The Fatal Gate

by Ian Irvine

  Three winding paths were still open to the far bridge, though some of the Whelm were running to block two of them. However if Karan and Sulien went out to the left, then around the left-hand edge of the platform, they might get to the bridge first. But what then?

  The signal! Karan twisted Yggur’s yellow lightstick hard. It did not light. She bent it double and was staring at it, wondering what was wrong, when she remembered his injunction to throw it at once. She hurled the lightstick straight up as far as she could, took Sulien’s hand and they ran.

  The lightstick burst with a flash like the sun rising, and fiery flares radiated out in a dozen directions. One shot up towards the sky ship, lighting it from underneath like a looming monster. The Whelm, who could not have seen anything like it before, cried out in fear.

  Karan held her breath. If the flare touched the air bag, the sky ship would explode and that would be the end. The flare speared up, up, up, but stopped a few yards short and went out.

  The sky ship rocked from the force of the air blast and started to turn. But it was a lumbering craft, difficult to control in the windy conditions that prevailed here, and slow to accelerate. Minutes would pass before it could get to a safe landing place on the far side and, if a Whelm came within range, one bolt from a crossbow could tear the airbag and trap the sky ship on the ground.

  “Faster!” said Karan, though clearly Sulien could go no faster. Whatever she had endured over the past week, more than any child should ever have to suffer, had utterly worn her out.

  The smoke stung Karan’s eyes, making it difficult to see. She considered carrying Sulien, but it would be too dangerous on the edge of the platform; they had to be able to hang on. They headed for the rim, then Karan stopped dead. Three Whelm blocked the way. It was over.

  The rotors of the sky ship roared; it hurtled down, wove between two pairs of guttering flares, and the front of the cabin slammed into the Whelm, hurling two over the side into the treetops. The third, struck a glancing blow, lay on his back several yards away, cradling a broken leg.

  Karan felt a surge of hope, but it swiftly faded. The sky ship could not land on the burning platform, and another band of Whelm had reached the far end of the bridge. The rain stopped suddenly, and flames, fanned by the wind, spread across the platform. The only path open now was the one around the rim, but not for much longer.

  Sulien bent double, coughing. Karan took her hand. “We’ve got to go around there.” Karan pointed. “Can you manage it?” Sulien did not have her head for heights.

  “I … think so.” She looked up at Karan, her lower lip trembling, then gave her a watery smile. “Thank you, Mummy. I knew you’d come.”

  “Nothing could have stopped me.” Karan squeezed her hand. Her eyes stung and the suppressed emotions almost overcame her. Not yet; not until we’re safe …

  They were far from safe, for the Whelm with the broken leg had been armed with a crossbow and he was dragging himself towards it. The other Whelm were leaping from one charred patch of the deck to another as if they had no fear for their own lives. No—having a master at last, and obeying his wishes, was their lives, and they would gladly sacrifice themselves for him.

  Karan and Sulien made their way around the edge, Karan on the outside. The platform must have been built decades ago, and some of the exposed timbers at the edge were rotten, crumbling under hand and foot.

  “What’s that … thing up there?” said Sulien.

  “Malien’s sky ship.”

  Sulien’s face brightened. “Is Malien here?”

  “No. I—I stole it. With Yggur. She’s furious; she may never forgive me.”

  “Oh!”

  “But it was worth it.” Karan hugged her again.

  She could hear the rotors but it was so smoky now that she could not see the sky ship; she could only see a few yards ahead and behind. They crept around the crumbling rim to the end of the second bridge. Its deck was also burning slowly and many of the boards had fallen in, though the heavier framing timbers seemed sound.

  Karan swallowed. Could they cross on the framing timbers? It would be very dangerous but there was no choice.

  She was about to boost Sulien up onto the remains of the bridge when Idlis stepped into their path. He was a wreck. His face was battered and bruised, his left eye black and completely closed, and his right eye was so bloodshot it appeared to be weeping blood. The Merdrun glyph burned into his forehead was incomplete—the slash on the right side was not there at all.

  “Idlis!” Karan said coldly.

  “Please don’t hurt him, Mummy,” said Sulien. “Idlis saved me, and look what they’ve done to him.”

  Karan eyed the Whelm, who had proved more true to his word than some of her friends and allies. He looked tormented.

  “You killed Yetchah,” he said thickly.

  “No, the triplets did.”

  “You made it happen. You knew they would attack Yetchah in the heat of the moment, thinking she was Sulien.”

  “Yes,” said Karan.

  “Yetchah saved your life! And Sulien’s!”

  “And I owed her—until she betrayed Sulien to Gergrig.”

  “She … did not know what she was doing.”

  “Yes she did! She chose to sacrifice Sulien, just to gain a new master.”

  “Not just for herself,” said Idlis. “She did it so the whole Whelm nation could gain that which we longed for so desperately.”

  “She chose,” said Karan, glancing over her shoulder at the approaching Whelm. “And in choosing to betray Sulien, Yetchah cancelled the debt.”

  A gluggy choking sound issued from his upper chest. “All her life she loved me, and I could not return her love. I did not know what love was.” His bloody eye looked down at Sulien, then up into Karan’s eyes. “But now,” he howled, “now she’s dead at your hand, I know.”

  Karan swallowed. She felt for him, but if she did not get past him quickly it would be all over.

  “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” she said quietly.

  “Then why, why?”

  “For love of the only child I can ever have. Yetchah was good to us both, and I honour her for it, but after she saw Gergrig nothing mattered—not her given word to me, not the life of a child she cared deeply for, nor even you.”

  “You know it, Idlis,” said Sulien, and to Karan’s amazement she took his bony hand and clutched it between her own. “You went against your people to be true to your oath. You even denied the thing you wanted most of all.” She bent her small head to him. “You are the most honourable man in the world, and I’m sorry you lost Yetchah.”

  Idlis looked down at her, at her small, smooth hands holding his thin, scarred hand, and the most remarkable expression crossed his face, awestruck joy. “I’m glad I’ve known you, little one,” he said hoarsely. “You are the best of your kind.”

  He let go of her hand and turned to Karan. “Mine was a life thrice-owed, and I swore to serve you in return, but your ill deed has broken the bond. Will you release me from my oath?”

  Behind Karan a large section of the platform fell with a crash that shook the rest. Smoke gushed out in all directions. Idlis was blocking their way and she owed him more than she could ever repay, but what would he do if she did release him?

  “Sulien,” she said. “Go across.”

  “But Mummy—”

  “Now, please.”

  Sulien swallowed, then crept onto the beams, which were smouldering in many places and had flames licking out of them here and there. She teetered, threw her arms out wide and cried out, but continued. Karan could not bear to watch.

  “Let me past,” said Karan to Idlis.

  “Release me.”

  “If I do, the oath Yetchah swore to Gergrig, the oath that binds the whole Whelm nation, will take effect and you will have to kill Sulien. And me.”

  “Please release me,” he croaked.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? Yetchah’s o
ath to Gergrig cannot bind me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I am no longer Whelm. My people cast me out for helping Sulien to escape. I have nothing now. Indeed, without a master or a people, I am nothing.”

  “But you ache to be Whelm again, and to have a master. If I released you from your oath, how do I know you wouldn’t do Gergrig’s bidding so the Whelm would take you back?”

  Utter outrage showed on his bruised face. “After all I’ve done for you and your daughter,” he choked, “and all I’ve suffered, you still don’t trust me?”

  Karan went cold inside. Had she made a terrible mistake? But how could she take the risk?

  “I trust the man who held to his oath no matter what,” she said softly. “But not the man without the oath.”

  “I am … the … same … man!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Karan, and she was. Deeply sorry, but Sulien had to come first.

  He might have been hewn from obsidian, so hard did his face go. “So be it,” he said and stepped aside. “My oath holds and I cannot harm Sulien in any way, thus I must let you go so you can protect her in this accursed place. Yet I remain an outcast, and from this moment forth I am your most bitter enemy until either you or I are dead! Go! I will give you until Sulien reaches the far side of the bridge, and not a second longer.”

  Karan, sick with dread that she had made things worse, stepped up onto one of the smouldering beams of the bridge and went gingerly across. Ahead the beam was burning for a good ten yards, but she had to cross it. She walked into the flames, which licked a foot high around her calves, praying that her sodden boots and trousers did not dry out before she got to the other side.

  Sulien was halfway across, out of the fire zone, her green eyes staring out of her pale face. Karan hurried on and reached her, and went to take her hand.

  “No, Mummy,” said Sulien. “It’s safer by myself.”

  Karan went behind her, which was even worse. Sulien made her halting way across and in another minute they reached the other side. They looked back. The smoke had cleared to reveal most of the boards of the platform gone. The remaining Whelm were creeping across one of the main beams, approaching Idlis. Someone called to him, and he flung out an arm, pointing to Karan and Sulien.

  The Whelm ran for the bridge.

  “Come on!” said Karan, turning away, and they raced across the top of the ridge to the flattest part, a hundred yards away. She prayed that it was out of crossbow range.

  The sky ship swooped down, its skids striking the rock ahead of them with a crash and a trail of yellow sparks. The Whelm, who were creeping across the burning support beams of the platform, fired their crossbows. The bolts fell short, though not by much.

  Hingis threw the ladder out. Sulien went up it, Karan followed, Yggur jerked the levers and the craft shot upwards out of reach.

  “Thank you,” Karan said to Yggur and Hingis. “Thank you.”

  She threw her arms around Sulien and wept.

  36

  I’LL FEED ON THEM TOO

  “Ghost vampires aren’t like ordinary ghosts,” said Hublees late that evening. “Ghost vampires have to feed, and that’s how we’ll trap Lumillal.”

  He had called her into the sky ship and closed the door so they could make plans without having to worry about being spied upon.

  “What do they feed on?” said Aviel, her skin crawling. Outside she could hear the steady crunch of Osseion’s footsteps on the frosty grass.

  “Other ghosts, mostly. But there are no other ghosts at Rogues Render.”

  “I’d have thought there’d be thousands,” said Aviel.

  “All consumed,” said Nimil, making a rare interjection. “Or fled.”

  Judging by the look in his eyes, he wanted to flee too, and Aviel could not blame him.

  “I read the records before I agreed to accompany you,” said Hublees. “And I have much experience in dealing with ghosts, spirits and spectres, among other creatures.”

  “What about ghost vampires?”

  “No one has experience in dealing with ghost vampires.”

  “Why not?”

  Hublees did not reply.

  “No one has lived to talk about it …” said Earnis, the last words dying away. His tanned face was waxen, his eyes darting.

  “Until now,” said Hublees crisply. “After Lumillal appeared here, more than ninety years ago, he consumed hundreds of the ghosts haunting Rogues Render. The rest fled or faded to nothingness or … did whatever dying ghosts do.”

  “I’d have thought you’d know,” said Aviel, “since you’re so experienced.”

  Hublees gave her a very cold look. “Terror of a ghost vampire is one of the few ways the thread binding a ghost to a particular place can be broken.”

  “Then how does Lumillal survive?”

  “As the enslaved womenfolk and their children gained their freedom, many of them came on pilgrimage here, and all who were foolish enough to enter Rogues Render after dark he drained to husks. Soon the reputation of the place was so dire that few dared come here.”

  “He must be starving.”

  “I dare say, though ghost vampires can go for years without feeding.” Hublees’ chilly eyes were fixed on Aviel as if assessing her and finding her wanting. “Lumillal will know we’re here by now, though surely he can’t imagine why we’re here.”

  Aviel let out an involuntary squeak. Air whistled through Nimil’s throat slit.

  “What if he’s after us now?” said Earnis.

  “He’s bound to the ruins of the rendering works,” said Hublees. “In any case, when he has a choice he’ll avoid mancers like myself and Nimil, and big strong men like Earnis and Osseion …”

  “You mean he’ll go for me,” said Aviel, “because I’m young and small and crippled.”

  “And because you’re gifted.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “He means Lumillal will get much more out of consuming your life force,” cried Earnis. “Hublees, you can’t use her as the bait in the trap. I won’t allow it. She’s so …”

  “Pretty?” said Hublees with a knowing leer.

  Earnis flushed. “Inexperienced, I meant. Helpless. She has to be …”

  “Protected?” Aviel said coldly.

  “Aviel flushed out a murderer when she was thirteen,” said Hublees. “He died, she survived. And a couple of months back she was taken by Gurgito Unick, one of the most vicious brutes in the west. He was planning to kill her and feed her to the summon stone, but instead the stone fed on him and Aviel poisoned it at the critical moment. I understand that you’re infatuated with her—” the mocking way Hublees said this, staring into Earnis’s eyes, made him flush and look away “—but she doesn’t need to be protected.”

  “She’s still bait,” Earnis said in a racked tone. “And if something goes wrong—if something prevents us from getting to her in time …”

  “Bait?” she whispered. “Are you saying I’ve got to go up there by myself?”

  “If we go together, he’ll know we’re trying to trap him,” said Hublees. He raked stubby fingers through his ridiculous goatee. “Lumillal likes to toy with his living victims; he’s been known to terrorise them for hours. It helps him to extract every last scrap of their life force and—”

  “And you’re happy for little Aviel to be terrorised for hours?” Earnis bellowed.

  “Don’t call me little Aviel,” she snapped. She had to stay angry; it was the only way to stop herself from screaming. If she went to Rogues Render, she would die there.

  “I am a mancer of considerable power,” said Hublees, knotting his long white sideburns into his black goatee with jerky, agitated movements. “Lumillal isn’t a mancer; he can’t defend himself against my spells.”

  “How do you know he’s not a mancer?” said Aviel.

  The absurd little man opened his mouth but closed it without speaking. He doesn’t know! she thought. He’s making it up.

&nb
sp; Earnis’s face looked as if he had been scalded. He wrenched the cabin door open and leaped to the ground, then let out a roar of fury: “Aaarrrgggh!”

  There was a long silence. Nimil was absently moving one of the brass pointers on his scrying board. “It’s nearly eleven,” he said, rising. “We’d better get ready.”

  “But what am I supposed to do?” said Aviel. “Just walk over to the ruins and … wait for him to find me?”

  “Yes,” said Hublees. “Pretend you’re there to mourn your ancient dead. And don’t take any alchemical gear; if Lumillal sees it, it’ll give the game away. Once we approach he’ll sense us, so he’s got to … have his hooks in you first.”

  A scream was building up, louder and shriller than Earnis’s. Aviel fought it down. “You mean his teeth.”

  “What?”

  “He’s a vampire!” she choked.

  “I meant his metaphorical hooks.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Lumillal is both greedy and ravenous, and your great gift makes your life force a prize he won’t be able to resist. Once he begins to torment you he won’t be able to let go, and that’s when I’ll attack. I’ll trap him in one of the old rendering cauldrons. Earnis and Osseion will bang the lid down and we’ll distil every drop of Archeus out of the bastard.”

  The flaws in his plan were a mile wide. I can’t do this, she thought. I want to go home. But the fate of the world depended on nivol, and only she could make it in time. She swallowed. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  “Better dress for the cold.”

  She returned to the workshop and put on a woollen vest, a heavy coat and gloves. She was breathing so fast that she felt light-headed, and her heart was fluttering like a trapped moth. She recited a list of bitter herbs backwards in a futile attempt to calm herself, then emptied her pockets of everything alchemical.

  Shand popped into visibility. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be there, invisibly, as soon as—”

  “He’s got his hooks into me,” she said sarcastically.

  “Precisely.” He held out a gnarled hand. “Good luck, Aviel.” He headed for the opening, then stopped. “Best go unarmed, eh? Do nothing that could damage the Archeus.” He turned invisible and went out.