No ledges. No cuts in the stone. Just smooth, featureless wall. She'd been hoping to see a foothold or something once she got closer to it, but that hope had turned out to be so much nightsoil. She gritted her teeth. Nothing to either side of her, either. She got the distinct idea the architect had been warned that burglars and prowlers might just have some interest in infiltrating the fabulously wealthy interior of the Exchange.
Backing down meant failing Galand and getting a beating from Bilton. Still the generally preferable option, considering that trying to go up meant falling to death, but Raxa had the curse of talent, which meant she did have a way up—or a chance at it. She'd never actually tried it, because if she was wrong about it, it could mean the instant loss of her hands, feet, or maybe even the entire building.
But compared to what was coming for them, those were all pretty small losses, weren't they?
She glanced down, making sure Bilton wasn't looking directly at her, and shifted into the shadows.
Nether sprung up, appearing as silver-black sparks and gobs lurking within the wall of the Exchange. Raxa lifted her right shoe from the ledge she was standing on, brought her knee to her chest, then extended her foot directly into the rock wall, which seemed to offer no resistance at all. She reached up and pushed her left hand into the rock as well.
Whispering a prayer to Carvahal, the lord of all thieves and troublemakers, she shifted back into the real world.
She held her breath, expecting to see her hand bitten off by the stone. It was buried to the wrist in the wall. Stuck fast. She gave a slight tug, then a hard one. Nothing popped loose.
Her right foot was embedded in the wall, too. She now had two better anchors than iron pins. Using them, she pushed herself upward, her left foot and right hand now pressed against sheer rock, with nothing to support them from beneath.
Next came the other dicey part. She bounced back into the nether, everything going all eerie and silver-lined. This time, she lifted her left foot and right hand as high as she could, inserting them into the rock, then dislodging her other foot and hand from it.
Back to the world of things again.
She'd switched anchors, allowing her to rise another yard higher. Sweat popped up across her back. She grinned. Two more quick repetitions, and she was up to a narrow window. A few seconds after that, and she was rolling over the lip of the roof.
She looked down to discover that all six men still in the street below were looking up at her like she'd just committed a feat of magic.
Raxa held still, waiting for them to begin yelling for her capture. Bilton's face was too far below her to read in the darkness. He lifted his right hand in salute.
Raxa let out what she hoped would be her last sigh of relief of the night and walked across the roof toward the two raised, pitched portions of it. She'd spent enough time breaking into expensive buildings to have a makeshift apprenticeship in architecture, and just like she'd hoped, the two strips of roof had been elevated to provide sunlight to the large central hall of the Exchange where the meet was to take place. The windows were paned with quality glass, almost perfectly clear but for a few ripples. A narrow catwalk ringed the interior.
She headed back to the edge of the roof, hunting for Sorrowen, but she didn't see his silhouette among any of the soldiers Bilton had posted in the streets below. Adaine showed up a few minutes later, entering the Exchange in the company of multiple bodyguards and a handful of stuffy-looking guys Raxa was almost certain were priests.
The foreigners came around five minutes after that. Raxa was used to seeing outsiders in the streets of Narashtovik, merchants and pilgrims from Gask, Gallador Rift, the Western Woduns, and so forth, but these guys were really foreign, almost as much as the norren. They were pale even by Narashtovik standards, with night-black hair above faces that looked like…well, Raxa couldn't decide whether they were delicate-looking men or stern-looking women. They were thin, too, thin like water-striders, yet seemed strong despite that.
And they weren't all rickety-looking. Three of them were dressed in full armor, stuff that looked like it was welded from dragons' scales, with helmets like monsters. Slightly curved swords hung from their hips. Shadows slithered around the hilts and scabbards.
The Tanarians entered the exchange. Raxa loped over to the windows. Sixty feet below her, Ordon Adaine waited expectantly. But they were inside and she was outside. She moved to a column of stone between two windows and slipped into the darkness. She walked right through the wall and onto the wooden catwalk on the other side. She crouched down and came back to the normal world.
The Tanarians were just entering the hall. Adaine's men got very alert. Adaine himself stood there like you couldn't drag him off with a team of horses.
The foreigners came to a stop across from him. The tallest of the outlanders took another step forward. "I am Etan Yoto, known as the Drakebane, new sovereign of Bressel."
"You shouldn't call yourself that," Adaine said.
"Yet it's true."
"Bressel can only be ruled by the line of kings of Mallon."
"And yet," the Drakebane repeated, "it is true. You are Ordon Adaine?"
"I am. Why are you here?"
"Whether the question is why am I here in this building myself, or the larger one of why I have brought my people to Bressel, the answer is the same: the Eiden Rane has emerged from his iron prison to lay siege to the world."
"The Eiden Rane," Adaine said. "We have heard rumors that your homeland has given birth to a dark god."
"A god? I'm not so sure about that. He was born a man like you or me. He has become something more, but if he was a god, I think that others would have stepped forth to put an end to him."
"Unless they turned him on your land as punishment."
"That is not what happened. He was a lone man who, many centuries ago—long before myself or any of my people were alive—pursued black arts in the name of personal power."
Adaine chuckled, tilting his head. "If the sovereign of Tanar Atain is this spiritually bereft, it's no wonder the gods decided to punish you. Is the answer so obscure? The test isn't the Eiden Rane of today. The Eiden Rane has always been the test. You've failed it for centuries, one time after another, until your failure grew too much for even the most merciful of gods to deny any longer. That is when they stripped your country from you."
"Even if that's true." The Drakebane's voice was now as sharp as the Bone Sword. "Then why did Bressel fall to me? Have you failed the gods as well, that they'd take your country from you?"
Adaine was silent a moment. "It is clear that we are now being tested, too. Passing this test will be my life's work."
"It is one we should both want to pass. That is why I agreed to speak with you—and in person. In time, the Eiden Rane will come for Bressel. It will be sooner rather than later. When that day comes, if every power in this city doesn't stand together against him, then nine-tenths of us will be turned into his Blighted slaves—and the remaining tenth will be fed to them."
"You want me to stand with you? You, who are the only reason the Eiden Rane has any interest in our city? You, who murdered my king, our vessel of the heavens, and replaced him with yourself?"
"Yes. Because if we don't stand together, the lich will destroy every last one of you, and your nation will fall just as mine did."
"This decision must be part of the test." Adaine looked up. He seemed to be staring straight at Raxa, but she suspected he was waiting for Taim to punch out the windows with his mighty fist and give a godly thumbs up. Adaine took a long breath, then swung his gaze to the Drakebane. "If we fight him. If we win. Will you return to your own land, and forfeit all claim to this one?"
"I am only here for two reasons: to preserve my people, and to strike down the lich. The Tanarians belong in Tanar Atain. If we cleanse it of our foe, that is where we will return."
"Very good. Since you admit you have no rightful claim here, you will step down immediately, allow Crown Prince Sw
ain to ascend the throne, and swear your allegiance to him in mutual defense."
The Tanarians rippled. The Drakebane shook his head. "That can't be done. I can't give up my people's sovereignty. We are already on the brink of extinction."
"If you care anything for your people, you will agree to put the rightful lord of Mallon in charge of the Mallish defense."
"My line has been fighting the White Lich for centuries. My knights are trained in battle against him. My advisors know his mind and his powers. Let us lead this fight."
"You make your case through reason. Reason is human, and human is weak. We'll ask the gods for guidance."
Adaine reached into his pocket. The three armored knights stiffened. Raxa felt something stir, but she couldn't say what. The priest got out another glass figure, its cuts winking in the candlelight. He dropped it on the floor and bore down on it with his boot, the crumpling sound filling the wide hall.
He withdrew his boot and lifted his hand. Thin lines of ether climbed from the broken figurine. One of the knights took a step closer to the Drakebane, who didn't shy back from the priest's sorcery.
Adaine drifted toward the light, brow furrowed, lips moving silently. Blips of ether shimmered between his hand and the minute pillars rising from the broken glass. Adaine's eyes widened as a quill-thin line rose from the others, climbing higher and higher until it reached the ceiling.
"The pillar of heaven," he said. "There is only one way to restore it: through the restoration of Prince Swain."
"The light told you that?" The Drakebane's voice was a long way from convinced.
"The light tells me everything. Doesn't it speak to you?"
"We know higher powers in Tanar Atain as well. Sometimes, they seem to speak through me. But they don't come in the form of dancing lights."
"The light is the higher power. The light is the way the gods show themselves on earth. If you have turned your back on the ether, the heavens' great gift to us, then I didn't need to consult the light to know that the gods will never support you. The prince must retake his throne."
The Drakebane looked down, hiding an unpleasant emotion. "Once this is over, I will hand all power to the prince, who can come declare war on me and my swamps, if that's what the gods command of you. Until then, we must put aside all anger for the purpose of saving the Tanarians and the Mallish."
"Do you really think your neutered pragmatism can protect us better than divine backing?"
"If the gods are watching, surely they will agree that the only way to stand against a power like this is to stand together."
"Oh, I think Taim will protect us. He always has."
The Drakebane rolled his lips together, glancing away and then back to the priest. "You don't know what is coming for you, sir. The very fact that it has forced me here, where we are now speaking, should tell you everything you need to know."
"Now that you mention it, I think it does," Adaine said. "You were right earlier when you said the gods are now testing the Mallish. This is my test, and I will pass it."
He swept forth his right hand. White light coalesced from the air and the broken glass. The room, once dim, flared brighter than daylight as a thicket of ethereal spears punched toward the Drakebane.
The man next to him cried out, throwing up both hands and striking at the incoming energy with a mismatched blend of ether and nether. The effort was just enough to smash the spears of light into a snowstorm of ether.
"He attacks the Drakebane!" One of the guys in the dragonish armor swept out his sword. Purple stuff crackled along the blade. Shadows, but somehow different. He cocked the weapon and sprung at Adaine.
Adaine didn't so much as look his way, just made a flicking gesture. Light ripped into the man's armor, sending him spinning to the ground as loose scales flew into the air. Adaine clenched his hand and thrust it at the Drakebane.
Nothing happened.
"Treachery!" Bilton yelled, practically squealing. "They've stopped the ether!"
"That's because they're demons." Adaine was perfectly calm. He pulled back the long, loose coat he'd been wearing, revealing a glass rod on his belt, flared head riddled with spikes and star-points. He drew the weapon, which glowed with ether despite whatever the knights were doing to stop it. "But even demons can be slain."
Everything had very quickly gone to hell, and it was obvious that it was about to descend into double hell. Raxa had only signed up to keep tabs on what was happening in Bressel. She absolutely hadn't signed up to leap into the middle of a fight between the Mallish priesthood's nastiest ethermancers and the lich-fighting knights of Tanar Atain. Even if Galand would expect her to, when keeping your end of the deal meant you got killed, the deal was null and void.
Unsure if she was going to be able to do it (in which case she would have just smashed out a window), she switched into the shadows. The silver light shining from the nether was jumping around like it was in pain. Below her in the hall, energies snapped back and forth, writhing to free themselves. She stepped through the stone wall and out onto the roof.
With a wall placed between her and the fighting, the shouting and bashing of weapons halved in volume. The roof was empty. She took a step toward the ledge.
Down in the hall, a young man cried out, his voice both quavering and piercing.
She spun around. Through the glass, she watched as Sorrowen ran from the side and threw himself in front of the Drakebane, his arms spread wide. Two Mallish soldiers stalked toward him, Bilton urging them on from behind.
"You dumb son of a bitch," Raxa hissed. Her body felt like it was pulling itself in opposite directions. She yelled out and ran back toward the windows.
She passed through the stone. The sounds of battle boomed once more. She angled to her right, vaulting off the catwalk. Sixty feet below her, one of the scale-armored knights cut a Mallish soldier in half, gore shooting away from the purple nether coating his blade. Adaine swung his mace at the head of an unarmored Tanarian. By all rights, the glass weapon should have exploded. Instead, the man's head did.
Raxa's toes hit the railing of the balcony fifteen feet below the catwalk. In the normal world, she'd have fallen, but everything was lighter in the shadows. She found her footing and leaped to the level below, bending her knees and springing to the balcony under that. She took the remaining thirty feet in a single bound, knees and ankles jarring even in the strange gravity of the netherworld.
Sorrowen was backing away from one of the knights, who advanced with his sword held before him as Sorrowen tried and failed to grab up handfuls of light and shadow, stymied by an unseen power. Raxa charged. She dipped into one of her many pockets, withdrawing a sewn bag that clacked happily as she knifed it open.
She stepped out of the shadows and whipped her arm underhand. Hundreds of tiny marbles stampeded across the knight's path. His feet flew from under him and he let out a most unknightly cry. At least he hung onto his sword.
Sorrowen gaped. Raxa gave him a hard slap across the face. "Run, you goat-brained idiot!"
Sorrowen glanced past her, confirming the Drakebane had backed away from the front lines, then turned and ran. Raxa zipped back into the nether. She'd only gotten a step and a half away when a giant hand reached out and shoved her back into the real world.
She stumbled at the sudden firmness of the ground beneath her feet. A second knight moved to block her path. Little golden flecks seemed to spin around his hand, but when she blinked, they were gone.
Adaine and company were still battling the Tanarians halfway across the room. Rather than blurting out her allegiances, she grimaced at the knight and drew her hand across her neck in a cutting motion. She meant it to be the equivalent of "cut it out," but immediately recognized her mistake as the knight leveled his sword at her.
"The Drakebane!" she barked. "If you want to save him, get him out of here!"
She couldn't see the knight's eyes within his visor, but the tip of his sword dropped by three inches. He watched her a momen
t longer, then turned to cover the retreat of his lord.
Adaine burst into laughter. Ether flared from his hand; he'd gotten loose somehow. He turned it on the closest soldier, obliterating him.
"Raxa!" Sorrowen called from the doorway out of the hall. Cursing, she jumped back into the dark world and sprinted toward him.
"Take them down!" Bilton ran after her, hands alive with light. "Do not let them escape!"
Raxa was halfway toward the door when she felt something questing after her through the shadows. She reached toward the presence with a glob of nether. If she'd had longer to work with Galand, maybe she could have put a stop to it, but the presence bashed down her efforts and followed them straight to her.
With an audible pop, she was disgorged from the darkness. She ran on. Footsteps thundered after her. Light bloomed from behind her, casting her shadow across the floor, its length shrinking as the ether flew toward her back.
A black bolt ripped past her face, passing so close that if it had been an arrow it would have tousled her hair. It struck the lance of light less than a yard behind her, sending black and white sparks buzzing past her. Sorrowen had left the exit and was galloping back to her, shaping another bolt of nether in his hands.
"Take them alive, Bilton," Adaine said, his voice carrying well now that the Tanarians were in retreat and the room had grown quieter.
Light shimmered around Raxa's legs. They stiffened like rigor mortis, sending her crashing to the floor. Sorrowen yelled out, casting shadows at her with one hand and Bilton with the other, but he was met with a contrary wave of ether, knocking his nether into black dust and wrapping him in a transparent white cocoon.
Raxa tried to wriggle loose, but she could barely move. Bilton walked up behind her, gave her what was either a hard nudge or a soft kick, then moved on to Sorrowen. "You disgusting shadowmonger. If you'd profaned the Odeleon with your darkness, I would have killed you on the spot."
Adaine loomed behind him. After the skirmish, the ordon's clothes were rumpled and his face was sweaty, but his expression was untroubled. "The woman's features are of Narashtovik. The boy's sorcery is of Narashtovik. If I were a less credulous man, I might think my enemy has come to infiltrate me during my time of trouble!"
The Spear of Stars Page 4