The Iron Ghost

by Jen Williams

  ‘Is it time yet?’ Tamlyn Nox appeared from around the Destroyer’s jutting knee. She was limping heavily, but her eyes were bright. They had already split the last remaining piece of Heart-Stone between her and the Destroyer; she carried it sunk into the palm of her left hand. Nuava had dug out the stone that was already there with the point of her knife, belonging as it now did to a long-since destroyed werken – and the giant beast had its piece secured between the round holes that were its eyes. The Edeian glowed there now, a soft green light under the bright sky.

  ‘Aunt, you should be resting. We agreed that you would get some sleep before we went back to Skaldshollow.’

  Tamlyn Nox scowled at her niece. ‘Sleep? What is the point of sleep? I shall be dead soon anyway.’ She turned her attention back to Frith. ‘What say you, Lord Frith?’ She couldn’t quite keep the scorn from her voice. ‘Is it time for my Destroyer to kill that faithless demon-worshipper or not?’

  Frith looked up at the sky, seeking out the sun. It was a tiny pale disc, frail and impossibly distant. He thought of Sebastian and Prince Dallen, and the small disparate force that would now be massing at the southern gate. He did not know what they would meet on the walls of Skaldshollow, but he suspected many of the Narhl soldiers and the brood sisters themselves would not live to see the rising of another bloodless sun.

  ‘Let us go,’ he said, nodding to the Nox women. ‘Get it ready.’

  Tamlyn Nox grinned, although there was no humour in it.

  ‘Good. I will show the world what a real crafter is capable of.’

  She turned and hobbled away, heading for the frail wooden ladder that snaked its way up the side of the werken’s body. Frith would never have believed her capable of climbing it, if he hadn’t seen her do it several times already. Nuava lingered a moment longer.

  ‘You have changed,’ she said eventually. ‘Since you’ve come back, you have been different somehow. I don’t think I ever liked you, but now . . .’ She frowned at him. ‘Now I feel that we should fear you.’

  Frith looked at her for a moment. ‘Perhaps you should. Go and get the werken ready. I don’t know how long Sebastian’s forces will last out there alone.’

  She glared at him, opened her mouth as if to say something further, and then turned away. Running to the rickety ladder she began to climb, hand over hand, with no apparent fear of the drop below her.

  Frith watched her all the way to the top, and then circled around to watch the Destroyer from the front, marvelling at the craggy expanse of its chest, still hung here and there with moss and vines. The intricate carvings that were the Edeian crafter’s mark were all over it, clustered particularly at its joints, at the places where stone met stone. In the early morning light it made the werken look like a heavily tattooed man, kneeling after a night of too much to drink.

  Tamlyn and Nuava seated themselves in the alcove where the werken’s head met its shoulders and tied themselves in with leather straps; a tumble from the Destroyer would be particularly disastrous. There was a moment of silence – Frith could see Tamlyn and Nuava conferring with each other about something, although he couldn’t hear the words – and then the Destroyer lumbered into life, green eyes flaring like marsh mist.

  Frith stumbled backwards, not quite able to keep a small cry of alarm from escaping his lips. The werken stood slowly, rising from its knees in one movement. Trickles and plumes of stone dust erupted around its lower half as those joints were called into action, and Frith heard the distinct rumble of stone against stone. All around them, the trees exploded with birds suddenly frantic to get away from this unexpected giant. The sky turned briefly black with hurried wings, and when it cleared, the werken was standing, its head bathed in brilliant cold sunshine, its lower half shrouded in the dappled shadow of the forest.

  ‘By all the gods,’ murmured Frith.

  After a moment, the Destroyer leaned forward and extended one great arm down towards Frith. Its hands weren’t really hands at all – again, Nuava said, they did not have time – but rather huge slabs of shovel-shaped granite. With some trepidation, Frith picked up the sack that lay at his feet and climbed up onto the offered hand, and then crouched uncertainly as the werken brought him up and round, next to the wooden platform built around the Destroyer’s waist, some fifty feet off the ground. Frith stepped off hurriedly, before making his way around to the creature’s back, where there were more leather straps waiting for him. Here he would not be in plain sight. The sack containing the Edenier trap he secured just below his feet, taking care to check the straps twice. If the device rolled away from him and over the side, then all would be lost.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Nuava’s voice floated down from somewhere above him. She sounded both excited and frightened.

  ‘I am,’ Frith called back. ‘Let us take our vengeance to the Rivener.’

  There was a deeper rumble of stone against stone, and the forest around Frith lurched from one side, and then to the other. He dug his fingers into the straps and braced his feet against the platform as the Destroyer took its first steps.

  The great southern wall of Skaldshollow lay before them, shattered into pieces. Sebastian could see long gouge marks in the stone that was still intact: the mark of the Rivener as it had invaded the city. There were inert werkens dotted around everywhere – some in pieces, some simply half covered in snow, their riders long since dead – and they had found many frozen bodies on their approach to the wall. Even the Narhl soldiers, who had been making many contemptuous comments about the Skalds since their arrival, said nothing at the sight of those bodies. Many had been crushed, their blood a bright pink stain on the snow, while many others looked like they had been burnt to death by Joah’s attacks. These last the Narhl did their best to ignore completely, given their near superstitious dread of fire.

  ‘Are your people ready?’

  Dallen looked up at the sound of his voice. They stood beyond a row of broken rocks that looked like they had been torn from the wall itself; the Narhl soldiers standing together in a loose mass, talking and joking with each other, and the brood sisters, unconsciously standing in neat rows, their swords held by their sides.

  ‘They are not my people any longer, Sebastian, but yes, this is what they look like when they are about to go into battle.’ Many of the soldiers were passing around horns of strong drink – Sebastian could smell it on the still air. At the back of their company were five wyverns with riders, padding carefully across the snow. On the ground they moved tentatively, like a cat walking across wet ground. ‘They will fight ferociously, I can promise you that. How they will fight alongside their new allies, I could not tell you.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Sebastian tugged at his beard. ‘I think they share a certain love of the fight. As long as they don’t start fighting each other, we should be fine.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what we will find in there?’

  Sebastian looked back to the broken wall. He could see no movement, no sign of any guards left. The eerie red light still hung over the city, poisoning the sky like an infected wound.

  ‘None whatsoever, but if there is anything waiting for us, it won’t be in the spirit of welcome.’

  Sebastian raised his voice, addressing the men and women behind him.

  ‘Once we’re over the wall, head as best you can towards the Tower of Waking. There may be forces opposing you, but I know you can all handle a good fight.’

  There were a few cheers at this from the Narhl contingent.

  ‘By then Lord Frith should have brought us some support, and we will know which way this day is heading.’ He took a deep breath, looking round at them all. Ephemeral stood at the front of the rows of the brood sisters, her face solemn, while King Aristees leaned on the staff of his axe, looking unconcerned. ‘There may yet be survivors in there. If you find some, try to direct them beyond the city walls and into the forest.’ Sebastian paused, thinking of how the last citizens of Skaldshollow might react when faced with a rampaging group of
Narhl, or the brood sisters with their sharp teeth and snake’s eyes. ‘If we can save anyone, then we must at least try.’

  King Aristees bellowed laughter at this. ‘I will direct the mewling Skalds to the blade of my axe,’ he shouted, lifting the weapon and brandishing it at his own soldiers, who roared their approval back. ‘This is the only mercy they need!’

  ‘King Aristees, we have an agreement.’ Sebastian’s voice cut across the merriment. ‘If you would like to break the terms of that, this morning’s battle can go a very different way indeed.’

  Sebastian felt his own irritation reflected in the brood sisters, and enough of them turned to face the Narhl soldiers for King Aristees to put down his axe. Behind them, one of the wyverns opened its jaws and roared in the back of its throat.

  ‘Aye, there’s no need to get twitchy. We are here with you, aren’t we? My soldiers and yours shall fight side by side.’

  Sebastian nodded, then glanced up at the sky. The sun was at its edge, pale and ghostlike.

  ‘Then it’s time. We go fast and we go quiet, at least at first. Follow me.’

  Sebastian ran, keeping low, his sword held ready in both hands. Prince Dallen came next, his ice-spear held at one side. Behind them he heard the sound of a hundred boots running across the snow and rocky ground. Once they were at the broken wall, they began to climb – the Narhl were untroubled by the icy surfaces, while the brood sisters moved slightly slower. Sebastian pulled himself up rock after rock, watching Prince Dallen overtake him easily. When he reached the top of the broken wall, he stood warily, waiting for attack. The gatehouse was ruined, the roof pitched in with a giant boulder, and the street beyond was deserted. In the distance the Tower of Waking rose from the centre of the city like a twisted black stalagmite, and the Rivener was crouched next to it, a cancer on the rock. The shifting red caul of the sky was at its darkest there, as though that were the source of the infection.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ said Dallen, appearing at his elbow. His voice was low. Beyond him, Narhl and brood sister alike were climbing down the shattered wall into the city.

  Sebastian shook his head. He couldn’t tell if it were simply an effect of the sour light, but he felt deeply uneasy now that they were within the walls.

  ‘I don’t know, but I doubt this is the whole story. Come on, let’s get down there. And remember what I said about survivors.’

  76

  ‘How much further?’

  Wydrin reached down and placed her boot in the face of one husk who had managed to climb further than the others. She kicked it off and turned back to Xinian.

  ‘You see the wall that rises above those buildings? That’s our way out.’

  The werkens had eased their journey significantly, but it was still slow going. The Rivened crowded around them as they moved down the streets, and Wydrin and Xinian had the near constant job of repelling those who tried to climb up to them – one or two had even jumped from the roofs of nearby buildings in their desperation to reach the still-living. Bezcavar taunted them from below, speaking through the throats of the dead, but Wydrin thought its voice was growing weaker. Losing his grip on the Rivened, or perhaps it had simply spread himself too thin.

  They reached the end of one street, the small convoy of werkens following on behind, and the vast northern gate was abruptly in sight. Wydrin nodded towards it.

  ‘It might take us some time to get through that, but I reckon we can do it. We’re nearly there.’

  At that moment, the swarming crowds of demon-possessed husks all stopped moving. Instead of pressing themselves towards the werkens they simply stood still, ragged arms lying loose at their sides. And then as one they all turned and ran away, heading south. Wydrin watched with bemusement as the creatures that had harried them since she had woken in the shadowed city streamed past, not even looking up. In a few moments they were all gone, and they were left alone in a deserted street.

  ‘What do you suppose that was all about?’

  Xinian shook her head. ‘Nothing in this place makes sense.’

  ‘At least we will be out of it soon.’ Wydrin gave Xinian a sideways look. She reached out to Mendrick and the werkens began lumbering forward again. ‘What will happen to you? When we pass out of the city?’

  Xinian pursed her lips. ‘I do not know. Perhaps I will keep this solid form, but I doubt it. I am only here because Skaldshollow exists under the shadow of death. When I move beyond it, I may become a ghost again, a spirit in the winds. Or perhaps I shall vanish altogether, and have peace.’

  ‘Do you want to go?’

  ‘If I move on to the next life, there is a chance I will find Selsye again, in one form or another. I do not think she will have forgotten me. Not yet.’

  Wydrin nodded. ‘Well, I would be sad to see you go, Xinian the Battleborn. I think I could learn a lot from you.’ She grinned at the other woman. ‘You are a terror with that blade.’

  Xinian smiled. It lit up her entire face, and Wydrin thought that, once, she had probably smiled often, before she had lost her Selsye.

  ‘You could learn a lot from me, child, because you are a fool.’ She leaned in close. ‘You are willing to die for love, but not to live for it. What are you afraid of?’

  Wydrin felt her cheeks grow warm, and hated herself for it. ‘Oh, you know. The usual. Love is complicated. Love cuts you open and leaves you exposed. Choosing to be vulnerable goes against my nature.’

  ‘So better to be reckless? Better to throw away the chance?’ Xinian reached over and squeezed her arm. ‘If you learn nothing else from this ancient ghost, learn that love makes you strong, not weak. It is your glory and your armour.’

  ‘If you’re going to get all sentimental on me, Xinian, I shall have to boot you into the next life myself.’

  But she put her hand on top of Xinian’s and clasped it briefly. Above them the storm light raged on.

  Sebastian walked slowly, his sword held at the ready. All around him their small force was spread out, moving quietly through the streets. So far they had found numerous bodies, most half hidden under snow, but no living people, and no obvious threat. He glanced behind him to see the wyverns coming along behind – the creatures were reluctant to fly up into that dark red sky, so they were keeping them on the ground as reinforcements. But reinforcements against what?

  Ephemeral appeared at his elbow.

  ‘Report.’

  ‘Nothing so far, Father. There are lots of dead humans here, and a scent of something we do not know – a scent of something evil. We also found a place where the street appears to have been –’ she paused, searching for the right word – ‘gouged open. It has been done recently, and it stretches far across one street and then over several buildings into another.’

  ‘The Rivener?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. Nothing else could have done it. It is both arbitrary and precise, Father. Joah Demonsworn did not care that he destroyed buildings when he carved those lines, but he did care where the lines were.’

  Sebastian frowned. Something about that tickled at the back of his mind, and his sense of unease increased, but he could not think what it could be.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No, Father, although—’

  There was a murmur from the troops ahead of them, and Sebastian raised his hand for quiet. After a moment, he could hear it too; the flat patter of many feet striking cobbles. He looked around, but could see nothing yet.

  ‘What is that?’ asked Dallen next to him. ‘Are those the Skald survivors?’

  ‘I really hope so,’ said Sebastian, but he lifted his new sword, borrowed from the brood sisters.

  They came out of the side street just ahead of them; around a hundred stumbling, shambling men and women, their skins riddled with corruption and lined here and there with a strange, bluish light. When they turned their faces towards Sebastian and his soldiers, they all smiled an identical smile. Their eyes were filled with blood, and Sebastian felt his heart grow cold in his c
hest.

  ‘Oh there you are, Sir Sebastian. I thought I could feel you in this place, and I just had to come and see.’

  The voice, that old, terrible voice, issued through a hundred different throats in an eerie, whispered shout. As Sebastian watched, more and more of the strange walking corpses poured into the street ahead of them.

  ‘Leave these people, Bezcavar,’ he said. His voice felt strangled by his own rage. ‘I will not have you defile them.’

  ‘But they are already dead, Sir Sebastian! Are you really so sentimental over a bunch of walking corpses?’ As one, the bodies at the front of the crowd grinned, revealing blackened gums. ‘But of course you are. You fretted over your ridiculous knights, after all, and they were nothing but walking corpses too.’

  Sebastian hefted his sword. ‘You must be truly desperate, demon, to seek refuge inside that which is already decomposing.’ He nodded to Dallen and Ephemeral. ‘Be ready.’

  ‘Oh, but Sir Sebastian.’ There was glee in Bezcavar’s voice. ‘Don’t you want to know what it was like to be inside your friend’s body? The Copper Cat of Crosshaven, notorious sell-sword and spawn of pirates, was full of concern for you when she died. How does that make you feel?’

  ‘Your taunts mean nothing to me, demon.’

  ‘I left her body to rot on the streets somewhere here. Do you think you will find it, Sir Sebastian, amongst the rest of the dead?’

  ‘This is the end for you,’ said Sebastian. ‘And you are afraid. I know that much.’

  ‘I have a few tricks left up my sleeve just yet.’

  A figure at the front of the crowd, a stout woman with greasy curly hair hanging in her face, lowered her head, body rigid with tension. Her blood-filled eyes creased at the edges and she began to weep bloody tears. When Bezcavar spoke again it came from her throat alone.

  ‘I am the Prince of Wounds, the master of suffering. I give these people my final gift. May they exalt in the twisting of their flesh!’