The Fatal Gate

by Ian Irvine

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “but I had to save my daughter.”

  “Stealing a vital resource in wartime is a capital offence. I should hang you from the portico at the front of the library.”

  Cold sweat formed on her back. In wartime the commander-in-chief held power of life or death over everyone. If he decided to condemn her, not even her former friends could save her.

  Tallia stirred, made as if to say something but did not speak.

  “Hmm,” said Janck. “But … all things considered, and bearing in mind your achievements and your daughter’s, that might be counterproductive. Besides, I’m told you can spy on the enemy in ways no one else can.”

  He paced in a circle. “Hmn, hmn. When you stole the sky ship, it was not known that the Merdrun had invaded; we were not officially at war, so the theft, grand larceny though it was, is a matter between you and the Aachim. But take heed, Karan Melluselde Elienor Fyrn—we are in the fight of our very lives and there will be no more chances.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Hmn, hmn. We have a number of sky ships now, and we’ve recovered some of the war chests and many of Snoat’s men. Even so, you’ve got a lot to make up for.”

  Malien came down the ladder, followed by Sulien and Yggur, who carried Ussarine’s crutches. As she appeared in the doorway, Janck held up his hand and she stopped.

  “I’m sorry for all I’ve cost you,” said Karan to Malien. “But I’m not sorry I stole the sky ship. I’d do it again, if—”

  “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” said Malien coldly. She turned to Yggur. “I trust my craft is in good order?”

  “The chief shipwright at Thorst checked it the day before yesterday.”

  Malien gave a dismissive sniff. “Cack-handed blacksmith!” She turned back to Karan, looking a little more kindly than before.

  “What’s going on with the war?” said Karan, though right now there was only one thing she cared about. “Is there any news of Llian?”

  “Careless tongues cost lives,” snapped Janck. “If there’s anything you need to know, you’ll be told.”

  “But—”

  “The enemy has spies, even here.”

  “We know,” said Yggur. “Karan and Sulien were attacked in the Thorst Shipyards two nights ago by ten assassins. A well-planned attack that nearly succeeded.”

  Malien rocked back on her heels. “Who dared? And how?”

  “We don’t know.” Karan clutched at Sulien’s hand as the memories flooded back.

  Yggur told the story. Janck questioned Karan and Sulien, then led Malien and Tallia away. Tallia spoke a command, and a pale green secrecy bubble formed around the three of them. Malien was speaking urgently, Tallia shaking her head. Janck had his arms folded and wore an implacable expression. After several minutes Tallia popped the bubble with a snap of her fingers and they came back.

  “Security must be tightened again,” said Janck. “And the penalties for loose tongues increased tenfold. Our only recourse is absolute secrecy.”

  “Karan needs to know,” said Malien.

  “Karan has a reputation for putting her own wants ahead of ours.”

  Janck gave Karan a very cold stare and she knew that this was her punishment.

  “But surely—” said Tallia.

  “No!” snapped Janck. “From this moment on all war councils will be held inside secrecy bubbles, and only those who need to know will attend. No one who doesn’t need to know will be told anything, and those who do need to know will only be told when they need to know.” He turned to his adjutant. “Got that, Nizzily?”

  “Yes sir,” he said. “I’ll post the order.”

  Malien’s face set hard. The Aachim were a proud species and did not take kindly to being ordered about. For a moment Karan thought she was going to challenge Janck, then Malien’s eye fell on Sulien and softened. She kissed Sulien on the forehead, avoided Karan’s eye, and headed towards the pair of Aachim sky ships at a fast walk. Janck headed diagonally across the roof to the vessel whose rotors were turning.

  Ussarine lowered herself down the ladder, took her crutches from Yggur and hopped across to Tallia. “I’ll be walking in a week and as good as ever a week after that. What can I do?”

  Tallia smiled. “Get fit and help with training. If you go to Lilis’s room—you know where it is—she’ll show you to your quarters.”

  “Is my father here?”

  “Osseion’s away on a—” She broke off. “I can’t tell you.”

  Ussarine headed for the stairs and did not look back. After she was gone Hingis crabbed his way down the ladder, lurched across to Tallia and said, “I wish to join the army as a front-line battle illusionist.”

  Tallia studied him for a good thirty seconds, shaking her head.

  “It’s all I’m good for now,” he said, “and I’m very good at my art. I want to go as soon as possible.”

  “All right. That sky ship is leaving within the hour.” She pointed to the one. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Thank you,” he said and headed towards it, his breathing more laboured than ever.

  Malien reappeared out of the darkness with two Aachim Karan had not seen before. They went inside her sky ship and banged the door. Karan sighed; she would not be forgiven in a hurry.

  “There’s a council in half an hour,” Tallia said to Yggur. “And I need to speak to you privately before then.”

  “Very well,” said Yggur and also headed for the stairs.

  Tallia, Karan and Sulien were alone.

  “Well,” said Tallia.

  Karan swallowed. “You look … better.”

  It was a lie. Tallia’s face bore lines that had not been there two months ago. She looked older, almost middle-aged, and rather sad. When the troubles began she had been on the verge of resigning as Magister to sail home to Crandor. Tallia wanted children and was almost out of time to have them.

  Maybe it’s for the best, Karan thought. In another month we might all be slaves, or … But she must not think that way. They had to defeat the Merdrun; the alternative was unthinkable.

  She realised Tallia was staring at her. “I’m sorry for taking the sky ship,” Karan said. “What can I do to help?”

  “Come into a bubble,” said Tallia. She conjured one to Karan’s left and stepped into it.

  As Karan and Sulien followed, Tallia held up her hand, pointed at Karan and mouthed, Just you.

  Karan stopped dead. “But—”

  Tallia stepped out. “You heard Janck. No one who doesn’t need to know will be told anything, and those who do need to know will only be told when they need to know.”

  “Sulien does need to know.”

  “The triplets linked to her, Karan.”

  “It’s all right, Mummy,” said Sulien, doing her best to avoid conflict as usual. She gave Karan a secret smile which she interpreted as, I can find out anyway.

  Tallia stepped back into the bubble and Karan followed. “What?” she snapped.

  “The enemy are spying on us, corrupting good people and bad to serve as assassins and saboteurs. They’ve attacked in four places in the past week, not counting the attack on you. They know who to kill and what to destroy to do the most damage to our plans. Clearly they have a spy, or spies, at the highest level, and—”

  “Not Shand? Is he here?”

  Tallia’s face twisted. “We don’t know where he is. He disappeared weeks ago …” She paused, perhaps wondering how much she could reveal. “He’s up to something and we don’t know whether it’s for us or against us. Of all the people to lose …”

  It was almost unthinkable that Shand would betray them, and yet he had, if unwittingly. If the triplets rebuilt the dead magiz’s link and forced him to betray them willingly, he could do untold damage.

  “What do you want of me?”

  “Two things. You’re the only one who can get near the Merdrun: both those who came through the gate, and thos
e we believe are still stuck on Cinnabar—”

  Outside the bubble Sulien let out a great cry. Karan could not hear her but her face was easy to read. Sulien had shouted, No!

  “How can she know?” said Tallia, looking disturbed.

  Karan shrugged, turned her back to Sulien and added, “Spying on the Merdrun is too risky. Gergrig has a new magiz, the union of three very strong and nasty triplets.”

  In the distance soldiers were marching towards the sky ship whose rotors were turning. The bags and boxes were loaded in, they went aboard and it lifted off and disappeared in the darkness, leaving that corner of the roof empty but for the sky ship Hingis had gone to. People went back and forth, carrying supplies, and soon it was gone as well.

  Karan told Tallia about rescuing Sulien on the platform over the gorge, and all they had seen and heard. Sulien pressed her face and hands to the outside of the green bubble, watching intently.

  “How can we deal with three of them working as one?” said Tallia.

  “I hurt them badly,” said Karan. “If you send me to spy on the Merdrun again, they’ll be waiting.”

  Tallia met Karan’s eyes, bleakly. “Once I give Janck the go-ahead, I’ll be sending tens of thousands of men and women to war, probably to their deaths, and many will go unwillingly. Intelligence only you can bring us could save thousands of lives, including your daughter’s. How can I treat you differently, Karan?”

  And how could Karan expect special consideration from her allies after showing them none? “All right, I’ll be your spy. What’s the second thing?”

  “Keep watch for Shand. Xarah is trying pinpoint his location and, if she does, I want you to track him down, find out what he’s up to and …”

  “You want me to spy on Shand?”

  “Yes. He’s a condemned traitor now. And when you find him …”

  “You want me to betray my old friend—to a death sentence.”

  Tallia’s racked face said it all.

  40

  CLAWS SCREECHING DOWN THE GLASS

  Sulien prowled the bedchamber she and Karan had been assigned. It was a perfect cube twelve feet long and wide and high, with bare walls made from polished yellow-brown conglomerate, a narrow recessed bed shelf on either side and a window that looked south over the moonlit desert landscape.

  The room was unfurnished except for a small table, also square, two wooden chairs and a black iron lamp shaped like a lizard up on its back legs. It reminded her of Gothryme and lizard-spotting expeditions to the dried-up River Ryme. And poor old Rachis, abandoned to look after the estate yet again.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. If she stood on tiptoe and craned her neck she could make out the edge of a range of worn-down mountains to the right. Beyond them the Western Ocean was thousands of miles across. Beyond, it was said, were unknown lands where everything was strange.

  She sat on one of the beds, swinging her legs. Despite the attack in Sith and many pointed remarks from Yggur about teaching Sulien to use her gift, Karan was still avoiding the issue. But Sulien had to learn fast or neither she nor Karan would survive, and that meant going behind her back to find a teacher.

  Who, though? Yggur had responded to Sulien’s oblique questions with a knowing smile, then said he knew nothing about the far-seeing or far-sensing arts, and even less about empathic mancery. Not Malien; she was bound to tell Karan. Tallia? But she was working night and day on war business and would not have the time. That only left old Nadiril. He was a clever, stern man she had only met handful of times, though he had always seemed kindly.

  After a long search through corridors which all looked the same, she knocked on his door. Shuffling and wheezing sounds went on for a couple of minutes, then the door was heaved open.

  “What now?” Nadiril said hoarsely.

  The scrawny old librarian wore a grey and white striped nightgown, frayed green slippers and a blue cap pulled down over his sagging ears. He peered out a foot above Sulien’s head, scowled, then looked down. His eyebrows climbed his forehead in a series of twitches.

  “Strange hour for a child to come calling,” he said sternly.

  “Please Mister Nadiril,” Sulien cried, fearing he would send her away. She hopped from one foot to the other. “My gift is growing stronger, and Yggur said it’s strange and rare and dangerous. He said I’ve got to be taught but Mummy won’t teach me, and I’m afraid …”

  Nadiril stooped, his joints cracking like brittle bones, and studied her intently. Sulien flushed under his stare.

  “You’d better come in. Leave the door open.”

  She followed him into a room identical to her own, save that books and other objects were stacked neatly on the second bed shelf. He sat on a hard wooden chair and gestured to her to perch on the bed shelf.

  “What does your gift have to do with me?” said Nadiril.

  “Can you teach me to use it properly? Please?”

  He considered the question. “I know something of the psychic arts. More than something. I probably could teach you, but I won’t.”

  “Oh!” she said, crushed. She sat there, staring at her toes, then slipped off the bed shelf. “Thank you anyway, Mister Nadiril.”

  He smiled. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”

  “I—that would be rude. You’re too … important.”

  “I was important once, a very long time ago. But not any more; I’m just eking out my remaining days, doing the same things I’ve always done and making no difference at all.”

  “That’s not true!” she cried. “You took charge when Daddy was trapped in Pem-Y-Rum and Snoat was going to kill him.”

  He favoured her with a snaggle-toothed smile. “Why, so I did. But you’re far more important than I am, child. Your memories hold the key to our survival and you need a far better teacher than I could ever be.”

  “There’s no one left to ask. Mummy won’t do it and Yggur doesn’t know this art. And Tallia is far too busy and Malien would only tell on me.”

  “What makes you think I won’t?” Nadiril said mildly.

  Sulien looked up into his clouded eyes, half covered by sagging, wrinkled eyelids, and set her empathic gift loose. “You’re not waiting to die. You love Santhenar, and you’re terrified of what the Merdrun will do to the world if we can’t beat them. And you really care about helping young people like Lilis make the best of their lives.”

  He stared at her, astonished. “Quite a gift! How do you know what I’ve done for Lilis?”

  “Daddy told me. You took a little street girl who couldn’t even read and turned her into the librarian who’s going to take over after you’re … um … gone.”

  “I didn’t turn Lilis into anything; I merely guided her to use her own great talents.”

  “Then guide me!” she cried. “Please.”

  Nadiril sighed, reached over and took her hands. “You need a far better teacher than I am.”

  “Who?”

  He hesitated, then said, “The one great mancer you know but haven’t thought of.” He released her and rose with a gasp and a groan. “Off you go now, or your mother will be worried.” He ushered her to the door.

  As Sulien climbed the many sets of stairs to her room, she pondered who he meant. The only other great mancer she knew was old Shand, but everyone believed him a traitor and no one knew where he was.

  He was a brilliant mancer, one of the few people alive who could create portals, and Yalkara had given him part of her own incomparable gift before she left him. If anyone could teach her, surely Shand could, but first she had to find him and convince him to help, without either of them being caught.

  The punishment for working with a traitor would be severe.

  “Doesn’t anyone know anything about Daddy?” Sulien asked plaintively as she was getting ready for bed in their little room the following night.

  Karan felt sure Janck knew plenty, but he wasn’t saying, presumably to punish her for taking the sky ship. “I’m sorry,” she said, w
iping her eyes. “But I’m sure he’s all right,” she added with false brightness.

  “Yes, Mummy,” said Sulien, a desolate look in her eyes.

  She was putting on an act for Karan, just as Karan was for her. But Karan felt sure that Llian, the brilliant, frustrating, irritating, wonderful love of her life, was dead.

  “Hop into bed now,” she said dully.

  Sulien climbed the five-rung ladder and slid under the covers. “Brrrr!” she said, though it was nothing like the cold she had experienced in Salliban.

  Karan gazed at Sulien, eyes misty, then extinguished the lamp. Even now, a fortnight after the miraculous rescue, it seemed like a dream that she had Sulien back.

  She went to the window, which was the same cubic shape as the room—four feet wide, four feet deep through the massive wall of conglomerate, and four feet high. The glass was on the outside, and the deep recess served as a window seat, though not a comfortable one. She took the top blanket off her bed, folded it to make a cushion, wrapped the other one around her, climbed into the recess and sat there, gazing out into the darkness.

  Frost was forming little feathery patterns on the outside of the window, growing and spreading as she watched. She leaned her throbbing left shoulder against the glass and the cold dulled the pain, though not enough. Nothing had changed; Gergrig still wanted Sulien dead. How could Karan protect her?

  A shadow passed across the window and she groped for her knife, imagining that an assassin had swung down from the roof on a rope. But it was just a night bird wheeling around the eaves of the Great Library. She squinted between the frost fronds; no, it was a large black bat.

  She opened the window a crack. Hundreds, no, thousands of bats were wheeling in the moonlight, issuing like smoke from one of the derelict buildings of Zile. Out hunting.

  Several bats flew her way. Karan banged the window shut and twisted the catch. Thump! The leading bat struck the window so hard that its bulging eyes flattened against the thick glass. Its eyes were fixed on her and its leathery wings thrashed as if it were trying to get through, then it fell away, leaving streaks of blood and mucus down the pane.