The White Song (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 5)

by Phil Tucker

  CHAPTER 18

  Audsley

  Heart pounding, Audsley stepped into Haugabrjótr’s cloying darkness. The tunnel was the same as before, but now he saw it with new eyes: the faded rug that lined the hall, the guttering candles on the wall. It all exuded a menace that made him hunch his shoulders and clench his jaw.

  Others came through the Portal behind him, forcing him forward. Taking a deep breath, he walked on, the mutters of the Hrethings behind him giving him both anxiety and strength. Down the short corridor he marched, Aedelbert still in his arms, and just as he was about to reach its end, a Fujiwara servant crossed into view, glanced their way, and froze.

  Audsley had had a plan, a line of attack. But now, here, face to face with this young man whose eyes held defeat and whose mouth was a small circle of dismay, his old plan evanesced. He stopped, just as shocked as the youth, who failed to cry out in panic. Instead, the servant looked beyond Audsley at the Hrethings, then bowed his head as if awaiting whatever punishment had been fated for him.

  “Take me to the Minister of Perfection’s camarilla chamber,” said Audsley, surprising himself with the rasp of his voice. “Please.”

  The servant glanced up, surprised. Audsley could almost read his thoughts: Not dying today, then. The servant then bobbed his head, took a step backwards, turned and hurried down a new hallway.

  Purpose, Audsley had always been told, equaled authority. So, he lifted his chin and followed, looking neither right nor left and ignoring the men and women he passed along the way. Perhaps there was some sort of hive awareness of his association with Zephyr, or they simply failed to pass anyone of sufficient authority, but no one spoke out; no one challenged him and his alien retinue.

  The tunnels twisted as if with their own fell purpose, and Audsley fought the urge to move faster, to tap the servant on the shoulder and bid him to run. On they walked, winding left and then right, spiraling up and picking branching halls seemingly at random. They passed through small caverns where dark-robed figures stood talking in consternation, falling silent at his arrival, and through larger rooms where the conversations that reverberated down from the raw ceilings stilled as eyes tracked his passage.

  He’d begun to think they’d make it all the way to the innermost chamber uncontested when an older man whose face was gaunt and desiccated stepped out to bar their way.

  “You. You’re Little Zephyr’s friend. Where is she?”

  It was if the entire stonecloud stilled, the inverse of the peal of a bell, a wave of silence that tolled through the rock and resonated in every polluted heart.

  The servant cowered and moved to the side so that nothing stood between Audsley and the elder. Audsley found his own timidity evaporating along with his former plans; he’d simply been through too much, had suffered and been broken to such extremes that a mere challenge from a man such as this could no longer shake him.

  So, he stepped right up to the man. Came within a foot of him and met his gaze with an assurance that caused the other’s eyes to narrow. “Coming our way, truth be told, and bringing hell with her. I’ve come to address what remains of your family. Will you help me in gathering the ones worth speaking to?”

  The elder took in the Hrethings. “Are you here to deliver an ultimatum?”

  “Of sorts. But I’ll not repeat myself, so let’s proceed. Unless you wish to insist and force this moment to climax?”

  “I — no.” The man took a step back. “Very well. We will hear what you have to say, and then pass judgment. Pray that we find your words of value.”

  “My praying days are over,” said Audsley, and it felt good to be so glib, to speak such broken truths so openly. “But lead on.”

  The elder was clearly uncomfortable with Audsley’s tone; a lifetime spent abusing others must make it hard to bend the knee. Still, he took the servant’s place and led Audsley ever deeper into the stonecloud until at last they reached a familiar set of doors.

  “The council is in session,” said the elder. “We deliberate our future.” That said, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  Audsley motioned to Tóki to remain outside, and with a start realized that Asho was gone. He peered through the small crowd of Hrethings, but it was so — the Bythian was missing.

  There was no time to worry. Audsley pursed his lips and entered the camarilla.

  The room was as before: a large circle with a single, empty high-backed chair across from the door and concentric rings of benches rising up all around on which perhaps fifty Fujiwara notables were sitting like a parliament of ravens.

  A woman was standing beside the Minister’s vacant chair, one hand resting on its back, and it was clear that she had been in the midst of addressing the audience. She glared at the elder, who bowed his head apologetically. That he’d not been invited to take part in these deliberations spoke volumes about his true stature.

  “Excuse the interruption, Solemna. I encountered Zephyr’s mysterious friend wandering the halls with a pack of barbarians at his heels. He claims to have news for us. I thought it wise to bring him here immediately.”

  The woman was striking. Not beautiful, exactly, but her features were strong and eminently memorable: a high brow, a nose perhaps overlarge, a wide mouth and harsh cheekbones. Black hair with gray threads was woven into a thick braid, and she had the erect carriage and posture of a woman steeped in pride.

  “Magister Audsley,” she said, her voice ringing with chilly condemnation. “What is your message?”

  Moving forward, he examined the assembled men and women on their benches and saw in their impassive features hints of fear and alarm. It was evident in the way they leaned forward, in their thinned lips and wide eyes.

  Audsley pitched his voice to carry. “I’ve come to confirm what you no doubt already suspect: the Minister of Perfection is dead.”

  There was silence, then uproar. Questions were hurled at him, people stood, someone laughed, and through it all Solemna remained impassive, watching him and waiting. She raised a hand, and such was the respect she commanded that the others eventually settled, a few shouting their demands only to grow self-conscious as their voices were made all the louder for the sudden silence. The last of them sat quickly, looking mortified and furious both.

  “Yes,” said Solemna. “I expected as much. His failure to return from Starkadr can only be explained thus. What happened?”

  “I had a change of heart,” said Audsley. These words damned him, but he couldn’t have cared less. Yes, he wished to help his friends, save the Empire, offer redress; but here, now, before Solemna’s gray eyes, he felt nothing but reckless disdain. “I extended the circlet to him — you know of what I speak — and then changed my mind.” There was no need to mention Aedelbert’s involvement. “We fought, and I killed him.”

  A young man leaped down to the camarilla floor, his robes rippling around him in supernatural currents as flames wreathed his fists. “Give me the honor, Solemna,” he said, his voice aching with desire. “Give me the word.”

  The outrage of the others was stilled by this demand. Solemna didn’t look at the man, though; she merely waved him away and lowered her hand back to the chair. “You didn’t come here to boast. So, what is it you want? What is so important that you believe your safety to be assured?”

  Audsley laughed. “Assured? Hardly. More like I no longer attach much importance to my life. But, yes, I do have news. The circlet fell and rolled to Zephyr’s feet. She plucked it up and laid it on her head. You can guess what happened next. “

  “Shit,” Solemna said with finely controlled intensity. “Go on.”

  “She transported Starkadr to Ennoia, and there unleashed the demons from the stonecloud’s bowels, dropping it in the process atop the battle that was taking place between the kragh and the humans.”

  An old man in the second row half-rose to his feet. “Not the ur-destraas?”

  “Yes, the ur-destraas,” Audsley said with cruel relish. “And everything
else besides. She commands them all. I was able to escape, but barely, and I am now working with the Ascendant, the kragh, and three dragons who have emerged from legend to aid us in this fight.”

  It was like hitting them collectively about the neck and shoulders with a stick. The gathered elite of the family flinched and shook their heads, blinked and gaped as they sought to assimilate this information.

  “And a medusa,” Audsley said carelessly, almost as an afterthought. “Everything and everyone is uniting against Zephyr and her horde. A paean to peace and unity.”

  “Dragons?” whispered the man who had leaped down, as the flames flickered out of existence.

  “And you want our help?” asked Solemna. Audsley had to admit he was impressed by her self-possession.

  “Not your help, really, though I suppose you could all be of assistance. I want to speak with Erenthil. Now.”

  Again, there was silence, and then Solemna laughed, a bitter, cruel sound that made Audsley feel unsure of himself for the first time. “You do, do you? How delightful. And I wish to speak with your Ascendant. Now.”

  “Fine,” said Audsley. “I’ll escort you to him myself, though we may have to clap you in irons to prevent any impulsive assassination attempts.”

  “Nobody speaks with the Artificer,” said Solemna. “Nobody but the Minister of Perfection.”

  “Yes, well, he’s dead,” said Audsley. “And if you don’t let me speak with him, odds are that it will be Zephyr who comes next, demanding an audience with an ur-destraas at her back. I’d love to see you laugh in her face as well.”

  Someone moaned.

  “We must discuss this,” said an elder in the first row. “No such decision can be made without the full agreement of the council.”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” cried a second. “To allow an outsider to enter the presence of the Artificer? Verboten!”

  “We must all calm down. A successor to the Minister must be chosen —”

  “The time to strike a deal is now. We must leverage our position of strength to —”

  “What is this infernal shouting? Are we barbarians? Be silent and hear what I have to —”

  Audsley crossed his arms and waited as the camarilla devolved into chaos. Solemna made no move to impose herself upon the others, and Audsley guessed she was taking the opportunity to reach her own decision.

  A shoving match started a few rows up, with several others intervening to pry two older women apart.

  Solemna was watching him, brow furrowed, rubbing her pursed lips with the edge of her thumb. Audsley waited, reaching up to comfort Aedelbert, who had tensed up. There was nothing more he could do. No supernatural powers were at his command. He couldn’t compel, and in this bedlam he couldn’t convince. All he could do was wait.

  Solemna beckoned to him with a finger. He walked toward her, and this elicited new demands and challenges from those who suddenly realized something was going on.

  She didn’t speak, didn’t try to pitch her voice over the shouting. Instead, she turned and moved to the back of the room. It was only then that Audsley realized that a Portal was subtly inscribed in the black rock there, the faint outline of an archway that was almost stark in its simplicity.

  “Stop at once, Solemna!”

  The quick-witted of the gathering had figured out her intent, and several men and women were scrambling over the short wall to the camarilla floor.

  “Cease!”

  Solemna raised a hand and uttered a harsh word that Audsley was unable to make out. The wall immediately rippled with black ink.

  Solemna passed through it.

  Taking a deep breath, Audsley followed.

  Immediately, the cacophony faded away. There was that twisting sense of inversion that Audsley had come to know so well, and then he stepped out into late-afternoon sunshine.

  He was standing at the edge of a small swath of soft grass, a miniature meadow, with a cottage built against a massive boulder on the far side. A few oaks stood off to his left, their canopies thick with verdant foliage, and a breeze was blowing with gentle constancy.

  A stonecloud, he realized. An incredibly small one. Turning, he looked up at the plinth through which he’d emerged: it was a dusty gray and rose some ten feet in height, emerging from the grass at the stonecloud’s edge as if it had been planted there with great care. Its face was marked by silver tracery forming the Portal, and the foul name of the demon contained within was inscribed over the arch.

  “Where are we?” he asked, though something about this stonecloud seemed ineffably familiar.

  Solemna had moved forward and to the side and was staring with fixed intensity at the cottage. She didn’t respond. She was suddenly sweating, he realized, and her fists were clenched.

  Audsley took a few faltering steps to the side and gazed over the edge of the stonecloud at the world beyond. They weren’t that high up, perhaps only thirty yards or so, and below he could see the stonecloud’s shadow rippling over fields and hedgerows. It all seemed so familiar. He could make out mountains far to the east, but nothing epic in scope; they were faded by mist, but their outlines...

  “We’re in Ennoia,” he said.

  He cast around, but anonymous fields were all he saw below, interspersed here and there with copses of woods that were being used to grow timber and staves.

  “I know this land. It’s to the north of Kyferin Castle, far to the north... Lord Herterech’s demesne?”

  Solemna took a deep, shuddering breath and smoothed down her robes. “Yes. This stonecloud is known in the almanacs and in common wisdom as the Stonecloud of Nethys.”

  It was as if someone had punched him square in the chest; Audsley’s shock was so deep that he couldn’t breathe. He simply gaped at Solemna, and then he laughed, at first weakly but with growing strength, till tears came to his eyes and he slid down the Portal plinth into a crouch, his shoulders shaking helplessly.

  Aedelbert leaped down to perch on his knee, from which he studied Audsley with grave concern. Deciding that a comforting lick was needed, he leaned forward and rasped his rough tongue up Audsley’s cheek.

  Solemna watched him with horrified fascination. “Have you gone mad?”

  “I might as well have. The Isle of St. Nethys? All this time? He’s been here, in plain sight...?” Audsley gasped, fought to control himself, then removed his spectacles and wiped at his eyes. “Thank you, Aedelbert. Most kind. I’m better now. Ah, what a world. And why not? I suppose there’s a limited number of terribly imposing and hidden stoneclouds like Starkadr and Haugabrjótr. Oh, my.”

  He replaced his spectacles and peered around the innocent-looking meadow. “It’s quite lovely, actually.” He struggled to his feet. “And that’s his cottage there? I thought there’d be a monastery, or…”

  “Yes,” Solemna whispered, turning back to it. “It’s said that the path from the Portal to his front door is deadly to uninvited visitors. The Minister of Perfection took with him the secret of how to traverse it safely. I — I don’t know how to proceed.”

  Audsley stepped up beside her and studied the faint trail that ran from the plinth to the cottage door. Barely noticeable, really. One could rather confidently call it a deer path, really, if you didn’t mind the complete absence of deer. Nothing stood out as obviously dangerous, but then it wouldn’t, would it?

  Traps. Traps that had to stymie those with the ability to fly, since many of the Fujiwara would be capable of such movement.

  “I don’t know,” he said, turning to study the trees. “Nothing seems obvious.”

  Solemna was taking deep, measured breaths. She was truly frightened, he understood, which prompted him to realize that he wasn’t. Not that he didn’t think he might die here; rather that the threat to his life failed to move him.

  “He’s the Artificer, is he not? So, we can imagine that his traps will be mechanical in nature, fueled, no doubt, by the power of demons.” Audsley tapped his chin. “Buried beneath the grass? Ther
e’s no need, given the chance for flight. Hidden behind that huge boulder? High above us in the sky?”

  Nothing presented itself.

  “What if this warning is all the defense he has and needs?” Audsley raised an eyebrow. “After all, if you are this frightened, I doubt anybody else from your family would dare to trespass.”

  “No,” said Solemna. “There are traps. I won’t waste our time explaining my certainty.”

  “Hello!” Audsley cupped his hands around his mouth. “Artificer! Hello! Can we talk?”

  Solemna hissed her disapproval but then watched the cottage door as closely as he did. After a minute, her shoulders sagged. “Undignified, but worth the attempt.”

  “Surely the Minister of Perfection must have left instructions in case of his accidental passing?” asked Audsley.

  “He did,” said Solemna. “But they are bound and can only be accessed by his successor, who can only be chosen after all the proper protocols have been followed. It would have taken days for us to convince the others to agree to open his ledgers without establishing a successor first. Our only choice was take this step alone, or surrender ourselves to interminable arguing and bureaucracy.”

  “I see,” said Audsley. “And... I thought as much. Well, then. If the trap is powered by the magic of demons, then it must revolve around flames, and possibly teleportation. Perhaps anyone who triggers it would be transported to the underside of the island and summarily dropped to their death?”

  Audsley tapped his chin as he mulled his own idea. “No... you don’t preserve centuries’ worth of secrecy by littering fields with bodies. Fire, then. But from where? Devices hidden in the grass? Perhaps proximity triggers them. If so, then perhaps there is a secret path that avoids them all and leads to the door?”

  “A path we do not know,” said Solemna.

  “True. But we can extrapolate. What is the one guiding truth that all interlopers would come armed with? That there are traps. As such, nobody would dare a straight march to the door, for obviously that’s where the traps would lie. They would attempt circuitous loops and so forth.”