Justice

by Ian Irvine

  Putting his back to the wall, he looked down the potholed approach road, weighing the most probable routes of attack. The ground outside the walls was sodden by rain and would be difficult for the enemy to fight in—they would soon churn it to sticky, knee-deep mud. Grandys’ army would probably come down the road, then fan out.

  After Lyf’s defeat by Grandys at Reffering, Holm had collected dozens of bombasts and grenadoes, plus wagon loads of other alchymical weapons, from the battlefield. He had tested them and found that they still worked—it appeared that their failure at Reffering had been solely due to the magery of that black pyramid.

  Soon after arriving at Garramide, Rix had mined the ground outside the walls across the most likely attack front—the approach to the gates—by burying the bombasts there, then covering each one with green turf. When the attack came he planned to set them off, though it was a once-only defence which might or might not work. If Grandys even guessed they were there, presumably the Five Heroes could render them useless by creating another pyramid shield.

  A frigid wind buffeted him in the face. He shivered, headed inside and up to the main guard post behind the gates. He was pleased to see Benn there, scooping mugs of steaming honeyed tea out of a large bucket and handing them to the waiting guards. Rix waited his turn, then took a mug for himself.

  “How’s Glynnie?” he asked. “I haven’t seen her today.”

  “Still cranky about the portrait. Why do you need it so bad, Rix?”

  “Well, the wyverin is Grandys’ weakness—”

  “Because of the legend?”

  “No, because he’s so afraid of it that it’s changing the way he thinks and acts. If I had the portrait to look at, I might get an idea about how to beat him.”

  “Then go and get it,” said Benn, who believed Rix capable of all things.

  Rix smiled down at the lad. If only things were that simple. “Problem is, only Tobry knows where Salyk hid it. How can I ask him in… his current state?”

  “You can’t. But Rannilt could.”

  “Rannilt isn’t very pleased with me at the moment.”

  “She’d be happy to go away with Tobry. She hates it here. I’ll ask her if you like.”

  “Best if I ask her myself. I wouldn’t want to seem more of a coward than I already am.”

  “You’re the bravest man I know,” said Benn.

  “And yet I dread to raise the topic with Glynnie.” Rix studied Benn thoughtfully, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Wait, I’ve got an idea. You could explain to Glynnie why I have to go to Caulderon. That way I wouldn’t get into even more trouble.”

  “See you later,” said Benn, and raced down the steps, swinging the empty bucket.

  “Going to Caulderon is a stupid idea,” said Glynnie.

  “Are you forbidding me to go?”

  “You’re the lord of Garramide,” she said stiffly. “I can’t forbid you anything.”

  “As my dear friend you can.”

  “It’s desperately dangerous, even if you use Lyf’s Sacred Gate… no, especially if you use it.”

  “But dare I use it, based on the word of a child?”

  “Rannilt is no ordinary child.”

  “It doesn’t mean she can’t get things wrong. What if the gate’s a trap?”

  “Surely you’re not asking me to talk you into it?” Glynnie said wryly.

  “Sorry—I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused.”

  “You’ve been worrying about the damned portrait for a month. Having nightmares about the wyverin rising… doing sketches of it devastating the land.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Don’t yes but me!” she snapped. “We’ve got to take it seriously. Hightspallers think the wyverin’s appearance spells the end of the world. Errek, the very first Cythian king, put those stone Defenders, and great protective magery, in the entrance tunnel to keep intruders away—”

  “Or to stop it from getting out.”

  “And now Tobry wants to give himself to it.”

  “But what does it all mean?” cried Rix. “That’s the real problem.”

  “Everything circles around the wyverin—and if getting the portrait gives us an advantage over Grandys, we have to take the risk.”

  Rix took that as her permission to go. “Thank you,” he said, and kissed her on the brow.

  “I don’t think you will thank me when it comes time to go,” she said softly.

  When Rix entered the Black Hole, Tobry was squeezed into a corner, holding his hands up before his face. Rannilt was talking softly to him but he kept putting his hands over his ears.

  “Rannilt?” said Rix. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  She turned away reluctantly. Rix had never seen a child looking so haggard. Tobry slumped to the floor and covered his head with his hands again. His nails, Rix noted grimly, looked more claw-like than ever. Rannilt’s previous healing had been almost completely undone and he did not see how she could ever reverse it. Tobry seemed too far gone.

  He cursed Tali, inwardly. Why couldn’t she have restrained herself? She had been so strong for so long. Why did she have to crack and reject Tobry at the worst possible moment?

  Rix sat on the foot of the bed, which creaked and sagged. It was the same bed under which Holm had hidden Tobry, deeply asleep from a double dose of sleep draught, on the night of the mutiny. The night Tali had made that disastrous attempt to heal him with her healing blood. Rix wondered if Tobry remembered anything of that night; if the present and the past had any resonance because of what he and Tali had experienced here.

  Rannilt perched at the other end, her thin legs crossed, glaring at him. It was a look she reserved just for Rix, because when they’d first met it had taken her a long time to trust him. Or to look at it another way, he thought wryly, it had taken him a long time to prove himself. But their worlds had changed out of recognition since that time, and so had they.

  “I need your help,” said Rix.

  “I can’t do nothin’,” she said desperately. “It’s takin’ every minute I’ve got and he’s still gettin’ worse, because of her.” Rannilt spat the word out. “I shouldn’t have brought him back. But Tobry—”

  She reached out and grabbed Rix’s hands without thinking. Rannilt looked down, startled, when she realised she was holding his dead hand, but did not let go.

  “If you could only have seen the look in his eyes whenever I mentioned Tali’s name,” she said softly. “He loves her so, Rix. She was the only thing stoppin’ him from givin” himself to the wyverin… and now she’s rejected him. I’m really afraid. What if he doesn’t want to be saved?”

  Look at the poor, miserable bastard, Rix thought. We should have put him down when we had the chance. But he and Tali had delayed and delayed, and the quake had given Tobry the chance to get away, and now he was in an even greater agony than he had been then. He was utterly, hopelessly ruined.

  And yet… Rannilt had worked miracles with him before. He had to give her the chance to do it again, for both their sakes. If she was robbed of the chance, Rix wasn’t sure she would get over it.

  “If anyone can save Tobry,” he said with all his heart, “you can.”

  “Do you mean that?” said Rannilt, her eyes glowing. “Do you really mean it?”

  “Yes I do. You’ve done so much for him. When I saw you coming across the plateau with him the other day it was like a miracle.”

  “I can’t heal him here,” she muttered. “Not with her around.”

  “That’s why I’ve come,” said Rix. “I need to go through the Sacred Gate and I was wondering—”

  “Yes!” she cried, throwing herself at him and hugging him around the neck. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  She pulled away at once, flushing. Tobry looked up, startled, but covered his head with his hands again.

  “I haven’t asked you yet,” said Rix.

  “Can we go now? This minute?”

  She jumped down and began to stuff
clean clothes into a little pack she’d pilfered from somewhere. Not that she needed to; Rix would gladly have given her the best clothing and gear Garramide had to offer.

  “I need your help, and Tobry’s,” said Rix.

  “Tobry’s?” she squeaked. She lowered her voice. “How can he help you?”

  “Do you remember the portrait I painted of my father? For the Honouring?”

  “I never saw it.”

  “Of course you didn’t. You were held prisoner by the chancellor, and after that you were really ill. But you know about it?”

  “Nasty Tali said it was horrible,” Rannilt said spitefully, “so I’m sure it was beautiful.”

  “No, it was horrible. It showed my father, Lord Ricinus, killing a wyverin. But I always thought the wyverin was secretly laughing at Father, and preparing to rise up and eat him. And on the night of the Honouring Father was condemned—so the omen came true.”

  Rannilt’s eyes never left his face but she did not speak.

  “The portrait’s hidden in Caulderon,” he went on after a pause. “And I need to see it again in case it’s changed, because Grandys is really afraid of the wyverin. But only Tobry knows where it is, and,” he glanced at the cowering wreck in the corner, “I don’t see how he can ever tell me.”

  “Get us out of here,” said Rannilt, “and I’ll find a way.”

  The door eased open and Glynnie stood there, dressed in travelling clothes and wearing a pack. She looked anxious but determined.

  “There’s a slight change to the plan,” she said quietly.

  “You’re not coming with us,” said Rix, jumping up.

  “Not with us, no.” Glynnie took a deep breath. “You’re not going, Rix. You can’t possibly leave Garramide with Grandys half a day’s march away.”

  “It’s a risk, but if we use Lyf’s gate it’s a quick trip—I can go to Caulderon, get the portrait and be back here in under a day…”

  “Assuming everything goes well,” said Glynnie sarcastically, “which it never does. Besides, how do you think your people will react when they hear you’ve deserted them on the eve of battle?”

  “I’m not deserting them.”

  “That’s how they’ll see it. And you’re the one who’s always blathering on about morale.”

  Rix saw the trap and avoided it. “What else can I do?”

  “Delegate! I’d have thought you’d have learned that lesson by now.”

  “It’s my responsibility—” he began.

  “To lead the defence of Garramide. No one else can do that. And what if you went after the portrait and couldn’t get back? Or you were delayed by a week or two? Or were captured… or killed? Without you, Garramide will—must—fall within days.”

  He did not reply. He knew it was true.

  “When Garramide falls, Grandys will put all of us to the sword. Me, Benn, Thom, Tali—everyone! It’s that simple, Rix.”

  “You’re right,” he said wearily. “I’d be derelict in my duty if I left at a time like this. But who can I send?”

  “You don’t have to send anyone. I’m going, and nothing you can do or say is going to stop me.”

  “Why you?”

  “Think of it as a way for me to atone for the guard I killed to save you from Libbens.”

  She met Rix’s eyes and he saw utter, uncompromising determination there. And fear. She didn’t want to go—she was terrified, but felt she had no choice. He slumped back on the bed. There was no point arguing.

  “I’ll live in terror every minute you’re away.”

  “Then you’ll know exactly how I would have felt had you gone,” she said stiffly.

  He groaned.

  Glynnie softened. She kissed him on the lips and turned away. “We’ll be back before you know it. Coming, Rannilt?”

  Rannilt picked up her pack, put on her coat, took Tobry’s hand and they followed Glynnie out of the room.

  CHAPTER 64

  “There’s a great carved openin” here somewhere,” said Rannilt. “The Sacred Gate, Lyf called it. But I can’t find it.”

  She was by the paired stone matriarchs that stood guard over the passage down to the wyverin’s lair. Tobry had scrunched himself into the narrow space between the left-hand stone Defender and the wall, and he was staring down the passage.

  “Sacred Gate?” Glynnie said wearily. It sounded ominous; sacrilegious.

  They had spent hours riding across the plateau through deep, sticky mud to reach the overgrown ruins of Turgur Thross, and another hour finding the way down via narrow tunnels to this point. She was cold and wet and afraid, and bitterly regretted her decision to go after the portrait. How, after barely escaping the noose, could she have been such a fool as to put her head back in?

  Even worse—far worse—was the unknown peril only a short walk along the tunnel… so close that she could smell its peculiar chymical reek… could feel the heat emanating in waves from it… and the faint breeze that stirred her hair, as if the air was moving in and out with each breath the gigantic beast took.

  Even the Sacred Gate was better than the wyverin. She touched the rock, half hoping Rannilt wouldn’t be able to find it and they could go home again. Home to wait for Grandys—unless he was attacking Garramide right now.

  If he was, there might not be anything to come home to.

  No Rix. No Benn.

  Her heart hurt.

  “I couldn’t feel nothin’,” said Rannilt. “I only saw it a couple of times—a great gate of carved stone—and the first time it was closed. Solid rock was behind it for miles.”

  “What about the other time?” said Glynnie.

  “I saw all the way to a ruined stone temple in a little park… just for a second, then it was gone. There’s somethin’ secret about the gate, Glynnie. Somethin’ hidden. You better stand real close. You too, Tobry.”

  Tobry did not move. Did he understand what she had said? Glynnie was trusting her life to a little girl and a witless shifter, which made her almost as mad as he was.

  “A ruined temple in a park?” said Glynnie. “That’s all?”

  “All I saw,” said Rannilt.

  “How do you know it was in Caulderon, then?”

  “Wicked old Lyf told Errek he was going there.”

  “But it doesn’t mean this gate leads there.” Glynnie’s voice rose. “He might have changed the gate—or, or anything.”

  “It doesn’t change. It only goes to the ruined temple.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do. Come close.”

  Glynnie needed to get back to Garramide. If it was under attack, if it was all going to end, her place was with Rix and Benn.

  “Quick!” said Rannilt.

  Glynnie, uneasily, moved close to her. Tobry let out a small howl.

  “None of that,” said Rannilt sternly. “Come here!”

  He went to her like a chastised child, his head so bowed that he seemed to have no neck. He was in a bad way. Apathetic and almost unresponsive.

  Rannilt moved back and forth for several minutes. Glynnie stood close but sensed nothing. Even if Rannilt did find the gate, where was the ruined temple? Glynnie did not know of one in Caulderon. What would the enemy do if they saw them coming out of a sacred Cythian gate? It didn’t bear thinking about. And how were they supposed to get from the temple to the portrait, when only a mad shifter knew where it was—and he couldn’t talk?

  Rannilt closed her eyes and turned around three times, quickly. After a pause she turned a fourth time, slowly. Then again, inching around…

  “There!” she cried.

  “Where?” All Glynnie could see was the layered brown rock of the tunnel walls.

  Rannilt grabbed Tobry with one hand, Glynnie with the other and drove herself backwards, pulling them off balance against the wall—no, into the gate Glynnie could not see.

  And the gate took them.

  Her stomach felt as though it had been twisted into a helix, then spun like a rotor. Her br
eakfast rose up her throat, retreated as she was tipped upside-down and advanced again as she spun in a horizontal arc.

  Bubbles of amber light burst inside her head; she clung desperately to Tobry’s shirt; Rannilt was crushing her hand. A flare of light whited everything out before fading to black. Tobry and Rannilt were torn away and Glynnie fell three or four feet onto her hands and knees on a rough surface, in darkness.

  Her stomach gurgled as it resumed its former position. She groped around her. She was on a floor that had once been covered in small glazed tiles, triangular in shape, though most of them had come off, exposing the rough mortar beneath. She heard heavy breathing, caught the pungent reek of a shifter and nausea surged through her.

  “This way,” said Rannilt, taking her by the hand.

  “How do you know?” said Glynnie.

  “It’s lighter over there.”

  As Glynnie’s eyes adjusted, the shadows of stone columns appeared around them, some tall, some mere stubs, others broken into segments where they had fallen. They emerged into the open on the crest of a round hill, a small park somewhere in the great city. The lights of Caulderon, surrounded by haloes from a thin lake mist, extended as far as she could see. She guessed that it was hours after midnight.

  Rannilt’s eyes were wide, the pupils enormous since coming through the gate, and her hair was sticking out in all directions. Tobry looked anxious and confused. Panic stabbed Glynnie in the chest.

  “They’ll be really jumpy after Grandys’ attack, and the rebellion,” she said in a rush. “People out after curfew are killed on sight. I should never have asked you to come. I’m just as bad as Tali, using people—”

  “You think too much,” said Rannilt.

  “I murdered an enemy guard to save Rix—I stabbed him in the back! Now I’m using a little kid.”

  “I’d do the same to save my friends,” Rannilt sniffed. “And I wouldn’t moan about it afterwards.”

  Glynnie rubbed her belly, which still felt displaced; she thought she might heave at any moment.

  “Where did Salyk hide the portrait?” Rannilt said to Tobry.