The Fatal Gate

by Ian Irvine

  “It would have strengthened their resolve to take charge of the stone,” said Shand.

  “Why?” said Aviel.

  “To protect it until the Merdrun’s new magiz on Cinnabar can reopen the Crimson Gate. If the Whelm can aid them in that, it’ll prove how worthy they are to serve the Merdrun’s next leader—Merdrax, presumably.”

  “Then we’ve got to get to the stone before the Whelm do,” said Llian.

  Yggur banked the sky ship around and raced back to the west. “The other ships are going in. Aviel, tell the troops to get ready.”

  As they shot past the western end of the peak Llian saw that the summon stone had turned the brown of a scab on an old wound. The trilithon was eroded, cracked and tilted so crazily to the left that it was a wonder it was still standing.

  Before Aviel could move, the grey curtain was wrenched back. The captain stood there, swaying on his small feet as the sky ship lurched and bounced in the smoky air. “We’re ready!”

  “Better tell us the plan,” said Shand, green eyes glinting.

  Yet again Llian’s doubts surfaced. If Shand betrayed them now … No! I know the man better than that … don’t I?

  Did Yggur and the others have a solid reason for their suspicions? Did they think Shand had craved the summon stone’s power all this time, as he had at Carcharon? Was that what he had really been doing with the Archeus and his six-spoked Command device—crafting something that would allow him to control the stone?

  “The moment the other sky ships attack,” said Yggur, “I’ll dive to the sheltered area behind the western ridge and land. Shand, Llian, Ifoli and six of the soldiers will take the nivol and head for the summon stone.”

  “Why only six?” said Shand.

  “The Whelm know we’re here now and they can’t let us destroy the stone. The only quick way up onto the peak is via the path at the western end. We’ll hold them back while you do the job.”

  “Thousands of Whelm?” Shand said sceptically.

  “They can only come up in single file.” Yggur looked up. “That’s Hublees firing!”

  Hublees’ ramshackle sky ship hurtled in from the east, and Llian saw it shudder each time one of the heavy harpoons was discharged. He could not see them in flight, but a churning ball of orange fire formed a few yards in front of the trilithon, then a second ball and a third. They coalesced into a fiery orange spear that shot back towards the sky ship’s airbag. It exploded in a fireball that rained blazing debris and bodies down on the eastern side of Demondifang. The comical little mancer was dead, and everyone in his sky ship.

  Aviel gasped and snatched at Llian’s hand. “Those poor people.”

  It had been so quick, so final and so easy that Llian knew they had no hope of succeeding. “We’ll be lucky if we even make it onto the peak,” he said to no one in particular.

  “Lucky!” Ifoli said shrilly.

  Another orange fire spear sizzled up towards their own sky ship, but Yggur dived and it passed harmlessly overhead. He raced down towards the landing place, a patch of broken rock not much bigger than the vessel.

  The third sky ship roared in from the north and hurled two barrels of blasting powder from a spring-loaded catapult. Llian saw them arcing towards the summon stone one after the other, but both barrels exploded long before they got near. Working furiously, the catapult crew slammed in a third barrel; the sky ship was so close now that Llian saw it clearly.

  The top of the barrel came off, spilling black powder everywhere. A spark ignited it, and the contents of the barrel flared like a monstrous skyrocket. The sky ship disappeared behind the peak, there was a small boom and a fireball appeared above the mountain.

  “And they were dead,” Llian said quietly. And we’ll be next. Beside him Aviel had gone as white as a boiled egg.

  Yggur’s sky ship landed on the bare yellow rock with a crash. A ridge of yellow rock with a cleft running through it concealed them from the summon stone, which was a few hundred yards to their right. The path down the western cliff was on their left.

  “Out!” he bellowed.

  “Wait!” cried Llian, for already he could feel the corrupt emanations from the stone probing at him, trying to find a way in. “The stone will try to lure us to it—to feed on us—and some of us will find it irresistible. Keep a close watch on each other. If anyone is drawn to it, stop them.”

  “How?” said the baby-faced captain.

  “Knock them out if there’s no other way.”

  The captain thrust the door open and leaped down. It was windy. Two soldiers tied the sky ship down fore and aft, and half a dozen more took up positions to guard the top of the steep, narrow path that was the only way the Whelm could come up. Yggur, Shand and Ifoli disembarked. Ifoli’s face was even more drawn than before and she was holding her back. Llian got out and Aviel struggled after him, carrying the diamond phial.

  “Stay with me, Aviel,” said Yggur. Then, as Shand reached out for the phial and she was about to hand it to him, Yggur added, “Give the nivol to Llian.”

  Shand froze, and a terrible sadness crossed his weathered features, though it was quickly replaced by the cold rage Llian had seen so often in the past months. “Even now, even here, you don’t trust me.”

  “Trust has to be earned, Shand. It can’t be manufactured on demand.” Yggur turned to the captain. “Go with Llian, Shand and Ifoli. Make sure their way to the stone is clear.”

  “Be careful,” Llian reminded the captain. “The summon stone will promise you your greatest desire.”

  He rolled his eyes. “We’re trained soldiers!”

  He led the other eight soldiers into the cleft. Llian waited, his heart thundering and his knees weak. He could hear the harsh cries of the Whelm as they came scrabbling up the steep track. Having lost their master they would be desperate, and determined to kill everyone between them and the summon stone.

  “Take this, Llian,” said Yggur. “Just in case.” He met Shand’s eyes then handed Llian a little yellow rod that appeared to have been carved from a tusk of some sort.

  “What is it?” said Llian.

  “In case of treachery, you hold one end of the rod and twist the other. It triggers the collars.”

  Llian’s eyes were drawn to Shand’s neck, then Ifoli’s. “What, both of them?”

  “Yes.”

  Llian gulped. Could he do it? He did not think so. He put the rod away, secured the diamond phial in his pocket and followed Shand and Ifoli into the cleft. The soldiers were going out the other end.

  Llian looked out, carefully. There had once been a ring of wiry bushes around the rim of the peak but everything had been burned or blasted by lightning. The soldiers were creeping across uneven rock in the direction of the summon stone.

  Suddenly the captain let out a quivering cry of yearning, then yelled, “I’m coming!”

  “Stop, you bloody fools!” roared another man.

  “Captain, no!” screamed a third.

  There came a sizzling sound, then a horrible series of splats, moans and screams. One of the soldiers hurled himself back into the cleft, scrambling across the sharp rocks on torn hands and bloody knees.

  Shand hauled him upright. Blood was splattered across the soldier from head to foot, though it did not appear to be his own.

  “Gone!” he gasped. “Blown to bits, just like that.”

  “The captain?” said Shand.

  “And the four men who went with him. It called them, sir; it wouldn’t let them go.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Go and find out.”

  The soldier looked Shand in the eyes, shuddered and said, “I’d sooner you killed me, sir.”

  Shand cursed. “Go and join Yggur’s men. Clean yourself up first.”

  Shand went forward, beckoning Llian and Ifoli to follow, and peered around the edge of the cleft. Llian went too. Ten yards ahead, five pairs of boots, some containing ankles, others nothing but b
lood, stood on the stony ground. The rocks around had been sprayed with blood but there was no other sign of the captain or the four soldiers who had died with him.

  The other three were huddled behind rocks, too afraid to move. Llian could not blame them; their training was no use here. The emanations from the stone were beating at him like the heat from a furnace.

  Shand drew Llian back into the cleft. “Going to be a bastard to get to the stone.”

  “We could have told everyone that a month ago,” said Llian. “No, wait,” he added sourly. “We did.”

  Shand looked back at Ifoli, who was on her knees, throwing up. “What’s the matter with you?”

  She wiped her mouth and looked up, still retching. Her face was flushed and her eyes shiny; she looked as if she had a high fever.

  “Just like last time,” she said, pressing her hand against her back. “Only worse.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Is the lump back?” said Llian.

  Ifoli nodded. “It’s so hot it’s burning me.”

  “What lump?” said Shand.

  “In my back,” said Ifoli. “First felt it after the gate brought us from Alcifer. It was really bad as we climbed Demondifang, but as we headed back down it stopped hurting.”

  “We all felt safe for a while,” Llian remembered. “Even Regg, and he had been badly affected by the stone. It was as if we were protected from it.”

  “Where was this?” said Shand.

  “About where Yggur is now.”

  “Wait here.” Shand ran back towards the sky ship, but reappeared a couple of minutes later, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel any different over there, with any of my senses. Did you do anything that could have protected you? Think! It could be vital.”

  “Not that I remember,” said Ifoli. “We were just going down as fast as we could.”

  “I gave you my manuscript bag,” said Llian, “so I could hang on to Regg—the stone was trying to lure him back. You put the bag over your shoulder … and not long afterwards we felt protected.”

  “It may not mean anything,” said Shand to Llian. Then to Ifoli, “Let me see.”

  He drew her shirt up. Her pale amber back was flawless save for a plum-sized black lump halfway down on the left side. He probed it with thick fingers, and she gasped.

  “It’s hot,” he said, “really hot, and it seems to be pulsing. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before?”

  73

  I CAN’T DO IT ON MY OWN

  From below and behind them, Llian heard a harsh Whelm cry and the sound of metal hitting stone, then a blast and iron-shod boots scrabbling on gravel.

  “The Whelm are attacking.”

  “Yggur will have to deal with them,” said Shand, still studying the lump in Ifoli’s back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I told Tallia after Llian and I first reached Zile, but it had disappeared by then,” said Ifoli. “And I’m afraid of surgery so I … ignored it.”

  “Incredible!” said Shand, shaking his head in disgust. “Better conquer that fear, Ifoli, because I’m going to cut the lump out.”

  “No!” she gasped. She tried to run but only got a few yards before doubling over again, moaning. “Not here, of all places.”

  “Llian, hold her down.”

  Llian, not without reservations, did so. Ifoli struggled for a few seconds, then went still, shuddering.

  Shand drew his knife, made a small slit in Ifoli’s skin, a third the length of the black lump, then shoved on one end. The lump rotated and something dark slid from the slit. He pushed harder and it fell into his cupped hand.

  “Clean that up,” he said, handing it to Llian.

  Llian rinsed it in rainwater from a depression in the rocks. Shand was smearing balm on Ifoli’s back. The two sides of the slit had pulled together, and it was now just a small coin-shaped red swelling.

  “Doesn’t even need stitching,” said Shand. “How does it feel now?”

  “As though you’ve worked a miracle,” said Ifoli, wiping tears from her eyes and sweat from her brow. “The pain, the churning in my stomach, the sick whirling in my head, it’s all gone.”

  “What is it?” Shand said to Llian.

  “I’d say,” Llian said slowly, looking down at the black object, “it’s the crystal from Snoat’s Command device. When Esea reshaped the device and it exploded, its core became embedded in my manuscript bag.”

  “And the crystal buried itself in Ifoli’s back. How come you didn’t notice, Ifoli?”

  “We were carried away in a gate, and it was very painful.”

  Shand took the crystal, which was an inch long and half an inch wide, stubby and black, with striations down the long sides. “It’s schorl,” he said. “A black form of the mineral tourmaline. And schorl has unusual properties.”

  “Why did it protect us from the summon stone?” said Llian.

  “When I put your manuscript bag over my shoulder,” said Ifoli, “the core embedded in the base must have been close enough to the crystal to activate the device.”

  Shand took the rebuilt Command device from his pack, prised up the silver lid on top of the graphite hub, withdrew a small black crystal and thrust the schorl crystal inside. Instantly Llian felt the corrupting emanations from the summon stone, which had been beating at him all this time, ease.

  “I’d say it’s created a kind of force cage,” said Shand. “A protection of some sort from the stone’s emanations. Run and tell Yggur. And tell him we’re attacking now.”

  Ifoli darted away and shortly reappeared. The pain lines were gone and she was utterly transformed: she looked just like the remarkable young woman Llian had known at Pem-Y-Rum.

  “Got your precious nivol ready?” said Shand.

  Llian nodded and took it out of his pocket, though he did not remove the elastic band holding the diamond stopper in the phial. Having seen what one drop had done to a chimaera last time, he was not anxious to open it. Even a smear could eat away half his body, and it would be a hideous way to die.

  Shand’s green eyes flashed. “And your triggering rod, in case I turn out to be a traitor?”

  “Yes,” Llian whispered. He gestured to the six-spoked Command device. “Are you sure the protection will be enough, up close?”

  “I’m not sure about anything.”

  Neither was Llian, and he feared to go near the summon stone again. It had almost got him last time; how could he resist it again? Why was it up to him to chuck the nivol on it, anyway? Shand was far better equipped to attack it, in all kinds of ways.

  “Ifoli?” said Shand. “Llian still isn’t sure of me—and neither am I. You’ll have to do it again.”

  “Do what?”

  “The scent potion and the device.” He pointed to a small round scar on his forehead.

  “What, here?”

  “Do it here and you’ll know.” Shand handed her the Command device.

  Ifoli drew a phial from her pocket, unstoppered it and took the device.

  What were they up to? Was this the betrayal Yggur feared? Llian’s hand involuntarily slipped to the triggering rod in his pocket. Could he use it? He’d better be sure. His fingers touched it then he pulled away. Shand’s gave him another of those sour, knowing smiles.

  Ifoli sniffed deeply from the phial, jammed the end of the device against Shand forehead and pressed hard. There came a dull black flash, his arms flapped like wings and he went, “Nnnnnnnnn!”

  Again Llian’s fingers crept to the triggering rod. Ifoli spun the Command device on Shand’s forehead, tearing the skin. Blood flowed, then she tensed and gave an almighty heave. A single black wispy thread clung to the end of the tube, then evaporated into the air.

  “Again!” croaked Shand.

  She sniffed the scent potion and repeated the process, with no result this time.

  “Again!” Shand said with a groan.

  She did it again. “Nothing! It’s all gone this time.”


  “You sure?” Shand said weakly.

  “The scent potion lets me see everything in your head.” She managed a smirk.

  “Poor you!” He rubbed his forehead, smearing blood across it, then stood up straight, and the strain faded from his old face. “Yes,” he said. “I can feel the difference. Let’s get it done.”

  Llian let his breath out with a hiss. Shand led them out of the cleft. The rocks the three soldiers had been cowering behind were melted and they were dead. They passed the five pairs of army boots, some with bloody ankles in them and some without. Llian tried not to look at them.

  Suddenly the summon stone went wild, blasting lightning in every direction save one—the direction they were coming from. The force cage was working so far, but for how long?

  They advanced across lightning-shattered rocks. A film of grey ash and scattered lumps of charcoal were all that remained of the ferns and mosses that had once flourished here. Lightning sizzled and dazzled, thunder cracked and boomed.

  Now they were only thirty feet from the summon stone. Llian’s ears throbbed from the cataclysmic racket, and every hair on his body was standing on end.

  Abruptly the lightning and thunder stopped, and in the sudden silence he heard the harsh cries of the Whelm as they hurled themselves up the steep cleft at Yggur and his soldiers again and again. They sounded desperate.

  Llian went forward a few feet, then a few feet more. He was only fifteen feet away from the stone when he realised that Shand and Ifoli had not come with him. Ahead, the tilted summon stone was quivering, and he could smell the corruption emanating from it, a festering rottenness that reminded him of the triplets. Had they corrupted the stone as much as it had warped them?

  His knees were trembling and his stomach was empty; he felt hollowed out inside, or eaten away.

  “Can’t … do it on my own,” he croaked. “Not … strong enough.”

  “I daren’t take the Command device any closer,” said Shand.