CrossTown
Page 23
My eyes widened. “Silverhand? Do you think …”
“No!” A tall Sidhe newly healed by Creyn caught my arm and spun me around. “Someone is working to rouse the ire of the Faerie. But they made a foolish mistake. Nuada Silverhand would not take his own son, even to incite the Lords of the Sidhe against the humans.”
I saw his father’s angry eyes in his face. I frowned as I thought about what he’d said. “You’re right.”
He nodded, released my arm. “Of course I am.”
“As you say, whoever is behind this raid meant to stir things up between mankind and Faerie,” I mused.
Oisin raised his head. “Why? And who?”
I turned back to the nearest prisoner, thinking furiously. I had a suspect. But what would Titania gain by rousing Faerie against the humans? Particularly when relations had been so good of late? She would have had the tools, but how far did her quarrel go? Or did she fear the return of the Nephilim enough to push the Faerie to a war footing?
I remembered what Chimereon had said about Titania’s distaste for humanity. What had Corvinus set in motion by catching her attention? She must have feared the Nephilim like nothing else in all the worlds. No wonder she hated humanity. Was she looking for a war, or was she hoping the borders to Faerie would be closed? Perhaps either would suit her.
I raised my eyes to Oisin’s, my hands still working to free one of the last captives. “The raid was focused on you as a member of Lugh’s Court, and on Silverhand. She doesn’t want Faerie to go to war with the humans. She wants the borders closed to human traffic.”
Oisin cocked his head. “She? She who? And why?”
I helped the captive to sit straight as Creyn shuffled our way. The strain wore on him visibly: he looked as if he had aged enough to be mortal.
I looked back at Oisin. “I suspect who, though I can’t be sure. As for why … if I’m right about the person behind this, I believe that she’s afraid war will soon come again. War of a kind that has not been seen for eons. She’s trying to take steps to prevent the Fae from being caught in it. She’s afraid I’ll find what I’m looking for.”
Oisin blinked. “What are you looking for?”
“The key to my master’s death.”
That’s about the time a junior priest decided to check on the captives.
CHAPTER XXV
AS WE were talking, a plump little guy in a gold and white checkered robe poked his head through the door to the sanctum. His eyes widened, he managed a little bleat of surprise, and then a dozen hungry hands closed on him and jerked him into the room. As many angry Sidhe as could reach him closed him off from view. Chunks of flesh and strips of robe started raining down through the room.
Silverhand’s son stooped, rifled through the silent guards I had bound earlier and retrieved a dart pistol. Oisin shook his head. “I’ve dealt with them before. Whitesnakes are immune to nearly all poisons. It’s why they use the poison dart guns.”
Silverhand’s son tossed the pistol away contemptuously.
“Damn!” Oisin turned as I cursed. I had forgotten the Whitesnake immunity to poison. I thought I had killed my interrogator. That sadistic swine of a high priest had faked me out completely. I still had a score to settle.
We finished releasing the last prisoner to the sounds of savage violence behind us. It helped to remember that despite appearances, Fae were not human. Creyn looked ready to collapse as he bent to heal the last of the wounded.
The Sidhe moved back from a huddled shapeless mass. They were collectively shivering with rage. Entirely berserk with nothing significant remaining of the hapless priest to vent their rage on, the group lunged for the door to the sanctum. Oisin and I followed in a more leisurely fashion. The last of his brethren healed, Creyn tottered after the rush, looking like an elvish Methuselah.
I followed the crowd out onto the dais where the priests had gathered. Light poured through the room, gleaming from every rich, polished surface. The Whitesnakes had spared no expense on their sanctum. Around the dais, priests stood before stone slabs shaped to take the tables upon which the Sidhe had been chained. Stone mouths opened at regular intervals around the altars. The Whitesnakes obviously had refined the process of human sacrifice to assembly line efficiency, complete with wheeled gurneys built to support removable tables that could be set in place on the altars, where the blood from the sacrifice could be neatly channeled into the stone declivities waiting to receive it.
I had encountered mass production insanity before, but it never failed to give me the shivers. Scale and efficiency made any evil so much more dangerous, I had to wonder if the advantages were worth the potential price. In this doubt lay my ambivalence toward TechTown.
The mass of the Sidhe charged what looked like the full congregation. Every available cultist had apparently managed to make an appearance. They rose from their seats, hissing. Howling, blood-mad Sidhe swarmed over the priests standing at the front of the platform.
It was a sight to warm the cockles of my heart.
Serpentine sorceries flickered at the edge of my awareness. Sidhe sorcery rose to contend with the power of the priests. I coolly stood back by the door and struck the Whitesnake sorcerers down while the Sidhe had their attention. None of them would awaken from the sleep to which I sent them. Like any other total conflict, mercy and fairness had no place in that battle. I had less regard for the Whitesnakes than many of the creatures of NightTown, for each cultist had chosen to follow Whitesnake doctrine, whereas many creatures of the night merely followed the instincts nature had given them.
Screaming, cursing madness filled the Whitesnake Holy of Holies. Bright light lit the chaos as dark blood spattered the silver and gold of the furnishings. The congregation began swarming up the side of the platform. The son of Silverhand led a counter-attack. Priests, whole and in pieces, rained down on the heads of their followers.
I had to admit that the Sidhe were not to be screwed with when their blood was running hot.
As the last of the Whitesnake sorcerers went down and the Sidhe turned their attention to the mass of cultists, a stench of power fouled my mouth and nose. I walked along the edge of the conflict, searching, and spotted a familiar white robe straightening from where he had knelt in a tiny, curtained alcove in the back and center of the platform. A knife and a cup lay on the small table at which he had knelt. Both were covered with dark stains, as was his mouth. The body of a lesser priest lay unmoving at his feet.
His eyes glowed white. He smiled when he saw me. “The blood is good. The god approves.”
I could see the power of his god coiling inside him. A snarl twisted my mouth. I had banished the bastard once. I could do it again. The battle raging at my back, I met his eyes as he threw his arms wide and prepared to pour his power into his followers.
The demon incarnated in the flesh of the high priest may not have been a god in truth, but it had unholy strength. I didn’t have my Legion to lean upon, to distract it. At the same time, I did not have the distraction of managing my Legion.
I met its strength, holding it in place as the Sidhe slaughtered the Whitesnakes. Losing their sorcerers early in the battle had put the cultists in a bad position. The Sidhe had no intention of easing the pressure on them. The glow in the priest’s eyes brightened until he could have found work as a desk lamp. He stood unmoving as the demon infesting him focused more and more of its power on me.
The power of the Whitesnake god wrapped around me with a cold, strangling strength. I stepped forward slowly, as if bearing great weight, fighting as it tightened its hold on me. Each step came slower and slower, each breath came further and further apart, until my heart labored in my chest.
I stepped into arm’s reach and struck the high priest as hard as I could in his exposed throat with my right fist. The pressure eased on me immediately as pain splintered his concentration. Then the demon swept him aside and the possession became complete. The glow in the priest’s eyes took on a reddish hue.
He whirled in midair. I hung onto the knife, which ripped free. He screamed like a damned soul. I stabbed him again, this time in the lower belly. I felt a surge of force lashing toward me and turned it aside with the edge of my will. The table behind me exploded, showering me with splinters. I stabbed him again, stepping close to his body, grinning when I realized that his shadow had fallen over me.
I reached up through the shadow to the thing inside and haled it forth. The body dropped like a marionette with cut strings. The demon I held in my will lashed and snarled and raged like a parasite torn from its host. It turned on me, trying to take me, but I felt other wills adding to mine. Caught in forces beyond its strength, torn from the host whose life had supported its presence, and unable to retreat back to the safety of its own plane, the demon died. The Sidhe who lent me their strength smiled with me as we crushed it under the heel of our collective spiritual boot.
I took the moment to draw a breath. Silence fell down around me. I could feel the larger barrier unraveling and fading to foul, ethereal smoke. The wrath of the Sidhe had shattered the Whitesnake sorcerers who had maintained the barrier. Their work followed them into the final darkness.
Creyn limped forth to do what he could for the Sidhe who were wounded. Silverhand’s son buoyed Creyn up, nodding to me gravely even as he fed the healer his strength which was used to succor the wounded Sidhe. Watching them, I remembered all the things I admired in the Sidhe—their strength, their joy, their bright and shining power, and their love. They loved as fiercely as they did everything else.
I caught Oisin at the edge of the Sidhe. “Be careful when you return.”
“I understand. The Whitesnakes are broken. The other remains.”
I nodded.
He cocked his head. “Will you tell me who you suspect?”
I thought about it. I owed him that much, though I doubted the news would be welcome. Had it not been for the Sidhe, the Whitesnake High Priest would have already been examining my entrails for defects. “I believe Titania is behind it. She has the most cause.”
Several heads snapped around at that, though I had spoken quietly. Oisin’s face hardened. “Do you have proof?”
I shook my head. “That’s why I have been reluctant to speak. But she involved herself. She set Fetch on my trail. Who else would it have been?”
“That’s a serious charge,” Oisin said.
“One I will make when I have the proof I need,” I answered. “Once I have dug into this thing as far as necessary, I’ll have evidence. Until that time, I make no formal accusations.”
“That would be best.” Oisin said. “And we will be careful. You be careful as well. If what you say is true, we will be safe once we have reached Nuada’s lands. If she fails to prevent us from arriving, killing us there would serve her little purpose. Nuada would be on guard against it. But you have no such refuge.”
“I know.” I sighed. “She’s forcing me to the course she fears the most.” I clasped hands with each of them, then I stood with them as they gave respect to those they had lost. Five of the Sidhe had died in the battle with the Whitesnakes, though the cultists had lost far more than that. Any surviving Whitesnakes had departed, leaving their dead to lie as they had fallen. Still, the price seemed high. The Sidhe are not a fecund race.
I watched as they lifted their dead to their shoulders and set their feet on the Way home. I worked myself out through the winding passages, and then found my own Way. First, I thought I’d see if the Wraith had turned up any evidence of the origin of the Whitesnake funds. After that, I intended to retrace my steps a bit, then seek my answers at the root of the conflict.
CHAPTER XXVI
I PASSED swiftly from cave to cave, leaving behind the Whitesnake catacombs for the friendlier environs of Deep-Town. I skirted the populated areas. Though the Whitesnake bounty had lost all meaning, the news would take time to run the rumor circuit. Within a few days the word would hit the streets of CrossTown and I would again be able to travel without fear of anyone but Fetch.
I shivered at the thought of meeting Fetch again. That possibility was bad enough. I’d been lucky last time and he’d underestimated me. I didn’t believe that either of those things would happen the next time we met.
I couldn’t really believe that he hadn’t survived. Fetch wasn’t a person. He was a force of nature.
When I saw the archway of MacWraith’s abode, the lurking fear in me crystallized into a cold lump of terrible certainty. No barrier danced there to protect the Wraith’s privacy. As long as I had known him, I had never seen the barrier inactive.
I stepped through the arch cautiously, my ears tuned for the sounds of a footfall. Only an intruder would betray signs of a solid physical presence. I heard nothing except for a distant buzzing that danced at the edge of perception. I eased through the antechamber, noting the presence of an archway that I had never seen before, opening to my left. Evidently, the Wraith had kept things to himself.
Surprise, surprise.
A small bug like a gnat bumbled by my cheek. I swatted absently at it before the thought of what it might mean blossomed in my mind. Stiff legged, my hands at my sides, I stepped slowly to the main archway and looked into a wild cloud of swirling vapor. The buzzing grew louder. I understood then that what had seemed like vapor at first glance was actually a loose swarm of the same tiny animals that had once composed the Wraith’s body.
The Wraith had been disincorporated. The Wraith no longer existed as an individual. Instead, he had been reduced by some terrible blow to his constituent elements: a swarm of tiny flying creatures hovering like a physical ghost over the site of the death of his psyche.
I paused there. How much of him remained? How much could be recovered? If the pieces of the Wraith were pulled back to his original form, would any of his memories survive? Would the single personality I thought of as Alistair MacWraith be resurrected? I didn’t know, but CrossTown held an expert on everything.
I paused to pick up the tiny corpse of the piece of the Wraith I had swatted. I drew existing shadow over the opening of the archway like a curtain, then wove a more tangible barrier from the darkness. I didn’t want any more of the swarm escaping from that place before I found out whether or not the Wraith could be helped.
At the same time, I searched my memories for someone who might know what I needed to help the Wraith. The only name I knew who might possess that kind of specialized knowledge would not have ordinarily been my first choice. I had a limited amount of currency with the demon scholar Ba’al Sid. I wouldn’t use that trivially. In this instance, I didn’t see any easy alternative. The request would be anything but trivial.
So I set my feet on the path to NightTown once again, finding my way swiftly into a quiet little suburb on the edge of twilight. Walking the Ways into darkness had become much easier for me, I noticed. I swallowed against growing hunger. Despite the use they had been, I did not feel entirely comfortable with the shadow abilities I had ripped from my hunter. The hunger I had inherited kept gaining in strength.
I had the uneasy feeling that I knew what I would need to satisfy that hunger. I didn’t want to become the face of an appetite, driven and corrupted into something I would no longer recognize.
I paused before gates of twisted black iron. They opened onto a long walkway that in turn led to a huge manor framed by squat towers and dark windows. A sense of relief blunted the edge of worry I’d felt since I’d seen the Wraith. The open gates told me that the one I sought would be home and ready to deal.
Long rods with ruby tips bathed the black marble of the walkway in bloody light. Pale
grass stretched around the curve of the walkway like a thick carpet. I took the front steps two at a time. The flat cracks of my booted feet slapping jet-black onyx echoed against the granite wall encircling the grounds of the manor. No light penetrated the darkness of the windows, but I knew those windows. The obsidian surface would be perfectly transparent from the inside.
The door opened as I reached for the handle. Bloody light spilled out around the entryway. I looked up, my eyes climbing the nine feet of white muscle and red veins a familiar, fanged grin.
I smiled. “I feel complimented. You answered the door personally.”
Flames filled the eyes of the massive head, shaped like nothing so much as the head of a flayed bear. “I always take pains for close friends and the holders of my debts.” When he spoke, a writhing mass of movement filled his mouth, like a hyperactive ball of worms.
I raised an eyebrow. “And how many of either do you have?”
“Not many.” His voice was the grinding discontent of a glacier, the protest of clashing boulders.
“Somehow I’m not shocked by that.”
He turned without answering. I followed him into the depths of the manor.
He led me into a sitting room that could have come straight from Victorian England, complete with leather bound volumes lining the walls, three low stone tables, two divans, and a settee, all covered in the pale hide of some creature. Rugs lay across the floor, thick with dark fur. Animal heads glared down from the wall through thickets of fangs and scales and twisted horns: animals such as those had never been seen in any Victorian England I knew. Stones set in the walls washed the room and everything in it in a surly red glow.
What Ba’al Sid called “home” and “comfortable” gave some indication as to his nature and place of origin. I hadn’t ever seen any place in my travels that came close in feel. I didn’t really have a strong desire to change that. On the Ways, a traveler can find just about anything. Some things it’s not a good idea to find.