by Jen Williams
‘Barlow!’ Tamlyn winced. She’d broken something deep inside. She had to hope it was only a rib or two. ‘I’m coming, Barlow, and if it isn’t ready I will skin you myself!’
Keeping half an eye on the monster she dragged herself to her feet, ignoring the sharp pain in her chest and the terrible stinging agony of her face – what was left of it – and half fell, half ran the rest of the way to the screen.
‘Tamlyn?’ Barlow was at the door again, her eyes wide and her face paper-white. At the sight of Tamlyn she took an involuntary step backwards. ‘What are you . . .?’
‘Run!’
But it was too late. Darkness passed over them and Tamlyn found she could feel the weight of the thing above her, like an impossible mountain hanging in the sky. In her desperation she tried to pull the pouch from its cord and pass it to Barlow – our last chance – but before her fingers found it the stone claw of Joah’s monster closed around her, lifting her off her feet and into the air. She saw Barlow’s face turned up, slack with terror, and then the thing squeezed. The minor pain of her broken ribs was brushed aside in this new agony, and Tamlyn Nox screamed until she had no more air left in her lungs. There was blood in her mouth, hot and salty.
The pressure eased off slightly and she looked around as best she could. There were the thing’s eyes, and now that she was this close she could see that they were just round glass windows, lit from within with sickly purple light. She thought she could see shapes beyond the glass, but her vision was growing dark around the edges.
‘Fuck you,’ she said, before spitting a mouthful of blood onto the creature’s stone fist. ‘Fuck you and the monster you rode in on.’
The claw tightened once more around her body, crushing bone against bone, and then the monster threw her out across the tops of the trees.
57
‘Are you sure about this?’
Frith looked her steadily in the eye, and it took all of Wydrin’s self-control not to wince. The magical outburst at Temerayne, the journey back across the icy wastes to Skaldshollow, the last spells to locate Joah Demonsworn; they had all taken a terrible toll on the young lord, and now he looked close to death, his skin thin and bruised, his hands trembling. But his eyes, still the colour of storm clouds, were unwavering.
‘I can do this,’ he said, and she tried not to notice the effort it cost him just to speak. ‘It is not a spell I have been confident with in the past, but I have been thinking on it, on the words . . .’ He paused to take a breath. ‘As mad as he is, Joah showed me an awful lot during my time as his prisoner. I believe I can get us inside there. You, me and Sebastian. As I moved us before, at the Citadel.’
They were camped within a copse of trees at the top of the low sloping hill to the south-west of Skaldshollow. From their vantage point they could see the jagged hole the Rivener had torn in the southern wall, the deep grooves in the rock it had made as it scrabbled against the stones for purchase, and they could see the Rivener itself, curled awkwardly around the Tower of Waking like an attentive dog. It was full night now, and the city was almost completely dark, save for the violet eyes of the Rivener and the orange glow of a few fires still burning. When they had first come upon that view in the last smears of evening light, Nuava had dropped to her knees in the snow.
‘Where are my people?’ she had said eventually. ‘Have they all run away?’
They could see no one, and no tracks. The city was eerily quiet.
‘He is holding them there,’ Frith had answered, with a certainty Wydrin didn’t bother to question. ‘Those that are still alive, at least.’
Now Nuava was sleeping fitfully, curled up under a blanket next to Mendrick. Prince Dallen had melted away into the woods, intending to scout out the immediate location. Sebastian, tending their small fire, shook his head.
‘This will have to be entirely about surprise and misdirection,’ he said. ‘If he can stop us in our tracks with a single word, then we will have very little time to do this.’ The god-blade lay on the ground next to him. The firelight sent strange ripples of colour across its curious metal. Not metal, Wydrin corrected herself. Not if what Sebastian says is true. ‘We will have to hope that our sudden appearance will throw him off his guard.’
‘Do not worry,’ said Frith. ‘I have no doubt Joah will be very surprised to see my face again.’ He shifted his weight, wincing as he did so. ‘He did seem to develop a certain fascination with me.’
‘But you must let us do the work,’ said Wydrin. ‘You can’t go in there all lit up with fireballs and who knows what else. You don’t have the strength.’
Frith frowned at that. ‘Indeed. Since I am apparently so frail now, you will not mind if I get some sleep?’
Wydrin sat back on her haunches. ‘We make our move in the hour before dawn. Be ready.’
Frith turned his back on them, covering himself over with his ragged cloak. Wydrin waited for his breathing to even out, which didn’t take long at all.
‘He is exhausted,’ she commented to Sebastian. ‘Even just that small conversation wore him out. He doesn’t remember much about our flight from Temerayne, or the journey from Turningspear.’ She pulled a twig up from the ground and used it to push some shapes into the mud. ‘I asked him, and he remembers the sea monster that came for us, but not much else.’
They fell silent for a few moments, the only sound the brittle crackle of the fire and the distant watery drip of snow melting somewhere beyond the trees.
‘How did we get into this mess?’ Sebastian said eventually. He caught Wydrin’s eye and smiled faintly. ‘Even for us, this seems like an especially doomed mission. If Joah is anywhere other than right in front of me, perhaps helpfully bearing his neck for the sword, then I can only see this going one way. Our own mage can offer very little help.’
Wydrin stared at the fire, letting herself become lost in the flames. The heat was a balm against her wind-chapped face.
‘We have to try, Seb. What choice do we have?’
‘I thought we always had a choice.’
She glanced up at him and saw that he was smiling at her, but his eyes were sad.
‘Perhaps you missed the bit about the mad mage with a device that tears the souls from people?’ Wydrin winked at him. ‘Or maybe you thought that was a particularly strange dream you had.’
‘Quite. But I seem to remember that there was a problem with a dragon before, and there was some question over what we would do about it, because we weren’t getting paid, and there was this big army in the way, and you only had the one dagger.’ Sebastian waved a hand airily, as if reciting a list of groceries. ‘My point is, Wyd, that we seem to be racing after Joah Demonsworn by choice. Even if we retrieve the Heart-Stone intact it will do Skaldshollow no good at all now, and I’m getting the impression that the copper promise isn’t what this is about.’
Wydrin returned to poking the earth with her twig. ‘Well. You know. We’re the ones who can sort this out. Who else is going to do it? People will die if we don’t. We’re the Black Feather Three.’ Sebastian grinned at her. ‘All right, shut up. All I know is, that bastard has to pay. For Bors, for Frith, and for the rest of Skaldshollow. I’m not letting it end this way.’
Dallen approached from the darkness, stepping up to the fire warily. Seeing the look that passed between him and Sebastian, Wydrin stood up and stretched her arms above her head until her shoulders clicked, and told them both that she needed to go for a piss. She glanced only briefly at Frith’s sleeping form before she moved off into the dark, walking slowly to let her eyes adjust to the shadows.
When she was some distance from their camp, she heard Mendrick’s voice in her head.
You intend to go through with this, then?
She stopped, keeping herself utterly still, before remembering that such evasive tactics would mean very little to the werken.
It’s a plan, she told him. I think it’s worth a shot.
And what do you suppose your companions would think o
f this plan?
Wydrin grinned to herself in the dark, glad that no one else could see the desperation of it.
Ah, they wouldn’t know a decent plan if it bit them on the arse.
Dallen paced around the fire in a wide circle, his arms crossed over his chest. His movements were precise, controlled. There is a man who has taught himself to conceal his emotions, thought Sebastian. A vital skill in King Aristees’ court, no doubt.
‘You truly intend to go without me?’
Sebastian stood up. The sleeping forms of Nuava and Frith were still. He could hear a faint whistling snore coming from the girl.
‘We need you here, Dallen.’ Sebastian walked around the fire towards him. ‘If this doesn’t work, then you will have to go and speak to your father. I know how unpleasant that will be.’
‘I doubt that you do,’ said Dallen, with a raised eyebrow. His fingers brushed the bear’s tooth that hung at his neck. ‘To him I am no longer his son, Sebastian. He would likely kill me on sight.’
‘Even your father wouldn’t want a demon-worshipping murderer as a neighbour, I’m sure of it.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Particularly a warmling one.’
Dallen ignored his attempt to lighten the mood.
‘I still think you would stand a better chance of succeeding if I were there. The more weapons the better, surely?’
Sebastian reached out and put his hand on Dallen’s arm, the solid shape of his muscles clear through the thin cloth of his sleeves.
‘I won’t lie to you, Dallen. Whether this succeeds or not is largely down to luck. Another sword arm will not help us. And it would put you in danger.’
Dallen did smile at that, although his eyes were still cold.
‘Is it the place of a warmling to tell Narhl royalty when they should or shouldn’t risk their lives?’
‘I – no. Dallen, I know we haven’t known each other very long,’ Sebastian felt his cheeks grow warm, and he glanced back to the fire to make sure the others were still sleeping, ‘but I care about you. I want you. I . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It has been a long time for me, and in the past I have failed to protect those I loved. I won’t fail that way again.’
Dallen stepped fully into the circle of his arms and kissed him, softly at first and then with a growing heat. Sebastian pulled the prince closer, wondering at the icy touch of his fingers as they pressed at his neck, remembering the night they had spent alone outside the cave. All at once it was very difficult to remain standing with any dignity, and he pulled away slightly.
Dallen glared up at him.
‘Go, then,’ he said eventually. ‘Take this with you, though.’ He pulled the cord from around his neck and passed it to Sebastian. Up close the bear tooth was carved with a series of interlocking wyverns. His fingers, when he touched Sebastian’s, were icy cold, and with a shiver he recalled his skin in the darkness, smooth and unyielding as stone. ‘It is the token of a prince, in our lands.’ He tipped his head to one side, not quite a nod. ‘If you show that to my people, they may listen to you.’
Sebastian took the cord and slipped it around his own neck, trying not to think of Crowleo and the blue glass globe he’d given him.
‘I will come back,’ he said.
‘See that you do.’ Dallen took a slow breath. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘I will hold you to your oath, Sir Sebastian.’
58
‘And what should I do?’
It was still dark, with only the faintest band of indigo to the east promising an end to the night. They were as ready as they were going to be, but Nuava was taking some convincing.
‘You look after Mendrick,’ said Wydrin. She had already drawn her weapons, Frostling and Glassheart held loosely in either hand. Frith stood next to her, his hood drawn up to cast his face in shadow. They had all pretended not to notice how difficult it was for him to simply climb to his feet. ‘And keep an eye on our good prince here too.’
Dallen, standing away from the embers of their fire, smiled faintly.
‘This is our best plan, Nuava,’ said Sebastian. He tried to sound more confident than he felt, but the girl just looked at him with wide eyes. She was standing with one arm looped around the werken’s stone neck, as if she could gain strength from his solid shape. ‘You and Dallen should move deeper into the forest, further away from the city, where you can’t be seen. We don’t know exactly what will happen, but if it can be done, we will kill Joah Demonsworn. And we must do it before he kills more of your people.’
‘He will not stop,’ agreed Frith. His voice was a whisper in the dark. ‘He has no care for anything save the accumulation and control of power.’
‘Wait, and watch,’ said Wydrin. ‘It’ll be over soon, one way or another.’
Nuava nodded reluctantly.
‘Let’s do it,’ said Frith, ‘before I fall over.’
Sebastian stepped back and linked an arm through Frith’s, while Wydrin took the other. He made sure to catch Dallen’s eye again, although he found he had nothing to say.
‘When you’re ready, princeling,’ said Wydrin. ‘Let’s go end this bastard.’
Frith tensed, and the darkness of the forest around them began to swirl and twist. There was a terrible wrenching sensation, and, next to him, Sebastian was sure that he would be dashed to the ground, and then the night sky was gone, replaced by a metal ceiling studded with baleful red lights. They were in a large circular room dominated by what looked like a glass tank in an iron wall, and all around them were scattered work tables and benches; just in front of one stood Joah Demonsworn, one side of his face red and glistening, while Ip, grubby faced and short of hair, sat on the table next to him.
There was a beat of silence, during which Sebastian caught Frith’s agonised gasp as the magic exacted its toll, and then all hell broke loose.
Wydrin leapt forward, diving straight for Joah with her sword extended in a killing blow – it drew his eyes to her, and Sebastian took the chance to head to the other side of the mage, drawing the god-blade up and to one side.
A single blow, he thought, and it’s over.
The demon was screaming, the face of Ip twisted into something inhuman, and with a blink Joah seemed to come back to himself. Immediately a wave of invisible force flew at them across the small room, flinging Wydrin back into one of the long tables, while Sebastian staggered back a few paces.
‘Kill them!’ screamed Bezcavar through Ip’s throat. ‘Do it now!’
A fireball surged across Sebastian’s field of vision, exploding just next to where Ip crouched, and he glanced back to see Frith, leaning heavily against the wall with one hand held shakily out in front of him. Sebastian pushed himself forward again, bringing the god-blade around for a second attempt. It sang in his hands, and he could hear a faint whine as it cut through the air, but before he could even get close to Joah, he saw the indigo blade turn suddenly white, and his fingers were a frost-bitten agony. He cried out, trying to drop the sword, but it was frozen into his hands, a thick layer of ice dulling its wicked edge.
‘Quickly,’ cried the demon, ‘kill the knight first! Crush his bones! In my name, Joah! In my name.’
Joah turned towards him, his brown eyes still faintly puzzled – one side of his face was a bloody ruin – and it was as if a huge hand wrapped around Sebastian’s chest and began to squeeze. The sensation moved up his body, ethereal fingers closing around his throat.
‘That’s it!’ Ip was crowing, actually dancing from foot to foot. ‘I want to see the blood run from his eyes, my sweet, I want to—’
‘Wait!’
Wydrin had climbed on top of one of the tables. She had sheathed both her weapons, and was holding out her empty hands, palms out. For a brief moment there was stillness in the room as everyone turned to look at her. Sebastian felt the last of his breath whistling in his throat.
‘Wait,’ she said again, ‘Demon, I have a proposition for you. Stop throttling my friend, and I promise I will make it worth your wh
ile.’
‘You think I could want anything more than to see Sebastian Carverson, oath breaker, die with his own blood on his lips?’ answered Bezcavar, but the girl gestured to Joah and abruptly the crushing pain in Sebastian’s chest and throat vanished. He gasped awkwardly and half collapsed onto the floor.
‘I know exactly what you want, demon,’ said Wydrin. ‘And I’m going to give it to you.’
‘Wydrin,’ Frith’s voice was barely there, and Sebastian could see that the young lord was now kneeling on the floor, his strength completely gone. ‘Wydrin, what are you doing?’
‘See, I know something about you, demon.’ Wydrin walked along the table and idly pushed a bottle off the edge with her boot. It hit the metal floor with a tinkling crash. ‘About this whole deal you have here. Your host has to be willing. Am I right?’
‘No,’ said Sebastian. His throat was an agony but he forced the words out anyway, because he could see where this was going. ‘Wydrin, listen to me.’
‘Your host has to be willing, and young Ip was. What else did she have to live for? They were going to sacrifice her at that temple eventually anyway. But she’s just a human child, and it will take years before she’s the sort of host you can really have fun with.’ Wydrin paused, and scratched her nose. ‘I can see from the bruises on your face, Bezcavar, that you haven’t been having much fun lately.’
‘Get to the point, whore creature,’ snapped Bezcavar.
Wydrin stopped, looking steadily at the girl and ignoring the rest of them.
‘Let Sebastian go and heal Frith of his sickness. Restore him fully, and I will be your willing host.’
Sebastian shoved himself to his feet, still trying to pry his fingers away from the frozen sword.
‘I’m older than Ip by quite a bit,’ continued Wydrin, ‘but I’m not so old. I’m young, and strong, and I have all the skills of a fighter raised in Crosshaven. And it’s been said I don’t scrub up so bad, given enough patience and soap.’