Gates of Ruin (Magelands Eternal Siege, #6)

by Christopher Mitchell

  Old Alea had remained like a rock amid a storm, solid and secure, with only a few vibrations shaking the crystal chandeliers in the Governor’s residence. Edmond had sent Belinda to her quarters when they had returned from the battlements; he was embarrassed by her tears, and had told her that they made her face look unattractive. He had also set a vague departure time, announcing that they would leave for Implacatus in the morning as, by that time, Old Alea itself would become unstable. He hadn’t asked her if she wanted to leave with him, and she hadn’t refused to go, her spirit defeated. Lostwell had been Nathaniel’s creation, and Edmond was taking a certain pleasure from destroying the work of his rival’s hands.

  She watched as another earthquake opened up a crack in the ground by the Central Pits. The stone buildings had been packed with refugees following the giant waves, but the collapse of the main arena had killed many and had driven the others away, sending them eastward to spill out into the countryside beyond the city limits, where thousands of other survivors had clustered. A solitary greenhide had lived through the destruction of the Blue Thumbs training facility, and was stalking the broken neighbourhoods, cutting down any Torduan it could find, and pausing to eat the flesh of those who had fallen.

  The crack in the ground widened, and an entire row of tenements plunged into the hole as the ground beneath them buckled and rose. There were no screams, for the street had already been emptied of anyone still alive and, apart from her, there was no one there to witness its destruction.

  She had searched for the ship that had been carrying Corthie and Silva, but there were dozens of such vessels littering the submerged coastline; broken hulls and snapped masts lay strewn by the new edge of the ocean, the wind fluttering the ripped canvas of the sails that sat half-buried in mud. The waves had borne thousands of bodies out to sea, and were in the process of pushing them all back inland again; they bobbed along with the tons of flotsam and debris clogging the wide bay.

  She stilled, trying to listen for any signs of powers being used, but her skills at detecting other gods or mages were crude and unpractised. She could sense if a god in the same room as her was using vision, but over an area as large as that of Alea Tanton, any such signal was lost in the background noise of destruction. Silva could be alive, she knew; her self-healing powers should have ensured her survival if the ship had been hit by one of the waves, but she could be anywhere. The currents could have thrown her miles out to sea, or she might be one of the bodies bobbing in the bay, still too weak to swim to shore. Belinda moved away from the coast, and looked down on the fields and roads that lay to the east of the city. Every farmhouse had collapsed in the succession of earthquakes, but it was still the safest place to be, and exhausted, ragged groups of civilians had gathered there in their thousands. Granaries and barns had been plundered in the survivors’ search for food, and several farmers and their families had been murdered by desperate and hungry bands of looters. As well as the brutality, many small acts of generosity and kindness had been on display – people sharing what food and drink they had with strangers, and cases where men and women had run back into collapsing buildings to rescue those who had been trapped.

  Finally, after searching for hours, she found Corthie. He was on foot, leading a horse southwards along the farm tracks to the east of the city. A man was with him, the same man who had persuaded her to revive Corthie in the cavern of Fordamere. He was limping and looked exhausted, but Corthie was urging him onwards, his will undimmed, and Belinda’s heart filled with love and pity at the sight. She wished she could enter his mind, to tell him to keep going, to tell him not to give up, but that wouldn’t have been fair. Like everyone else on Khatanax, Corthie was doomed.

  She sensed a knock on her door, then realised it had been going on for some time. Her vision snapped back to her head and she sat dazed for a moment, the image of Corthie leading the horse imprinted into her mind.

  ‘Your Majesty?’ said a voice from through the door.

  She stood. Her chambers were in darkness, as she had been using her powers throughout the evening and had not bothered to light any lamps. She walked through the shadows to the front door of her quarters and opened it.

  Two men in Banner uniforms were standing outside. By their feet were two crates – one long and narrow, the other tall and wide.

  ‘Good evening, your Majesty,’ said one as they both bowed their heads.

  ‘Have you been knocking long? I’m sorry; I was… distracted.’

  One of them glanced at her face, and she realised that her cheeks were wet from tears. She wiped them and tried to smile, but the muscles around her mouth wouldn’t respond.

  ‘We have a delivery for you, your Majesty,’ said the soldier. ‘The chief artificer sent us up here to make sure you received the goods in person.’

  ‘A delivery?’

  He gestured to the two crates. ‘Should we bring them inside for you, your Majesty?’

  She narrowed her eyes for a moment, then nodded, and the two men lifted the crates and carried them into her living room. They set them down on the rug by a low table, and bowed again.

  ‘Have you been given any orders to evacuate?’ she said.

  The two soldiers glanced at each other.

  ‘No, your Majesty,’ said one.

  She nodded. ‘Thank you for bringing me… whatever it is you’ve brought me.’

  The soldiers bowed again, then left her quarters. She closed the door behind them and lit a wall lamp. The small flame grew, its light flickering around the grand chamber. She sat on a couch and looked at the crates. She leaned over and lifted the lid off the long, narrow one first. Inside, nestled upon a bed of straw, was the rebuilt Clawhammer. Its new handle glowed in the lamplight, the etchings and engravings standing out. Leather had been wrapped round one end as a grip, while at the other end, a new metal headpiece had been attached. It had been formed into the shape of a skull, and two of the three greenhide talons were protruding from the eye sockets, while the third was jutting out from the jaws. At the rear of the skull was a short, curved steel spike. She lifted it from the crate. In many ways, it was a different weapon from the one that Corthie had wielded in the City of Pella and the Falls of Iron, but the greenhide claws were the same as those he had taken on his first day beyond the Great Walls. She wept as she held it; the work had been in vain.

  She set it back down, wiped her face and removed the lid from the taller crate. She pulled out the loose straw and frowned down at the contents. The artificer had made her a new set of armour, and the pieces were stacked inside. She withdrew a shining steel breastplate, and held it up to her chest. It was edged in burnished bronze, and looked like it would fit her perfectly. Why would the chief artificer send her such a gift? Was he trying to curry favour with an Ascendant? Perhaps he had seen or heard about the state of her old leather armour, with the hole through the cuirass that Sable’s sword had made outside Yoneath. That old armour had served her well for years, but had given her the appearance of a common soldier rather than the Third Ascendant. The steel armour would change that, if she ever decided to wear it. She doubted she would – what need would she have for armour once she had been enslaved as Edmond’s wife?

  She shuddered at the thought, then her mind went back to Corthie and the horse. A new determination began to arise in her. What if she could get her hands on a Quadrant? She would only need a second to grab one, and then she could be gone. She could rescue Corthie and they could flee the destruction of Lostwell together; perhaps hide in the City of Pella, anywhere, as long as Edmond wasn’t there. She realised how much she hated the Second Ascendant. The devastation of Alea Tanton had so consumed her thoughts that she had almost overlooked his role in it. He had murdered a million mortals, and had set in motion a process that would kill everyone else.

  She replaced the lids on the two crates and stood. Edmond had a Quadrant, and so did Lord Bastion. Arete also had one, while Leksandr’s would be located somewhere in the residence. Four
Quadrants; surely she was capable of stealing one of them. She walked to the door of her quarters and went out onto the landing. Two guards were at their posts, while a small cluster of her servants were standing by the stairs, having been banished from her rooms when she had arrived back from the sea wall. They bowed to her, but she ignored them and ascended the steps to the top floor of the tower.

  Two soldiers were standing outside the door to Leksandr’s old rooms, where Edmond and Bastion had taken up residence.

  ‘Is the blessed Second Ascendant in?’ she asked the soldiers.

  They bowed.

  ‘His divine Grace has gone up onto the roof, your Majesty, along with Lord Bastion and the Seventh Ascendant,’ said one.

  ‘I think I shall join them. How do I get onto the roof?’

  One of the soldiers walked to a small side door and opened it, revealing a set of stairs going upwards.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Belinda.

  She went through the doorway and climbed the narrow stairs. At the top, she emerged onto a wide, flat roof with a low wall ringing the perimeter. Chairs had been carried up, and Edmond was sitting with his feet up on a stool, drinking red wine as he gazed down over Alea Tanton. Bastion was standing by his shoulder, his hands clasped behind his back, while Arete was sitting next to Edmond, a glass also in her hand. She was laughing, then stopped as she noticed Belinda.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ said Edmond. ‘I didn’t think we’d see you again this evening. How are you feeling? Are you still upset? Would you like some wine? Bastion, pour her a glass.’

  Belinda sat on an empty seat across from Edmond, and took the glass of wine that Bastion had prepared for her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘We’ve been amusing ourselves by watching all the fun,’ said Edmond. ‘Mortals are so predictable; shrieking and wailing, and running around like frightened sheep.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction from her, but she kept her features impassive. ‘Many are probably praying to me,’ he went on; ‘can you imagine? I was thinking of saving one or two of them; maybe a couple of the green-skinned variety, to take back to Serene as specimens for the lore masters to dissect. What are they called again; those green people?’

  ‘Fordians, my lord,’ said Bastion.

  ‘Yes, that’s right; another of Nathaniel’s clever inventions. He was so inventive. Imagine coming up with salve, not to mention another world populated by mortals with powers. So very, very inventive.’ He glanced down at the city and frowned. ‘Those fires in the Shinstran district appear to be going out; we can’t have that.’ He raised a hand, and the flames around the Southern Pits grew in size, spreading from rooftop to rooftop in a roaring inferno. ‘There, that will keep them going for a while. Not that it matters; by this time tomorrow, there will be nothing left to burn. Isn’t that right, Bastion?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘I still haven’t decided what to do about our two prisoners,’ Edmond went on. ‘What do you advise, Belinda?’

  ‘Which prisoners? The cells under the residence are full.’

  ‘Our immortal prisoners – Leksandr, and the other one.’

  ‘Felice, my lord,’ said Bastion.

  ‘That’s right. Felice. My instinct is to save the Ascendant and let the other one perish in the destruction of Lostwell, as a little reminder to the loyal inhabitants of Serene that even gods can die if they cross me.’

  ‘I agree, your Grace,’ said Arete.

  ‘Do you?’ said Edmond. ‘I can sense from your thoughts that you secretly harbour a desire for Leksandr’s death, as this would mean one fewer Ascendant to compete with for my favour. Such thoughts are unbecoming, my dear Arete.’

  Arete’s cheeks flushed and she lowered her gaze. ‘Apologies, your Grace.’

  ‘You can’t help your feelings, I suppose. There, I have decided. Bastion, ensure Leksandr is brought to our chambers in the morning in time for our departure.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  Edmond’s eyes narrowed, and he stood.

  ‘Is something wrong, my lord?’ said Bastion.

  ‘No, not wrong. I have just sensed someone using battle-vision down in the city. An extremely virulent strain. There are no self-healing powers associated with this use of power, therefore I must assume that it is Corthie Holdfast I am detecting. Bastion, can you also sense it?’

  The Ancient turned his gaze to the city. ‘Yes, my lord. Faint, but definitely battle-vision. He’s using it to stay alert, not to fight.’

  ‘Indeed. Send a full regiment of Banner soldiers after him. Tell them that the soldier who brings me his head shall receive a reward of five thousand gold sovereigns.’

  Bastion bowed his head. ‘At once, my lord.’

  Edmond smiled as Lord Bastion descended the stairs. ‘I shall mount it upon the wall of my bedchamber at home,’ he said, ‘where you, my dear Belinda, will be able to gaze at it every day, at least until it rots away.’

  Arete narrowed her eyes.

  ‘I can sense what you’re thinking,’ said Edmond, ‘so it is time to let you in on our secret. Belinda and I will be marrying upon our return to Serene.’

  Arete’s mouth fell open.

  Edmond laughed. ‘You seem surprised, but this wedding has been a long time coming. We shall invite every Ancient to celebrate with us, in order to share our joy, and then we shall rule as husband and wife; the Second and Third Ascendants.’

  ‘But…’ said Arete.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Edmond. ‘Are you jealous? Do you wish you were becoming my bride, Arete?’ He laughed again. ‘Don’t look so terrified; I’m only teasing you.’

  Belinda glanced at him. ‘I hadn’t given you my decision.’

  ‘I know, but is there really anything to decide? Choose now. It’s either marriage or the mask, so choose wisely.’

  ‘You will put me back in the mask if I say no?’

  ‘That’s right; that’s what happens to people who break their vows to me.’

  ‘Then I will marry you, Edmond.’

  He sighed. ‘Excellent. Now, I’ve been thinking about the Sextant. I must say, your idea was a very clever one; I have inspected every inch of the device, and I also believe that a part is missing. I am going to ask you to think very deeply for me, my dear. I know that you can remember nothing prior to the Holdfasts wiping your mind, but I wish you to consider everything that has occurred since. It would make sense that the missing part would be something that could be easily found, therefore I believe that you would have hidden it in plain sight. Has anyone given you anything since you arrived in Khatanax? An heirloom of some kind, or a trinket? It could be anything, but I suspect it would be made of metal. Does any of that seem familiar?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘That answer was too quick. Either you didn’t think it through, or you already know what the missing part is, and you’re keeping it from me. Which is it?’

  ‘Neither, Edmond. I had already considered this, and I can’t think of anything that fits the description.’

  He stared into her eyes. ‘I wonder what secrets are in there. Not being able to read your thoughts makes you all the more enticing to me, and you enflame my desires like no other woman ever has. I would lie with you this night but, alas, I must stay here to supervise the annihilation of Lostwell. Tomorrow night, my dear, when we are safely back in Serene, I will show you how much I love you, and you will love me in return.’

  Belinda said nothing, as fear gripped her heart.

  ‘You’ll make a lovely couple,’ said Arete.

  ‘Indeed, we shall.’

  Belinda got to her feet. ‘I think I will retire for the night.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Edmond. ‘Get some rest.’

  She turned and walked to the stairs, amazed at her ability to hide her true feelings. She had wanted to scream when Edmond was telling her his plans for the following night, and yet she had kept her face steady throughout. He must realise that she was unw
illing, she thought; he had to, didn’t he? Or was he delusional, believing that she was as besotted with him as he was with her? Her thoughts turned to escape as she descended the steps. Running away would mean her death in the ruins of Lostwell, but death sounded a better prospect than either the mask or getting married to Edmond. She reached the landing and went down the main stairwell to her own quarters, ignoring the cluster of servants standing outside. She went in, lit a few lamps, and sat on a couch, her head in her hands. It would be simpler to end her own life, but she didn’t know how. The Clawhammer was lying in its crate, but she doubted she would be able to use it to kill herself. What else did she have?

  A sword, she thought; she had a sword.

  She frowned. The Weathervane. A chill ran down her back, then she sprang up and ran to her bed chamber. She threw open the doors of the wardrobe, and pushed past her old, battered leathers to find the sword in its sheath at the back. She grabbed it, and drew it from the scabbard. Its dark metal blade glimmered in the lamplight.

  She stared at it. The Sextant’s missing part; it had to be, and it had been sitting in her wardrobe the entire time. Did Edmond already know, or had he been trying to trick her into revealing it? If so, then he was probably watching her at that moment, and she had just given him the information he needed. She sheathed the sword and hurried back into the living room, half-expecting the front door to crash open.

  If she was right, then what would Edmond do next? He wouldn’t come downstairs himself; he would send a lackey. He would send Bastion. She knelt by the tall crate and opened it, gathering up the loose straw and throwing it to the side. She laid out the pieces of armour on the rug, then began to strap them on over her clothes. She had no mail or padding, but the pieces fit her well, and weren’t too uncomfortable. She attached the Weathervane to her belt, then stood and looked at her reflection. The armoured woman in the mirror frowned back at her, her eyes seared with a ferocious determination.