The Fatal Gate

by Ian Irvine

  After they had been drifting for half an hour, and Karan had seen nothing but wilderness, Yggur said, “They couldn’t have gone this far south.” He turned the sky ship north and, when they were a few miles west of the glacier, allowed it to drift south again.

  “Nothing,” said Karan after another five fruitless minutes.

  “Fire in the forest,” cried Hingis, who was watching out the side window. “There, there!”

  Karan saw a flat space among the treetops, lit by flares. Little dots were moving around on it. She strained until her eyes ached but the glasses were not strong enough to identify anyone. It had to be the Whelm’s special place, but could Sulien still be alive? Karan was afraid to hope.

  “What is it?” said Yggur.

  “A treetop platform above a narrow gorge.” She described it. “But why the flares? Why advertise their position?”

  “They’re appealing to a great man to be their master; they’ve got to look strong and confident.” He thought for a moment. “They’re getting ready to force the link.” He turned the sky ship away. “Only an hour ’til dawn; we’ve got to attack now.”

  She studied the dots in bleak despair. “How? There’s dozens of them.”

  Yggur did not speak for several minutes. The sky ship dived towards a bare, rocky slope, out of sight of the platform. “I’ll drop you down there, then go up and hover above the platform, out of their crossbow range—but not ours—and attack them from the darkness.”

  “The moment you try to land they’ll take the sky ship,” said Karan hopelessly.

  “I’m not going to land. We’re just making a diversion so you can rescue Sulien.”

  She laughed hollowly. “How?”

  “That’s up to you. Have you got a better idea?”

  “No.”

  “Better get ready, then.” Yggur turned to Hingis. “Ever used a crossbow?”

  “I’ve never used any kind of weapon, save my illusions.”

  “Your education has been deficient.” Yggur frowned. “Prepare an illusion that’ll help Karan get onto the platform unseen, and make it a good one.”

  Yggur ghosted the sky ship down the rocky valley and landed. “Can’t be positive they don’t have guards out this far,” he said quietly, “but there’s no time to look for them. Got your crossbow?”

  Karan raised it then went down the ladder. It was raining, the steep slope running with little cascades.

  “Dawn is in forty-five minutes,” said Yggur.

  “I know!” The sky ship lifted. “Wait!” she hissed, waving furiously.

  Yggur settled again and looked at her enquiringly.

  “How will you know when to pick me up?”

  He frowned, then tossed a dull yellow bar, the length of her hand and the thickness of her thumb, to her. She caught it.

  “What am I supposed—”

  “It’s a lightstick. Bend it double, then hurl it high into the air—right away.”

  The sky ship climbed into the darkness and disappeared. Karan pocketed the lightstick and made her way up the ridge, keeping a careful lookout for sentries. But how, even if Yggur’s distraction succeeded, could one person hope to rescue Sulien from dozens of Whelm? It was hopeless; they were all going to die, for nothing.

  As she approached the top of the ridge she made out the tips of the tall flares. The platform was only a hundred and fifty yards away now, though she wasn’t sure how she was going to get to it. The broken ridge top offered some cover; if she kept low she might be able to reach the wooden bridge, which was sixty yards long and had no side rails, but she would be exposed from the moment she tried to cross it. Yggur’s diversion had better be a good one.

  She crept across the crest and hunkered down a few yards from the beginning of the bridge. The towering flares lit the centre of the platform brightly but also cast wavering bands of light and shadow outwards, and one of them lay partly across the bridge. It was no help—a Whelm guard stood in the shadow, at the centre of the bridge.

  The rest of the Whelm were gathered in a scrying circle at the centre of the platform; she could hear their crow-like chanting. They would keep it up until Sulien was forced to link to the triplets.

  Where was she? With the rain and the shifting shadows it was hard to make things out; even the Whelm and the flares were blurry now. Was that due to Hingis’s illusion? If so, it wasn’t helping.

  The figures in the scrying circle separated, and there she was, a small figure at the very centre of the platform, on a short bench with every Whelm staring at her—all their hopes and dreams focused on the master Sulien alone could bring them. She looked tiny and terrified, and Karan’s heart broke for her. There had to be a way to save her, but how?

  Ten minutes had passed; only thirty-five till dawn, but Karan dared not move until Yggur started his diversion. What was keeping him?

  She blocked the worry off; she had to plan her raid. Karan loaded a bolt into her crossbow and thrust the rest into her belt. The moment Yggur acted she would shoot the guard on the bridge, race across and fire at anyone in her way. If she could free Sulien she would send her back across the bridge and retreat after her, trying to hold the Whelm off. It was a feeble plan; Sulien might get away but the Whelm would certainly shoot Karan down. And the sky ship too, when Yggur approached to pick Sulien up.

  A large flask fell from the sky, trailing a burning rag, and smashed on the far side of the deck, spreading blazing oil across the boards. Another flask followed, and another, the last landing perilously close to Sulien.

  The circle of Whelm broke apart and ran back and forth, shouting and firing crossbows up into the darkness. Karan fired at the bridge guard, hitting him in the thigh; he convulsed and toppled sideways off the narrow bridge. As she ran across, crouched low, she made out the dark outline of the sky ship a couple of hundred feet up.

  One of the Whelm at the centre of the platform fell, clutching at the top of his head. Another spun round with a red patch on his left shoulder—Yggur must be firing at them. A barrel tumbled down and burst open on the boards, spraying brown liquid everywhere. It looked like dark ale but wherever it touched the boards sticky foam boiled up like miniature storm clouds for six or eight feet and gummed together everything it touched.

  Now a blast of white fire sizzled down into the paired flares on the far side of the deck, toppling the left-hand one onto the head of a Whelm who was aiming his crossbow up at the sky ship. As he fell, his bolt discharged in Karan’s direction and whistled past her right hip. She yelped and leapt aside, nearly going over the edge of the bridge herself.

  Go! she thought. This is the best diversion you’ll ever get.

  She hurtled onto the weathered platform, which was now burning in three places. It would take a lot of heat to set fire to the heavy framing timbers underneath, but the little blazes were slowly spreading across the boards.

  She ducked behind one of the brown foaming messes, which had a strong smell of beer, and tried to work out a plan. Several of the Whelm were running for the far bridge, while others were helping the wounded, avoiding the muck and the burning areas, towards the bridge she had crossed. But they weren’t all panicking. Two Whelm were beating out the fires and another half-dozen had surrounded Sulien. Yggur could not shoot at them because they were too close to her.

  Karan crept from one brown foam cloud to another. She was only fifteen feet from Sulien but could get no closer. The Whelm bound her to a high stool, facing away from Karan, and five of them formed a smaller scrying circle around her. Yetchah stood in front of Sulien, eyes blazing fanatically.

  “The link!” she cried, striking Sulien on the top of her head, then on her right and left cheeks, with a thin blue baton.

  “The link,” chanted the Whelm. “Or Karan dies!”

  What was going on? Had they convinced Sulien that they held Karan captive? Dare she call out that she was free? Then the inside of her skull tingled as Sulien’s link sprang to life.

  “Master!” cri
ed the Whelm, raising their thin arms high.

  Karan caught the link and sent to Sulien from behind the foam cloud. I’m safe! Cut the link.

  Too late. The triplets had taken command of it, and an image burned itself into Karan’s mind—a large white stone bowl half full of red water, with the triplets standing in it up to their knees. Gergrig stood on the wide outer edge of the bowl, watching them.

  We have her, hissed Jaguly.

  Cast her image on the waters, said Gergrig.

  The image of Sulien’s face appeared on the red water, hugely magnified, white-faced and trembling. There were small welts on her cheeks and tears on her lashes, though Karan could tell that Sulien was trying to control herself. Had the message got through? Did Sulien know she was close by?

  Her lips were moving; was she trying to break the link? There was no hope of her doing so; Karan had struggled to break it when the old magiz had taken hold of her, and the triplets were far stronger.

  Is the link embedded? said Gergrig. So she can be killed at any time I choose?

  His words were like a hammer blow to the head. Even if Karan got Sulien away, which seemed impossible, how could she save her if Gergrig could kill her at any time?

  It is, said Jaguly, Unbuly and Empuly in one voice.

  Has she told anyone about our weakness? said Gergrig.

  Have you revealed our secret? said Jaguly, pointing at Sulien’s face on the red water.

  The water steamed with the force of Jaguly’s command. From the way Sulien’s features distorted, Karan could tell she was fighting it. Don’t waste your strength, she thought, but there was no way to communicate with her without alerting the Whelm that she was close by.

  Sulien tried to say Yes but the compulsion would not allow her to lie. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t remember it.”

  Is that the truth? said Gergrig.

  It is, said Empuly.

  Gergrig whooped. Then the moment she dies, our secret is safe.

  Karan peered around the brown foam cloud, which was shrinking as its little bubbles popped. Soon it would not be enough to hide her. Further on, two of the small fires the Whelm had beaten out were burning again, drying out the rain-saturated boards and spreading. The centre of one fire collapsed, raining coals down into the tree canopy and leaving a ragged hole through the deck.

  It seemed Yggur had done all he could; high above, the rotors ticked softly as he circled, waiting for Karan’s signal. But she still had no idea how to effect a rescue.

  The five Whelm in the circle, and Yetchah, stared raptly up as if seeing Gergrig through Sulien’s link. Sulien twisted around on her stool, searching the platform. Karan waved, then pointed at herself as if to say, Get ready. Sulien gave a stiff little nod.

  Compel her to locate the summon stone, said Gergrig.

  Find the stone, brat! said Jaguly.

  Karan rocked back on her heels. Had the stone moved?

  Again Sulien tried to resist the compulsion, and again she failed. It … went … west, she said.

  What direction, and how far? snapped Gergrig.

  A … bit … north of west. Maybe … two hundred … miles. Maybe … six … hundred.

  North-western Meldorin? Or beyond?

  Yes.

  Which, you stupid little girl?

  I … don’t … know.

  Was Sulien being deliberately obtuse? Karan would not have put it past her, though it was a deadly game to play with Gergrig.

  This is taking too long, Gergrig said to the triplets. Find a way to burn the truth out of her.

  We have invented new tortures, said Jaguly. Unbuly giggled. Empuly let out an eager little squeak.

  Use them! But don’t break her until you’ve rebuilt the connection to the stone. Begin!

  Sulien doubled up against her bonds and screamed.

  33

  THE MOMENT IT GOES EXTINCT

  “Faster, you old fool!” roared Earnis from the darkness.

  “Never—call me—fool!” gasped Hublees.

  Aviel’s gear was aboard. Osseion shoved the rolled tent in through the door and spun around as Earnis and Hublees raced up. Hublees was red in the face and looked about to burst an artery. He doubled over beside the ladder, gasping. The shouting and yelling behind them grew louder.

  “Get in, quick!” cried Earnis, holding the golden brimstones box across his chest. “They’re after us.” He scrambled up the ladder, one-handed.

  Through the nearest window, Aviel saw a band of people pounding towards the sky ship, waving blazing brands and roaring threats. Osseion heaved Hublees in and followed. Hublees staggered to his seat, snatched at the controls and the rotors began to turn.

  “Go, go!” yelled Earnis.

  The sky ship lifted, tilted sideways, crashed down again, and Aviel was sure it was going to topple onto its side, but Hublees, flying even more recklessly than usual, managed to tilt it the other way and accelerated without taking off. The sky ship spun around and roared forward, its skids ploughing the bare earth as it bounced and hurtled towards the furious people with the torches. They dived to either side, all save one burly fellow who hurled his torch at the sky ship. Hublees jerked on a lever, the craft rocketed into the air and the spinning torch bounced off the left-hand skid in a shower of sparks and fell away.

  “What’s happened?” said Aviel.

  Earnis looked furious. “We couldn’t get into the Tagly Artery to look for the brimstones, and the villagers wouldn’t sell us any …” He flushed and looked away.

  “Then why are they so angry?”

  “Hublees robbed the village chief of his personal collection.”

  “The best golden brimstones ever found,” said Hublees, grinning.

  “But … stealing them could contaminate their alchemical essence,” said Aviel. “They might not work properly.” She also felt that this crime reflected on her.

  “It was stolen brimstones or none. And none means no nivol.”

  “We were lucky to get away at all,” said Earnis. “I don’t understand how we did.”

  “I am a considerable mancer,” said Hublees smugly.

  Aviel sat back in her seat, dismayed. Golden brimstones were one of the three key ingredients and now their essence was tainted. How would it change things? Would the method fail, or would the nivol, assuming she managed to produce any, also be tainted?

  Hublees flew north by north-east for three hundred miles to a windswept sandstone plateau at the centre of the great old forest called Wyrm Wood, reaching it a day and a half later. He circled while Earnis looked down, checking his notebook. Aviel had no idea what he was looking for, since his notes were written in alchemical symbols he had not taught her.

  “The location is secret,” he had said, “and I may not tell anyone who doesn’t need to know.”

  He was looking for a deep, narrow gorge called the Slot, one of hundreds of similar gorges carved into the otherwise featureless plateau. It took a full day of circling and checking before he was sure that he had found the right gorge, though then he discovered that there was no easy way in; the sides of the gorge were sheer for the top sixty feet.

  Osseion lowered Earnis and Nimil on ropes onto a ledge below the cliff. Again Aviel was left behind; the climb down and up was so difficult that only the able-bodied could have attempted it. Hublees did not volunteer either and kept well away from the edge, looking sick. The dumpy little mancer had a terror of falling.

  Aviel watched anxiously as Earnis and Nimil headed down from the ledge to the floor of the gorge hundreds of feet below, where they would walk its length searching for a stand of bubble-bark pines. She soon lost sight of them and went back to her workshop. If they found the trees they would collect a bucket of resin according to her instructions.

  Seven hours later, after sunset, Osseion called. Aviel went back to the edge.

  “They’ve signalled to haul them up,” he said.

  “Did you find the stand?” Aviel yelled down.


  “Not exactly,” came Earnis’s echoing reply.

  Osseion wound the crank handle to haul Nimil up, then Earnis. They were exhausted and covered in red welts from swarms of orange gorge flies, but triumphant. Earnis carried a sealed bucket of green resin, which he opened in Aviel’s workshop. It filled the tent with a clean, aromatic odour like a mixture of camphor, pine and eucalyptus.

  “I thought you said—” began Aviel.

  “There was no stand,” said Earnis. “Just a single, ancient tree, and not long for the world, by the look of it. Taking all this resin has probably hastened its demise.”

  “Then you should not have taken so much.”

  “The colophony will be all the more powerful,” Hublees said indifferently.

  Earnis and Nimil went to scrub the sticky resin from their hands, and Hublees returned to the sky ship. Aviel was fretting about Hublees’ words when Osseion’s winch shook. She looked over the edge. She could not see anything but had no doubt Shand was on the rope, coming up. Had he collected the essential oil taken from a plant at the moment it goes extinct—the second of the four special odours he required to complete his scent potion.

  She could not stop thinking about that as she heated the resin to drive off its volatiles and produce colophony. Had Shand killed the last bubble-bark pine to get its essential oil? And had she, by using this nivol-making method, helped to render them extinct? Was this another step down her personal dark path? It seemed so.

  From the Slot they flew north half that night and all the following day, over forested hills then past a series of great peaks, the tallest of which Earnis said was the famous Burning Mountain, Booreah Ngurle. All Aviel saw was a haze of brown smoke. They continued across plains and hills towards a long narrow lake that ran north-west in a cliff-bounded gash across the landscape for the best part of three hundred miles.

  “Warde Yallock,” said Hublees in the late afternoon, gazing down at it from a great height.

  “Looks like the earth has torn apart,” said Osseion.

  “Perhaps it has,” said Hublees.

  The following day, after a long diagonal crossing of the lake, they passed over grassland and savannah that slowly ramped up to the land called Grossular, a chilly windswept plateau three quarters of a mile high, well grassed and surprisingly green, save on the eastern side.