Shadow City

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  He shook his head. “Guns are not permitted in Chadaré.”

  “That doesn’t usually keep them out. Smugglers are everywhere.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re right. But all the gateways are warded against them. Only those who can travel straight through the abyss can bring them in, and you and Nayan are a very rare breed.”

  Max digested that, then nodded. “What have you got?”

  He stood. “Come. I’ll show you my armory.”

  He led her through what was more a medieval palace than anything else. The walls and floors were white stone and broad enough for Ilanion to fly through. Here and there were joltingly modern touches, such as a CD player and speakers.

  “Powered with magic,” Ilanion said when he saw her surprise.

  She wondered what his music tastes ran to but shrugged away the thought. It didn’t matter. “Are there any more like you?” she asked, motioning toward his wings.

  “I am one of a kind,” he said with a slight smile that didn’t really answer the question at all. He could just as easily have been saying that he was a special snowflake and no one in the world could ever compare with his wonderfulness. Or he might have been the only one of his race.

  They came to a broad platform that overhung a vast cavern. It had to be a half-mile across, and it was full of shadows. She had no idea how deep it was.

  Without warning, Ilanion pulled her against him, his chest warm against her back, his arms circling her waist. “Ready?” He didn’t wait for the answer. His arms tightened, and he leaped out into space.

  For long moments, they plunged downward. Then Ilanion spread his wings, and they jerked into a lazy spiral to the bottom, which had to be a good three miles down.

  The cavern floor was covered in a layer of fine sand. The place was incredibly warm and smelled of rosemary and lavender. Gold witchlights flickered to life around them, illuminating the area in a dazzling glow.

  Max stepped out of Ilanion’s arms. “Nice place. Is this where you hatch your eggs?”

  His eyes gleamed, and he smiled. “It is.”

  She had no idea if he was joking.

  “Come on.” He led her to a wall. He touched it, and wards flared brilliantly. The stone melted to reveal a short corridor on the other side. It led into the armory. The place was easily as big as an airplane hangar. The roof was about fifteen feet high. Racks lined the walls from floor to ceiling and also crowded the floor space. They were full of every weapon imaginable, and plenty of others that Max had never imagined. They were organized generally into categories: spears, swords, daggers, shields, clubs, armor, and then a bunch of miscellaneous stuff.

  “Choose what you like,” Ilanion told her.

  It was like letting a kid loose in a toy store. But she didn’t have time to play. Instead, she strode through the ranks of weaponry. She needed to travel relatively lightly. At the same time, she had no idea what she was going up against, except that there were going to be witches on steroids.

  She picked out a pair of plain swords with razor edges and a sword belt with two scabbards. She added two daggers to her waistband and a couple more to her pockets. She fingered a spear. The haft was six feet long, and it was topped with a slightly curved blade that was another two and a half feet. The thing was well balanced. She considered it a long moment, then reluctantly put it back. The swords were enough and she wanted to have her hands free when she wasn’t fighting.

  Next, she wandered into a collection that looked more like a fine jewelry store than a weapons locker. There were rings, necklaces, bracelets, arm bands, jeweled belts, headdresses, and crowns—you name it, it was there.

  Max picked up a ring. It was a large emerald surrounded by a sunburst of yellow diamonds. Or something that looked like them. She turned it over to examine it.

  “Careful,” Ilanion said as he plucked it from her hand. He was once again dressed in his armor, his helm tucked under his arm. He held the ring carefully. “This one will drop you like a bag of rocks,” he said, settling it back in its velvet case. “It’s quite painful, and the effects are lasting. I spelled it myself.”

  She should have known. “Got a garrote hanging about in here?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Of course. Right over here.”

  He led her to a case of necklaces. Some were crusted with jewels. Others were ornate twists of precious metals. A few on one end were plain. One looked like a torque. It was U-shaped gold with dragon heads on the ends. The gold was twisted to look like a cable. She picked it up, not seeing how to pull it apart. Usually, a wire was hidden inside. “How does it work?”

  “Like this.” Ilanion took it and pulled it wide. The metal stretched until it was easily long enough to put around a horse’s neck to strangle it.

  “Seems a little big,” Max said doubtfully.

  “It responds to your needs,” he said. “You may trust it. I made it, and I tested it myself.”

  There was a grim look to his expression that said he’d tested it in an actual battle. Good enough for her. Max took it back and settled it around her neck. It was heavy and warm from Ilanion’s hands.

  “There is one other thing you might find useful,” he said, drawing her after him into a section of armor. He pulled down a mail shirt. It was a silvery blue, and it shimmered in the light. It spilled over his hands like watered silk. “I’d like you to wear this.”

  Max took it from him and held it up. It was light and flexible. If she put it on, it would hang nearly to her knees and all the way to her wrists. It would totally hamper her movement. “I don’t think it’s my style,” she said, and started to pass it back to him.

  He shook his head. “Do you realize that that is the most powerful piece of armor I possess? Possibly the most powerful armor in Chadaré? It will protect you against bursts of magic—as long as they strike the armor. If you had been wearing it when we were fighting, you would not have been affected by my attacks. In some cases, it’s possible to deflect attacks back onto the attacker.”

  “Impressive,” Max said. “How is it against steel and claws?”

  “Better than with magic.”

  “Why give it to me? Why aren’t you wearing it?”

  “If I wore it, the Korvad would take it as a sign that I am prepared to go to war with them.”

  “So what do you get out of all this? Helping me?” she asked suspiciously. There was no such thing as a free lunch in the world of magic. Favors meant payback. This armor counted as going above and beyond the call of duty. If she took it, she was going to owe him, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She’d played that game once with Scooter. Not that she had a lot of choice at the moment. Not if she wanted to keep Scooter alive.

  “I want Nayan to live,” Ilanion said slowly. “And I want the Korvad broken. If you succeed, you rob them of considerable power—power they’ve used to control Chadaré for thousands of years. Without it, and with Nayan’s help, Chadaré will become a free city again.”

  “Free? Or you want a chance at taking over and running the whole shebang yourself?”

  “I have always been content with the Torchmarch,” Ilanion said. “But there are others . . .” He drifted off, and for a moment, his gaze went cold and pitiless. Then he shook it off. “Others have suffered. It is time for change.”

  So he had a personal stake in this. That answered a lot about why he was helping at all. “If I take your help, then you don’t expect payback?”

  He shook his head. “If you save Nayan, then you break the Korvad. That’s all I want. Your death would prevent that. So I want you to wear the armor. You can return it when you’re done.”

  Max nodded. “All right.” She removed her weapons and pulled the mail shirt over her clothing. It felt icy at first, then warmed. Suddenly, it shimmered and constricted, sinking under her clothing. It tightened around her arms and body like a second skin. It slid up over her neck and head and down over her legs until she was fully encased except for her hands and h
er face. “What the hell? How do I get this off?” She scraped her fingers over it, but it was impervious. She glared at Ilanion accusingly. “Is this your idea of a joke? Or is it a trap?”

  “Neither. When you want to remove it, know its name, and tell it what to do. It will obey.”

  “Know its name?” Max repeated. “It has a name? Does that make it a living creature?” Somehow the idea sent chills slithering along her nerves.

  “In its way,” came the very unhelpful answer.

  “Some people just need killing,” she muttered under her breath, repeating Thor’s favorite saying as she eyed Ilanion balefully. She felt like she was wearing a really bad comic-book-hero costume. Call her Peter Parker. Or Catwoman. She curled her toes, wishing she had a pair of boots. “OK, what’s its name?”

  He flushed. “It will tell you. It is different each time you put it on. That way, no one but the current wearer can control it. Blood is required to make contact.”

  “Of course it is. This keeps getting better and better,” Max said dryly. No point in wasting time. She picked up one of the daggers she’d chosen and dug the point into her thumb. She smeared the blood on the armor sleeve of her other arm.

  Instantly, the armor went hot. Prickles ran over her skin like bee stings, and then a ribbon of white spooled across her mindscape. It curled through her mind. It felt alien. Max flinched, and it halted, like a deer in the headlights. Max could feel shyness radiating from it. She frowned and reached out to it. The touch brought a flash of fierce joy and then a feeling like a cat rubbing up against her and purring. A big cat. Like a sabertooth tiger.

  “What’s your name?” she whispered.

  The answer was not words but a kind of tune mixed with a dance of color and a faint flavor of salt. How the hell was she supposed to reproduce that? It repeated again and then again. Max could feel its impatience, as if it were waiting for her try. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated, and then she repeated the color and sound in her mind. She tried to imagine salt—sweat and ocean brine and blood.

  There was a shiver like laughter and then a swirl of movement as if in celebration. Max repeated it again and then four more times, each time with a questioning lilt in her mind. Is this right?

  By the last time, the armor creature seemed satisfied, and Max focused on what she wanted. Pull down from head, she thought, and instantly, the armor loosened and slid down to form a collar around her neck.

  “Very good,” Ilanion said with raised brows. “Impressive. It took me a bit longer than that to make the armor’s acquaintance.”

  “Good thing I’m a fast learner,” Max said acidly as she strapped the sword belts on again and tucked the daggers back in. She put the torque around her neck.

  “The armor is versatile. It can make pockets in itself and even become other forms of clothing, though I’ve never been successful in making it change color.”

  “I’m not looking to be going to any parties in it,” Max said. “I just want to get going. And I know right where to start,” she said, remembering the house where she’d followed the hunter and his pack of Calopus.

  That surprised Ilanion. “Where?”

  She described the place: the red and cream stone wall, the opalescent mist within, and the magic warding it.

  He nodded. “Indeed. Asherah is a very powerful member of the Korvad and was my first thought, though getting inside her house will be difficult.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Max said, starting back out of the armory.

  Ilanion followed, the aisles too narrow to allow him to walk beside her. “Have you a plan?”

  “Nope. But I am pissed off and armed.” She stopped and turned around. “Just don’t let Scooter die before I get back.”

  He frowned at her. “I’m coming with you.”

  “What? Why? This isn’t your fight. If it doesn’t work, the Korvad will come after you. I didn’t think you wanted to risk that much.”

  He smiled, and it was cold and violent. Max remembered just how dangerous he really was. “After some thought, I’ve decided that I do. The worst they can do is make it impossible for me to live in Chadaré. There are other places to live.”

  “Have you seen Scooter? There’s a lot worse they can do,” she pointed out. “Like cut off your wings or pull out your heart.”

  “I won’t let them.”

  “I bet that’s what Scooter said, too,” she muttered, then shrugged. “If you can live with it, then who am I to argue?”

  He smiled again, this time with an arrogance and impudence that made her mouth go dry. She doubted that many women would be immune to it. If she didn’t have her panties in a wad for Alexander, she’d be chomping on Ilanion like a crocodile on a wildebeest. “You can argue with me anytime,” he said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. One brow flicked up smugly. “I might even let you win on occasion.”

  Conceited bastard. Max reached up and caught his face between her palms, standing on tiptoe so her lips were a bare inch from his. He watched her, sparks spinning hot in his brown eyes.

  “Here’s the thing, Goldilocks. Right at this minute, I could twist your head off like the cap off a beer bottle, and there’s nothing you could do it about it. Don’t be dumber than you have to be, OK?” She patted his cheek and stepped back.

  He grabbed her wrists and yanked her against him. His eyes were entirely gold now, and she could feel the magic thrumming along his skin. “There are a lot of worse ways to die. Besides, I usually get what—and who—I want.”

  She shoved him, breaking his hold easily and sending him staggering backward. “This is going to be one of those unusual times, then.”

  He grinned. “Can’t blame me for trying. A woman like you doesn’t come along often.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You just want someone to cart you through the abyss whenever you feel like it.”

  He didn’t deny it.

  “If you’re done trying to flirt with me, could we get on with saving Scooter?” she asked. “I’d like him not to die.”

  He sobered. “Do you want to see him before we go? In case we don’t return.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t intend to lose today.”

  Ilanion motioned for her to go ahead of him. “Does anybody ever intend to lose?”

  “No. But the difference is that I have a horrendous personality flaw: I’d rather die than lose. Most people can’t say the same thing. If they do, they’re lying.”

  “And you’re not.” It wasn’t exactly a question.

  Max answered anyway. “No.”

  “Does that mean you’ve never lost?”

  She shook her head. “A few times.”

  “And yet you’re still alive.”

  “My ass has been pulled out of the fire more than once. But the fact is that most often, I win. And I’m going to win today. Dying isn’t an option.”

  LEAVING ILANION’S COMPOUND WAS TRICKY. THE place was under a giant microscope. No one was coming or going without the Korvad stopping them and grilling them over a crackling fire. Probably literally.

  Ilanion wasn’t unprepared. He led Max deeper underground through a series of rough-hewn tunnels. They were narrow, and more than once, the eagle man could barely fit his wings through.

  “Going to have to have the Enay work on that,” he said ruefully as Max pulled him through a particularly narrow spot. He had scrapes on his arms and legs where the armor didn’t extend. His gold-scaled wings were too tough to be damaged.

  They must have gone another mile underground before they entered a narrow cavern. Stalactites hung down like dragon teeth. Below, a river rushed past.

  “You can swim, can’t you?” Ilanion asked.

  Max eyed the frothing water. “Haven’t drowned yet.”

  “Let’s hope you don’t start today.”

  He grabbed her hand and jumped. The water was frigid. Ilanion startled her by pulling her close against him. His wings folded around them both, and a moment later, the
water drained from their cocoon, no doubt pushed by magic.

  “Handy trick,” Max said. “Or is this just your way of trying to get into my pants?”

  He laughed. “If it were, you’d have to do all the work. I’m a bit busy at the moment. But I’m perfectly willing to let you try.”

  “Maybe next lifetime, Goldilocks.”

  The water carried them swiftly. They bobbed like a cork, spinning and bouncing off the banks. After a particularly hard hit, Ilanion gasped, his mouth clamping tightly together.

  “Are you going to live?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” he rasped.

  “Can I help? And don’t tell me to spank your monkey, or I swear I’ll kick your ass.”

  He laughed and choked. He rested his forehead on her shoulder until the coughing subsided. At last, he lifted his head. “Don’t do that again, or we’re going to drown.”

  “You might. I’ll swim.”

  “Until you get eaten, maybe.”

  “Eaten?”

  “Not everything we’ve run into has been rocks. We’ve been attacked seven times so far.”

  She scowled. “Are you OK?”

  “How sweet. You’re concerned for me. Or are you worried about your life raft?”

  She just stared at him.

  “I am well enough. I can heal myself, and my wings are largely impervious to their teeth.”

  “Largely? That sounds like mostly. From the way you’ve turned gray, you’ve been hurt. How bad?”

  “Bad enough.” His jaw clenched, and his eyes were yellow except for a pinpoint of black in the middle. “I’ve got a puncture that went through my wing into my back. There’s poison in it.”

  “Can you heal it?”

  He nodded jerkily. “It’s going to take a few minutes. But we may have to leave the river before I can fly.”

  “You’re not talking about climbing up onto the bank, are you?”

  He shook his head. “There is a ward gate where we can drop away. No one knows of it, so we should be safe. As long as I can fly. Otherwise—”

  He didn’t need to finish the sentence for Max to get the picture. “I can pull us into the abyss. We won’t die.”