by Ian Irvine
“Me too,” Hingis said. “Because I’ve come here to die.”
“You look like a man with the best of his life before him.”
Hingis told the story of his love for Ussarine, his bitter choice and his twin sister’s death, briefly and baldly and without self-pity.
Culligon considered his words for a long time. “Choices make our lives, and can break them and perhaps make them anew. As I said, it is utterly forbidden for us to speak of our arts, and yet, in the cause of freedom … I will tell you what I may.”
What I may, over the eternal, brutal flight, turned out to be a remarkable amount about the art of illusion. It had opened Hingis’s eyes. He had tried a few of Culligon’s suggestions and found that they transformed his art, lifting it to a higher plane.
Now, as he reached the paved ground and scanned the Merdrun’s vast camp, he was excited about the possibilities and about working with Culligon on collaborative illusions which could be so much greater than either of them could do individually.
As he turned to ask which illusion Culligon planned to use first, the Faellem sighed and crumpled to the ground, a Merdrun throwing spike embedded in his heart. He was dead without ever knowing that he had been hit.
Tears pricked Hingis’s eyes, the pain he had forgotten on the turbulent journey flooded back, and a titanic rage overwhelmed him. He was cursed! He was destined to never have a sister, a lover or a friend. Life was determined to rob him of every good thing he had ever gained for himself.
So be it! He no longer cared because his life would soon be over, and that was good. He would gladly sacrifice himself to aid his people and his world—it was the best thing he could possibly do.
He traced the trajectory of the throwing spike back to its source, a squad of Merdrun on a mound fifty yards away. Hingis focused his wits and his art as he had never done before and walked out into the open, facing them and daring them to attack him. But before they could, he thrust both arms out towards the squad and its scarred leader, summoned all the power stored in his twisted and throbbing bones and conjured his most terrifying illusion—a rampaging lyrinx. He combined it with an illusion Culligon had taught him that induced witless convulsions, then with a roar of fury cast it at the Merdrun.
The illusion sighed away towards them and disappeared. The Merdrun stared at Hingis in astonishment, then started mocking him for a monster, a hideous little cripple. He was sure the illusion had failed, that he had got the combination wrong. The scarred leader took out another throwing spike, kissed it and drew back his arm. Hingis did not move; whichever way he tried to run, the spike would impale him.
“I’ll show you a monster!” cried Hingis and worked the illusion again.
The scarred leader let out a shriek of terror and began flailing about with his sword in one hand and the spike in the other, striking at the sky, the ground and his own subordinates. His men were shrieking and convulsing, attacking the ground and the grass, the stone bastion behind them and each other, and even their own arms and legs, as if everything they saw was a beast about to tear their limbs from their bodies. Within minutes they had cut one another down, but still they thrashed on the bloody ground until every one of them was dead.
Hingis looked upon his work and found it good. The pain of his twisted bones was utterly gone. Nothing could touch him now.
He turned, seeking his next target. He felt serene.
56
YOU’RE GOING TO DIE
Malien had chosen the most imposing place in Zile to create her gate—the broad granite-column-lined central boulevard that stretched a mile from one part of the abandoned city to the other. The rotors of Aachim sky ships had been used to blast the drifted sand away for several hundred yards and lay bare the ancient paving slabs, then blazing torches had been fixed to the tops of the columns. To either side, the beautiful ruins stood like shadowy sentinels.
In this tranquil place Janck stalked back and forth before his assembled forces, cursing everyone and everything. Sulien had never seen him so rattled. She had to tell him what Gergrig had said, but his guards would not let her near.
“What the blazes is the matter now?” he bellowed at Malien.
She scowled but did not reply. Sulien did not think she had the strength. Her people had made all the preparations twenty-four hours ago, but Karan’s call had not come, and today they’d had to do it all again. Malien and four of her most skilled Aachim mancers, all males, had been preparing the massive gate for hours and they were all exhausted.
Nausea washed back and forth through Sulien’s belly. Something was terribly wrong. And where was Llian? He’d been sent away days ago and she knew he was in terrible danger.
“This gate will be bigger than any that has ever been made on Santhenar,” said Tallia, “and it’s got to last far longer. It’s taking everything Malien has, and more.”
“Why does it have to be bigger?” said Janck.
Tallia rolled her eyes. “Because you’re sending a hundred cavalry through, and an armoured warhorse weighs ten times as much as the soldier riding it. The loading on the gate, and on the people powering and controlling it, is enormous, and if Malien gets anything wrong bad things can happen.”
“Like what?”
“Like none of the cavalry ever being seen again. Or the gate and everything inside it exploding so catastrophically that it would level Zile and melt the ruins for a mile around in all directions.”
Janck rubbed his ample belly and took several steps backwards. “Why does it have to last longer?”
“I should have thought that was obvious,” she said with stinging sarcasm. “If five troops can pass through abreast every second, which is optimistic, it’ll take nine and a third minutes for twenty-eight hundred to go through the gate to Gwine. Realistically it’ll be more like twelve minutes, and that’s an awfully long time to hold open a gate—even a normal-sized gate. The strain will be enormous; I’ll be surprised if Malien and her mancers can manage it.”
“I’m not interested in excuses,” barked Janck. “Tell her to make it happen.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Malien said coldly.
“I give the orders around here.”
“You can’t order Malien to defy the laws of mancery,” said Tallia, “any more than you can order your troops to swim up into the sky. If the gate fails before everyone has gone through, the very best that will happen is that everyone still inside it will die.”
“And the worst?”
“I already told you that.”
“Without the gate, the mission to kill the triplets fails,” said Janck. “If they live, they’ll soon reopen the Crimson Gate and that will begin the end of the world. Malien has to find a way and she’s got to do it quick.” He checked a pocket chronometer the size of a small cauliflower. “It’s 1.22 a.m. If all goes well this time, Karan will call in eight minutes, and the sky ships will land their troops ten minutes later. Once she gives the word I can’t call them back. The gate must be ready in eight minutes, so see to it!” He stalked away.
Tallia went across to Malien. Sulien followed, trying to look inconspicuous. She had to find out what was really going on before it was too late.
“I heard,” said Malien. Her face was pinched, her lips white and her breathing ragged.
“Is there anything more—”
“No!” she snapped. “Move! You’re within the gate space.”
Tallia moved away and checked the gear in her battle pack. She had done so three times in the last hour. Behind her, Janck was loudly counting down the minutes. She ground her teeth.
Sulien crept across and caught her by the arm. “Tallia,” she said in a desolate voice, “where did Daddy really go?”
Tallia glanced at Janck. He shook his head. “It’s a secret,” she said unhappily.
Sulien looked from Janck to Tallia, then back to Janck, and the blood drained from her face. “You sent Daddy to Gwine with the sky ships?” she cried.
“Shu
t her up!” snapped Janck. “There could be spies, even here.”
Sulien ran at Janck, lowered her head and butted him in his great round belly. He stumbled back, tripped and fell. “You sent Daddy to Gwine to be killed! And Mummy!” she screamed. “You foul, stinking monster.”
Janck rose, his face the colour of a storm cloud. “Get the brat out of my sight.”
“The enemy know the attack is coming!” cried Sulien. “I heard Gergrig say so.”
“What?” he cried, staggering back. “No, that’s impossible. Take her away.”
Tallia took Sulien’s hand and squeezed it hard. “She’s got to relay Karan’s call. No one else can do it.”
“Then stop her mouth!”
“Sulien has a great gift,” said Tallia, “and I want to know what she heard.”
“As do I,” said Malien. “Quickly, child!”
Sulien told them how she had found and befriended the drum boy Uigg, Gergrig’s son, how Uigg had realised who she was, and his and Gergrig’s final words.
I … I’m afraid I won’t do you proud, Uigg had said, when battle comes.
I fear that too, son, said Gergrig. But you won’t have long to wait. The fools think they can take me by surprise. Me! Go and fill your belly; it won’t be long now.
“Gergrig can’t know,” said Janck in hopeless denial. “He detected you and fed you lies.”
“If he’d detected Sulien,” said Malien, “he would have killed her.”
“Get rid of her!” he bellowed. “How can I think with her nonsense in my ears?”
Sulien pulled free, pointed a finger at Janck and spoke without thinking. “You’re going to die,” she whispered. “As soon as you go through the gate.”
“Sulien!” cried Tallia. “Never say such things.”
Sulien flushed scarlet. “Sorry.” She did not know why she had said it.
Janck reeled, then walked in a tight circle, rubbing his face and shooting her desperate glances. “Nonsense,” he repeated. “It’s all nonsense.”
One-thirty passed, and Karan did not call. One-forty passed. Janck was pallid and sweating. Tallia went back to Malien. “Have you heard?”
“No! Go away!”
Sulien stumbled back and forth, trying to think. Karan and Llian were in desperate danger, though if things got really bad she could dematerialise. But Llian was clumsy, accident-prone and not a fighter; he would be lucky to survive a minute on the battlefield. Was there any way she could use her gift to help him? Sulien could think of nothing.
One-forty-five. One-fifty.
A sharp pain struck behind Sulien’s eyes and the block on the link gave. Mummy, what’s going on? she cried across the link. Are you all right? Mummy, what about Daddy? Mummy! Mummy!
I’m all right, Karan gasped. Now!
The pain spread and burned, and Sulien heard sick laughter. The triplets were attacking through the link. She clapped her hands to the sides of her head and screamed. Malien snatched at her but missed. Sulien reeled around in a circle, fell to her knees, still screaming, then the pain and the laughter were cut off. Karan had re-blocked the link.
Sulien turned to Malien and gasped, “Mummy said now!” She got up shakily, her head throbbing again. “The sky ships are there.”
Malien issued swift orders to the four male Aachim, and they began to work. “You have ten minutes,” she said to Janck.
He made a choking sound in his throat, as if he had not thought the gate would actually succeed, then took an envelope from his pocket, called his officers to him and tore the seal off. Sulien crouched and watched him suspiciously.
“W-we’re taking the gate to the Isle of Gwine,” said Janck. “Our cavalry will storm through the moment it opens. They’ll be followed by your company, Clabb,” he said to the thin, twitching officer on his left. “You’ll poison the enemy’s water cisterns, then attack their armoury and food stores with fire barrels, burning everything you find and creating as much chaos as you can.
“Thix,” he said to the next officer, a dark fellow with black eyebrows the size of drowned rats, shading tiny eyes, “your company will burn the soldiers’ tents, hopefully with them inside. Gunce—” (a small, delicately boned officer whose veins could be seen through the skin of his forehead) “—go for the Merdrun’s command post, kill every officer you see and disrupt their battlefield communications. And your company, Pikell—” (a massive, troll-like, slab-faced fellow) “—will take their key defensive positions and hold them at all costs. Got it, everyone?”
“Yes, Commander,” they said.
“We’re going to Gwine for a single reason,” Janck went on. “So Hissper and his squad can hunt down the triplets and kill them. They’re the key; only the triplets can reopen the Crimson Gate, and that must be prevented at all costs.”
The pallid, hairless Hissper, whose black eyes were mere slits, nodded, a sinuously reptilian movement that made the skin on the back of Sulien’s neck crawl.
“Once the triplets are dead the job is done,” said Janck. “On the signal, fight your way to the rendezvous point and we’ll try to bring everyone back, either via the sky ships or, if it proves impossible for them to land, the gate. But it will only open fleetingly the second time, and anyone who can’t get to it will be left to their fate. A fate that, in the Merdrun’s hands, will be most unpleasant.”
He checked his chronometer again. “One-fifty-five. Where’s the damned gate?”
“Still not ready,” Tallia said quietly.
“When … will … it … be … ready?” he said through his teeth.
Tallia glanced at Malien, who was sighting through some incomprehensible Aachim instrument made of the soft iridescent metal bismuth, with oval opal inserts along the sides and quartz lenses. “A few minutes, I’d say.”
Sulien’s throat had clamped so tight she could hardly breathe. Why was it taking so long? Could Llian be …? No, she dared not even think it.
Janck paced, scowled, paced then came back. “Three minutes! What the hell’s wrong?”
The Aachim were making slow movements in a trance-like state. “Are you asking me to interrupt them to find out?” Tallia said in a deadly voice.
Janck seemed close to breaking point. “Damn it, Magister, my sky-ship troops are dying through lack of the support I promised them. It’s unbearable.”
“My friends and allies are there too, Commander. And plenty of Malien’s people.”
And Mummy and Daddy, thought Sulien, her heart aching.
Five minutes passed, then ten. She could almost smell the blood being shed on Gwine. Fourteen minutes …
The air shimmered before them, then pale yellow lightning crackled and entwined and twisted to form an egg-shaped circlet, the bottom half wider than the top. It was fifteen feet wide and twenty feet tall, and a milky swirling grey inside. A hot, humid wind gushed out of it, carrying the odour of spicy plants, the moisture condensing in the wintry air of Zile to form billows of mist.
Sulien crept forward, peered through the gate and saw a high stone wall in the distance, running along the crest of a ridge between two small cliff-bounded hills, each topped by a wooden watchtower. It was just as Karan had described it.
“It’s opened inside the fortress,” said Tallia. “Malien, is it ready?”
“Yes,” gasped Malien. “Go! Can’t hold it long.”
Janck signalled to his cavalry. The horsemen trotted down the boulevard in pairs, leapt into the gate and disappeared. It took a minute and a half for the hundred to pass through. Clabb’s company followed, then Thix’s. Another three minutes.
“Hissper, get going,” said Janck.
Hissper’s black-clad band of ten assassins glided into the gate and vanished. Sulien was glad to see them go. They were horrible, but she prayed they succeeded.
“Can’t hold it,” gasped Malien. “Anyone who must go, go now.”
Gunce’s and Pikell’s companies went through. Six minutes had passed but over a thousand troops still wa
ited for their turn at the gate and it was starting to look ragged. Sulien did not see how the Aachim could hold it long enough. If she were to do anything for Llian, she had to go now. Dare she? She must. She ran forward and sprang into the gate.
“Sulien, stop!” shrieked Malien.
As Sulien looked back the egg-shaped circlet wobbled; the yellow lightning forming it went dull, and for an awful few seconds she thought the gate was going to collapse, then Malien regained control and shot Tallia an imploring look.
Janck was no longer pale, no longer sweating. He drew his sabre, squared his shoulders and strode into the gate. Tallia raced after him. Sulien, fearing they would stop her, bolted ahead and disappeared.
Tallia hurtled after Sulien. The gate picked her up and spun her, tumbled her head over heels and hung her upside down while a hot wind roared in her ears, then after a minute or two spat her out at the other end, dizzy and disoriented.
She took three steps and stumbled over a body, a rotund man in a commander’s uniform. A huge gash in his chest was making gurgling sounds, but Janck was dead, just as Sulien had predicted. It was a chilling start, the worst.
As she came to her feet a stocky Merdrun warrior came at her, swinging a serrated double-edged sword in a vertical stroke intended to cleave her head in two. But Tallia was vastly experienced in combat with and without weapons and had been training solidly for the past five weeks. She sidestepped then kicked him under the jaw so hard that his neck snapped; he fell back, alive but paralysed.
She looked around frantically. Behind her the gate was disgorging troops like a catapult, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in clumps of three or four. To the left Clabb’s company was racing down to its target. The other companies were spreading out in all directions through the smoke. She could not see Hissper’s assassins; they had already vanished on their murderous business.
Neither could Tallia see any of the green-uniformed troops who had come in on the sky ships. Were they all dead?
Most vitally, where was Sulien, and what on earth had possessed her to come through the gate to such a deadly place? The revelation about Llian being here, of course. She was nowhere in sight. Now Tallia thought of it, Sulien had been showing signs of distress for days. And no wonder.