The Fatal Gate

by Ian Irvine

  When she returned to the tent, her clenched fingers so cold that she had to prise each one open, Shand had distilled the rotten horseradish and was capping a phial of straw-coloured fluid. He labelled it and lined it up alongside all his other phials. She counted them absently. Seventeen. And nineteen scents were blended to make the Afflatus Effluvium.

  “Are you nearly done?” she said, warming her hands over the brazier.

  He shrugged.

  “You work like a master. You must be more skilled at scent potion making than you let on.”

  Shand’s green eyes fixed on her, coldly. “It’s after eight. Shouldn’t you be making your final preparations?”

  Aviel lit a spirit burner and adjusted the flame until it was as low as it would go. She clamped a beaker to a stand, moved it over the flame and, with a pair of unused golden tongs, put a piece of bubble-bark pine colophony in to melt, then brought in a small potter’s wheel she had left outside. The wheel, which was of thick steel and had a steel ring a handspan across in the middle, was so cold her fingers stuck to it. It would warm a little by the time the colophony was ready, but would the temperature be right?

  Aviel turned to ask Shand but he was gone. He was never around when she needed advice. She opened a narrow blackwood box inside which, nestled in a bed of white wool, was the best of the golden brimstones. It was perfect, yet delicate—the warmth of a human hand might be enough to shatter it. She put it aside.

  She caught the cleansing scent of bubble-bark pine; the colophony had melted. She readied her equipment, spun the frigid steel wheel and in one swift movement poured the colophony into the ring at the centre. Taking a little gold bowl, she gently pressed it into the colophony, just deep enough to form the surface into a shallow dish as the wheel spun.

  She checked the shape. Not perfect. She pressed the bowl into the colophony again. It was setting from the base upwards. She pressed harder, checked again, went to press it a third time then stopped, afraid of cracking the dish. She braked the wheel.

  The dish had some minor imperfections but the method did not require it to be perfect. When the colophony had set hard she gave the steel ring a gentle sideways tap to free it and lifted it away. The colophony dish came free as well. With a gloved hand she laid it carefully on the bottom of a bronze crucible.

  The lid of the crucible had a small hole into which, when it was time for the final step, she would insert a glass tube. Vapours from the burning brimstone and colophony would pass along it then through the multilayered filter cake of magnesia, powdered quartz and quintuple-washed char that had been so difficult to make.

  The filter cake would strip the vapours of both chymical and arcane impurities, and the refined essence would condense and drip into the diamond phial, where, in the presence of a piece of sintered platinum and three drams of the Archeus—in the unlikely event that she survived the attempt to get it from Lumillal—it would be alchemically transformed into the Universal Dissoluent, nivol. If she had done everything perfectly. And if, she thought with a shiver, her congenital bad luck did not ruin everything, as it had so many times.

  The wind had risen and was shaking the tent, twanging the taut mooring lines of the sky ship and whistling between the meteoritic iron boulders that were so powerfully magical that even people lacking the Secret Art could sense it. Was that why the massacre had taken place nearby?

  Again she caught the reek from Rogues Render. Again the ghostly chanting rose above the wind. After a few minutes it cut off, and she heard a woman’s voice raised in song. It too was cut short and a plangent wailing from thousands of female voices—a lamentation for their dead—raised every hair on the back of Aviel’s neck.

  Could she, an unskilled girl, possibly make this most difficult of all alchemical substances, one that had defeated the greatest alchemists in the land? Not unless she could somehow trap and immobilise a deadly ghost vampire.

  If that could be done at all.

  35

  WE WILL TELL YOU RULKE’S GREATEST SECRETS

  Sulien screamed and screamed, and every time she opened her mouth steam wisped out. The moving images kept flowing through Karan’s inner eye, burning her. To save Sulien, she had to break the link, perilous though that would be. But how?

  Don’t damage her, I said, growled Gergrig. He was still standing on the broad edge of the white stone bowl. The triplets remained in the red water, watching Sulien’s reflection on the surface.

  Her screams cut off. Where … is … the … stone? said Jaguly.

  Sulien shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  But you can find it, said Empuly. I’ll show you what it’s like.

  Karan’s mind was flooded by such festering corruption that her insides crawled. She had to block it out; it was the only way to protect herself. Was that what the summon stone had done to Unick, to turn him into such a monster?

  “Ugh!” gasped Sulien. She tore her hands free and clawed at the top of her head as if to rid herself of something clinging there, trying to burrow inside. “Ugh, yuk, blurrgh!” She doubled over and threw up on Yetchah’s long bony feet.

  That’s just a hint, Empuly said gleefully. The true stone is a thousand times stronger and darker. You’ll never forget that, will you, brat?

  “No,” whispered Sulien.

  Sense … it … out!

  “Can’t!” Sulien moaned.

  You’re a far greater sensitive than that bitch, your mother. You could find the stone even if it was on the other side of the world.

  “No, no, no.”

  This will encourage you. Find it, NOW!

  Sulien screamed, but still shook her head, denying Empuly and Gergrig.

  Stop! snapped Gergrig. You’ll damage her.

  Not much, Empuly said sullenly.

  It’s not working. She’s stronger than I would have thought possible. Braver too. Use the other way.

  Yes, cried Unbuly. Yes, yes!

  Again that festering corruption flooded Karan. Again Sulien’s face twisted in horror and revulsion and she clawed at her skull.

  Harder, said Gergrig.

  The corruption grew more sickening. Sulien was moaning and thrashing. In her hiding place behind the dwindling foam cloud, Karan gagged.

  Harder, said Gergrig.

  The foulness washing through Karan’s mind was unbearable; it was every monstrous thing the dregs of humanity was capable of, and more. If she were being tortured, by now she would have revealed every secret she knew. How could Sulien hold out?

  Then she broke. “I can see it!” gasped Sulien.

  An image exploded into Karan’s mind, displacing Gergrig and the triplets—an island clad in forest with a tall conical peak in the middle topped by a cliff-bound tooth of yellow rock. A monstrous purple and black thunderstorm coiled up above it, and lightning struck at the peak, over and again. The forest glowed the hideous yellow-green of muck oozing from a rotting corpse.

  Aaahhh! sighed Gergrig. Magiz?

  The summon stone, said Jaguly, Unbuly and Empuly in awestruck tones.

  Sulien doubled over, head in hands, her wet hair falling in a curly red stream to her knees. She was still shuddering and as tense as wire. What would Gergrig do now she had no more value for him? Order her killed?

  Karan struggled to breathe. She could no longer see or hear the sky ship. It was up to her now. She had to save Sulien. She was going to do whatever it took—and pay the price later.

  What is that place, Whelm? said Gergrig.

  Yetchah consulted the other Whelm for a minute or two, then said, “Demondifang. A small island off the north-western tip of Meldorin.”

  Do you have enough, magiz?

  It’ll be quicker if we force the brat to link to the stone, said Jaguly.

  No outsider gets that close to us, he said sharply. You can do it, can’t you?

  Of course, she said resentfully. But it’ll take longer.

  Kill the brat, then work on the link to the stone.

  P
ain stabbed through Karan. She loaded the crossbow, her hands shaking, then laid it down. How could she stop the triplets from so far away?

  “Lord Gergrig!” Yetchah cried, raising her bony arms high. “Lord Gergrig!”

  What do you want, Whelm?

  “We gave you the child, and she gave you what you needed. Will you take us for your faithful servants?”

  Merdrun have no need of servants, he growled.

  “We accept no recompense; all we ask of you is shelter and protection. In return we will be your perfect servants—whatever you order we will do it without question or qualification.”

  Is that so? he said in a breathy voice. Tell me, what happened to your previous master?

  “He … was … killed.”

  Not through your disobedience or negligence, I trust?

  “Through treachery, none of our doing.”

  And the name of this sad failure of a master? Karan could tell that Gergrig was smiling, having a joke at their expense.

  “Rulke!” said Yetchah, and there was a thrill of longing in her voice. “Our perfect master’s name was Rulke, the greatest of the Charon.”

  Rulke! As Gergrig hissed the name, Karan heard the fear in his voice. But he recovered and said, very softly, If I became your master, and you swore to serve me and obey my every command …

  “Yes?” Yetchah said eagerly.

  What if I commanded you to reveal your dead master’s greatest and most perilous secrets? And the greatest secrets of the Charon?

  Yetchah reeled, her arms waving, and Karan could see the conflict on her face, her desperation for a strong master warring with the duty she owed to her late master. Karan also knew, because she had overheard Gergrig say it months ago, that Rulke was the only man he had ever feared.

  “We swore to serve Rulke,” said Yetchah, “and serve him we did, faithfully and long … but no oath to the dead can bind the living. If we swear to you,” she gulped, but went on, “we will tell you Rulke’s greatest and most perilous secrets, and all the secrets of the Charon he revealed to us.”

  Instantly Gergrig said, in a roar that echoed through Karan’s head, Then swear to me, faithful Whelm, for I will take you for my servants.

  Yetchah laid her hand on Sulien’s bent head. “By the power vested in me when my people voted me leader of the hunt for this girl child, I swear that we, who call ourselves Whelm, now take you Gergrig for our master, and that in return for your shelter and protection we will serve you in all ways and all matters, and obey your every command, and tell you all the secrets of our previous master, Rulke, and every secret of his people, the Charon, that he revealed to us, this oath to be binding on every member of the Whelm nation, woman, man and child, for as long as you shall live.”

  Arise, my faithful servants.

  Yetchah cried out joyfully, then puffs of smoke issued from the centre of her forehead. The Merdrun glyph had been burned there, though smaller than on the Merdrun themselves, and it lay on its side rather than upright.

  The foreheads of the other Whelm were smoking too; they all bore the glyph. And, though clearly it had been agonising, their craggy faces glowed; they rejoiced in the pain that bound them to their new master. Their shoulders were squarer, their backs straighter, and they held themselves proudly now. The Whelm were complete at last.

  And Karan had never been more afraid. Then it got worse.

  I had thought to allow my magiz to kill the child who threatens us all, said Gergrig, yet—

  But Gergrig! whined Unbuly. You promised.

  In the coming weeks you will drink more lives than you could ever have hoped for. Faithful servant, he said to Yetchah, kill the child! Then find the mother and kill her too.

  Yetchah looked shocked. Perhaps she had not yet come to terms with the gaining of her greatest desire. She licked her cracked lips. And perhaps, now that the moment was here, she was having second thoughts about murdering an innocent girl she had saved and protected, and yearned for at times. But she had sworn to obey without question, and Karan knew she would.

  Karan made sure that the poisoned bolt was properly seated in the crossbow and others were close to hand. To have any chance, she must time her attack perfectly.

  “Yes, Master,” said Yetchah.

  She drew a long knife and went slowly towards Sulien’s stool. Karan had lost the image of the white bowl and red pool but she sensed Gergrig watching, his grim face expressionless. The triplets too, each according to their nature: Jaguly eager for the terror of a helpless victim as her life was torn out of her; Unbuly apathetic but aching to experience a death that would make her feel alive for a few precious moments; Empuly cringing away from the horror, yet longing to drink the victim’s pain.

  The other Whelm were still. The brown foam mounds squelched and popped as they shrank. The fires crackled and spread. Burned boards collapsed in showers of orange coals. The rain poured down, hissing on the embers but not quenching them. In the distance, the mountains were faintly outlined by pale grey sky, the first hint of dawn.

  Everyone was staring at Yetchah as she approached Sulien from behind. Karan dared not try and shoot her but, as Yetchah raised the knife, Karan shot the closest Whelm in the thigh. He clawed at the wound, trying to tear the stinging, burning bolt out, but his leg collapsed and he fell.

  Yetchah whirled, trying to locate their enemy. Karan loaded and fired again, hitting a female Whelm in the hip, and she too went down. But Karan had been seen behind her dwindling foam cloud and three Whelm flung themselves at her.

  She shot the first in the ribs and heard a hiss as his lung collapsed. He lurched around, gasping, but the other two were still coming. Karan ducked around the other side of the foam, knowing she could not escape them both.

  With a splintery crash the leading Whelm disappeared in a burst of brown spray and a clatter of staves; Yggur had dropped another little barrel and it had landed on his head. The last Whelm tripped over him and went skidding across the platform, his arms out before him. He got up, wincing; the weathered boards had embedded dozens of huge splinters into his palms and blood was pouring from his hands.

  Karan shot him in the shoulder. He lurched around, clawing at himself, trod on a section where the boards had burned to charcoal and fell through into the gorge.

  But Yetchah was still behind Sulien, shouting for reinforcements, and the Whelm who had retreated to the ridge were storming back towards the bridge. The platform was burning in half a dozen places now but the rain was not heavy enough to put these fires out.

  Karan dropped the crossbow, ran to Sulien, reached into her mind and took hold of the psychic link from the triplets—a silver-grey cord like a length of silken yarn—and tore it out by the roots. Sulien gasped and doubled over, and her stool toppled to the deck. The unravelled end of the link became visible, several feet of it thrashing in Karan’s grip, the rest of the silvery cord fading into nothingness.

  She heard a psychic scream, loud and shrill, as the triplets tried to force the link back into Sulien. They were stronger than the previous magiz had been and far stronger than Karan. Inch by inch they dragged the flailing end of the link back. Karan fought for the life of her daughter with all the strength she had, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Get … away!” she gasped, trying to push Sulien away with one foot.

  Yetchah swooped on Sulien and held her by the shoulders, her face almost as eager now as it had been when she swore to Gergrig. The triplets forced harder, pulling Karan’s hands and the end of the link down towards Sulien. It was only a foot from her now and Karan could sense their sick glee.

  Stop! said Gergrig. Yetchah must do it to seal the contract.

  The triplets weren’t listening. They wanted Sulien’s death too badly and they wanted it this way, through Karan. The moment the link bonded to her they would send a killing pulse down it, then drink both their lives.

  Karan’s arms were shaking all the way to her shoulders as she fought the force that was dragging her h
ands and the link back to Sulien. Karan’s fingertips were only inches from Sulien’s forehead now. An unravelled thread of the link struck her there, leaving a curving red welt across her pale skin, and tried to dig itself in. Karan jerked back desperately but knew she could not do so again.

  She had only one hope left. Duck! she mouthed to Sulien.

  Sulien ducked, and in that instant Karan threw the last of her strength into a desperate attack. She thrust forward and up towards the Whelm who had saved her life in childbirth, praying that the triplets could not react in time to stop her.

  Her fists struck Yetchah’s forehead and the incomplete link, unable to return to the mind it had been torn from, sought the next closest one. It speared through the Merdrun glyph burned into Yetchah’s forehead and into her skull, and Karan sensed it burying itself deep in her mind. At the same instant, the triplets directed all their hate and madness into a killing impulse down the link.

  A stray thread of the link, still clinging to Karan’s left palm, burned white hot. She gasped, thrashed and it tore away.

  Then Yetchah screamed in the uttermost agony of one who had just gained her life’s desire only to be robbed of it, and everything.

  The triplets screamed too, for the killing impulse has to be tailored to each victim, and one designed for Sulien was utterly wrong for Yetchah. It killed her and surged back across the link, rebounding on them agonisingly.

  And on Gergrig, who roared and collapsed. Karan caught a fleeting glimpse of him, and the triplets howling and thrashing in the reflective red water, then the link vanished.

  “Mummy!” cried Sulien.

  The remaining Whelm were storming across the bridge, only fifty yards away, furious that Karan had attacked their new master. There was no escape that way.

  The link had utterly drained her but she had to keep going. She slashed Sulien’s bonds and peered through the smoke. Could they make it to the other bridge? A quarter of the platform was covered by the creeping fires and another half was blocked by mounds and clots of gluey foam; if they tried to run through it they would stick fast.