The Devil soa-3

by Mark Chadbourn

  She shook her head. ‘If we knew each other once, it is long gone. This place is all I remember. How could it not be? I have dwelled here now these past thousand years.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Silence lay like a shroud across the antechamber. In that emptiness, Will could hear his world crumble and fall away. At the door, Deortha listened for any intruders. ‘Dreams are elusive,’ the sorcerer said without emotion. ‘And sometimes the most fervent wishes float out for long years and return like an arrow through the heart.’

  ‘No,’ Will snapped. ‘I will not accept that.’

  ‘And what will you do? Stab it with your dagger? Plunge your sword through its heart?’ Deortha turned back to him, his pale eyes glowing in the gloom. ‘Here is an enemy that is immune to all your vaunted martial skills.’

  Reaching out one imploring hand, Will stepped towards Jenny. She near-leapt away from him. ‘Stay back,’ she said. ‘No stranger can approach the King’s consort.’

  Will felt his blood run cold.

  ‘And there lies the heart of this great tragedy,’ Deortha said with a sour undertone. ‘We are thrust together in a bitter struggle of monumental proportions. Many lives hang in the balance, and power, and the very shape of what has been and what will be. And all that we fight to achieve has been placed at risk. By this.’ He waved a contemptuous hand towards Will and Jenny. ‘By the insignificant desires of three lovesick fools.’

  ‘Enough,’ Will said. ‘Tell me some truths.’

  ‘Truths?’ Deortha glowered. ‘Do you remember aught of how you came to us?’ he asked Jenny.

  ‘I have always been here,’ she replied, her chin raised defiantly.

  ‘You are not one of us. You are a mortal.’

  ‘And you have always despised me for it,’ Jenny snapped.

  Will was surprised to see anger in the sorcerer’s face. ‘If you have only contempt for humans, why did you steal Jenny away?’ he asked.

  ‘We are strong and you are weak,’ Deortha replied, pursing his lips, ‘but sometimes. . some of my kind. . are infected with a flaw of the spirit. A black corruption that eats away at their hearts. We keep our secrets well. We lie to ourselves and pretend. But our history is littered with the failures of those who have turned their affections towards your kind.’

  Will watched Jenny’s face, a chill rising as he began to understand.

  ‘Our King. .’ Deortha formed the word as if he had a pebble in his mouth, ‘came across this woman while at play in your land. It is in his nature to give himself to foolhardy pursuits. Day after day, he watched her, until he believed his heart held affection.’ He waved a hand as if dispelling a stench. ‘Love.’

  ‘So he took her,’ Will said with quick anger. ‘He forced her to submit to his will.’

  ‘We have nothing but time.’ A cruel smile flickered on the sorcerer’s lips. ‘We can wait for the waves to turn the rocks to sand if we wish. Time does our work for us. Mandraxas only had to wait. Here in this place, the years eroded her resolve, which at the beginning was great indeed. Removed from the comforts of her own life, it became like a half-remembered dream. She saw only our home, and the wonders it contained, and slowly she fell into its embrace.’

  As she listened to the sorcerer’s words, Jenny hung her head, a faraway look in her eyes as if something deep was stirring inside her.

  ‘How can it be,’ Will asked, ‘that only fifteen years passed in our world and a thousand here?’

  ‘The rules of existence are not as simple as your “wise men” would have you believe.’

  Will felt hollow. He had always believed the solution to his suffering was simple — to bring Jenny home. But this. . this seemed insurmountable.

  ‘And still you think us devils, even though we show love for your kind,’ Deortha said. ‘Let me reveal one more secret. Then perhaps you will see who are the true devils. Your own kind knew where this woman had been taken, and why. Indeed, they encouraged it.’ The contempt was barely restrained.

  ‘Why would they?’ Will snapped, all his long-held suspicions turning to hot anger. This must have been what Grace overheard Cecil and Essex discussing as the court left Nonsuch.

  ‘A good question. Yes, why?’ The sorcerer smiled, but his eyes remained icy.

  ‘Tell me!’ Will fought the compulsion to beat the answer out of the Fay.

  ‘In good time.’ Deortha raised an index finger. ‘Firstly, nothing is ever lost. You must know that this is true. What was still stirs within her, if you can but find it.’

  Will saw Jenny studying him. When he smiled, she did not look away. Perhaps there was hope yet, he thought. ‘And you tell me this out of the goodness of your heart?’ he said to the sorcerer sardonically. ‘What is it you require in exchange?’

  ‘I wish you to take this woman away from here.’

  ‘What gain is there for you in that?’

  ‘He would not have me whispering in the King’s ear,’ Jenny said acidly.

  ‘She has stolen what little steel Mandraxas had.’ Deortha ignored Jenny’s glare. ‘We cannot win this war while she sits beside the Golden Throne. And we will never have our Queen returned to us.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The King does not want the Queen returned from her imprisonment at your hands.’ Deortha circled Jenny like a carrion crow eyeing a wounded rabbit. She stared at the torch through heavy lids, pretending to ignore him. ‘He would lose both the Golden Throne and this woman he loves so much. The Queen would never allow such an abomination to continue. If she knew a mortal sat as King’s consort beside the Golden Throne, her fury would be terrible indeed.’

  Will paced beside the black basalt walls, weighing the Fay’s words. His thoughts raced, confused by the revelations, and he fought to make sense of everything he had heard. After a moment, he smiled to himself. ‘Mandraxas does not want to free the Queen for he would lose what he cares for most,’ he mused. ‘And so the plots of Elizabeth’s court are reflected here. You are more like us than you realize.’

  ‘The King plays his games.’ Deortha nodded. ‘He shows the face of a determined ruler who will do all within his power to free our Queen. And yet he undermines every attempt, and obfuscates, and delays. Some would even say,’ the sorcerer said with studied disinterest, ‘that he plots to have the Queen, his sister, killed while she is in your hands.’

  ‘And to blame us for the murder. And thereby unleash an even greater fury among your people, a greater desire to commit atrocities against us.’

  Deortha shrugged. ‘Perhaps. I would not pretend to know the King’s mind.’

  ‘You speak of love between Fay and man.’ Walsingham, the long-dead spymaster, and Cecil, the present one, and the grey faces of the Privy Council, paraded across Will’s thoughts, and his anger burned hotter still. He felt that at last he was beginning to understand. ‘Your King reached some agreement with my masters,’ he said finally.

  The sorcerer steepled his fingers in front of him. ‘Mandraxas was allowed to wander your land with impunity to find a woman who met his desires. And then he was permitted to spirit her away, with no questions asked and no effort made to recover her.’

  Will clenched his fist in anguish.

  ‘And she was not alone,’ Deortha continued. ‘We have been granted the right to take whom we wished from your people. Not many, not near as many as we stole before you built your defences. A child here, a wife or husband there. For the sake of love, in the main.’

  The spy seethed. All those years of lies and deceit, all the pain he had suffered with the connivance of those he served. ‘And in return?’

  ‘The King agreed to contain those of the High Family who demanded slaughter on a grand scale to regain our Queen. His work has become more difficult in recent times. His brothers and sister have grown impatient with his failures and so his attempts to undermine their best endeavours have grown more determined.’

  Will bowed his head. He felt devastated. Hearing the truth in the sorcerer
’s words, he now understood so much. Deortha had been right. The epoch-shaking clash of high power between England and the Unseelie Court that had been rolling across the world with increasing brutality was little more than an illusion. In truth, the high drama of vast sweeping schemes and strategies came down to nothing more than raw emotions: passion, and yearning, and two suitors aspiring to the hand of one woman. He laughed bitterly at the irony of it.

  ‘Though you keep your teeth hidden, I suspect you have venom enough,’ he said, eyeing the sorcerer. ‘I would have thought if such an obstacle existed to the great plans of the Unseelie Court, it could be solved with a dagger in the night.’

  ‘And risk the terrible wrath of the King? Only a fool would follow such a course.’

  While the Fay and Jenny glared at each other, Will slipped his fingers into his boot and withdrew his dagger. He hid it behind his back as he circled towards Deortha. Yet he felt the sorcerer’s words lying heavily on him. ‘If I take Jenny away from here, the King will be forced to act to reclaim her. You will find whatever it takes to win this war and bring about the destruction of humankind.’

  ‘If you leave her, you destroy yourself. Can you bring yourself to do that?’

  ‘You cannot take me away,’ Jenny said, her tone dismissive. ‘My King would never allow it.’ She clasped her hands behind her back, showing her face to each male in turn.

  Will studied her features, seeing the fire he had admired so long ago. ‘You love this King?’ he asked.

  ‘I am his consort,’ Jenny replied, as if that explained everything.

  Will stepped in front of Deortha, the unseen dagger cold in his hand. ‘And there is the difference between our people. Your King steals Jenny from her life because he sees something he must have, with no more thought for her than a beast in the field. And you expect me to take her back in the same way — because I want her more than the world itself. But she is no rag doll to be torn between warring children. She commands her own life and she must decide her own path.’

  ‘And you would allow her to choose life here in this fortress of madness and dark? Even after you have sacrificed the years of your youth to find her?’ Deortha asked, uncomprehending.

  ‘All I want for her is joy and peace. I would not see her heart broken to salve my own ache.’

  He watched Jenny’s face soften at his words. Her gaze flickered across his features, a question in her eyes.

  Will stifled his swirling feelings for her, ready to plunge the dagger into the sorcerer’s chest. If nothing else came of this dismal affair, the death of the Unseelie Court’s scheming adviser would strike at the heart of their aspirations.

  Before he could decide, the door crashed open. Jenny cried out in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. In a flurry of snow white, Mandraxas swept into the antechamber, eyes afire, with three Fay guards at his side. The sorcerer’s eyes widened with fear, and in an instant he had pressed something hard into Will’s hand. The King hurried to Jenny to see she was well. As the spy slipped the object under his shirt and into the waist of his breeches, Deortha whispered an instruction. He had barely finished when Mandraxas turned his coruscating gaze upon them.

  At the King’s order, the guards forced Will and Deortha against the stone wall with the cruel blades of their halberds. Will felt the tip of the spear dig into his neck; one thrust and his head would be gone. He cursed.

  Mandraxas fixed his attention on Deortha and intoned, ‘Take the traitor to the Scalding Rooms.’

  Horror flitted across the sorcerer’s face, but he fought to retain his composure. He glared coldly at the King, but reserved a more lingering glance for Will, urging, perhaps, that they had business in common. He strode out with a halberd pressed against his back. The King stepped to Jenny’s side, and placed one slender finger under her chin to raise her head. He gazed into her eyes for a long moment and then brushed his lips against hers.

  Will felt a flare of fiery anger, and jealousy too, he could not deny that. He struggled to reach the Fay King, only for the remaining guards to press their halberds harder still. He felt sticky blood trickle down his neck. And yet, as Jenny’s lips met her master’s, he swore he saw her eyes look towards his own.

  Leaving her at last, Mandraxas strode towards him with a triumphant grin. ‘I saw you once, long ago in your terms,’ he said with contempt. ‘A callow youth. Not fit to dally with this proud woman, my consort.’

  Though the King held the upper hand, the two faced each other as equals in love, their faces cold. ‘I have sailed across an ocean of years and half a world to find Jenny,’ Will said. ‘I have sacrificed my youth, my innocence, my dreams, my morals, to get her back. I have turned my skin to flint and my heart to steel. There is nothing I would not do to free her from your cruelty.’ He could feel Jenny’s eyes upon him, but he kept his gaze upon the King.

  Mandraxas’s face loomed a finger’s width from Will. His eyes gleamed golden, his pale skin almost translucent, his breath ice-cold. ‘I always knew you would come for her,’ he whispered. ‘I welcomed it. I needed you here, in my hands. You were always the one who might waken her from this long, peaceful sleep, even after a thousand years, but now I have you she will be mine for ever. And you will suffer a thousand hells for your failure.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  The fire roared in the grand stone hearth like a black-smith’s forge. Golden sparks surged up the chimney as shadows fluttered across the whirling figures. Dresses of mildewed grey swirled around in furious dance to the delirious rhythm of fiddle and pipe. Their cloaks flying, the Fay males caught the hands of their partners and whipped them around faster still. And with every spin the faces altered, hauntingly beautiful one moment, cadaverous the next. With the music ringing up to the vaulted roof, the fiddler and the piper danced along the twin tables running the length of the hall, deftly avoiding the platters of meat and bread and cheese which seemed at once both bounteous and corrupted by rot. On the Golden Throne, Mandraxas steepled his fingers and watched the Unseelie Court at play with the easy eye of a victor. Beside him on a smaller throne, his consort folded her hands in her lap, unable to bring herself to look upon the knot of prisoners who huddled at the heart of the madness.

  Meg held up her head defiantly, refusing to reveal the terror she felt in that hell. Amid the choking heat, she sucked in a deep draught of air, the sickly-sweet smell of honeysuckle and rose so strong she felt as if she was in her cups. Surely the end was not far away now. It would not be pleasant, she knew, and there would be agonies aplenty for a time. But it would at least be an end.

  The Irish spy saw Grace kneading her hands as she watched her sister beside the Fay King. ‘She lives, and for now that is enough,’ Meg shouted above the din. A little comfort in the final hour was no bad thing.

  ‘She is remembering, can you not see?’ Grace replied. ‘The coldness has drained from her face. Soon she will know me, and then she will save us all.’

  ‘We are fortunate indeed,’ Meg lied. She studied Jenny with a sharp eye. A country girl, nothing more. Was this really the one who had filled Will with such passion that he had travelled to death’s door to bring her home? She shook her head, unable to comprehend how Swyfte could prefer that child when she herself offered passion and life and experience.

  As the wild music reached a climax, Carpenter clutched at his head as if something squirmed in his skull. Meg had sensed that something was wrong with the spy ever since they had left the island, but what it was she could not guess. She saw that Launceston was concerned for his friend too, his raptor eyes rarely leaving the other man.

  The Fay swooped closer as they whirled, white faces flashing past in a blur of mad, staring eyes. Jagged fingernails caught in Meg’s hair and raked across Grace’s breast. The two women pressed back to back against Carpenter and Launceston, all of them determined to fight to the last when the ravenous pack fell upon them.

  It was then, just as the Irish spy began to fear the worst, that a bell rang, its tone
crystal clear. The dancers swept to the perimeter of the hall where they continued to circle, and the music quietened a little as the fiddler and pipe player retreated to the hearth. When the door flew open, two guards in winged helms dragged Will in. Meg felt a rush of joy to see him still with the living, and, despite everything, a flicker of hope warmed her heart. Blood caked the edge of his left eye and a bruise swelled on his cheek, but he flashed a grin when he saw her. Even at the last, he knew how to make a girl’s heart beat faster, she thought with a quiet laugh.

  The guards flung Will on to the flagstones in front of Mandraxas. Climbing to his feet, the spy brushed the dust from his shirt with lazy strokes. He paid no attention to the Fay King. Yet when he was done, he locked eyes with Jenny in a gaze heavy with emotion. In that look, Meg saw such depth of feeling that it touched her heart.

  ‘You are creatures of few days,’ Mandraxas said, looking down upon Will, ‘and they pass in a blink of an eye. We, however,’ and he gestured to those around him, ‘we continue for ever. You move slowly, through a fog of ignorance. We race across fields of wonder. How high you raise yourselves up, insisting you are not beasts of the field. How pitiful you are in truth.’ The King reached out his left hand for Jenny to take, no show of affection but one of ownership, designed to wound. ‘Shall we see how little you mean to us? Shall we have fine sport? For now your days are truly at an end.’

  Will drew himself up and spat a mouthful of blood on to the flagstones. ‘You think you have our necks upon the block, but we are exactly where we wish to be.’ He turned to the spies and flashed Meg another grin. She recognized the familiar heat in her belly. Could he really have a plan, even here in the heart of Hell, friendless, weaponless and surrounded by an army of enemies? She would have mocked the suggestion if it were any other man, but Swyfte, he was a schemer and a gambler, perhaps the greatest one she knew. England’s greatest spy. How the other rogues in Cecil’s service laughed at the sobriquet concocted to assuage the fears of the good men and women of England. And yet it was true, it was true.