by D. P. Prior
“A demon’s blade,” Nameless said. “Lassie—”
“No,” Rhiannon snarled. “You’re not taking it. None of you are.”
“Perish the thought,” Cadman said. “I was merely going to say, you may have inadvertently facilitated our progress. Stuck in this test tube, I can hardly perform the somatic components of any half-decent spell. And even if I could, even if I had limbs again, the reciprocal draw upon my body would be excruciating. A while back, I was introduced to the method of using a conduit. I don’t know why it never occurred to me before. My assistant, back then, was a denizen of the Abyss, some kind of gargoyle—”
“I met him,” Rhiannon said with scorn in her voice.
“Me, too,” Shadrak said. “He’s dead.”
“Oh,” Cadman said. “Poor Ikrys. How sad. What I am wondering, however, is whether I might try the same technique with the sword. It, too, is a being of the Abyss. Would you mind holding it up?”
Rhiannon did so, and Cadman began to make low, droning sounds that caused the air to vibrate. The black flames limning the sword swelled and flickered, then sent out dark streamers to merge with the glyphs on the lintel. When they recoiled into the blade, the glyphs had gone.
“Splendid,” Cadman said. “As easy as pie. My dear, we really must talk about your last will and testament. Should you come a cropper, as they say, I’d be honored to take care of that sword for you.”
“Shove it,” Rhiannon said.
“My,” Cadman said. “Now you sound like Blightey.”
The thunderous approach of drums or marching feet increased tenfold. The tunnel walls began to judder, and chunks of black rock fell from the ceiling into the river, sending up splashes of viscous sludge.
“The ward must have been restraining whatever is making that racket,” Cadman said. “I urge haste.”
Shadrak was already disappearing through the maw of the entrance. Nameless followed him, with Galen, Rhiannon, and Shader next.
The din from outside grew faint, muffled, as they entered a smooth tunnel veined with scarolite. From up ahead, though, the fitful growl of the Cynocephalus’s snoring rolled toward them like a landslide. Blasts of hot air slammed into them, made them work for every step, every inch of progress.
Shadrak was a shadow against the left wall. Nameless dipped his head and took the brunt of the expulsions of breath. Shader drew the gladius, its blade a radiant streak of gold in the half-light, a counter to the necrotic aura coming from Rhiannon’s sword. Galen’s saber rasped from its scabbard, dull and utterly mundane.
Shader took the lead alongside Nameless. Shadrak was now nowhere to be seen. Purplish light splashed the scarolite floor in front of them, where the passage opened up onto a vast cavern. As Shader reached the entrance, Shadrak stepped away from the wall and gestured with a pistol.
The cave was roughly bell-shaped, and stretched as far as the eye could see. The ceiling was domed, awash with rainbow hues, a misty dweomer that rippled as one color replaced another in soothing succession. The walls were furred with velvet moss in shades of mauve and crimson. Patterns of intertwining snakes wound about them in yellow and orange, and a sibilant hissing seemed to come from them. The air was fragrant with lavender. At the center of the cavern, curled up beneath a massive black shield, was a gigantic baboon with slick black hair and patches of green-tinged scales, that gave it the appearance of organic scarolite. Its snaggletoothed snout protruded from the edge of the shield, purplish tongue lolling, lips curled back in a grimace that could have been pain, could have been a different kind of torment. It must have been close to fifty feet tall when standing, with limbs as big as tree trunks, and teeth that could rend boulders.
Oddly, the snoring seemed softer here, dampened by the soft coating on the walls.
Shader took a step into the cavern.
Shadrak held up a finger, pointed it at the gladius.
He was right, the glare coming off the sword might be enough to wake the slumbering giant. Shader sheathed it. It wasn’t like a sword would be much use against such a monster.
Shadrak circled the Cynocephalus, silent on the balls of his feet.
Galen came alongside Shader. He spoke in a half-whisper. “How are we going to move that shield, let alone carry it?”
“The gauntlets and armor shrank, remember?” Rhiannon said.
“I may have a way,” Cadman said.
Once more, he commenced a low chant, but this time, there was no answer from Rhiannon’s sword.
“Odd,” Cadman said, “it’s as if something’s nullifying my magic.”
“That’s what it does, laddie,” Nameless said, indicating the shield with his axe. It was big enough to fill a small room, or two of the monks’ cells at Pardes.
“Of course,” Cadman said. “The Shield of Warding, silly old me. Well, then, I guess we’re buggered.”
“Perhaps if we all took an edge…” Galen said.
“No, laddie, I won’t risk it,” Nameless said. “Won’t risk you all. If that thing wakes up—”
“It will,” Shadrak said, gliding back toward them, having completed his circuit. “One eye’s half-open, and its breathing changed subtly when we entered.”
“So, what do you suggest?” Shader asked. He meant the question for Shadrak, but it was Nameless that answered.
“Head back to the portal. I’ll grab the shield, and then run as fast as these stumpy legs can carry me.”
“You and whose crane?” Cadman said.
Nameless held up a gauntleted hand. “These should give me the strength to move it. And let’s hope Rhiannon is right: if it’s anything like the other artifacts this beastie made, it’ll shrink the instant it’s away from him and in my grasp.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Rhiannon said.
“Then I guess you’ll all be going home, and I won’t,” Nameless said.
“Then we all stay,” Galen said. “Never leave a man behind, I say.”
Shader nodded. “We’ve come this far together. And if there’s any chance this is going to help Nameless…”
“I don’t think there is,” Nameless said. “But it’s too late me worrying about that now. Let me do this alone. I couldn’t stand losing anyone else. Not a single one of you.”
“We stay,” Rhiannon said.
“The bitch is right,” Shadrak said. He added a grin for Rhiannon’s benefit, and she almost smiled.
Nameless studied each of them in turn, pivoting to catch them in the ambit of the great helm. “Thank you. But the plan remains the same. I grab, we run. Agreed?”
“Meticulous,” Cadman said.
“You can say that again,” Shadrak grumbled.
“It’s all we have time for,” Shader said. “In and out, Mephesch said. I have a feeling he wasn’t joking.”
“Right, then,” Nameless said. “Would you?” He passed his axe to Galen, then strode with a purpose to the sleeping form of the Demiurgos’s son.
Shader pressed his back to the wall by the entrance. It felt soft, spongy. Galen positioned himself on the other side, and Shadrak and Rhiannon moved back into the tunnel.
All eyes were on Nameless as he neared the shield. Shader’s hand fell to the hilt of the gladius. Shadrak already had two pistols drawn. Rhiannon’s grip on the black sword was double-fisted, and Galen looked like he was prepared to fight with an axe in one hand, saber in the other, if he had to.
Nameless reached the shield. It hung above him, too high for a man to reach, let alone a dwarf. He looked back at the group and spread his hands. He was going to have to climb.
He took a grip on the hair of the Cynocephalus’s back and started to pull himself up, hand over hand, with consummate ease. The dog-heaped ape didn’t so much as move. Nameless climbed under the shield and disappeared from sight.
Long seconds passed. Shader exchanged a look with Galen. The dragoon merely hefted Nameless’s axe, made a practice sweep with his saber.
The shield began to rise. Slowly. Painful
ly slowly. It wobbled at first, but then Shader glimpsed Nameless’s legs beneath it, shifting for balance. And then the shield was above the dwarf’s head, and already shrinking, until it was small enough for him to thrust his arm through the straps.
The Cynocephalus tossed and turned. Nameless started to fall, but he got his legs under him and bounded high into the air. He landed in a crouch on the floor and broke into a run.
“Go!” Shader cried to Rhiannon and Shadrak, and they were off down the passage.
“You, too,” he told Galen.
The Cynocephalus roared, and the cavern shook. A huge fist slammed down, sending a shockwave across the floor. Nameless flipped into the air, landed hard, flat on his back. The Cynocephalus found its knees, then its feet, and reared up to its full height.
And Galen charged.
The Cynocephalus reached for Nameless with enormous fingers, but the dragoon got there first, hacking with the dwarf’s axe, slashing with the saber. The blows bounced off, and in a flash, the hand grabbed Galen and hoisted him into the air.
Nameless got up, just in time to catch the axe that fell from Galen’s grasp. The Cynocephalus roared again. Something cracked, and Galen screamed.
Shader ran in, pulling the gladius from its scabbard. Cadman protested, but his voice was lost in the din.
Nameless shook his axe, raised the shield, and yelled, “I’m coming, laddie!”
“No!” Galen cried. “Don’t you dare.” He arched his back to glare down at them. Blood bubbled from his mouth, stained his whiskers. “Go! Don’t let it… be for nothing…wot.”
Shader knew he was right. Knew, and hated himself nonetheless.
He grabbed Nameless by a pauldron, spun him round, and propelled him toward the passage. And then he followed, eating up the ground in quick, long strides.
Nameless faltered at the entrance, started to turn back, but Galen yelled, “Keep goi—”
His voice was cut off by a sickening crunch.
“No!” Nameless cried, but Shader hooked an arm under his and kept him moving.
They tore along the passage with the roars of the Cynocephalus close behind. Its thunderous footfalls shook the walls.
Hot breath blasted Shader’s back. He felt rather than saw enormous fingers reaching for him. Still holding onto Nameless, he dived beneath the lintel, and the dwarf came with him.
From the other side, Shadrak fired a shot, and the Cynocephalus howled with rage. Not because the bullet had injured it, but because its prey had moved beyond its reach, and its precious shield, its last defense against evils real and imaginary, had been taken.
The dog-headed monster stood the other side of the lintel, as if it feared to cross over into the Abyss. For an instant, its haunted eyes caught Shader’s. He saw anger there, but more than that: he saw horror, and the forlornness of an abandoned child.
“What are you waiting for?” Shadrak said.
He was right, but before they’d gone halfway across the bridge, the Cynocephalus’s roars turned to sobs that echoed away down the black river, and the marching-drumming clamor they had heard before resumed ten times as loud.
No illusions assailed them this time. Either the magic that cast them had been dispelled along with the wards, or they had already performed their task as deterrents to entry, but not egress.
Shadrak flowed rather than ran up the steps. Rhiannon took them two at a time, moving with an agility she’d not possessed before Aristodeus had gotten his claws into her. Nameless pounded up them. Armored head to foot, and bearing the obsidian shield, he looked more like a denizen of the Abyss now, than a dwarf.
“Keep up,” Cadman wailed. “Don’t leave me here.”
Shader reached the top after Nameless. Shadrak was already at the stuttering light of the portal. He hesitated at the threshold, then entered the flickering brightness.
“Go!” Shader shouted at Rhiannon.
She cast a worried look further along the promontory. Shadows were gathering, swelling toward them, and the beat of drums or feet rose to a deafening crescendo.
Shader’s legs were burning with exertion. Every breath drew fetid smog into his lungs. But he was almost there. Almost…
Nameless reached the portal, pushed Rhiannon through before him.
The tide of shadows was almost upon the dwarf. Shader could see differentiated shapes within it: winged demons with ebon swords; armored corpses, all mottled bone and rust; and towering above them, goading them with flaming whips and eyes like lightning, pallid giants with fangs as long as daggers.
Nameless took one step into the portal, held out an arm to Shader running toward him.
“Go!” Shader yelled, and Nameless stepped into the light.
Two more steps, one—
The portal blinked out.
Shadows flew overhead. Whips cracked, and the demonic army bore down upon Shader with the force of a tsunami.
“Jump!” Cadman yelled from the glass vial. He instantly started chanting, and the gladius responded with aureate brilliance.
The smell of rot rolled over Shader. Black blades came at him, rusted axe heads fell—
“Jump!” Cadman screamed.
And this time, Shader obeyed, turning from the horde and flinging himself head-first into the black river.
THE ARCHON’S ASSASSIN
The Perfect Peak, Aethir
The plane ship ride back from the Great West was silent. It was a wake for Galen, and for Shader. No matter how much Shadrak threatened, the homunculus Mephesch said nothing could be done. The accelerator had burned out, and more than that, an entire contingent of Hagalle’s soldiers was on its way. While it was at least possible Shader might have survived, he was lost to them. Lost forever.
When they reached the Perfect Peak, Aristodeus seemed indifferent to the news. He made a pretense of mourning Galen, but he could barely bring himself to say Shader’s name. If anything, he was relieved. Relieved that his doppelgänger had perished, while he was still very much alive.
Alive, and back in control.
Two homunculi carried the crystal casket containing the black axe across the control chamber and set it on a table beside Aristodeus’s armchair.
The philosopher sipped tea from a china cup, as if this were an everyday occurrence for him. As if he really didn’t care about the result. He’d done his part, no doubt: hatched the plan, tried a new strategy. If it didn’t work, it was no skin off his nose. It was becoming clear Nameless was no more than a tool to him. A pawn. They all were.
The dwarf stood rigid before the casket, glowering through the crystal at the axe that had ended his old life as assuredly as the lives of those who’d fallen beneath its twin blades.
Rhiannon watched from her perch on the edge of a workstation.
Shadrak remained by the cubicle they’d entered by, where he could keep everyone in sight, but he kept a special eye out for the philosopher. It was a shogging effort not to put a hole through that bald head right then and there.
“Ready?” Aristodeus said to Nameless, setting aside his teacup and standing.
“You’re sure about this?” Nameless asked. “Sure it will be safe? Maybe everyone should leave, in case it goes wrong.”
“The theory’s sound,” Aristodeus said with a dismissive wave. “Either the three artifacts combined will grant you the power to destroy the axe—”
“Or?” Rhiannon said.
“Or they won’t, and we maintain the status quo. After all, the helm provides a buffer against the axe’s influence. You see,” he said to Nameless, “it’s a win-win situation. I don’t gamble with people’s lives, whatever she might say.”
Rhiannon’s eyes iced over. She was as close as Shadrak to killing the scut.
“How do I open the casket?” Nameless said.
Aristodeus snapped his fingers.
A homunculus stepped up to the crystal, tapped away at his gray slate, then slunk back again.
“You don’t,” Aristodeus said. “J
ust put your hands in.”
Nameless raised the gauntlets, splayed the fingers, looked at them long and hard.
“Enough!”
The Archon appeared in a whirling conflagration. His hooded robe was aflame with fire that did not burn, and his face was an explosion of brilliance.
“Not now,” Aristodeus said. “You agreed, remember?”
“Not to losing Ludo, I didn’t. Nor his dragoon guard. Nor any of the others, not even your Shader.”
“Even Albert?” Shadrak said.
The Archon turned on him. “I’ll deal with you later.”
“All things come at a cost,” Aristodeus said. There was sorrow in his voice, but how much of it was genuine was anyone’s guess.
“No,” the Archon said, switching his ire back to the philosopher. “Not this time. The cost has been too high. It stops here.”
“So much for nonintervention,” Rhiannon said. “Might as well get me back my daughter, while you’re at it.”
“You’ll get everything you deserve, woman,” the Archon said, “when that sword you bear drags you kicking and screaming back to the Abyss. You failed me. Failed me utterly. My favored one is dead, and you will wear the guilt of his passing for as long as you live.”
“She will not, laddie,” Nameless said. “Or are we going to have a disagreement?”
“Do not think to challenge me, dwarf. That armor you wear, those gauntlets, the Shield of Warding: they might make you mighty beyond belief among mortals, but they were crafted using Supernal lore. I am a Supernal.” Flames gouted from him as his voice took on the cadence of thunder. “I can snuff you out with but a thought.”
“Then do it,” Nameless said. Nonchalantly, he lay down his axe and turned back to the casket. His hands sank into the crystal as if it were water.
“No!” the Archon stormed. “I forbid it!”
Nameless hesitated for a second, and then his iron-clad fingers encircled the haft of the black axe.