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

by Phil Tucker

  Bookcases lined the walls, holding thousands of tomes. All of them had to be of the utmost value to have a place within this room. The key was to find the right book before he was stopped. There had to be a system, a means of ordering them, even if that system only followed Erenthil’s vagaries. But Audsley had a hunch — Erenthil had been a pivotal member of Starkadr’s Flame Walkers, and as such would have had access to the secret library. He’d have spent decades, perhaps more, perusing those tomes, and it was Audsley’s hope that he had adopted the same shelving system here in his new home.

  “Let’s see. Yes, ancient Aletheian. Of course. How annoying.” He scanned the titles, gaining a quick sense of the nature of the books — metallurgy — and then stepped back to take in the bookcase as a whole. No, no, he was approaching this incorrectly, going straight to the books in his haste.

  Instead, he studied the floor, casting his gaze back and forth until he saw the lines incised into the stone: long, sweeping curves that hinted at a complex Aletheian pictogram.

  “Aha!”

  That old thrill filled him, the joy of the hunt, and he hurried about the room, trying to get a sense of the pictogram’s import before hissing in impatience and clambering up onto the massive table that divided the room in two. Careful not to kick anything over, he peered at the floor until he was able to impress the symbol’s import into his mind.

  “Deceptively simple, though why not? No need for riddles here. So, if that line accords with metallurgy, geography, and the realm, then following this one here...”

  He hopped down, letting out a pained oomph of breath as he did so, and followed the tangled curve to one of the arches inscribed on the wall.

  “Oh.” He blinked in surprise and reached up to scratch at Aedelbert’s chin. “Another room, perhaps?” He took off his spectacles, polished them, then put them back on and stared at the archway’s apex. “That’s a nasty name. Don’t try saying it yourself. Khak’assa Jav’vlsh.”

  The demon’s name soured his tongue and tore at his throat, but the archway filled with black ink, and without hesitation Audsley plunged through. He felt the familiar dislocation, then he emerged into a new room, similar to the first, lit with the same white light and surrounded on all sides by more bookcases interspersed with archways.

  “Oh dear, Aedelbert,” said Audsley. “This isn’t as simple as I’d hoped.”

  He studied the floor once more, made out the pictogram, and found that it reflected back on the first, was an enlargement of a small section of it with much more detail filled in. “A magnification. But if that’s the case, then the whole of the first must contain multitudes... Meaning that this is but one of many, many rooms...”

  For a moment, Audsley felt overwhelmed by his task, then he squared his shoulders and set to work, following the curve of the pictogram as best he could. The room was filled with texts on demonology, as he’d hoped, but a quick study of the shelves showed him only introductory texts.

  “On Calling Forth by Night, The Cursed Life of Maelik Hove, Seventeen Treatises on Conversing with Demons, On Demons and Their Ways, On the Passage of the Soul, The Fountain of Evil, Falling Inwards, Strengthening the Will...”

  The titles made him shiver. But none sufficed.

  “Come on, come on, where are the names? He has to have them listed somewhere...”

  He stepped up to a second archway, read the dread symbols aloud, and passed through. Made his way through a third room, then a fourth, and it was only upon emerging into a fifth and much smaller chamber that he felt a shiver of delight.

  The shelves here were lined with seemingly endless numbers of slender black tomes. Pulling one forth, he read the title written in silver ink: Notes from 375-380.

  Erenthil’s private journal.

  A terrible hunger filled him, a desire to crack the book open and drink deep of the Artificer’s private knowledge, but there was no time for that kind of intellectual indulgence. Anguished, Audsley replaced the diary.

  Where were they?

  “I’m curious what you’re attempting to achieve here,” Erenthil said dryly.

  Aedelbert let out a venous hiss, and Audsley spun around, heart in his throat, hands pressing the shelves behind him as if he sought to defend them from the Artificer.

  “Oh, hello!” He felt sweat run down the generous curvature of his back. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

  “You are? You seem close to an apoplectic fit.” Erenthil was standing with a single bronze eidolon at his side, hands hidden within his sleeves, wearing a somber expression.

  “Yes. Of course! I knew my penetrating this far into your sanctum would draw your attention. It seemed the only way to force a conversation.”

  “I’m quite busy above,” said Erenthil. “This can wait. I shall have you escorted out.”

  “A request!” Audsley darted forward a step. “I want to help in the coming battle, but in my present state, I’m worthless! Please. A demon gem. That’s all I ask.”

  A look of disgust flickered across the Artificer’s face. “Look at you. Your soul is worn through like a threadbare shirt. You don’t have the fortitude to take on another demon. It would subsume you.”

  “No, I swear it, I can hold my own.” Audsley grinned at the man, feeling manic. “I need power. To make a difference. To help! What am I to do, sit and wait while the others fight?”

  “To make a difference,” said Erenthil. “Is that why you truly wish the gem?”

  Audsley blanched. “What do you mean?”

  “You know precisely what I mean. I’ve seen far too many men and women come crawling on hands and knees asking for exactly this kind of favor. To make a difference? Hardly. Tell me the truth, Audsley. You want another demon so that you can exult in its power. Not to serve others.”

  “I — what?” Audsley felt sweat break out on his brow. “Not at all. I loathe the creatures. My desire to help is sincere —”

  “You think I cannot tell a lie when I hear one?” Erenthil’s face curdled with disgust. “Enough. This conversation is over.”

  “No, wait!” Audsley fell to his knees. “You’re right. I admit it. I do miss the power. The ability to fly above the clouds, to teleport wherever I will — to defend myself with fire, to command respect! I admit it.”

  Erenthil narrowed his eyes but did not speak.

  “And is it so wrong?” Audsley struggled to his feet. “To desire to maximize one’s potential? To seek to rise as high as one can? You cannot dismiss that impulse, you of all people, Artificer! I dare you to refute my ambitions!”

  “I told you: you have not the strength of soul to manage another demon. It would subsume you.”

  “I beg to differ. I held three demons within me at once, and I stand before you my own man. Oh, I don’t ask for a mal’orem. But something. A small demon. A minor gem. Give me something with which I can work.”

  “Why? You’d be of negligible benefit in the upcoming battle. Why should I waste my resources on you?”

  “Why?” Audsley licked his lower lip. “Because — because I’d repay you. If you grant me this, I’ll do whatever it takes to repay you. I’ll work for you, if you like. You’ll find me a resourceful and intelligent servant.”

  “You did make it into my private study,” said Erenthil. “But you have the look of an addict. You can never trust an addict.”

  “Then, after this battle is over, take the demon from me and make me earn it,” said Audsley. “Or whatever terms you desire.”

  Erenthil pursed his lips. “Perhaps.”

  “What must I say to convince you? Listen… I don’t believe in Ascendancy any longer. Not after the lies were torn asunder by the Minister of Perfection. I have no loyalty to the Ascendant or the Empire. I believe that the Black Gate must be opened to rebalance the world, to allow creative energy to flow through to the White Gate and bring about an Age of Wonders once more.”

  Audsley took another step forward. “If I could prove useful in bringing about the dawn
ing of that new age, if we could work together to raise mankind from its servitude to a lie, if we could train and educate the masses so that Sin Casters are once again revered as Walkers of the Path of Flames — then I would consider mine a life well-lived.”

  “Worthy goals, but you are an inferior tool.”

  “You don’t know my resilience or resolve,” Audsley said with a dark smile. “I killed the Minister of Perfection himself, did I not? I rescued the circlet from Tharok.”

  “True.” Erenthil gave a curt nod. “Very well. Your emotional ties with the others may also prove of use. I’ll grant you a minor demon. Then, once we’ve banished the demons back through the Black Gate and destroyed the circlet, we’ll talk about what may come next.”

  “So, you plan to destroy the circlet? You’ll go through with banishing the demons?”

  “Of course,” Erenthil said coldly. “Do you think me insane? A wise man knows which tools will serve him, and which will destroy him utterly. I would rather rule in the secure fastness of my own mind than bend knee to a greater power. Did you think I was lying when I assured Iskra that I would keep my word?”

  “Yes,” said Audsley. “I did. But whatever you decide is best, of course.”

  “Idiot,” Erenthil replied, drawing forth his pouch of demon gems. “Now, a minor demon. Let us see. Yes, this should suffice.” He held up a small fleck of diamond. “Enough to grant your wishes, but no more. Here.”

  Audsley took the small diamond with trembling hands. He raised it to his mouth, then paused. Everything hinged on this. “And its name?”

  “Name?”

  “But of course. Zephyr told me how knowing a demon’s name confers power over it. If I’m to be your servant — and not the demon’s — then I must know its name to command it.”

  Erenthil nodded grudgingly. “True.”

  Audsley’s heart was pounding. He was taking a reckless, terrifying gamble that Erenthil had not memorized every minor demon’s name. “Unless you wish for me to become subsumed, as you called it?” Audsley smiled as cruelly as he could. “As you do all those above who swallowed their gems?”

  “Yes, yes, very well. You make a valid point. You’d serve me better with your own free will. And I tire of conversing with demons alone. Come, take my hand. There are no doors to where we go.”

  Audsley reached out, fighting to keep his face expressionless and not betray his thrill of hope. Erenthil’s palm was dry. A moment later, the world swam in darkness, and they appeared in another small chamber. Tall, narrow windows looked out over mountain peaks, their icy caps glittering in the moonlight. The air was bitterly cold, and Audsley’s breath fogged in the air in front of him as Aedelbert pressed in close against his ear.

  “Let us see.” Erenthil stepped over to a lectern on which a weighty tome lay open and began to turn the pages.

  The walls of this room were covered in tapestries depicting fascinating scenes. Audsley recognized Starkadr in one. He saw armies of demons in another, torments being inflicted on hapless victims in a third, but he tore his eyes away so he could focus on Erenthil.

  “This room. It exists only to house this book?”

  “Yes,” Erenthil said distractedly, running his finger down a page. “But don’t get any ideas. My eidolons will destroy any who come here unaccompanied. Don’t think to return on your own.”

  “Of course not,” said Audsley. “And that book — it lists –?”

  “Names,” said Erenthil. “Over the centuries, I have collected thousands of them. Many of them I discovered myself. Now, here.” He tapped the page. “The demon within that diamond is called Hr’ck Zavash. Repeat it.”

  “Hr’ck Zavash,” Audsley said smoothly.

  “Very good. Let us return. Speak of this, of course, to no one.”

  Erenthil tapped Audsley on the shoulder, and they appeared in the main laboratory.

  “You are forbidden all explorations of my demesne,” said Erenthil. “I will not hesitate to destroy you if you give me the slightest cause. You exist now only to further my goals, and you have none of my trust. Perhaps in time that will change, but that is a discussion for another day. Understood?”

  “Yes,” said Audsley.

  “Good.” And Erenthil vanished.

  Audsley let out a deep breath and sank to the floor. He wanted to lie down altogether and close his eyes, but he forced himself to wrap his arms around his knees and remain upright.

  After a moment, he held up the diamond.

  What a gamble. But so far, so good.

  In a quick motion, he popped the gem into his mouth and swallowed it.

  CHAPTER 34

  Tiron

  The moment had come. When the Ascendant approached Draumronin, the dragon bowed its great head, though whether out of respect or simple acknowledgement of the human’s importance, Tiron couldn’t say. The Consecrated and the Virtues who had refused Kyrra’s Kiss stood behind him, with Tharok and the shamans off to one side beside Kethe and her renegade Consecrated. Draumronin painfully lowered a wing, and after a moment’s hesitation, they all began to climb onto the dragon’s back.

  Bronze eidolons hovered in the air behind Asho and his Sin Casters, while others shadowed Ilina and her surviving Vothaks. Erenthil flew before them, an eidolon flanking him on either side.

  There was a moment of silence as each participant looked to the others for confirmation that this was actually about to happen, and then Iskra stepped forth.

  “It’s time.” Her words were cold, and in the light of the moon she looked beautiful, a maiden of war sending her forces forth into battle. Tiron thrilled at the sight of her.

  “You are all that is left of our defenses. Kragh and human, dragon and medusa. This coalition is all that stands between Zephyr and the annihilation of our kind. There is no one left. There are no reserves. If you fail, we fall, and our world falls with us into shadow and flame.”

  The wind blew across the stonecloud’s meadow, and its passage was the only sound that followed Iskra’s stark words.

  “You fight not for glory, not for honor, not for conquest, but for the innocents of your kind who will suffer if you fail. Give no quarter. Feel no fear. With you fly our hopes of seeing another dawn. If you survive, undoubtedly you will go down in history as the greatest heroes who ever stood against the night. If you die, there will be no one to remember your loss.

  “Remember, your goal is simple. Do not become distracted. Kill the ur-destraas in which Zephyr is hiding and bring her circlet to the Black Gate in Bythos. Nothing else matters. No other foe is worth killing, no other goal worth pursuing. Kill the ur-destraas. Make that your mantra. Hew to that purpose, and, united, concentrating our attack in one fell blow, I know that we will win.”

  This was no regiment of green -eared recruits, desperately needing a sergeant’s curt reassurance on the eve of battle. Tiron eyed the others — they ranged from immortal monsters to the Empire’s greatest knights to the Ascendant himself, but despite how elite they were, Iskra’s words still honed their purpose: Tiron felt himself grow more focused, his whole being growing centered and ready.

  “In the name of the Ascendant, in the name of the Sky Father, in the name of Kyrrasthasa, I bid you go forth and claim victory.” Iskra took a deep breath, then nodded to Erenthil. “It is time.”

  Erenthil bowed his head, and the eidolon to his left disappeared.

  No one spoke. Tiron couldn’t tear his gaze from Iskra’s pale face. He wanted nothing more than to slide down from his saddle to give her one last kiss. At the last, she looked up at him, and in her eyes he saw a savage demand that was given to him alone: Come back to me.

  Tiron smiled wryly at her and nodded.

  Draumronin rustled its great wings. Its breath was audible, a harsh, strained sound. Tiron placed a hand on the side of the dragon’s neck. Are you ready?

  YES, came the dragon’s response in the depths of his mind. It sounded resigned. Weary.

  Tiron turned in his saddle
to regard the Ascendant, who was sitting a few yards behind him, his arms wrapped around a thick spine. Though the young man’s face was calm, there was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. Behind him sat Mixis and Synesis, then the Consecrated. The shamans were gathered at the base of Draumronin’s spine, chanting eerily in unison. Kyrra was coiled nearby, ready to be taken up, her alien visage composed and beautiful.

  The eidolon appeared at Erenthil’s side, half of its body melted. Dollops of bronze fell from its frame, revealing a silver armature beneath.

  “We have the demon’s location,” Erenthil said loudly. “It flies within the center of its host outside Aletheia. The eidolon is ready to lead the attack. Draumronin, are you ready to follow?”

  YES, rumbled the dragon.

  “Then go, and give those demons a taste of true hell!”

  The melting eidolon disappeared. Draumronin spread its wings out wide, reared up to seize Kyrra with its front claws, let out a deep roar and followed.

  They appeared a second later high above the ground. Aletheia gleamed like a mountain of bone in the moonlight below them, tilted at a sharp angle where it had impacted the farmland. But it wasn’t sitting in the center of a massive crater; it had retained its forward momentum and was plowing a vast trench through the earth, creating a ruinously loud roar as the ground buckled and rose up before it to the height of the tallest trees only to fall away on both sides and leave a deep, raw wound behind it.

  “By the Black Gate,” Tiron whispered, but he had no time to study the scene of devastation below. The darkness of the night around them was rippling with wings. They had appeared within a vast cloud of demonic forms – forms without number, demons without end.

  “There!” Tiron cried, hefting his lance and pointing straight ahead. “There! Strike! Strike now!”

  The ur-destraas rose before them, its upper torso wreathed in flame, its arms outstretched as if to embrace them. It matched Draumronin’s roar with one of its own, a howling bellow that shook Tiron where he sat and caused the flames emanating from its ribcage to flare out in every direction.