by Ian Irvine
He could not answer. The pain grew, dizziness rose until it overwhelmed him, and he toppled.
He was vaguely aware of Uletta catching him, laying him on his back on the floor and putting her coat under his head. Her cool hands touched his forehead and throat.
‘You’re burning up,’ she said. ‘And your heart is beating so fast it’s liable to burst.’
‘Merdrun – don’t die – burst hearts!’
‘Maybe you’ll be the first.’
She soaked a cloth, laid it outside the tent for a few minutes to cool, then bathed his face and neck, opened his shirt and felt his chest and middle. Her heavy bosom swayed, inches from his face. He winced when she touched his belly.
‘Something must be wrong inside you,’ she said.
‘Tore my inner organs – escape – Flydd. Nearly died.’
She stepped backwards, staring at him. ‘You’re the Merdrun’s great hero, Skald Hulni?’
Slaves weren’t supposed to talk to Merdrun this way. They were supposed to be submissive and speak only when spoken to.
‘I – am – Skald.’ It was all he could manage.
Her eyes glowed. It was as if she admired him, which was preposterous. He was an enemy.
‘You found Flydd’s Histories. You took Mechanician M’Lainte and a … secret weapon. You drank from your own life to evade capture,’ said Uletta.
‘Capture is dishonour.’
‘But you’re also a sus-magiz. Are you addicted to drinking lives, like …?’ She checked over her shoulder, lowered her voice. ‘Like your evil magiz.’
‘No!’ Perhaps because he was so weak and vulnerable, he craved her good opinion.
‘You have never drunk a life?’ she said sceptically.
‘I had to,’ he whispered. ‘Pass the test … you become sus-magiz. Fail – you die.’
Why was he being so indiscreet? No slave should know such secrets.
‘You’re burning up.’ She took the cloth out to cool again. Skald lay there, pain jagging through him, and felt sure he was dying.
‘Cold,’ he said. ‘Very cold.’
Uletta came back and ran her hands through the fur on his chest, raising goose pimples all over him. She fastened his shirt, sat him up and went to put her coat around his shoulders, but it wasn’t wide enough. She got his own coat from a hook and put it on him. ‘Better?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll help you to your tent.’
‘No!’ he cried.
‘Why not?’
‘You’re a slave.’
‘Good of you to remind me.’
‘It would undermine us both. Me for needing help, you for helping an enemy. And it might cause the magiz to notice you, Uletta.’ A thrill surged through him as he said her name. Slaves were either addressed by their job title, if they were important, or as, ‘Slave!’ if they were not. ‘You do not want the magiz to notice you.’
She trembled. ‘He might drink my life.’
Skald closed his eyes. The thought was awful.
‘I could never care for a man who drank lives,’ she said softly.
He did not know what to make of that. ‘I feel a little better. Show me the designs for the stone carving and engraving, and the great crystal wall mosaics.’
It was well past midnight when they finished. Skald did not thank her, for that was not the Merdrun way. He nodded and withdrew to a late dinner, a quick bathe, and bed. As Superintendent of Works he had his own tent in the officers’ camp, which was hard to get used to. In his childhood he had slept in a dormitory. Once he became a soldier, and even a sus-magiz, he had bunked in the barracks with everyone else. Having his own space felt wrong.
There was still work to do, but if he drove himself too hard he would collapse and Durthix would replace him. Then, because Skald knew too much, he would be killed.
He blew out the lamp, collapsed on his camp stretcher and lay in the dark, raking through the astounding events of the day. How had he, a lowly captain and sus-magiz who had failed to complete his last mission, ended up as Superintendent of Works, responsible for driving thousands of workers and tens of thousands of slaves to do the impossible? It did not seem real.
And Uletta liked and admired him, but why did she seem familiar?
What did it matter? She was a slave and an enemy. It had been a pleasant few hours, though. He was looking forward to seeing her again tomorrow.
But when tomorrow came, and the day after, it was impossible to get back to the design tent. There were too many supervisors to cajole or threaten, too many documents to read and understand and act on, and too many frustrations. Skald could no longer succeed or fail based on his own strength, quick thinking and iron determination – he depended on thousands of others, competent and incompetent, and on gaining enough magical power to get the work done in time.
But no more power could be taken from the field, and by the end of each sixteen-hour day he was screaming with frustration. Every day the work fell further behind, and the time could not be made up. He was going to fail and let his people down. His oath, sworn by the sacred Founder’s Stone, would be null, a disgrace so enormous that he would have to commit public suicide, and his name would stand, on the Tablet of Infamy, four steps higher than his father’s.
There came a tiny pop, and air whispered across his face – warm air. Skald sat up, frowning. It had felt like a gate opening, though there was no evidence for one.
‘My name is Maigraith,’ said a woman’s voice, quietly. ‘You may know of me as the Numinator, though I no longer go by that name. You have a problem that you can’t possibly solve by Founder’s Day.’
Skald stiffened. He knew who she was, and her reputation. What could she want from him? ‘How can you know such deadly secrets?’ he whispered.
‘Irrelevant. I’m the one person in the world who can help you.’
‘I will never betray my people.’
‘I wouldn’t ask you too.’
‘Then what – what’s the price?’
‘One you will be happy to pay.’
49
He’s Not The Man He Was
‘Where are you?’ Skald whispered. If Durthix discovered he was secretly talking to one of their greatest enemies, he would be executed on the spot.
‘Far away,’ said Maigraith. ‘I’m using an untraceable spy portal, which I invented. Any attack you make through it will rebound on you.’
What could she want with him? And what if Dagog found out? He was always sneaking around, listening at tent flaps. Looking for his next life to drink.
‘You are aware that Rulke, who has come back from the dead, was once my consort?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘And that he dwells in Alcifer, with a coarse, grasping trollop named Lirriam.’
‘His bed partners are of no interest to me.’
‘They are to me!’ Maigraith’s control slipped a little; her voice rang out. ‘Rulke and I swore to each other, forever.’
Skald saw where this was going and could not have cared less. ‘Go away and don’t come back. I need my sleep.’
‘Not as much as you need to complete your work in time for the Day of All Days.’
He choked. How did she know about that?
‘If you succeed, it will make you. And you crave success, don’t you, Skald? You’re desperate to prove that you’re not like your cowardly father.’
Skald’s short hair rose on his head. How could she know what drove him so desperately?
‘I am not prone to hyperbole,’ Maigraith added.
‘What’s the offer?’
‘Rulke out of the war.’
His heart lurched. Rulke was the Merdrun’s greatest fear, for he had twice defeated them in the distant past and they were still scarred by those defeats.
‘How?’
‘I can show you a secret way into Alcifer, known only to me.’
‘To what purpose?’
‘To capture his strumpet and use her as
a bargaining chip to keep him out of the war.’
‘Why would we want that?’
‘You’re starved for magical power, and if Rulke joined with Flydd and fought against you, the cost in power would be more than you could sustain. But the poor, blind fool cares about the trollop and, to ensure her safety, Rulke will agree to not fight on the side of Santhenar.’
‘The Rulke we knew of old would never agree to blackmail.’
Maigraith seemed to hesitate, as if unsure how much to tell Skald. ‘The wound that nearly killed him has changed him. He’s … not the man he was.’
‘Yet you still want him?’
‘We swore!’
‘This can never work. He’ll swear bloody revenge. He’ll try to rescue Lirriam.’
‘He won’t dare.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s emotionally scarred.’
Emotionally! Skald squirmed. ‘How so?’
‘Long ago he was deeply in love, and his betrothed was used to trap him. He tried to rescue her but failed and she was put to a cruel death; he was sent to the uncanny prison of the Nightland, where he remained for a thousand years. He won’t try that again. Think about it. I’ll contact you soon.’
She was gone. Skald’s instincts were to report her offer, but if he did the matter would be taken out of his hands. Would Maigraith really betray Santhenar and work on the side of the Merdrun? He doubted it. And yet, from Flydd’s Histories he knew how obsessive she was. In a jealous rage she might well hatch a plan to rid herself of her rival. But could she be trusted?
What did he have to lose?
Everything, if Dagog discovered he was having secret talks with the enemy.
Several days after the grim meeting in the ruins of the Governor’s Palace, Flydd, Nish, Maelys and Karan boarded the sky galleon. Clech was staying behind to help Persia collect a small war chest, and locate those useful people who had survived. Flydd planned to pick them up on the way back.
The sky galleon headed due west for the long flight across the Sea of Perion to Nixzy, the principal city of those Aachim who had not yet gone home.
‘Though I’m damned if I know what to say to Issilis when we get there,’ said Flydd.
Having lived with the Aachim for years after her father was killed, Karan held little hope of getting aid from them. They had always been isolationist, backward-looking and slow to make decisions in a crisis. Why would now be different?
Flydd had locked the controls and was sitting at his table, using a yard-square mica sheet as a power patterner, to visualise how and where power was being drawn from the field. A variety of yellow pinpoints of light were dotted across the square, as well as several larger yellow patches.
‘The power patterner only sees medium and large power draws,’ he said to Nish. ‘But it may indicate that the enemy are up to something we don’t know about. See the bright, blurry glow at Skyrock?’
Nish did not reply. He was staring at the far side of the sheet, a good three feet away, where there was a circular, dark yellow glow.
‘Is that –?’ he said.
‘Alcifer,’ Flydd said absently. He started and leaned across to look down at the little bright circle. ‘Why is Rulke using so much power?’
‘Alcifer’s a big place.’
‘It’s never lit up like that before. Something must have changed.’
‘Maybe’s he’s finally recovered.’
‘But … he must be using half as much power as the enemy are at Skyrock.’
‘He’s afraid they’ll attack; he’s readying Alcifer’s defences.’
‘Or hiding like a terrified hermit crab,’ sneered Flydd.
Karan saw her chance. ‘What if Rulke’s preparing to leave? No one knows what uncanny weapons he’s got there.’
‘Why would he leave?’ said Flydd, studying the strawberry-shaped glow at Skyrock through an eyeglass.
‘He’s the last of the Charon!’
‘So?’
‘The others went back to the void where they came from, to die. What if he plans to abandon Santh and join them?’
‘It fits,’ Flydd mused. ‘There’s nothing to keep him here now. Why would he stay?’
‘If he abandons Alcifer, and all its secrets and weapons fall into the hands of the enemy –’
‘I know what you’re trying to do, Karan.’
‘Doesn’t mean she isn’t right,’ said Nish. ‘Given how little hope we have of getting help from the Aachim, we’d be fools to ignore Rulke.’
Flydd sat for a moment, staring into nowhere, then thrust the mica sheet aside and ran to the controls. ‘Twenty-eight days gone. Thirty-six remain, if we don’t count the day they put their plan into effect. Alcifer it is – and let’s hope it isn’t a trap.’
Skald’s heart grew more leaden every day. Failure was never mentioned, yet it was clear that Durthix and his senior generals were losing hope that the True Purpose could be achieved. Dare he tell them about Maigraith’s offer? Skald wasn’t sure he would survive it.
But their need for power was now so desperate that he had no choice. Three days after Maigraith first spoke to him he went to General Chaxee in the command tent, and was shocked to see that she wasn’t on her feet. She was slumped on a canvas chair, rubbing the stump of her missing arm and talking to Senior Sus-magiz Pannilie.
Skald, quaking inside, reported that his work could not be done in time.
‘We will not speak of failure,’ said Chaxee. ‘The tower and portal tunnel must be ready.’
‘With respect, General, it’s impossible. We don’t, won’t, can’t have enough power.’
‘Why not?’
‘The closer the miners get to the node, the rottener the rock becomes, and that makes far more work: much bigger tunnels are required, three times as much rock must be hauled out of the way, and more timber framing is needed to stop the roof from falling in. Besides, the miners can only work for an hour at a time, so close to the node. It’s eating them away, as it eats the rock away.’
‘Send in more miners.’
‘There isn’t room for them to work.’
‘I should have you executed for incompetence, Superintendent, and put someone in charge who can get it done.’
‘Perhaps you should,’ said Skald, and meant it. Things were that bad.
‘We tried and we failed, General,’ said Pannilie, tearing a long strip of pink, scaly skin off her arm. ‘Durthix must be told that none of us, nor generations of Merdrun for centuries to come, are going home.’
Chaxee’s broad face crumpled, but she was not a senior general for nothing. ‘Very well.’ She heaved herself to her feet, one-handed.
‘But there may be another way to get power,’ said Skald.
‘How?’ she said dully.
‘If you will come with me to Durthix and Dagog, I’ll put it to everyone.’
Neither man looked pleased to see them. ‘I gave instructions that there were to be no interruptions,’ said Durthix, who looked worn out and discouraged.
‘Skald thinks there may be a way to gain the power we need,’ said Pannilie.
‘If Skald had done his job we wouldn’t be in this mess,’ said the magiz.
Skald had to be bold and confident, otherwise Durthix would send him away. ‘We were in this mess before I was asked to do the job, Magiz. But if you’ll hear me, High Commander, there might be a solution.’
Durthix directed a soul-crushing glare at him. ‘Five minutes. Not a second more.’
‘Three nights ago, I was contacted, via an undetectable spy portal, by Maigraith, the former –’
‘We know who Maigraith is,’ growled Durthix.
‘And you did not report this, you treasonous dog,’ hissed Dagog. ‘I’ve drunk lives for less, Sus-magiz.’
You’ve drunk lives for the sheer joy of killing a defenceless human being, you swine! Skald thought.
‘I’m reporting it now.’ He had to be quick or he’d lose the chance, and probably his life as
well. ‘Maigraith, embittered that Rulke broke his promise to her and has, apparently, taken a much younger lover, Lirriam –’
‘Who is this woman?’ said Durthix.
‘Just a bed partner, but Maigraith wants her gone and has made me an offer.’
‘Go on,’ said Durthix in a dangerous voice.
Skald swallowed. ‘She knows a secret way into Alcifer. She will gate me there, and anyone else I need, to seize Lirriam and carry her away to captivity, as a bargaining chip to keep Rulke from entering the war on the side of humanity.’
Durthix sat up at that, and so did General Chaxee. ‘If Maigraith knows so much, I wonder she doesn’t do the job herself.’
‘If Rulke discovered she was trying to get rid of his lover it would destroy her hope of getting him back.’
‘True,’ said Durthix. ‘And having Rulke neutralised would greatly relieve us. But how do we know Maigraith can be trusted?’
Skald reminded them about her well-known obsessiveness and presented the arguments she had given.
Durthix rubbed the thick black stubble on his chin. It sounded like leather being sandpapered. ‘Far-fetched … yet appealing.’
‘It’s too risky,’ said the magiz, scowling.
‘The risk is mainly to Skald and his squad,’ said Durthix, ‘And the reward is a great one: it could allow us to fulfil the True Purpose after all.’
‘If we were to carry out this sortie and it failed, as is overwhelmingly probable, we would have made an enemy of a neutral.’
‘Rulke has never been neutral. Charon and Merdrun have been enemies ever since Stermin forced us to choose at the Gates of Good and Evil. He’s just biding his time, waiting to strike.’
‘In any case,’ said Dagog, ‘Skald is still as weak as an old human. He can’t lead a squad on such a desperate enterprise.’
Skald wasn’t giving this chance up. ‘Maigraith made the offer to me,’ he said quickly. ‘She will only make a portal available, and reveal the secret way in, to me.’ This wasn’t true, but it might have been.
‘Why would she specify you?’ snarled the magiz.