The Fatal Gate

by Ian Irvine

“Something the matter?” said Llian tiredly.

  “For the next twenty-four hours,” she said drowsily, “nothing is going to be the matter.”

  They must have dozed off, for Karan was woken by Sulien crying out in fright: “What’s that?”

  Karan looked up at the sound, a hissing whine. “Just a sky ship coming in. One of Malien’s.”

  It was late afternoon; the sun was gone and it was windy and rather chilly. Karan packed the remaining food into the basket and shook Llian awake. He stood up, yawning and rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

  The sky ship landed in the middle of the roof, and Nadiril came slowly down the ladder, then a tall young man in librarians’ robes. He reached up to another man, who slid out a heavy black chest. The young librarian and Nadiril caught it and lowered it to the ground.

  “What’s she doing here?” said Sulien.

  “Who?” said Karan, for the only people visible at the sky ship were men.

  The second man and the young librarian carried the chest towards the stairs. Nadiril looked around the roof, saw Karan, Llian and Sulien and came tottering towards them, calling the men with the chest to follow.

  “Llian,” he said in a wispy old voice. “Glad you’re back. Got a job for you.”

  “Not today,” said Llian.

  The two men set the chest down with a small clicking sound. It was undecorated, made from the immensely hard and durable black metal titane, and Karan recognised it.

  So, judging by the look in his eyes—half-astonished, half greedy—did Llian. “Rulke’s Histories! Where did you get them?”

  “My spy network is almost the equal of the late Wistan’s,” said Nadiril. “The translation key is inside. If Rulke knew the Merdrun’s secret weakness it will be in there somewhere—and how to attack it. You’ll start first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes,” Llian said dazedly. “But how—”

  “My assistants will take the chest to a secure, guarded workroom. You will work there, and the door will be enchanted to make sure none of the documents or your papers can be removed.”

  As Nadiril headed towards the stairs, a tall buxom woman leaped out of the sky ship. Her dark hair was long and curly, her face flushed. She stormed across.

  “You!” she cried, slapping Llian across the face so hard the blow knocked him sideways. “I should have known you’d be behind it, stealing my precious papers.”

  “Leave Daddy alone!” cried Sulien, scrambling to her feet.

  Karan studied Llian for signs that he felt any affection for Thandiwe. She felt bad about it, but this was also war.

  “You stole them first,” said Llian to Thandiwe, “and the translation key Rulke gave to me.”

  “Maigraith gave them to me.”

  “They weren’t hers to give. Besides, you’ve had them for weeks. Surely you’ve got what you want from them now.”

  “I haven’t had time to translate a tithe of them yet.”

  “If I discover anything meaningful I’ll make sure to tell you,” Llian said nastily, “so you can use it in your Great Tale.” It was a calculated insult—no teller of integrity would use a secret imparted to them by another teller in their own tale.

  Thandiwe raised a fist. Karan hastily stepped between them and pushed her back. “If you ever touch Llian again …”

  Thandiwe looked down at her. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.” Then, perhaps to reinforce her message, she thrust her heaving bosom in Llian’s direction.

  “Go to hell,” Llian muttered.

  “If I do,” said Thandiwe, “I’ll drag you down with me. I’ve got the goods on you, Llian.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ll find out, Llian the Liar.” Thandiwe strode away, shoulders back and chest out.

  Karan had a very bad feeling, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  45

  WHOSE BRILLIANT IDEA WAS THAT?

  “Llian. Llian! Get up.”

  It was Yggur’s voice. Llian groaned. It was pitch-dark and it felt as though he had only been asleep a few minutes. Sulien had stayed with Lilis last night so Karan and Llian could be alone, and they had stayed up until three in the morning, talking and catching up on all they had missed about each other.

  “What’s he doing here?” Karan said sleepily.

  “No idea,” said Llian.

  Yggur conjured light from his fingertips. “Hurry up. We’ve got to be gone before dawn.”

  Karan shot upright. She had always been quicker to rouse than he was.

  “Llian’s not moving until you tell us what’s going on,” said Karan.

  Yggur pointed his left hand at the window, and it went black, then at the door, which set solid. “A vital … substance has been stolen from Aviel’s locked workshop, and we believe Shand took it. He may have betrayed us to the enemy already. On the other hand, he may not have had the chance yet, and if he hasn’t—”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “We’re flying to Demondifang.”

  “Llian’s just come back from there.”

  “That was a reconnaissance. This is to attack the stone, and we’ve got to leave in darkness so the enemy’s spies won’t know where we’re going.”

  “Nadiril’s just asked him to—” said Karan.

  Yggur talked over her. “Llian’s the only one with first-hand knowledge of Demondifang and the summon stone.”

  “What about Ifoli?” said Llian.

  “She’s … disappeared.”

  So many secrets, thought Llian. And so many intrigues. He rose and dressed.

  “Be on the roof in ten minutes.” Yggur unblocked the window and door, and withdrew.

  Karan started to get up. “Stay in bed,” said Llian, pulling the covers up. “I’d sooner think of you here in the warm.”

  “I’m afraid.” The bed was cold now, all the joy of the previous night gone. “Don’t do anything rash.”

  “You know me.”

  “Yes,” she said softly, “I do.”

  He hugged her and went out. The roof was dark, for it was a cloudy night, and the sky ship was just a slightly darker shadow as he made his way towards it. It had been loaded in silence, and the moment he went up the ladder it was hauled in and Yggur, at the controls, lifted off.

  The cabin was also in darkness though Llian made out the shapes of another eight people at the rear. “No talking until we’re well away,” said Yggur.

  Llian groped his way to an empty seat, settled his head against the side of the cabin and, since it was an eight-hour flight to Demondifang and Yggur wasn’t going to tell him anything, tried to sleep. It proved impossible: he was too afraid of going back. This attack was a stupid idea and could not hope to succeed.

  A loud exclamation roused him from his fears, then a thump on the side of the head. It was the middle of the day. The sky ship was bouncing around in a stormy sky and he had slammed against the wall of the cabin hard enough to hurt.

  The round little mancer Llian knew as Hublees sat to his left, and six soldiers, clad in hardened leather armour, occupied the seats at the back. They were weathered outdoorsmen, many of them missing fingers, teeth or ears.

  Their captain, whose name was Blappey, lacked both teeth and ears. His left arm, which had been amputated at the wrist, ended in a spring-loaded spike a foot long. He kept pulling it back to cock the spring and discharging it with a thud into the back of the empty seat in front of him, then baring his black, eroded gums at anyone foolish enough to meet his eye. The spike went right through the wooden seat and would have killed anyone sitting there, and Llian wondered if Blappey was sane. Was that why he had been chosen? Because no one in their right mind would have gone near an unreality zone?

  The soldiers were gaping out the front window. The slopes of Demondifang were a couple of miles ahead, and the once-pristine forest was now a tangled riot of yellow, green and brown. But that was not what drew Llian’s attention, nor the mountain, the to
p of which was obscured by low cloud. The storm was massively larger and taller than before, a vast slowly revolving purple monstrosity riven by constant flashes of blue-green lightning, most of them striking the top of the peak.

  “That’s where the stone was,” he said, pointing to the eastern end. “It seemed as though the lightning was transferring power to the stone.”

  “The strikes are every few seconds,” said Yggur. “If that is happening, and I’ve never heard of such a thing, it’s a staggering amount of power.”

  “I didn’t know objects could be empowered that way,” said Mancer Hublees, tugging at his stupid little goatee.

  “Where’s the other sky ship?” said Yggur, turning the craft.

  “What other sky ship?” said Llian.

  Yggur smiled thinly. “Janck felt our chances would be better if he sent two. Ah, there it is.” The second ship, painted cloudy blue in a feeble attempt at camouflage, was half a mile back.

  “I thought there was only one drop of nivol?”

  “There is.”

  “Do we have it or do they?”

  After some hesitation Yggur said, “They do.”

  “Then why are we here?” said Llian.

  “To make a diversion while they attack.”

  “How? No sky ship could get within a mile of the mountaintop—the storm would tear it apart.”

  “The other craft is going to land a squad on the south flank of the mountain, as high as possible, and they’re going to race up to the summon stone and hurl the nivol at it.”

  “Whose brilliant idea was that?” said Llian.

  Yggur said, in a voice only Llian could hear, “Not mine.”

  “How many of them?”

  “Twelve of the toughest and most experienced fighters Janck has.”

  “To have a hope of getting anyone through an unreality zone you’d need hundreds, and most of them would die.”

  “Keep your voice down. Morale!”

  Llian tried again. “This is the dumbest plan of all time. There isn’t the faintest hope of it succeeding.”

  “That’s what I told Janck. But he was desperate to do something.”

  “We’re making a diversion on the north-west side,” said the captain, discharging his spike again. He favoured Llian with a gummy black grin.

  A green light flashed from the other ship, twice in quick succession then three times, slowly. “They’re going in,” said Yggur. “And so are we.”

  His sky ship rounded Demondifang to the north-west and headed towards an egg-shaped clearing halfway up the slope of the mountain. “We’ll drop you in the centre,” Yggur said to the captain, “then climb and keep watch. You know the signals, Captain?”

  Blappey grunted.

  “If there’s trouble, head for that rock and I’ll try to pick you up.” Yggur indicated a shelf-like rock platform extending five or six yards out from the side of a nearby ridge.

  Blappey nodded. His troops had their packs on and their weapons to hand.

  “Otherwise,” said Yggur, his outstretched finger tracing a line up through the forest, “that looks like the best route up.” He turned to Llian. “That’s the way you went up, isn’t it?”

  “More that way,” said Llian, pointing out the path he, Ifoli and Regg had taken on the western side. “Though I don’t think—”

  Yggur’s sky ship swooped over the tops of the trees then dived for the clearing. The troops were moving towards the cabin door when he pulled up sharply, tossing them off their feet.

  “Something moved! Llian, see what it is.”

  Llian opened the cabin door, took a tight grip on the rail inside and leaned out as they circled the clearing. “It’s an unreality zone, no question.”

  There were huge, distorted toadstools, mushrooms and bracket fungi everywhere, and writhing and coiling ferns, their wiry fronds questing out in all directions as if seeking victims to strangle. The trees had lurid red and orange bark covered in jagged blades and spikes, and oozed yellow and green sap that foamed and bubbled and consumed whatever it touched.

  Llian scanned a cluster of boulders, searching for whatever had moved, and saw, protruding from the rock, a woman’s face twisted in silent agony. A gaunt face with black streaming eyes framed by lank hair. Her body could not be seen.

  “Yggur, that’s a Whelm! Embedded in the rock.”

  Another Whelm, a stocky fellow, lay half buried in the short grass. He was alive too, though grass grew out of his nostrils, mouth and ears, and even over the sound of the rotors Llian could hear him gagging and choking.

  The lower bodies of two more Whelm were embedded in living trees, only their heads and torsos sticking out. The first, a small skinny woman, was dead and had been partly eaten by something, but the second, an older man, was still alive. Blood oozed down the trunk from his desperate attempts to escape.

  The sky ship tilted. The soldiers had gathered behind Llian and were staring out at the trapped Whelm.

  “Sit down!” Yggur snapped. “You’re unbalancing the ship.”

  They hauled themselves back to their seats and the craft steadied. Yggur did a full circuit of the clearing, and another, then climbed back above the trees.

  “Well?” he said to Llian.

  “I saw twelve Whelm,” he said hoarsely. “Though I dare say there’s more. All trapped in quickrock or quickearth or quickwood, and most still alive.”

  Yggur, who must have seen any number of uncanny things in his long life, looked uncomfortable. Blappey was breathing in tearing gasps, and one of his men had thrown up on the floor.

  “What are they doing here?” said Llian.

  “Perhaps they thought they could aid their new master.” Yggur did another circle and looked back at Blappey, whose weathered face had gone a sickly grey-green. “Well?”

  “Not goin’ down there,” he gasped. “Happy to take on any number of ordinary fighters, but not goin’ down there.”

  “No, it’s far too dangerous,” said Yggur.

  Llian was delighted to hear it. “We’d better let the other ship know.”

  Yggur headed along the shoreline, keeping well away from the forest. As they reached the southern side, keeping seaward of the glowing mangroves, Llian saw the blue sky ship edging along the base of the yellow cliffs at the top of the mountain.

  “What’s he doing up there? There’s nowhere to land.”

  “He’s flying too low,” said Yggur, and headed up to pass above the other craft.

  The blue sky ship was approaching a steep-sided ridge where the forest thinned; here and there the rocky ground was exposed. A big-bodied, shaggy creature bounded up the ridge, stood on its back legs and hurled a crudely made spear at the sky ship. The pilot turned away but not in time; the spear passed between the whirling blades of the right-hand rotor, shattering them, and the blue sky ship veered right, towards the cliff.

  “Cut the power!” said Yggur to himself. “Left rudder, then reverse the rotor.”

  The pilot was not experienced enough to know what to do. The blue sky ship continued its stately path towards the cliff and struck it full on. Llian expected an explosion to incinerate everything, but the airbag only deflated. The cabin plunged between the treetops, somehow missing every branch, hit the ground and skidded down the steep slope until the skids struck a log, which tore them off, and finally settled with a thump onto the ground.

  “That was well done,” said Yggur. “Or incredibly lucky. They might not be badly hurt.” He headed towards the crash site. “Llian, stick your head out the door. Tell them to run down to the bare ground next to the salt marsh; we might be able to pick them up from there. It’s only a mile.”

  A mile too far, in Llian’s opinion.

  Yggur drifted across the ridge, keeping out of spear range, and as they passed over the sky ship Llian leaned out. On the ground the hatch of the cabin had been forced out and a soldier stood framed in the doorway, checking all around.

  “Hoy!” Llian yelled. “Run dow
n the ridge to the scalded land next to the salt marsh.”

  The soldier raised a hand in acknowledgement, loosened his sword in its scabbard and went down the ladder. As he reached the bottom the shaggy creature, or another like it, swung out from a branch overhanging the sky ship.

  “It’s a chimaera,” said Yggur. “A blend of two different creatures.”

  Short thick legs carried a heavy bear-like body, though the fur was very long, reddish and tangled, and the head did not match at all; it was long, scaly and reptilian, not unlike the head of a chacalot, a ferocious water-dwelling predator that Llian had only encountered in the tropics.

  “Look out!” he bellowed.

  As the soldier looked up, the chimaera sprang, and before he could draw his sword it landed on him, crushing him to the ground. Its two-foot-long jaws closed around his neck and he went limp. More chimaera appeared from the trees, some racing towards the kill, others going for the open hatch. Someone inside tried to pull it shut, but a small chimaera, whose fur was redder than the others, sprang and caught the door and, using its weight, pulled it open.

  It leaped up through the hatch and inside, and two others followed it. There was a furious roaring and a chilling series of screams, soon cut short. The windows went red and blood ran from the hatch.

  Yggur circled again. No one emerged from the cabin, though shortly one of the chimaeras jumped down, its fur red. Another chimaera hurled a spear up at the sky ship. It struck one of the skids and fell back.

  “Too close,” said Yggur. “We’d better go.”

  The small chimaera, a female, swung out of the cabin and clambered onto the roof, holding up something small that shone in the light.

  “What’s that?” Llian grabbed a pair of field glasses and focused them on the object in her hand. “Yggur, she’s got the small diamond phial. Can we get it back?”

  “Don’t see how,” said Yggur.

  The chimaera tapped the phial on the roof of the cabin, then tested it with her teeth. She turned it over in her paw-like hands as if curious about the way the light reflected from it, then drew the diamond stopper with her chacalot teeth. She sniffed the phial, frowned, then emptied the drop of nivol onto her tongue.