Gates of Ruin (Magelands Eternal Siege, #6)

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘Any dragon that needs a human is weak,’ said Deathfang.

  Sable smiled. ‘Why?’

  ‘It would be like a human needing a rat,’ said Burntskull.

  ‘A blind man may need a faithful dog to help him find his way, and to protect him.’

  Burntskull laughed. ‘You equate yourself to a dog?’

  She shrugged. ‘Better than a rat.’

  ‘Enough,’ said Deathfang. ‘I get your point, witch. For many days, we have debated what to do about your presence here in the Catacombs. For a while, we continued to expect the return of Blackrose, but it seems clear that she will never come back to the Catacombs. We must presume that she is dead.’

  ‘She is not dead,’ said Sable. ‘I spoke to her half an hour ago.’

  There were muttered gasps from the dragons in the cavern.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sable, ‘I am what you would call a witch. I used my powers to seek out Blackrose and speak with her. She is currently imprisoned within the city of Alea Tanton, after being captured by two Ascendants. We intend to free her soon. Sanguino’s first flight was a necessary step in our plans.’

  ‘Kill her now,’ snarled Burntskull. ‘She is the cause of Frostback’s estrangement. Your former daughter was correct about this insect being a witch; and now you have heard it from her own mouth.’

  ‘Or, I could help you,’ said Sable. ‘My powers are extensive. I can see anything that moves in Khatanax; I can tell you if danger approaches.’

  Deathfang laughed. ‘I do not require your help, insect. Now that Sanguino can fly, you are able to leave. This shall be my final act of generosity towards you, and I shall do it out of respect for Blackrose. If you leave peacefully within the next few days, you will be unharmed.’

  ‘Why don’t we come to a deal?’

  ‘I have told you, you have nothing to offer me.’

  ‘What if we kill Grimsleep for you? I know that he is the main cause of your worries. He is strong, and his presence on the other side of the valley is the gravest threat to your authority in the Catacombs. If we destroy him, then will you allow us to stay?’

  ‘Now you are being ridiculous,’ said Deathfang. ‘For one thing, I could kill Grimsleep any time I choose, and secondly, Sanguino would be no match for him, even with you on his shoulders.’

  ‘You are wrong,’ said the dark red dragon. ‘I can, and shall, slay Grimsleep.’

  ‘You would kill your own father?’ said Ashfall, her eyes wide.

  ‘He is not my father,’ growled Sanguino. ‘He has cursed me, and I him. I long to meet him in combat.’

  ‘This is a nonsense,’ said Burntskull. ‘We have been more than fair with you.’

  ‘One moment,’ said Deathfang. ‘This amuses me. They clearly have no chance against Grimsleep, but I would enjoy watching them try.’ He turned to Sanguino and Sable. ‘Very well. You have a month. If you have slain Grimsleep within that time, I will allow you to stay. If you haven’t, then we will descend upon your tomb with a dozen dragons and tear you all limb from limb.’

  ‘We accept,’ said Sable. ‘Then, following Grimsleep’s death, we shall rescue Blackrose and depart this world forever. Anyone here who wishes to accompany us to Dragon Eyre to liberate your home world will be welcome to join us. We shall slay gods by the dozen, and lay the bodies of their soldiers in heaps. It will be a noble pursuit, filled with blood and ash, and when it is concluded, the gods will fear dragons as they did in the past.’

  The chamber fell silent. Sable bowed her head to Deathfang, then Sanguino turned his heavy bulk, and they made their way to the tomb entrance. The dark red dragon said nothing as he launched himself into the air, but Sable knew he was troubled.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said, as they rose into the sky.

  ‘You should have told me what you were going to say, my rider. How am I to kill Grimsleep? He is greater in size than Blackrose. Not even Deathfang could defeat him on his own.’

  ‘I was thinking on my feet and I couldn’t figure out any other way to make them let us stay. Listen, you don’t have to fight him. We have another month. We can train hard, and then leave one night, quietly.’

  ‘I cannot. My honour is now bound to the words I spoke in there. I was telling the truth about my desire to kill Grimsleep; I loathe him, and now I have promised to face him. I cannot back down.’

  Sable nodded. ‘Then we’re going to have to work out how to kill him.’

  Chapter 5

  Exhibition

  A lea Tanton, Tordue, Western Khatanax – 21st Tuminch 5252

  Belinda heard the roar of the crowd as soon as the air cleared. Arete slipped the Quadrant into her robes, as the four gods took in the cheers and applause of those sitting in the vast arena. Felice raised her hand and waved to the massed Blue Thumbs supporters who, in their home arena, were outnumbering the Deadskins supporters three to one. The blue-sashed crowd chanted Felice’s name and she gave a broad, but fake, smile. To her right was Arete, and then Belinda, and finally Latude, who had recently been appointed patron of the Deadskins despite still being a prisoner. His ankles were fastened with thick chains, and he looked miserable as he squinted in the bright sunshine. He would be going back to his prison cell under the Governor’s residence as soon as the games were finished, and part of Belinda’s role that day was to prevent him from escaping.

  Arete gave a brief nod, and the four gods sat, the two Ascendants in the prime seats.

  ‘It’s nice to get out of Old Alea,’ said Arete, ‘and I’m looking forward to watching mortals hack each other to pieces.’ She glanced at Felice. ‘How long have you been the patron of the Blue Thumbs?’

  ‘About eighty years, your Grace.’

  ‘Ha! You must have seen a lot of blood spilled in that time.’

  ‘I have, your Grace, though the novelty has worn a little thin over the decades.’

  ‘We should have games like this on Implacatus. It would be something to watch, and it would keep the population under control.’

  Latude snorted.

  Arete gave him a withering glance. ‘Behave yourself, or I will flay the skin from your face.’

  Belinda watched as a gate in the circular wall of the arena opened, and a troop of armed men ran out, all wearing differing types of armour. Each one of them had a blue sash tied over a shoulder, and the Blue Thumbs supporters erupted at the sight of them. At the opposite end of the arena, another gate was opened, and a stream of green-skinned men and women in rags were pushed out by guards with spears.

  ‘They’ve spiced up the executions, I see,’ said Felice. ‘Normally, these criminals would be chained up and butchered by greenhides.’

  Arete nodded. ‘The greenhides are being held back for a special treat, or so I’ve heard.’

  Belinda noticed the eyes of the Seventh Ascendant gleam with a savage joy as she watched the armed Blue Thumbs start to hunt the condemned Fordians. They took their time about it, stalking the panicking prisoners slowly, to eke out some excitement for the crowd. The first to die was a young man, cut down from behind by an axe blow that split the back of his head open as he tried to run away. He fell to the sand and the Blue Thumbs supporters cheered, while the Fordians in the crowd sat in silence, their anger almost palpable.

  Belinda watched the slaughter unfold beneath her, her mind unable to fathom why the crowd loved it so much. Were people really so cruel? Or was it only some people? Might many of them be quite normal, but get carried away by the sight of violence? Whatever the reason, she knew at once that she disapproved. Certain types of criminals may deserve to be executed, but not as entertainment. Justice was not the same as entertainment.

  Arete glanced at her. ‘You enjoying yourself, Belinda?’

  ‘No.’

  Arete rolled her eyes, then laughed as an old woman was beheaded on the sands below them. The Blue Thumb who had killed her stooped down and lifted the head by the hair, showing it off to the crowd, while his curved sword dripped blood onto the s
and.

  ‘So brave,’ muttered Latude.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Arete.

  A net was cast over the last prisoner still standing, and a group of Blue Thumbs closed in, hacking downwards with their weapons until the man lay in pieces on the sands. The crowd cheered again as the Blue Thumbs warriors formed a line in the centre of the arena. They bowed in the direction of the gods and Felice stood to give them a wave and a smile.

  ‘They like that, your Grace,’ she said, as she sat again. ‘With Kemal and Baldwin both dead, I am by far the longest-serving patron. The city would burn if anything unfortunate happened to me.’

  Arete laughed. ‘Do you think that’s why we’ve been keeping you alive? You live because Leksandr and I find you marginally useful. You and the other gods of Lostwell are, or were, a disgrace, and your rule of Lostwell incompetent and negligent.’ She glanced at Latude. ‘And you were the worst of them all. Corrupt, venal and lazy. Were it not for your shortcomings, the Sixth Ascendant and I would never have had to lower ourselves into coming here.’

  Felice and Latude sank into their seats, their eyes cast down.

  A few yards below them, a courtier dressed in flowing white robes stood and raised his hands. ‘People of Alea Tanton,’ he called out, his clear voice carrying across the arena; ‘today we are honoured by the presence not only of Lady Felice, patron of the Blue Thumbs, and Lord Latude, patron of the Deadskins, but also by two Blessed Ascendants! Never in the history of the games have we seen such an audience; in generations to come, people will marvel at how lucky we are.’ The crowd cheered but, again, it seemed as if most of the noise was coming from the Blue Thumbs supporters, while many of the Fordian Deadskins were sitting in silence.

  ‘Now that the executions are out of the way,’ the courtier went on, ‘we have a very special treat for you all. As you know, an auction was held some thirty days ago, at which a newly-captured dragon was put up for sale. The savage beast was purchased by the Deadskins…’ At this, the cheers of the Blue Thumbs turned to boos and jeers, and the courtier waited for them to settle.

  ‘Up to now,’ he continued, once a modicum of quiet had been achieved, ‘no one in the public has yet had a chance to glimpse this new acquisition, but today, we are fortunate indeed, for the Deadskins have transported their new champion here, so that we can all take a look at its fighting abilities. It will not, I repeat not, be participating in any competitive match today; this is more of an exhibition to whet the appetite. The first proper match with this new dragon will take place at the Northern Pits precisely one month from today, on the occasion of the final Blue Thumbs versus Deadskins match of the year. If, that is, it survives today. Therefore, I bid you, welcome Obsidia!’

  Belinda frowned. She had not been anticipating the appearance of a dragon, and when it had been announced, her thoughts had gone straight to Blackrose. But Obsidia? The name meant nothing to her.

  As the courtier raised his hands with a flourish, a huge gate at the end of the arena was opened and two columns of slaves emerged from the shadows, each pulling a chain. Out of the gloom appeared the head of a muzzled black dragon, and Belinda stifled a gasp. It was Blackrose. The dragon seemed not to be resisting the pull of the chains, and walked out onto the sands to a roar of noise from the crowd. For the first time during that day’s events, the Fordians in the audience leapt to their feet, their cheers ringing out, while the Blue Thumb supporters hurled abuse and insults down at the dragon.

  Felice scowled.

  ‘Whatever is the matter now?’ said Arete.

  ‘This is most unfair, your Grace,’ the god said. ‘That new dragon should have gone to the Bloodflies, to make up for their loss of Sanguino. This means that the Deadskins have two such beasts, against the Blue Thumbs’ one; while the Bloodflies have none.’

  Arete shrugged. ‘The Deadskins paid the most and I never argue with money.’

  Blackrose moved into the centre of the arena, while the slaves retreated back through the gate. The dragon’s wings were tethered, but her limbs remained free. She raised her head and gazed around at the spectators.

  Belinda coiled her vision and sent it out, meeting the dragon’s gaze at she stared up at the seats where the four gods were sitting.

  Blackrose, she said, I’m so glad you’re alive.

  Do not speak to me, traitor. Sable has told me everything, including your part in the disaster at Yoneath. Your time will come, and I will watch as you die.

  Sable’s alive?

  There was no response, and Belinda realised that the dragon had severed the vision connection between them. She tried to force her way back into Blackrose’s mind, but found it impossible, like trying to push a hand through a stone wall.

  Belinda’s spirits sank, and for a moment she thought her composure would crack. Sable had told her everything? What did that mean? With a sickening realisation she understood at once what it meant. Sable had told Blackrose that Belinda had betrayed them all, and the dragon had believed her. Why wouldn’t she? To all appearances, Belinda had betrayed them. There she sat, right next to one of the two Ascendants who had captured Blackrose and slain Corthie; of course she would believe that Belinda was a traitor.

  ‘Remember we were talking about the greenhides?’ said Arete. ‘This is the part I’ve been looking forward to. Apparently, the beasts we are about to see have been starved for several days to get them in the mood.’

  Another gate in the wall of the arena opened, and a terrible shrieking echoed across the sands. Belinda frowned, remembering her time in the City of Pella, as she watched five greenhides race out of the darkness and into the bright sunlight. They caught sight of the dragon immediately, and moved into an arc, their claws and teeth clattering and snapping. Blackrose remained motionless, her eyes watching them as they edged towards her. The crowd began to simmer with excitement, while many Fordians were screaming words of encouragement at Blackrose, or “Obsidia”, as they chanted her name.

  Arete nudged Belinda with her elbow. ‘Who’s your money on?’

  ‘I don’t gamble.’

  Arete rolled her eyes again. ‘Fine. Who do you think is going to win?’

  ‘The dragon.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Arete said; ‘it looks a bit scared to me. It’s just standing there.’

  The low shrieking from the greenhides was almost inaudible as the roars and shouting from the crowd rose into the blue sky. The five beasts had their heads low, their talons scraping through the sand. Then, as if they had coordinated their attack, they pounced. Their strong back legs dug into the ground and they sprang at the dragon.

  Blackrose reacted at once. She was unable to use her teeth, but her right forelimb swung out, and her thick claws ripped right through the closest greenhide to a roar from the watching Fordians. The other four leapt at Blackrose, their talons scoring her thick hide, and she swept her tail at them, bowling two over. In seconds she had torn the pair still standing to shreds, their dark green blood spraying across the sand. One of the others jumped up, and sank its teeth into the dragon’s right flank, its talons slashing the black scales. Blackrose ignored it for a moment, and went after the last one, crushing it under her weight until it lay still. She turned to the one biting her side. She drove her muzzled head at it, knocking it loose, then, with both sets of claws, she tore it in half.

  The crowd seemed almost delirious to Belinda – they were standing and screaming as if they had lost their senses. Blackrose picked up a severed chunk of greenhide flesh, and hurled it into the rows of Blue Thumbs supporters, spattering them with green blood. On the other side of the arena, the Fordians cheered and screamed in joy.

  ‘Obsidia!’ they called out, chanting her name again, as the Blue Thumbs supporters simmered in anger.

  ‘My,’ said Arete, ‘she does put on a decent show. I’m tempted to go to the Northern Pits next month, to watch her in a real match.’

  The large gates of the arena opened, and two lines of slaves emerged, hol
ding the dragon’s chains. Accompanying them were a dozen heavily armed guards with large crossbows. Blackrose glanced at them, then strode towards the tunnel entrance without any need for forceful persuasion; her head held high as the Fordians roared their approval.

  Latude chuckled. ‘My money wasn’t completely wasted, I see.’

  Felice stared at him. ‘What do you mean? Did you give gold to the Deadskins to buy this beast?’

  He winked at her. ‘I might have done.’

  She turned to Arete. ‘That is explicitly against the rules. The gods are not supposed to use their personal funds to help their own teams.’

  Arete shrugged. ‘Who cares?’

  ‘That dragon belongs to the Deadskins in more ways than one,’ Latude said. ‘Do you not recognise her? She used to be called Blackrose, and was the Deadskins champion for a decade some years ago. I was merely righting an old wrong.’

  ‘Why did they rename her?’ said Belinda.

  ‘They’re embarrassed. They sold her to some dealer because they thought she was useless and worn out, and they don’t want to admit that they were wrong.’ He glanced at the Fordians celebrating in the stands. ‘I wonder if any of those fools realise the truth. It’ll get out, eventually, but, as the Sacred and Holy Seventh Ascendant just said – who cares?’

  Felice frowned, but said nothing.

  With the dragon exhibition over, the sands were cleared of the greenhide remains, and the proper games got underway, with a dozen warriors from each team entering the arena to another sustained roar from the crowd. Belinda settled into her seat, and pretended to be interested.

  * * *

  ‘What did you think of it all?’ said Leksandr to Belinda once the gods had returned to Old Alea.

  ‘It was appalling; pointless.’