The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2)

by Phil Tucker

  "What did you promise Ashurina in exchange for her service?" He couldn't tear his eyes away from the firecat demon.

  Mæva gazed up at where Ashurina was hovering, and to his surprise answered him in a hollow voice. "My body. Perhaps even my soul, once I am dead."

  Asho blinked and stared at her. She met his gaze with a sorrowful equanimity. "I was so young. When the moment came, I realized that I didn't want to die. I thought I needed Ashurina, no matter the cost."

  Asho nodded. "And now?"

  The monstrous Ashurina hovered silently above them, watching. Mæva looked back up. "I no longer crave life as I once did. Now I crave a peaceful death."

  "It's waiting for you to die," said Kethe in awe and horror. "To collect on your bargain."

  "I won't die here," said Mæva sharply. "Not for you, not for anyone. I'm still going to find a way to free myself. Understood?"

  Asho nodded. It was intolerable to stand still. His body was burning from the inside out. He needed release. Confrontation. An end to this hunt. He drew his sword and stepped past the two women into the darkness ahead of them. His mind whirled. He thought of Mæva, young and wasted, dying in the peaks, the horrible promise she had made. He thought of Bythos, of his crippled father, his mother, poor Shaya. Thought of Lord Kyferin dying in a blast of black fire, of Makaria dying in Asho's own unnatural flame. On and on his mind spun, spitting forth images and thoughts and memories.

  He should turn back. Getting this close to the Black Gate was killing him, but he couldn't stop his feet. On he strode, faster and faster, till he was running once more. At long last he understood what drew moths to flame, that suicidal desire to burn in the heart of that which attracts you. It was death to continue, yet that certainty only made him race forward all the quicker.

  Ahead he saw a large, cavernous archway leading into a vast space beyond. Heart pounding, sword in hand, Asho raced recklessly through. It was like moving into a powerful headwind. He had to slit his eyes, but he still saw fires burning from natural pits in the cavern floor beyond, spiraling columns of cherry-red flame that illuminated the great, rocky tiers that rose raggedly to where a vast prism of night spun slowly, its geometric planes perfectly smooth, magic pouring out of its corpus in an everlasting torrent.

  Welcome, said a great and terrible voice akin to boulders shifting deep within the earth.

  Asho wasn't sure if he heard the words or simply felt them in the cavity of his chest. Blinking, he tore his eyes away from the Black Gate and focused on a great throne that rose a dozen yards in height beside it, carved from living rock and horrifically imposing.

  A man was sitting on that massive throne, aged and dignified, and there was something to his smile that struck terror into Asho's heart.

  You have come. Now we may begin.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tharok stepped down off the ridge and began to descend to the Chasm with Nok a few steps behind. Halfway down, he looked over his shoulder at the larger kragh. "Nok. Thank you. How did you know to come?"

  "I saw you and Toad ascend. My gut told me something was wrong, so I followed."

  "Toad didn't tell you what was going on when you passed him?"

  "I never passed him," said Nok. "I came up and saw you being attacked. Of Toad I saw no sign."

  "Hmm," said Tharok, moving down once more. "He must have gone down by a different path."

  Down they went. Nok reached the chasm bottom first. "You're going to talk to the human trader?"

  "Yes," said Tharok. He spotted the distant caravan parked at the edge of the Red River camp, the somnolent figure of the stone troll standing beside it, head lowered, club in hand. "We'll see what sort of reception I get. Can I count on you in a fight against Grax?"

  Nok laughed darkly. "If I see you fighting that monster, I'll save time by cutting my own throat."

  Tharok chuckled, watched Nok grin, and then threw his head back and let out a roar. It was good to laugh, for the Peaks knew there had been precious little to amuse him thus far. Nok grinned again and then shook his head and walked away.

  Tharok took a deep breath and approached the caravan. Grax sensed his approach and lifted his head slowly, his eyes twin red points. Tharok slowed, stopped, and returned the glare. Grax stood motionless now that he had Tharok in his sights. It would take little to make the troll explode into movement, swinging that club with terrible power. Were they in the wild, Tharok would already be consigning his spirit to the Valley of the Dead and the Sky Father. As it was, he simply walked in a wide circle around the troll until he reached the front of the wagon where the human sat reading by candlelight, a pipe drooping from between his teeth.

  "Ah," said Gregory, putting up his book. "My friend returns. I was beginning to think you had forgotten our meeting."

  "No," said Tharok, moving forward to stand directly before him. A small fire was burning at the human's feet, already reduced to ashes and coals. Tharok sank into a crouch before it and reached out to present his lined and callused palms to the soft heat. "I didn't forget. Far from it. It's been at the front of my thoughts since we spoke."

  "And mine," said Gregory. He inserted a bright red strip of leather into the book and closed it, then set it aside with care and sat up, taking the pipe from his mouth so as to blow a plume of smoke up into the night air, where it uncurled and disappeared. "War profiteering. Delightful words. Reason to share a fire and discuss the matter further."

  Tharok nodded, mesmerized by the coals. Their dusty red depths, the white ash that furred their exterior. He took up a twig as thick as his finger and prodded the depths of the fire pit, turning over coals and poking at the husks of larger branches so that they cracked and collapsed upon themselves.

  "Gregory," he said. "Where do you come from, and why are you here?"

  The human paused in the act of drawing a blanket around his shoulders and eyed Tharok thoughtfully. The kragh warlord ignored him and continued to stir the coals.

  "I am from the Ascendant Empire," said the human at last. "You have heard of that, I'm sure?"

  "The human lands," said Tharok. "Accessed through the Portal in Abythos. Kragh mercenaries go there to fight the human battles."

  "Indeed. I am from a mountain city called Sige. Have you heard of it?"

  Tharok looked up, shook his head, and looked back down.

  "You would like it, being a highland kragh as you are. A city of towers that cling to the highest peaks, their tops jutting into the clouds. Some are connected by delicate bridges that arch out over the void, while others can only be accessed by Lunar Portals once a month." Gregory's gaze grew distant. "A city of servants and sages, of holy men and fools. That was where I was raised, and would live still were it not for a crime and a tragedy that would make even the stones weep. I'll skip that part, however. I doubt you're interested in the follies of youth and love. Regardless – I fled Sige and eventually washed up on the islands of Killspray, to the south of the city of Zoe. Have you heard of them?"

  Tharok looked up once more, shook his head again, and looked back down.

  The human pursed his lips once more, and sighed. "The islands of Killspray are famous for their beauty. White rocks rising out of the azure sea, small trees wizened and growing from the rock, white buildings built along the ragged coastline of each small island. The people are beautiful and tanned by the sun. I took refuge there, and it was on the island of Koris that I met an old man by the name of Egard. He was a master of the beasts of the air and sea, of the sky and land, of the water and rock. I saw him sing down eagles from the sky, saw him cluck his tongue and have fish leap into his boat. I decided there and then to apprentice myself to him."

  A knowing gleam came into Gregory's eyes. "Do you wish me to continue in this vein, or shall I skip to my more recent past?"

  Tharok kept his face neutral. "Continue. I'd like to learn more about this Egard."

  Grax had approached, inching closer by small degrees until he stood at the edge of the firelight, a r
ough, slate-colored figure that seemed born of nightmare, his twin red eyes half-lidded.

  Gregory puffed on his pipe contentedly. " Egard told me that if I could bring every goat on the island to his door, with none of them tethered, he would teach me. Goats may not be as impressive as trolls, but when you're talking about some few hundred of them –"

  "So, you can command animals?"

  Gregory smiled, and the smile was all wolf. "If I wish to. But the power, kragh, is greater than just that. What is man but an animal, a monkey that walks on two legs? We have blood and organs, we eat and shit, we mate and sleep and snore and die. What works on the beaver works on the man, and are kragh so different?"

  Tharok flipped over another coal. Its underbelly sizzled as red flared across its surface and then darkened to crimson, then burgundy, and then to black paled over by ash. "You can command kragh."

  "I can."

  "Then make me plunge my hand into this fire."

  "Why would I do that?"

  "To prove that you can."

  "But I don't need to prove it to anybody."

  "You need to prove it to me."

  "And why is that?"

  "Because I need to believe that you are who you say you are. If you are lying, then I would know it, and walk away. Make me put my hand in the fire, and I will know you have true power."

  The amusement disappeared from Gregory's face. "If I make you put your hand in the fire, you will be burned. You will feel pain, and no doubt seek to strike me. Grax will then tear off your arm. You are a warlord, and your tribe will attack me. Grax and I will die after some fifty of your kragh are killed. So, tell me: why should we pursue this course of action?"

  Tharok grinned, showing Gregory his tusks. "I swear to you by the Five Peaks that if you force me, I shall not hold it against you. That's my word given. Now act, or admit yourself a lair."

  Gregory studied Tharok's expression, then set aside his pipe. He rolled back his sleeves and ran his fingers lightly over a filigree of scars carved into the skin of his forearms. He took a deep breath through his nose, settled himself further, and then locked eyes with Tharok.

  Tharok immediately began to feel the circlet around his brow begin to heat up. Gregory frowned, furrowed his brows, and leaned forward, staring harder at Tharok. The iron around Tharok's forehead began to burn, stinging his skin. Gregory was breathing hard now, cords standing out in his neck, and the iron began to sear Tharok's skin.

  "Enough!" cried Tharok, holding out a hand. "I believe you."

  Gregory sat back, gasping, and wiped sweat from his brow. "How did you do that?" he demanded. "Nobody has resisted me like that before. How did you avoid my command?"

  "We kragh aren't as stupid or weak as you might think," said Tharok, fighting to keep his tone amused. "I believe you have power, but it's good that you see that you don't have that power over me."

  "I could still have Grax crush you," said Gregory petulantly.

  "Just as I could have my tribe kill you. There is no need to pursue that line of conversation further. Instead, let's talk business. You seemed interested when I mentioned war profit."

  Gregory took up his pipe. His hand was shaking as he clamped the pipe between his teeth and inhaled. Finally, he shook his head, admitting defeat, and leaned back. "Fine, keep your secrets. Tell me what you are thinking."

  "In a few days, if all goes well, I will summon a Grand Convocation. I will bring all the tribes beneath my banner, and then lead them down against the Tragon to war. We will sweep the Tragon before us, and all their belongings and goods will be left in our hands. Now, much of what the Tragon have, the highland kragh will take, but they will no doubt carry a number of 'civilized' objects with them that we won't want. We will need somebody to take all that stuff and sell it to the humans or the Orlokor. We'll give that person a percentage of the profits."

  "Interesting," said Gregory, rubbing his jaw with his hand. "You basically need somebody who knows the markets, and can place goods in the right hands for the maximum profit."

  "Correct," said Tharok. "You will in turn receive payments on a scale that you have never known before. You won't trade with one or two kragh. You will be negotiating the sales of an entire tribe's belongings and treasure."

  "Well," said Gregory, "that sounds good. But what do you want in exchange?"

  Tharok took up the stick again and prodded one more time at the fire. Then he took the twig and snapped it twice and cast the pieces into the fire pit. "I want to learn your method of controlling Grax."

  Gregory laughed and slapped his knee. "Oh, is that all? The heart of my power, the secret to my trade? You want that in exchange for some measly pony hides and bags of fermented goat piss?"

  Tharok leaned forward and said very quietly, "Do you honestly think that will be all the Tragon carry?"

  "How do you mean?" asked Gregory.

  "You're a human. Don't play shy. If you really are a member of a powerful family in this distant capital city, you no doubt know how we kragh are played against each other. Prevented from growing powerful by the manipulations of you humans. Oh, not you, of course, but the others, the humans who run the cities. They set kragh against kragh so that our numbers never grow, our tribes never strengthen."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," said Gregory, looking off into the middle distance.

  "But you do. You know exactly what I mean. Perhaps even how the Tragon are now being paid by the human empire to ally with the Hrakar, their former enemies, against the Orlokor. What I'm saying is this: we are going to descend on the Tragon before they can spend all that coin and shaman stone that has been placed in their hands. Do you think highland kragh want to carry heavy bags of metal around with them while we travel these mountains? No. So, you keep the coin, you sell the goods, and then you buy whatever we need and send it up to these mountains. Clear?"

  "What you're saying," said Gregory, chewing on his pipe stem, "is that you plan to hit the Tragon so quickly that you'll be taking the gold that the humans have supposedly given them to stir up trouble. And I will get all that gold."

  "To spend for us, yes. Though you'll get your own generous cut. The humans have no doubt invested a lot of money into the Tragon already. However, that gold need not rest with the Tragon. It could go into your pocket. If you help me."

  Gregory nodded slowly, eyes half-lidded. "I haven't been a true son of the Empire for more than fifteen years. No real alliance there, I suppose. And my soul is undoubtedly bound for the Black Gate."

  "Exactly," said Tharok, not knowing of what he spoke but watching the merchant carefully.

  Gregory sniffed and resettled himself on his cushion. "And in exchange, you want to know how to summon and hold the will of the stone trolls."

  "Yes," said Tharok.

  "What if you can't learn it? It takes a certain kind of mind, a certain outlook, a certain mentality. It takes knowing how to apply pressure and lead the other on. It takes cunning and discipline, passion and patience. I can't just teach this to any human, much less any kragh. No offense. It's not a question of understanding, but of talent."

  "Say I have that. Would you teach me?"

  Gregory grumbled into his pipe, then took it out of his mouth and banged the bowl against the side of his shoe. He refilled and relit it, and a thick, white smoke began to curl from the bowl. "How about this," he said. "Let's see if you have the ability, even if only in rudimentary form. If I see some form of talent within you, then we will proceed. If you don't? Then promise me that I still get to help you with this endeavor. After all, I shouldn't be punished if you are too slow to uphold your end of the bargain."

  "Agreed," said Tharok without hesitation. "What would this test be?"

  "We can start with something small," said Gregory. "Maybe a fish, if we can, or a bird. If you have talent, you should be able to influence it enough for us to notice with but a little guidance from me." Gregory grinned at him with his tiny human teeth clamped around the pipe. "We can
do it now."

  "Good," said Tharok. "Tell me what I must do."

  "First, you must listen," said Gregory, puffing out a ball of smoke past his lips. "Take a seat. Focus. What I'll say next I'll say once, and it's your responsibility to understand it the first time through."

  Tharok considered the tiny campfire, the human, the mighty stone troll, and then sat down once more, crossed his legs and rested his great forearms on his knees. Gregory waited for him to truly settle, then leaned back once more, holding the pipe up to the sky.

  "When I was told by Egard that I had to gather all the goats from the island and bring them to him, I laughed. I needed his power to accomplish that which would cause him to begin teaching me. But Egard wouldn't be moved. So I left, and spent about a week sitting amongst the rocks at the base of the Killspray cliffs. I sat and watched and watched and thought. First, I tried to devise a means to cheat. To pay everybody to bring their goats with them to Egard at an appointed hour. I could feasibly do this and fulfill the order, but something told me that Egard would not be pleased."

  Tharok grunted, partially in amusement, partially in agreement. Gregory grinned at him, and proceeded.

  "So, I watched the world around me. That seemed the best way to begin. I saw the little firehawks that flitted around the cliffs, hunting fish in the ocean below. They would hover, still as a stone, then fold their wings and drop into the ocean, with only a plume of steam to mark their position. Moments later they would emerge, cooked fish in their talons, and return to their nests of stone to feed their young.

  "And I thought, should I be like a firehawk? Take control of the goats by attacking them? And I decided: No. That can't be it. To do it that way is to visit violence upon the animal, to attack it, to come from outside, and every animal resists that which seeks to control it from outside.