The Ravens of Death (Tsun-Tsun TzimTzum Book 4)

by Mike Truk

  It flew smoothly through the air to stop before a great archway set in the tower itself. Ropes as thin as filaments were hurled to waiting figures, who set to binding the airship tightly to the dock.

  “What the hell is that?” I asked quietly of no one in particular.

  “It’s gorgeous,” said Emma.

  “I want one,” said Brielle.

  Emelias, who had caught on to what we were speaking about, gave a polite laugh. “Don’t we all, my dear? Alas, the ships of the Druach are as priceless as they are rare, which is to say, exceedingly. Still, the Druach bend knee to our queen and Lilith like all others, so I suppose we can’t complain.”

  “Is that, like… a submarine?” I asked.

  “Is it underwater?” asked Isossa, tone innocent. “No? Then it’s not, is it.”

  “An airship,” I said. “And it came through a portal?”

  “The very reason for the Druach’s power across the universe,” said Emelias. “They are traders nonpareil and can trade on as many worlds as they desire. They are disgustingly rich.”

  Hope leaped within my chest. “Can they travel to the major spheres?”

  “To, say, Ghogiel, or the like?” asked Emelias innocently. “Or, say, Malkuth? No. They cannot. Only regular worlds.”

  My face fell, and with it the paltry plan I’d begun concocting.

  “Oh come,” said Emelias. “There’s no need to get down. Leave the Druach to their fortunes and come along.”

  We reached the bottom of the street, where it widened into a small plaza, fronted on all sides by cruel buildings of black stone. The windows were narrow slits, rooftops flat and lined by battlements. Each could have served as a miniature fortress; it was impossible to tell their actual function from appearance alone.

  There were more Morathi here, but as before, none of them seemed in a hurry, and none of them seemed to work. Some strolled, others gathered to converse; some stood in the shadowed entrances to the dour buildings, watching us go by, while others were mere intimations of figures in gaping windows.

  The collared people, however, were everywhere. I had no doubt they were slaves. They rushed where the Morathi strolled, bowing and kneeling behind their masters as the Morathi paused to converse.

  Each was striking in some manner - either a paragon of beauty or physical strength, or betraying in some manner a depth of emotion, or power of intellect, that arrested the eye.

  “No vehicles,” said Valeria from just behind me. “Notice? No wagons, no carts, no carriages…”

  “This place feels like a mausoleum,” said Brielle. “But one where the dead have forgotten to lie still.”

  I felt Emma shiver by my side.

  “Come,” said Emelias, turning to us as we slowed our pace. “This is but a satellite outpost, known as Ebon Hill. A few dilettantes and scholars make their residence here, but there’s nothing of real interest to hold your attention. Wait till you espy Heaven’s Court in the center of Ur-Gharab.”

  We made no comment. If he sought to win us over with glib conversation, he had a lot of work ahead of him.

  Instead, we followed him across the bridge. It spanned a yawning, cloud-filled gulf, arching up like a spider’s web of black iron; the whole frame hummed and vibrated in the strong wind that coursed by and drove the clouds below on.

  “You must be curious as to our wondrous city,” said Emelias, turning back to us once more when we reached the bridge’s apex. I saw the guard captain roll her eyes and turn away with impatience. “It was not always so. Indeed, when we conquered it - what - a decade ago now? No, more - it was all gleaming white marble. Edges gilt with gold, with rainbows - can you imagine? - crossing from peak to peak. No accounting for some people’s taste in architecture. We have, as you can no doubt see, made many improvements.”

  “You’ve turned the city into an industrial slum,” said Brielle, voice pitched to carry over the wind. “If you call that an improvement, then you truly are Lilith’s brood.”

  Emelias’s grin sharpened, turning predatory. “We tore down each sacred building and pitched their white blocks into the clouds. For a year we did nothing but demolish. Well, I say ‘we,’ but obviously we Morathi didn’t sully our hands. For a year, white stone poured into the abyss like waterfalls of shattered masonry, and do you know? We never heard a sound from their fall. No crash, no shatter of rock upon mountain face. Do you know why?”

  “Bad hearing?” asked Brielle, having stepped up to my side, her good hand on her hip.

  “Because the abyss that deepens beneath these clouds goes down for literal miles, child,” said Emelias. Something about his voice made me shudder. “We are situated far, far above the planet’s surface. And the slopes are steep, the winds terrible. Even those who would fly down must navigate perilous eddies and spontaneous tornadoes that spring up spontaneously from below.”

  “Why do you tell us this?” I asked.

  “No reason. Education is its own reward, is it not?”

  “Then how did you rebuild the city?” asked Emma, edging closer to me. “How did you even get here.”

  “Ah, an intelligent question. The young lady cuts to the heart of the matter. How indeed? Through Ur-Gharab’s unique blessing: a propensity for endless portals.”

  With that, he swept his cloak about his frame and turned to lead on, Isossa falling in step with him.

  I stared down into the roiling river of cloud below us. Was the drop truly so precipitous? Did Ur-Gharab scrape the heavens, high above the rest of its world?

  “At least we’re free of claustrophobic pocket realms,” said Imogen, her voice barely audible over the wind’s moan.

  “A whole planet?” asked Brielle. “Feels positively luxurious.”

  We descended to the far side, a sprawling mesa upon which a mass of four and five-story buildings had been built, all of them blocky fists of black slate and granite, all pressed close together and connected by walkways. I quickly realized there were no streets, per se; rather, the interstices were divided by walls, each complete with portcullises and iron gates. I felt as if I walked through an endless castle’s defenses, one killing ground after another.

  It didn’t matter that the gates were open, and the killing grounds populated by endless ranks of slaves along with their indolent masters. It didn’t matter that I saw mean market stalls erected alongside dark walls, or peered into endless smithies where grim men and women hammered blades and armor into existence. None of it mattered because there was no disguising what Ur-Gharab was: a fortress city, a capital designed with defense in mind.

  Valeria moved alongside me. “Incredible,” she said, reluctant and admiring all at once. “It would take an endless army to conquer this city, and only a fraction of men to hold it.”

  “But why build it like this in the first place?” I asked. “What’s the point? It’s not like the Source was going to send an army climbing up mile-high cliffs.”

  “Portals,” said Valeria. “Ur-Gharab’s supposed blessing. See how every square is compartmentalized, can be closed off completely from the others? It makes sense when you consider the enemy could portal in at any location.”

  We gazed up at the underside of a huge gate as we walked through, and I caught a glimpse of the portcullis’s massive teeth hanging in the dark slit above.

  “It’s ugly as sin,” said Brielle.

  “But effective,” said Valeria. “Unless you could portal directly into the palace, you’d find yourself swiftly trapped within a killing field, having to fight your way through endless more to reach your goal. Which…” She looked around. “Notice how we can’t see the palace towers? How the courtyards are kept narrow, the walls high? I bet the place is built like a maze. You’d get turned around, not knowing in which direction to fight to reach your goal.”

  I shivered, realizing she was right. One courtyard was much like the other, the walls looming claustrophobically overhead, the towers and buildings forming unified wholes without alleyways through t
hem. The gates were the only ways in or out, with only two per courtyard; the exits switched walls so we wound back and forth as we followed the guard, like a snake through a labyrinth.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” said Emma. “Cities are built the way they are for a reason. People want to go directly from point A to B. But here? You have to follow this route, and it’d take forever to get anywhere.”

  My other companions nodded. She was right. It was a defensive wet dream, but to live here would be a nightmare.

  “And did you guys notice?” asked Little Meow, piping up from the back. “No shops. Just forges and fletchers, bowyers, and smithies.”

  “They’re making war supplies,” said Valeria.

  “Enough to supply Lilith’s armies across countless worlds,” said Isossa, looking back with a smile. Damn, her ears were sharp. Had she been listening in all the while? “Though the age of excitement and general warmongering is over. Everybody’s gathered at Bastion. Simplifies matters for us. Only one place to which we need to ship our goods.”

  I stared with heavy resentment at a smithy to my left as we walked on by. The front wall was open to the square. The interior seemed a glimpse into hell, lit up as it was by a dozen forges, the air rancorous with smoke, a score of slaves hammering and tempering and dipping glowing iron into baths. All was flickering shadows and crimson glows; faces were illuminated from below, turned into sooty, gleaming masks.

  All those weapons going to Bastion.

  A portal stood open in the next square, a burning oval of purple fire. Past the center, I caught a glimpse of a massive encampment, a hint of canvas tents and dark skies filled with burning clouds. Through it, massive ogroid creatures were carrying bundles of swords, sheaves of arrows and spears, along with crates without number.

  “Ah,” said Emelias. “How splendid.” He turned to beam at us with paternal pride. “Anybody care to nip through to Bastion? I jest, I jest. You’d be torn to shreds on the far side.”

  I stared, fascinated. Bastion? Right there, through that portal? My throat cramped and I felt light-headed. To think Shalarra and the others were just a dozen yards away. To think of all that we’d passed through these brutal past few months - our quest across Ghogiel, the madness of Tagimron - yet here lay a shortcut back to our starting point.

  “What?” asked Emelias, feigning surprise. “You didn’t wonder how Lilith’s besieging force got to your remaining stronghold? How we keep them fed, armed, and ready to fight on? For shame. If you had, who knows? You might have found a way through one such portal, and shaved so much effort and pain from your journeys.”

  I clenched my hands so tightly my knuckles popped, feeling my nails cut into my palms.

  Neveah placed a hand on my shoulder. “Relax,” she said, voice pitched so low I could barely hear her. “He torments you. Our group could never have fought our way to such a portal, not as we were back then.”

  I considered this, thinking of how we’d fled Pelleas the lich through to Ghogiel. What little choice we’d had in the matter, pressed as we were and on the verge of capture.

  “And if we had?” Neveah smiled. “We’d have been ill-prepared for what is to come. Trust in the Source. What happened did so for a reason.”

  I exhaled, felt the strength and tension flow out of me, and nodded gratefully to her.

  Emelias was watching us closely. He frowned and turned away, gesturing brusquely for Vasanna to lead on.

  We were forced by the activity in the center of the square to circle out wide, hugging the far wall; despite Neveah’s words I couldn’t help but stare at the portal in fascination the whole time.

  “I thought portals to the spheres were super rare,” said Emma from behind me.

  “Not if you’re working for Lilith,” I heard Imogen say. “She controls every sphere but Bastion. Where we have to carve a path through the Tree of Death to reach her, she can pass with ease, and by extending her will, allow her followers to do the same.”

  “Not fair,” said Emma, then gave a self-conscious laugh. “Sorry. I know fair’s got nothing to do with it.”

  Without warning, the next gate opened into a staggeringly massive plaza, a huge expanse of black stone in whose center a blocky tower arose. Its top was ringed by what looked like six huge ax blades, so that it resembled a brutal club set down by a malefic titan. Its sides glistened with the slick appearance of obsidian, marked by arrow-slit windows, engaged colonnettes, compound piers, and string courses. The whole of it seemed simple at first glance, then ever more cunningly wrought the more one examined it.

  The plaza was populated by scores of portals, from which streamed crowds of people in as varied a collection of clothing and appearance as could be imagined. All walked toward the tower.

  Our party came to a stop, Emelias beaming at us in a familiar, condescending manner. Fully aware, of course, of the impact of the view.

  “Behold,” he said, stepping back to join our number. “The Court of Heaven. A trite name, and in truth a holdover from the previous owners, but our regent, in her infinite humor, saw fit to retain the moniker.”

  In silence, we observed the people emerging from the portals. Their bearing was as different as their appearances - by turn defiant, arrogant, humble, afraid.

  “What is going on here?” demanded Brielle, struggling to keep her tone of hauteur.

  Isossa glanced back at us, a dark brow arched in surprise. “Why, supplicants from across all the conquered worlds come to pay obeisance to our queen. Lilith doesn’t have time for such rituals, so in her place, the people of the universe render unto Queen Iphigenia the best that their worlds have to offer. So many worlds have fallen to Lilith now that there is no end to the numbers who wish to pay homage.”

  My gaze wandered over the vast plaza. From one searing portal of azure energy emerged a stream of red-robed men with shaved heads; they bore upon their shoulders massive palanquins of gold, on which dark-skinned women lounged in robes of consummate luxury. From another portal of red fire, mighty Viking-like warriors rode forth atop great shaggy oxen the size of elephants, each bearing a dozen great chests of gleaming black iron. From another, a diminutive people emerged, marching with military if not mechanical precision, their faces hidden behind mirror-masks, and from a fourth -

  I tore my gaze away and looked past them, where all converged into a great throng. It funneled its way into a vast gate, feeding itself into the dark core.

  “The queen sits in state all the time?” I asked.

  “Has she any choice?” Emelias shrugged. “But yes, she does. I imagine she grows bored, but what else are queens for if not to hold court? She’ll be rewarded by Lilith in due course.”

  An expression of scorn crossed Isossa’s face. “Given a sphere, perhaps, to rule in Lilith’s name. And another shall be elevated to her former throne, so the worship shall go on.”

  “Enough chatter,” said Vasanna. “I wish to discharge my duty. Let us go.”

  We emerged from the shadow of the great gate and left the last wall behind, crossing the plaza to walk among the petitioners making their way to the gate.

  Our guards were but one of many patrols that marched through the crowds of the court, though only ours seemed wary. The others moved at a relaxed pace, as if stunned by their own grandeur. They ignored all who bowed to them, content with imposing order through their presence alone.

  On we marched, threading our way through the various columns emerging from the portals, and everywhere I looked I saw wonder and strangeness. I felt my pulse race to think these were the peoples of far-flung worlds, each emissaries of their own civilizations, defeated and destroyed by Lilith’s armies. Defeated to such a degree that they now came to pay homage and present her queenly representative with gifts.

  A vision of the universe’s fate if I failed in my mission.

  As we drew closer to the huge tower, the press of bodies and beasts of burden grew tighter. Each one was fabulously accoutered and clothed, each the very best t
hat their respective world had to offer. I saw an endless parade of silks and gold, of physical beauty and grace. Towering warriors, glittering knights, scholars dressed in cloth-of-gold, sages floating atop levitating cushions, monastic orders, women dressed in gauze and veils and little else - there was no end to the variety.

  And the smells - a hundred smells, a cornucopia of scents that bewildered and overpowered my senses, even in this thin air. Jasmine and rose, rank fur and leather, the salt tang of the ocean, and the close, dusty aroma of countless books.

  Languages without count.

  Music from an endless variety of instruments.

  It was like walking into a maelstrom of madness, into a sea of humanity that swirled and poured itself into that cyclopean tower.

  My companions and I clustered together, following Emelias and the guards without question or complaint. They opened a path through that ocean of humanity, leading us at last through that yawning gate, that hungry portal through which only darkness was visible.

  Chapter 2

  The Royal Guard wore enameled black and silver plate armor, which gleamed as if made from porcelain. They were intimidatingly large, the armor bulky. Their heads were completely enclosed within their helms, the faceplates intricately molded with snarling visages.

  It was into their care that Vasanna entrusted us, explaining the situation as tersely as possible before saluting and marching back into the square.

  “She’s nervous about not having her life crystal intact,” whispered Emelias, leaning over to confide in me. “I can imagine! To think, a single stab in the kidneys and she’d be dead forever.”

  I didn’t have time to respond. The new guard captain, a massive individual made all the bulkier by his prodigious armor, stepped forward to survey our group.

  “Captain,” said Emelias, sketching an oily bow.

  “el-Enduil.” The captain’s voice boomed from within the confines of his helm. I couldn’t help but marvel; the sculpted face had metallic eyes - how was the man seeing from within? “Please follow.”