The Beauty of Our Weapons

by Jilly Paddock

  They dropped on me then, like a curtain of water, like a cold wave swamping the shore. I held them away from me, a sinister flapping cape, venom in aspic, their fangs like hollow silver needles trying to hack a way to my throat.

  How many? Zenni asked prosaically.

  Six, seven... Their motion was so frantic I couldn’t manage a headcount. No more than ten.

  Leave none alive. While I can’t believe anyone would recreate a viable breeding colony of these bloodsuckers, we can’t take the risk.

  They rippled around me, trying to pierce my invisible armour. Horrid things, voracious, eyeless—it was so easy to kill them and such a blessed relief. I pinned them to the floor, squeezing-squelching-crushing them into oblivion, then plucked seven vestigial glass brains out of the sticky residue. I rolled the ice-pebbles around in my palm, until they were dry and a fraction warmer, then dropped them into my belt-pouch with the small change.

  Best to press on, Zenni said, with a brittle cheerfulness. I don’t expect we’ll encounter any more taribeor.

  Or eight, or fifty-six? I shuddered. I’ll settle for none, thank you!

  Chapter Thirteen: The Faerie Bridge

  I stepped over the gruesome pulp and went ahead until my way was blocked by a majestic portal of the traditional wood and ironwork variety, complete with a huge antique lock and a lion’s head doorknocker. Strange, I hadn’t figured Draoi as a man with much of a sense of humour. The door itself was unlocked and swung silently on its immense hinges when I tried it. Beyond it was an empty chamber, leading only to a second door. This one was of naked steel with a keyplate inset to its left, the keys numbered one to nine.

  That begs a code to work an open sesame, Zenni said. It might take a while to crack it. Perhaps you’d better ’port on through.

  What’s on the far side?

  I’m not sure. It’s more of that ten centimetre plate and I can’t see past it.

  Is there an alarm on this thing? My fingers itched as they hovered over the keyplate.

  I scan only a basic servo-system and a power source, with no external wiring. All it can do is unlock the door, if we could guess the code.

  Intuition whispered at the back of my skull and I tapped out three numbers—666. With a lazy sigh, the armour plate swished aside.

  Anna? What magic did you use to do that?

  Lucky guess.

  Too lucky—the hairs lifted on the nape of my neck. I moved into another blank room and faced the third door, this time of dark satinwood waxed to a glorious sheen. It stood ajar and I went through into unknown territory, not daring to risk a psi-scan lest it alert Draoi’s protector to my intrusion.

  Here was the first sign of human occupation, a rough trestle table and a dozen battered stools. There were stale crumbs on the floor and several brown stains on the flagstones, presumably from spilt wine. An elegant gothic archway led into a corridor five feet wide. To my right I found a kitchen with all its pans scrubbed clean, left spick and span, and various storerooms, all pretty much empty, so I chose the left-hand way, pausing to look through each door. I found two dormitories with all the bunks made up, as neat as hospital wards, several uncannily tidy living areas and washrooms lacking towels and soap—not even one stray toothbrush left behind. The place was utterly deserted, bare of all personal effects.

  Everyone’s gone! Zenni said in frustration. The operation nears completion—why should they still be here?

  I came to another T-junction and again turned left. Instinct had guided me well, as the next room was a bedchamber, richly decorated to within a whisker of decadence and graced with a large pentagonal bed, with five posts instead of the classical four, curtained in heavy black silk. On the inner face of the canopy was a five-point star picked out in black thread against silver.

  Has to be Nansi’s. I wrinkled my nose in distaste. I think I’m getting warmer.

  There were two doors left, one on the opposite side and one at the dead end of the corridor. I took the easy option first. This room was in stark contrast to the woman’s, its stone floor broken only by a straw-stuffed mattress covered by a single, ragged blanket. A simple glass lantern hung from a chain in one corner, over a shelf bearing a plant in a clay pot. Shiny leaves of a rich, vibrant green trailed over the creamy stone, almost reaching to the floor, while tiny flowers like scarlet stars gave out a pervasive sweet scent.

  Draoi’s quarters. Such suitable surroundings for our back-to-nature messiah, don’t you think? There was nothing for us here, so I retreated into the corridor. The final door faced me, sturdy oak planks as wide as my span, bound and riveted with iron, a palpable threat.

  It’s like a dungeon down here. Zenni whispered, sharing my awe of this last barrier. I’ll bet there’s even a monster behind that door.

  Throw your random number generators away—we aren’t playing your silly game now! I strained to catch any sound that might leak out, hearing nothing. I suppose it is locked?

  Of course, and barred, and bolted top and bottom.

  What can he be doing in there that needs such secrecy? I shivered at some of the answers my fertile imagination came up with. Are you ready to look?

  As prepared as I’ll ever be. He held his breath.

  The lock sprang under my fingers, the bar and the bolts slid easily back. Very gently, I pushed the door, wincing as it creaked mightily in protest. So much for the silent entrance! I inched along a short stretch of dark passageway, glued to one wall, until I could see into the space ahead.

  The chamber was octagonal and fifty feet across, its walls unadorned to the twenty foot mark, where they curved inwards like petals to meet in a point some forty feet above my head. Four of the segments of the dome were carved and painted in black, crimson and gold, yet there were no distinct images, just complex shapes, interwoven patterns and gibberish symbols. The floor was clad in polished black stone and at its centre sat the object of my search, alone and naked but for a loincloth of unbleached linen.

  Draoi was in the full-lotus pose of Terran yoga, eyes closed, meditating, his head bent slightly forwards and his scarlet mane falling like a bloodstained curtain to either side of his face. The only illumination in the room was immediately in front of him, a brightly-burning black candle that smelled of hyacinths. Even the man’s aura was dim, a wan, gold film that clung close about his shoulders. He was in trance and gave no sign of hearing my blundering entrance. I stole a precious moment to wonder at the heart-rending vulnerability of his face at rest.

  “Draw closer, my child.” His transition from trance to wakefulness was so sudden it startled me, his liquid brown eyes opening slowly. “Don’t be afraid. Step into the light, so I can see you.”

  I obeyed, noticing the magic circle picked out in silver filigree on the ebony floor and halting at its edge, six feet from the candle. Draoi stared over the flame, not knowing me.

  “A reveller, by your dress, and an off-worlder at that,” he said at last. “What do you seek here? It’s ill-advised for a stranger to walk the streets of Lowkrys.”

  “All that borrowed power and still you don’t know me?” I shook my head. “I’m back, demon, to reclaim what you stole from my friends!”

  “You!” He flowed out of lotus and came to his knees, the evil surfacing in his eyes. “You’ve altered your colours, yet you haven’t changed your face. My Master said that you were dead, you and the rest of those meddling Terrans!”

  “Your master is the Lord of Lies!” I accused grimly.

  Draoi gained his feet. “Don’t mock him, child! You should know better than that. You’ve tasted his power. Speak out against my Master again and I’ll summon him to punish you!”

  “Call up your pet, pretty boy!” I sneered, although the anger I cultivated was too cold to carry me across the greasy river of fear. “Tell it I want to—no, that I demand to speak with it. You claim to control the abomination, magician. If that’s true, summon it now!”

  I felt the man’s temper trigger, saw his hands curl unconsc
iously into bloodless fists. “I’ll call him, sure enough, but I swear to you, on my bone and blood, you’ll not escape unharmed this time! My Master will sear the living flesh from your bones, put out your defiant eyes and steal your very soul away, bearing it with him to endless ages of torment in his own kingdom! I tell you truly, Terran witch, before this night is out you’ll call on the names of whatever gods you hold dear, cursing them for permitting your birth, that it led you to such a dreadful destiny—”

  “Spare me the rhetoric.” I twisted a thin smile out of my inner trembling, the sight of which goaded Draoi to greater heights of fury. “Call your little demon, my pretty fool! Don’t waste any more of my time. Call it now!”

  He bit down on his ire and inclined his head. “As you will, lady. If to die is your choice, who am I to stand in your way?”

  Draoi began to chant, the same barbed, rhythmic song I’d heard back in the clearing. Once again it reminded me of Ancient Greek. The magician swayed to the beat of it, contorting his long hands into painful shapes to match the unnatural words of his evocation, and finally flinging his arms wide in supplication. As he fell silent, he kicked out like a dancer and felled the candle. The light guttered out and fearsome shadows reared up into the arches of the roof. Wax flowed into a grey puddle, caught the dying flame and started to burn, ice-cold balefire, its friendly orange turning to ugly cerise. I sensed the terror approaching and shut my eyes, too proud to turn my head away. As an attempt to lessen my suffering it failed, and I felt the demon shift into our plane with every fibre of my being, until it was fully there, rock solid and glowing with joyous hatred before me.

  “The lovely Anna-Marie! How delightful to see you again!” The monster laughed and I heard the alteration in its voice, at once deeper and more resonant. My head began to spin, as if I nursed a fever, and my flesh ached with an urge to caress the speaker. “How courageous you are! Brave enough to come back to this place, and yet not brave enough to look at me? Open your eyes, mortal!”

  The command was loud and sharp enough to make me wince. Zenni crouched in the velvet depths of my skull, a warm, silvery globe, radiant with determination not to repeat his cowardice. He was a faithful rock to cling to in this dreadful black ocean. I took his hand and together we dared to look into the face of the demon.

  The chamber was quite dark, yet the skin of the apparition glowed with enough dull phosphorescence to show it clearly. Its body was as I remembered—how could I forget what stalked my every nightmare? Dragon wings of black parchment, serpent tail of crimson and ebony scales and lion’s body covered with a vermilion pelt, matted, mange-ridden and scarred with weeping, purulent sores, the manticore stood before me in all its unlovely glory. I recalled it being larger—perhaps it had shrunk to fit the confines of this room. The human-like arms were missing and its neck was now crowned with the leering face of a Chinese dragon, scaled in red and black to match the tail, framed by a ragged crimson mane. The jaws were wider, the triple rows of purple teeth filthier and the charnel stench of it worse than before. Its eyes were now indigo pits, yet that same evil, violet light fermented in their depths.

  I thought it was real before, but this must be illusion! I murmured to Zenni. To alter shape like that—how can it be anything else?

  Of course it’s illusory, but that won’t help us. We don’t have the will to successfully disbelieve it. He shuddered. Feel that power, Anna! What can we do against that?

  I echoed his lack of hope. The demon’s whiplash tongue slid out of its grin as it rejoiced silently, jaws agape, as a dog might laugh. I knew that it could follow our inward conversations by the way its eyes mocked us.

  “Don’t speak,” it said amiably, just as I was about to clear my shrunken throat. “I know why you caused me to be summoned. I know what you desire—did you imagine that I would not? You mortals are so very predictable! At our last meeting I let you run, granted you an illusion of freedom. I was sure you’d come back for the conclusion of our charming little game, and here you are. You haven’t the wits to disappoint me.”

  “Who are you?” My voice sounded thin and foolish after its melodic bass. “You may speak through this demon, but you aren’t the being I met before.”

  “Perceptive of you to notice the subtle change.” It chuckled. “Ahriman is my vessel, the lowest of my slaves, and the power I allow it merely an iota of my vast resources. Does that dismay you?” My silence only served to increase its good humour. “I see that it does. That pleases me. We shall meet face to face shortly, for I wouldn’t conduct our business otherwise, but first it amuses me to allow you a choice.” The beady eyes twinkled. “I offer you true freedom, the chance to leave Tambouret with body and mind intact. There is a price, of course, but it’s insignificant—three souls, which even now I have in my keeping. Surrender them to me, turn your back and walk away. Go now, before I regret such generosity.”

  I fought to keep my voice steady. “What if I choose to stay?”

  “Then Ahriman will conduct you into my presence. Until then—” The change was slight but instant, the possession wiped out in the blink of an eye. “Draw nearer to me, mortal! I am commanded to deliver you to my Lord.”

  I crept closer to the beast on quivering legs, avoiding the touch of its befouled flesh. It curled a parchment wing around me and I could no longer see the magician’s chamber. I didn’t detect any sensation of displacement, but when the demon drew back its wing a scant second later we were otherwhere.

  It’s still Tambouret. Zenni assured. About two hundred metres deeper into the bedrock. You and the manticore appear to be in a large cavern.

  That was an understatement—it was vast. We had landed towards one end of the immense space, which was suffused with a wan glow similar to moonlight, not bright enough to discern colours well but plenty good enough to see by. The air was heavy and stale, hotter than that of the city. The rock here was darker than that of Krystallya, the pearl dried to an ochre hue and the pastel blooms mutated to shades of khaki, slate and puce. This chamber had been hewn out of the granite as if a giant hand had scraped out a hollow of enormous proportions, leaving the surface blurred and part-smooth, as if it had been made out of modelling clay.

  “Follow me, lady.” Ahriman crouched low in mock-respect. “I will guide you through this small part of my Master’s realm, to the doors of his throne-room.”

  “Only to the doors? Don’t you dare to enter?”

  “Do you dare?” It turned the question, its dragon-mask struggling to express humour. “None ever leave that place, those who dare to look my Master in the face! For centuries uncounted I have waited at that door, but none ever emerge to be guided back to the lands above.”

  My streak of black humour rarely deserted me and I had to ask it. “Did you ever suppose there might be another door?”

  The demon whirled around, hissing, its scaly tail scraping on the rock like fingernails on slate. Its face halted mere inches from mine and the foul dead-fish, faecal stench of its breath made me take an involuntary step backwards.

  “Don’t play with me, Terran worm!” Although the pitch and volume of its voice didn’t alter, the words burned through me, acid with anger. “Don’t belittle me either! I may be a lowly servant of the ruler here but I have enough power of my own to snuff out your puny life! I pursued you before, calling up great terror in your heart. You would be dead had not my Master commanded me to spare you. He found your defiance amusing—I do not! Tempt me no further, lest I forget my duty and punish your insults!”

  “You’re bluffing, demon.” I had to lean on Zenni as my accusation faltered.

  “Perhaps.” Its tongue darted out, brushing my nose. “Do you dare call that bluff?”

  I found the guts to go on. “If you harm me, you must face your master’s wrath. Great as you claim to be, I doubt that you’re brave enough to tell him of my accidental death whilst in your care.”

  Ahriman let out a hollow chuckle, born more of hatred than merriment. “You read me t
oo well, witch! Follow now, closely and carefully. I would not keep my Lord waiting.”

  It turned away swiftly, yet not before I’d seen the misery buried deep in the wastes of its eyes. So the manticore was an unwilling slave then, a fact I might use to my advantage given the slightest chance. We reached a rough arch in the rock and the demon eased its bulk through. Beyond the natural gateway was a crude passage, a narrow squeeze for the winged beast, then the walls opened out into another cavern, larger and brighter than the last. We emerged onto a ledge some twenty feet wide, then the rock fell away in a sheer chasm, only a hundred feet wide and yet with a sense of unending depth. I didn’t care to stand too close to its edge.

  “Behold the ancient fortress of Crystallia!” Ahriman’s voice boomed through the vastness, echoing back from the distant walls and immense vaulted roof. “The city above derives its name from this stronghold, but is a pale imitation of the glorious original.”

  Before me was a true wonder. The chasm encircled a pillar of rock out of which grew an eldritch fortress. Perhaps once the castle had been made out of glass as pure and transparent as spring-water, but the cruel eons had taken their toll, and now the structure was opaque, its surface scratched and pock-marked, its centre flawed and cracked. Once possessing the brilliant clarity of diamond, Crystallia was now in parts as misty as ground glass and in others totally obscured, like dulled opal. Here stood a tower, yellowed and marred by sepia fractures; there reared a pinnacle that retained a little blue liquidity at its tip, but was grey and etched with cuts at its base; there ran a wall with battlements shattered and gone, but here was another relatively intact, except that its surface had been melted and charred by fire. Like an old woman who smiles suddenly at some small happenstance, so that you catch a fleeting glimpse of the beautiful girl she had once been, so there was enough of the essence of the castle left for me to appreciate the wondrous thing it was in its prime. Long ago it had been a fairy-tale palace crafted of purest crystal; now it was a flawed treasure, a broken thing, and a fitting home for a demon. Deep within its cracked but glittering heart I could imagine the castle weeping at its fall from grace, and I would spare it a tear or two later, if I ever regained the luxury of time for nostalgic reflection. The entrance to the fortress faced us, an empty arch, needing neither door nor portcullis. Crystallia was secure enough, with no way to reach it over the unbroken chasm.