley into the plains of Kinell.

  The door opened again, and Sohul re-entered with a mop, bucket, and a pile of rags. He smiled nervously at Corthie, then placed a few of the rags onto the floor to cover the pools of vomit. The call and screech of gulls came in through the open shutters, and Sohul glanced out at the view of the river for a moment, then got to work.

  Corthie stared at him.

  ‘We’ll get this sorted in a minute,’ the mercenary officer said, as he dipped the mop into the bucket. ‘Your clothes will need a wash too, I daresay. I can take care of that this morning for you; we can’t have you dressed in sweat and sick-covered clothes now, can we? We can pile them all up for now, and then I’ll heat some water…’

  ‘Stop talking,’ Corthie muttered. ‘The noise is hurting my head.’

  Sohul fell into silence as he carried on cleaning the floor of the room. The mopping didn’t take long, and when he had finished, he crouched down, and began to gather Corthie’s soiled clothes into a pile.

  ‘We’ll, uh, need to wash the sheets as well,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Can you stand for a minute?’

  Corthie remained motionless, then placed a hand on the wall and pushed himself up. The cramps in his guts flared, and he almost doubled over in pain, then managed to stagger to the room’s only seat, a small wooden stool, where he sat. Sohul stripped the bed of its sweat and vomit-soaked sheets, and dropped them into the same pile as the soiled clothes.

  ‘I’ll get some clean bedding for you before lunchtime,’ he said, ‘in case you need to sleep this afternoon.’

  Corthie wanted to punch him. Who did he think he was, treating the great Corthie Holdfast as if he were a child? Shame filled him at the thought, and he started to cry, sobbing into his hands as Sohul stood awkwardly by his side.

  ‘I know things seem grim at the moment,’ the mercenary said, ‘but they’ll get better; I’m sure of it.’

  Corthie clenched his fists.

  ‘Do you, uh, want any breakfast?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Maybe later,’ Sohul said. He picked up a clean shirt and passed it to Corthie. ‘Put that on, and we’ll let the room air for a bit, yes? I’ll take care of everything else.’

  Corthie stared at the shirt for a moment, then wiped his face with his hand. He had wept so often in front of the lieutenant that he no longer felt any shame in it.

  ‘There’s a jug of cool water sitting waiting for you in the galley,’ Sohul said. ‘I put a few slices of lemon in, just as you like it. Come on, there’s a good fellow.’

  Corthie pulled the shirt over his head and stood, swaying and leaning against the wooden wall. Sohul opened the door, and Corthie staggered through into the main section of the river boat, a long, narrow room with benches, a table, and a small galley kitchen. Vana was sitting on one of the benches, and the smell of her cigarettes and coffee almost made Corthie throw up again. She gave him a look as he sat down.

  ‘Stinking out the boat again?’ she said, her nose crinkling as the odour of vomit drifted into the room.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Sohul, as he closed the door, a great bundle of sheets and clothes in his arms. ‘The shutter’s open and the smell will go away soon.’

  Vana shook her head. ‘I’m starting to get used to it.’

  Corthie stared at her as Sohul walked past with the bundle and disappeared into another cabin.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said; ‘it’s your own fault. You’re ill, and yet you continue to drink like a fool. If you had been remotely disciplined, you might have recovered by now. Instead, you look, and smell, like death.’

  ‘Shut up,’ he muttered.

  ‘And in all this time,’ she went on, ‘we’re no further forward in finding my sister, or yours. Are you not ashamed?’

  ‘I feel more shame than you could imagine.’

  ‘Then do something about it. Get fit; look after yourself. Perhaps even stay off the alcohol for a few days? You’re behaving like a child. If Aila could see you now, she’d probably wonder why she’d ever bothered with you in the first place.’

  Corthie clenched his fists and glared at her. She swallowed, and edged back along the bench.

  Sohul came back into the galley and filled a mug with water. He brought it over to the table and placed it in front of Corthie, then sat and lit a cigarette. Corthie unclenched his fists and sat back on the bench, his head spinning.

  ‘We can’t go on like this,’ said Vana. ‘Something has to change, and soon, otherwise…’

  Sohul glanced at her. ‘Otherwise what, ma’am?’

  She bit her lip. ‘Otherwise, I’m leaving.’

  ‘You can’t leave,’ said Corthie.

  ‘Really; is that right?’ she said. ‘Are you going to stop me?’

  ‘I might.’

  She raised an eyebrow at Sohul. ‘Did you hear that, Lieutenant? Corthie says he’s going to physically hold me here against my will. Are you and Van going to let that happen? And what about Naxor? Is he a prisoner too?’

  ‘No one here is a prisoner,’ said Sohul, ‘but we’re all on the run from the authorities and it would be advisable for us to stick together.’

  ‘You’d get caught if you left,’ Corthie said, ‘and then you’d talk; tell them where we were. We can’t risk it.’

  Vana smiled, but said nothing.

  Sohul glanced between the two of them, the lines around his eyes betraying his anxiety. Corthie took a sip from the mug of water, wondering why the mercenary had stayed. His headache started to ease a little, but his stomach cramps and general aches and pains remained. He felt the same way as he had imagined ill people felt, but having never been ill in his life, he wasn’t sure.

  The door to the outside deck opened, and Naxor walked into the galley. He seemed to notice the silent tension, and he stood for a moment, glancing at where the others were sitting.

  ‘The water’s still hot,’ said Sohul, ‘if you were wanting coffee.’

  ‘I’ve already had some today, but thank you, Sohul.’ He walked over to the table and pulled off his coat. ‘Nothing to report this morning,’ he said, laying it over the back of a chair. ‘Kin Dai’s bustling, but no one is out looking for us.’

  ‘Thank you, cousin,’ said Vana.

  Naxor sniffed the air.

  ‘Corthie was sick again,’ Vana said; ‘all over his room, by the smell of it.’

  Naxor sat and lit a cigarette. ‘I’m not cleaning it up.’

  ‘Sohul has already done it,’ she said. ‘He seems to enjoy playing nursemaid to him.’

  ‘I don’t hear you complaining when he makes dinner,’ Corthie said. ‘The fact is that you demigods are nothing but lazy, expecting the mortals to do all the work. You’ve had servants everywhere you’ve lived, haven’t you? Minions scurrying about after you, wiping your arse.’

  Vana smirked. ‘So says the man who can’t clean up his own sick.’

  ‘Steady on,’ said Naxor; ‘there’s no need for any of this. We’re in a bit of a pickle right now, and we need to stop the bickering.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sohul; ‘I agree. I know this has been a trying time, but look at what we’ve achieved – we managed to get away from the Ascendants in Yoneath, and we’ve managed to successfully hide in Kin Dai. We have one big advantage, namely that our enemies think Corthie is dead.’

  ‘That’s an advantage?’ said Vana. ‘His presence here has been nothing but a liability. If we get caught, it’ll be because of him. If it weren’t for Aila, I’d recommend that we ditch him here, and find somewhere else to hide.’

  A sudden rage bubbled up within Corthie and he hurled the mug of water at Vana. It missed her by an inch and smashed off the wall of the galley, showering her in water and fragments of pottery. She stared at him, her mouth open, water dripping from her chin.

  She stood, her hands trembling.

  ‘That was a little over the top, Corthie,’ said Naxor. ‘Perhaps you should lie down for a while.’

&n
bsp; ‘I am so sick of the both of you,’ Corthie growled. ‘Bloody demigods, so smug and arrogant. You’ve been pampered for so long that you don’t understand the first thing about real life. One of you is a coward who used to work for Marcus; you stooped so low that you would search for Aila every day, trying to find her to please your master. And the other one? A crooked liar, who would sell out everyone he knows to get his hands on a Quadrant.’ A cramp gripped his stomach, and he paused, clutching his waist, his eyes closed.

  ‘It’s nice to know what you really think of us,’ said Vana.

  Naxor chuckled. ‘I already knew.’

  Corthie jumped to his feet, his teeth bared. ‘Get out of my sight, before I beat the both of you to a pulp.’

  Vana started, her eyes wide. She edged round the table, pulling Naxor by the arm, and they went into her cabin. Corthie sat again, the pain in his abdomen excruciating.

  ‘Pyre’s arse; I need a drink.’

  Sohul said nothing, his eyes revealing his alarm. He stubbed out his cigarette and got to his feet.

  ‘I’ll, eh, take care of the laundry now, I think.’

  Corthie sat in silence as the lieutenant left the galley. For a moment, the pain passed, and he glanced around as if coming out of a trance. What was he doing? Was he trying to drive them all away? No, he lost control whenever the pain swept over him and he didn’t know what he was doing. He should apologise, but his legs felt like lead. He heard Vana’s raised voice through the thin walls of the river boat. He couldn’t make out the words, but the anger in her tone was clear. He coughed from the fug of cigarette smoke in the galley. It had been several days since he had gone out on deck, but he felt a need for fresh air, and pulled himself up. At once, his knees gave way under his weight and he toppled to the floor, sending a full ashtray and the jug of water flying.

  Sohul’s head appeared at a door. ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Corthie from the floor.

  ‘I’ll come and tidy that up.’

  ‘No! No. I can manage. You’re not my nursemaid, Sohul.’

  ‘I know that, but you’re sick.’