Shadowheart lotr-2

by James Barclay

  Moving across to Duele and Evunn, he nodded to the rest of his charges, signalled them to wait hidden. There was no need to remind them to keep alert. Every eye scanned buildings or ground.

  'We move.'

  Auum and his Tai spread to three consecutive skylights, lying flat on the roof to look but not touching them. The small windows were set into raised and sloped stone casements. Auum's sight pierced the gloom below easily enough, helped by the fact that the library wasn't in complete darkness. From somewhere on the ground floor, light was edging out, probably from under a closed door.

  Directly beneath him, Auum could make out row after row of wall-mounted or freestanding bookshelves and glass-fronted cases, their strict order dominating the floor. Towards the main doors, a shelf-free area was home to small desks, larger tables, book stands and a scattering of chairs. Some of the tables had books and parchments on them and Auum could make out lantern stands, quill-and-ink sets and paperweights.

  To his right, and east along the length of the library, Auum followed the central carpeted walkway to a grand staircase that wound up to two landings. Each landing swept around a wide balustraded oval that overlooked the floor below. More bookshelves lined the outer walls and where the floor widened, more desks and tables covered the space. It was an ordered arrangement, undoubtedly airy and bright in the middle of the day. A good place to study but nevertheless alien to him.

  He lifted his head and glanced left and right. Both Evunn and Duele were waiting for him, shakes of their heads indicating they too had seen no one. A whisper barely more than a breeze around the statues reached his ears. He turned his head to the source. Marack and her Tai were deep in the lee of a gruesome demonic effigy. She raised her right eyebrow. Auum followed its direction.

  A man stood on the highest parapet of one of the outer towers. The swirling rain might have deceived him but Auum felt sure the man was gripping the rail as if he would otherwise fall. Something flitted around his head. Not a bird but winged all the same. Denser had mentioned these creatures. They were a danger. Part of a world from which Yniss protected them. They had no place here.

  He watched, knowing he was exposed but hoping that his stillness would make him appear little more than a shadow on the stone. The creature landed on the rail and looked into the man's eyes. It reached out one hand and gently stroked the old man's cheek. Auum frowned. It was a display at odds with its appearance and origin.

  Leaning heavily on a stick and bracing himself on the rail then the doorframe, the man edged back into his tower, the pain in each step obvious.

  Something nagged at Auum. It may have been just one old man but he had chosen that moment to stir himself from rest and his apparent agony had not stopped him determining to take the air. Perhaps some of the enemy sensed what the guards on the walls plainly did not. The TaiGethen would not delay.

  He beckoned over one of the Al-Arynaar mages. She was called Sian'erei, of the same broad family as the Drech Guild elf who had recently ridden with The Raven and died in their service. Sian was fiercely determined and a talented mage, both factors that had made her an obvious choice for the raid. But, like all of them, her expression was chastened now with the fear that another mana failure could happen at any time.

  'We must be sure there are no traps on this glass. Work fast.'

  Sian closed her eyes, Auum watching her eyes flickering beneath their lids and her mouth move soundlessly. She ignored the rain whipping into her small face and over her cropped dark-haired head while she probed the skylight for traps. The search was brief.

  'Nothing,' she said. 'And the spectrum is steady.'

  'Yniss keep it that way,' said Auum. 'Back to the shadow.'

  She retreated and Duele took his cue, slithering across die roof.

  'Opinions?' asked Auum.

  'The fixings are weak,' said Duele after brief probing. 'We must guard against the-glass falling inwards. Hold here.'

  Auum gripped the frame where Duele indicated while his Tai levered up the tarred waterproofing that surrounded the casement. Beneath it, the brackets which held the window in place were revealed. Auum nodded for him to continue. Duele worked his knife under the first bracket. The wood squeaked as the bracket bent back, the sound piercing so close but lost in the wind and the hubbub of orders echoing around the walls. Inside the library, they would surely have been heard.

  Duele looked to Auum who raised his eyebrows.

  'We have little choice. Take your time, but be quick.'

  A smile flashed across Duele's face. 'You have spent too much time with The Raven,' he said, bending to his task.

  'We agree there.'

  Four brackets held the window in place. Auum could feel it move easily in his hands after the second was removed. Shortly after, they were able to lever the window up and free, though he held it in place.

  'Bring rope,' he said. 'One length.'

  It came immediately, one end tied around a stone horse's leg. Auum removed the window, looking anxiously down to see the funnel of air playing delicately across loose pages. He grabbed the free end.

  'Lower me,' he ordered, hanging his legs over the edge.

  Duele and Evunn took the strain and he dropped through the small opening, feeling the change as the misty rain and breeze ceased and the atmosphere warmed and quietened. Once clear of the frame, he swung his body and descended head first, his legs balancing his body at an angle. There was no sound from below him. Indeed all he could hear was the strain on the rope as it bore his weight and turned slowly, affording him a comprehensive view.

  He was coming down towards the third-level balustrade. It was a carved marble rail, as wide as his foot was long, off-white in colour and shot through with natural flaws in darker tones. Six feet plus from the woven rug-covered floor, he stopped, the rope played out to its full length. He pivoted again and dropped, landing lightiy and crouching, eyes scanning the floor beneath through the balustrade rail.

  Duele and Evunn joined him, splitting left and right and beginning to circle the floor. Marack and her cell came down behind Sian'erei and Vinuun, the other Al-Arynaar mage. Above them, the gap to the sky whistled and Auum spared it a look before moving off after his Tai towards the stairs.

  Somewhere in here was the Aryn Hiil. Xetesk could keep the other writings if only they could reclaim that which contained so much that man should not discover about the elves and their genesis. Understanding of the Aryn Hiil would give Xetesk weapons against them. One had been unleashed unwittingly already. The others had to remain hidden.

  Slipping silently down the stairs at the head of his people, Auum could feel the power of the work that surrounded them, as if each leather-bound volume, each protective parchment case and each glass display cabinet fought to contain the knowledge within. So much of Xetesk's history was here. So much havoc could be wreaked by its destruction.

  But that was for men to decide. Once the Aryn Hiil was retaken, the elves had but one more task on Balaia before they left it forever.

  The Raven, bolstered by Rebraal and two Al-Arynaar mages, moved quickly through the block of administrative offices that bordered the

  Mana Bowl on one side and were accessed through doors set into the eastern arc of the central dome of the tower complex.

  Rebraal had made short work of a locked window, allowing them into the building, and, with Denser able to advise on the position of locks, wards and alarms progress was fluid. Soon they were gathered by a door into the dome itself. In their wake lay a short corridor and six offices for the use of the Circle Seven's private secretaries. Nothing useful had been gleaned from them, despite Denser having hoped they might gain clues as to who was in residence. Unfortunately, given the lights they'd already seen, it was likely every tower was currendy occupied.

  The Unknown Warrior took a moment to collect himself. He knew exacdy what lay through that door. Last time he had seen it, it had been from behind the mask of a Protector. It was a majestic place. The bases of the six ou
ter towers bordered it, the column of the central tower drove straight through its centre and down to the Heart. Its alcoves held statues of great masters long gone, the tower columns were carved with murals and warnings, the floor was spectacular tiled marble. And winding passages radiated out to a maze that led to the doorways to the towers and, ultimately, the catacombs.

  He couldn't help it, he shuddered. Down there, lost in the network of chambers, tunnels, caverns and hallways was the Soul Tank. Every Protector was taken there to see for himself where his soul was held and why his thrall was binding until death. He winced as a hand touched his arm.

  'Suffering, big man?' asked Hirad.

  The Unknown nodded. ‘Ican feel them. No Protector likes to be this close to the Soul Tank. Standing outside your own prison brings a pain I cannot describe in here.' He touched his chest above his heart.

  'And tonight the means to release them can be in our hands. We know it must exist,' said Denser.

  ‘Idon't share your confidence,' said The Unknown. 'And I don't know if we should release them, even if we discover how.'

  'That's a question for later,' said Denser. 'There's much for us to do here. One thing at a time, eh?'

  Another nod from the Unknown. He swallowed, unable to push the visions from his head. He focused hard on what they'd agreed.

  'Go, Denser. Let's get this over with.'

  Hirad grunted. 'Time to strike back.'

  Denser crouched by the door. There was no conventional lock. What held the offices from unwelcome visitors was what Denser described as a magical door wedge. It was moved at dawn every day and replaced every night by the tower master, a mage with influence only bettered by the Circle Seven themselves. Not a difficult spell to overcome but, like everything in Xetesk, it could link to a hidden trigger that might do anything from setting off an alarm to firing a disabling spell.

  'Nothing here,' said Denser. 'No. Hold on.' He fell silent again. 'Ah. Clever. Very clever.' He chuckled. 'Hold on.'

  He drew in a deep breath and held it. The Unknown looked on, brow creasing deeper and deeper. Denser was working his fingers at an extraordinary rate. All the movements were minute but there was an order and complexity at which he could only wonder. The casting, or teasing of mana as The Unknown suspected it was, went on far beyond the time Denser should surely have taken a breath. His face displayed no discomfort and his face defined his level of concentration, eyes screwed tight, jaw clenched, neck muscles corded.

  At the last, he shuddered. 'Release,' he muttered and rolled onto his back, to exhale and heave in a fresh breath. They gathered above him, looking down as he recovered himself.

  'What the hell was all that about?' asked Hirad. 'You mages make things so difficult for yourselves, you know. Keys. They make sense.'

  'The whole point is that the Tower Master should be alerted if someone tries to break in,' managed Denser.

  ‘Iexpect they'd just come in through the window like us, wouldn't they?' Hirad held out a hand and helped Denser to his feet.

  'Thanks. You see, what you don't know is what we've triggered, coming through the windows and the office doors. It's a clever system and I'll explain it to you some other time.'

  'So what did you do this time?' asked The Unknown, happy to be distracted.

  'The Tower Master had a single strand of mana attached to the holding spell on the door. I suspect releasing the spell would have the effect of a ringing a bell in his chambers. I had to put in a lattice that would keep the strand at the right focus – that's tension to you, Hirad – and for that I had to calculate the focus. Not simple but not insurmountable.'

  'And you reckon you got it right?' asked Hirad.

  'No, I'm just killing time until the Tower Master gets here.' Denser shook his head.

  Hirad suppressed a laugh. 'Not bad, Denser. Not bad.' He sobered almost immediately. 'But not Ilkar. Not yet.'

  'Let's form up, Raven,' said The Unknown, taking the cue. 'Hirad, with me, Rebraal, your bow behind us. Mages centre, Thraun, Darrick you get the rear. And no debate. We see someone, we kill them. With one exception. Everyone understand? Denser, we'll do best with a SpellShield from you, I expect. Erienne, you and the others remember, no casting unless we're caught. We can't afford to be discovered through the mana spectrum.'

  The Unknown indicated to Hirad to open the door. He stood to one side as the barbarian edged the gap wider. The domed hall was chill. Lanterns and braziers hung from wall spurs, the arcs of the outer towers and around the circumference of the dominating central stack that was Dystran's seat of power.

  It was a huge chamber. The dome wrapped the towers some thirty feet above their heads. Directly ahead and mostly hidden by Dystran's tower, the massive gold-embossed arched wooden and iron doors kept out the night, reflecting the brazier and lantern light. Far left, a more sedate set of red-curtained doors led into the banqueting area while to the right, reception rooms were similarly shrouded, closed and empty.

  But it was the unlit openings that set The Unknown's pulse quickening. There were seven. They twisted around and down, led to blind alleys, wards, alarms and, for the mage or guard trusted enough to know, to the base of spiral stairs and the top of the entrances to the catacombs. Seven up to the towers, seven down to where, historically, the seat of Xetesk's learning lay.

  'Ahead,' whispered Denser. 'Skirt Dystran's tower to the left; we're headed for the curtained passage to the left of the dome doors.'

  The Unknown led them out, his footsteps muffled by the cloth still wrapped around his boots but torn and wearing thin. The marble would give them away if it could. So would his breathing, the creak of his armour, the heat from his body or the call of his soul. Gods, he was prepared to believe anything would. The trouble was, if one Protector was near enough, they would be discovered through him.

  A knife was in his hand now and he indicated to Hirad to keep an eye right while he took left, knowing those behind him were doing the same. It was a walk that went on forever beneath Xetesk's most secure quarters. Every pace could bring doom so quickly. Each footfall might reveal those that surely waited for them.

  The Raven crept gradually around the base of Dystran's tower. Pace by pace, their target passage was revealed and, inch by inch, he began to believe they would reach it without incident.

  Footsteps. Echoing. The direction hard to tell but the sound was growing. The Unknown clenched his fist. The Raven stopped, the Al-Arynaar half a pace slower. Rebraal's bow tensed. Hirad gestured left, the other side of the tower. The Unknown nodded, pointed either side of the tower and shrugged. Hirad shook his head. Denser pointed left and raised his eyebrows. Mouthed 'trust me', and began to edge back the way they had come. Right now they were visible from the dome doors. Whichever way the enemy came around the pillar, that was bad.

  The footsteps were from more than one person, walking briskly, and clearly now from one of the tower entry passageways. The Unknown locked eyes with Rebraal. He nodded his readiness. All they could do now was to wait.

  Men came into the dome. The muffling of the echoes gone as a curtain was pulled aside. The footsteps clattered across the marble, steelshod toe-caps and heels tapping out counter-rhythms. Soldiers. That was something.

  There were two of them. Cloaked, helmets under one arm and marching purposefully towards the dome doors. They were talking, one plainly disagreeing with the other. The Unknown recognised the profile of the older one. The younger, the angrier one, he didn't.

  He held up a hand, putting it in front of Rebraal's arrow. The Raven watched the men through the doors, which opened and closed for them, the guards on the outside not looking in as they pulled the slick-hinged and counterweighted halves together.

  'Well, well,' whispered The Unknown. 'Still alive.'

  'Who?' said Hirad, voice dead quiet.

  'Suarav,' said The Unknown. 'Must be the oldest soldier on the staff if he trained me, eh?'

  'And the other was Chandyr,' said Denser. 'Reporting to Dystran, the pair
of them no doubt. Well, Raven, that's the heads of defence of city and college introduced.'

  ‘Icould have had them,' said Rebraal, bowstring relaxed once more.

  'Not both of them and not without risk,' said The Unknown. He stared squarely at Hirad. 'We aren't here to kill unnecessarily. Come on. We've work to do.'

  For Ranyl, rest was elusive. A new pain had been growing just beneath his ribs above his stomach and he feared that very soon even the thin soups he was currently able to take in would prove too much.

  Now, even his familiar was asking him to submit to spells to numb the agony. He had seen the referred pain in the creature's eyes but was still determined that he would not allow others to cast on him that which he could not cast himself.

  Having abandoned all hope of sleep, Ranyl had retreated to his most comfortable and supportive upright chair. His familiar had added logs to the fire, before curling up in his bed as a feline to sleep. Burrowing under the covers for warmth, his vitality was fading as his master slipped slowly away.

  Ranyl knew he wouldn't be seeing too many more dawns. It was an abiding sadness. From his highest balcony, he had seen the most spectacular fire-red dawns when the season was right. But autumn was more than a lifetime away.

  Perhaps worse, though, was that he was unlikely to see the outcome of the war or the final fruition of either the elven or dimensional researches. He allowed himself a smile. Good of Dystran to give him so much involvement. Further sign if it was needed that

  Dystran had become a worthy and wily Lord of the Mount. After all, he had only allowed Ranyl access to such potential influence in Xetesk after discovering early that the cancer would be terminal.

  Before Ranyl had, in fact.

  Still, at least he would witness the first use of the adaptable dimensional magics gained from the understanding of the ageing Al-Drechar and the dragon, Sha-Kaan.

  And there was another regret. How he would have loved to have met them, elf and beast alike. Again, though, he conceded he should really be grateful. He had, after all enjoyed a key decision-making position in these central affairs.