Master of the Cauldron (51 page)

Valgard stood unmoving, his face as calm as a death mask. Hani wrenched free of his grip. He pointed the athame, started to speak, and choked on his terror.

The cloud had boiled to the trusses of the sanctum's high roof. “The Sister and all Her demons!” Wilfus said. He flung the bottle against the floor, shattering it. He took a step backward.

Sharina snatched Wilfus' dagger out of its belt sheath. Wilfus turned, reaching for her throat with both hands. He shouted, “I'll kill you, you—”

Sharina stabbed the thug at the base of the neck. He fell backward, with blood spraying from his mouth and nostrils.

“Sharina, get through the Mirror!” Tenoctris called. Mogon struck the old woman in the face with his clenched fist. Sharina drove the bloody dagger under Mogon's raised arm and across the width of his chest. He spasmed backward, pulling the dagger out of her hand.

Sharina caught Tenoctris as the older woman crumpled, then carried her through the portal. Sharina's leap was as graceful as a deer's, but she overbalanced on the other side and sprawled full length. By landing on her elbows she kept from battering Tenoctris again. The sod felt cool and soft.

The men around Sharina were shouting, but none of them paid any attention to her. She looked back at the interior of the temple through the square-edged window in the air. The roiling smoke sucked down with a rush, forming a shape that could've been Valgard modeled from purple shadow.

The dark image reached out and gripped both Hani and Valgard by the throat. Valgard stood quiescent for a moment. There was an audible snap, and his head lolled on its neck. Pink, wholesome flesh slumped off the way sand washes from a clamshell. What remained were the bones and rotting muscles of a long-dead corpse. Its features were still recognizably those of the bor-Torials.

“I have use for her bones…,” Hani had said about Sharina. He'd
already used the bones of Valence Stronghand to form a counterfeit heir for the dead king.

The wraith of Stronghand smiled as it continued to squeeze the throat of the wizard who'd stolen its body. Hani's tongue stuck out; his face flushed almost as dark as the thing of smoke that was strangling him. His right eye popped out to hang from the nerve; then the spine cracked. The portal in the air broke into shards like those of the shattered bottle, then vanished.

Sharina lay on a hillside, cradling Tenoctris in her arms. Across a valley to the south she saw Lord Waldron's army flying the standards of Ornifal and the bor-Warrimans. In the distance beyond them were the walls of Valles, and from the nearest gate the People were advancing in close order.

 

“Go up,” Davus said as he bent over the fireset he'd laid just in front of the passage upward into the Citadel. “Your friend Merota's there, Ilna, if she's anywhere; and there's no one better than you to find her.”

He struck a chip of quartz against the golden pyrite crystal in his other hand, showering sparks into the tinder. When he blew softly, flames licked up to wrap the kindling he'd bruised into loose fibers between a pair of large stones.

“Why do you need a fire, Master Davus?” Ilna said. Chalcus was already within the tunnel, just in sight as he waited for her. She thought/felt that she should understand what their guide and companion was doing, though, before they left him behind.

Davus smiled gently as he rose, holding the branches that he'd feed in when the fire had grown to the point it could sustain more fuel. “The passage draws serpents, mistress,” he said. “Now that Arrea isn't here to bar them, many will come. Trying to replace her, you see.”

“I hate snakes,” Chalcus said softly. “I hate them all.”

“They're like people, Chalcus,” Davus said. He squatted and held the ragged end of a branch into the flames though without yet letting it sit on the kindling. “Some good, some bad but—”

He smiled at Ilna. He seemed a different man since he'd lured the echidna to destruction.

“—some would be very bad to have crawling up behind Mistress Ilna
while she's otherwise busy. And I thought I should be the one to bar them here before they enter the passage. Not that I think you're afraid of them.”

“I
am
afraid,” Chalcus said. “It wouldn't keep me from acting, but…you're a clever fellow to have noticed that, Davus; and a friend.”

A snake came out of the underbrush. It was black with a faint chain pattern on its scales; heavy-bodied for being no longer than Ilna's arm. It was quite harmless, the sort of lodger a housewife likes to have in her thatch to keep the mice down.

But some people fear snakes as others fear spiders. Far better that Davus spread hot coals across the tunnel entrance than that Chalcus have to deal with things he feared and hated—though Ilna had no doubt that he could do that, just as he said.

Ilna feared and hated stone.

She walked around Davus and entered the stone tunnel that should take her to a creature whose glance would turn
her
to stone. “Very well,” she said. “Master Chalcus, will you lead or shall I?”

“And am I not leading already, dear heart?” the sailor said as he started up the passage. He'd drawn his sword and dagger. He held the shorter blade forward like the cane a blind man uses to tap his way through darkness, but the long, curved sword was back to thrust at the first hint of danger.

The tunnel was a rising coil, moderately steep but not dangerously so. Ilna'd expected the interior to be pitch-black, but the entrance behind her lighted the lower portion. As they climbed higher the air remained faintly gray—not bright, but at least bright enough to distinguish space from stone.

But stone—dense, black basalt—was on all sides.
This is very unpleasant,
Ilna thought; and grinned. If she'd spoken those words to strangers, they'd have been taken as a mild complaint, no more than another person saying, “I've drunk better ale than this.”

In fact, the comment was as damning as Ilna could make. She didn't choose to raise her voice when she was complaining, that was all. And of course she
hadn't
spoken the words aloud.

Chalcus didn't speak either as they went up. That was natural caution since they were entering the lair of a creature that would kill them or worse if it caught them, but it wasn't just the stone that made Ilna draw into herself as she did in times of stress.

Davus had said that the tunnel was a natural formation that been improved over the years. Now that she was in it, she wondered whether the improvements had anything to do with human beings. The coil was perfectly regular, the sort of pattern a worm might've made gnawing through the rock.

A worm, or something less familiar than a worm. Perhaps the sort of thing that grew in the living corpse of an echidna after eating its host's brain.

Ilna smiled. Arrea'd gotten what she'd demanded, and the world was better for that happening. Ilna was getting what she'd demanded also, passage into the Citadel of a monster greater by far than the echidna. If things went badly, there'd be no lack of people who'd say that too made the world a better place.

The not-darkness ahead of them was becoming actual light. There were even hints of color, the trembling hues of a rainbow. Chalcus hesitated for a few heartbeats as a silent warning to Ilna, then continued.

She followed, still smiling faintly. Generally when Ilna went into a dangerous situation her hands would knot patterns in twine, less for use than to settle her mind. Now Chalcus' hands were full, so if anybody was to snatch Merota and run off, it had to be Ilna herself. It wasn't likely she'd get the opportunity, but that slight chance was the only reason she and Chalcus had come there.

Ilna was becoming more sure with every step up the curving slope that Davus had different reasons for guiding them, though. She was beginning to understand the pattern of events, though it wouldn't make any difference in how she acted.

Chalcus stopped. Beyond his poised figure was brilliant light, colors split and rejoined by the facets of the Citadel's crystal crown. The only sounds were the deep whisper of air breathing up the tunnel behind them and the rapid beat of Ilna's heart. Chalcus stepped into the structure, and she followed.

She halted to take in her surroundings. The crown was beautiful, a word she'd never thought she'd use to describe stone. She didn't
like
it, but Ilna gave everything its due; anything less would be a lie.

Chalcus frowned, disoriented by the highlights and distortions of the crystal walls. The crown was a series of coiled tubes, laid within and above one another. There were openings within the walls from tube to tube, but
the whole was knotted in a system as complex as Ilna's finest work. She followed the pattern in her mind, untroubled by the confusion that the scattering light made for her eyes.

Chalcus started forward, feeling his way with the toes of his boots. Ilna could've taken the lead, but she didn't see any reason to. They didn't have a destination, just a purpose, and the sailor's cautious progress was as likely to bring them to that purpose as Ilna could by striding quickly through these crystal tunnels.

She
hated
stone. The beauty of the structure around her didn't make her like it any better.

“There's a new sound, dear one,” Chalcus said, his voice barely a whisper. He waited, standing on the balls of his feet with his blades out to either side. His head darted quickly from side to side, covering all directions but unable really to see in any of them.

Ilna listened also. Because of Chalcus' warning, she noticed the sound—a rapid ticking like pebbles washing down a stone millrace. She couldn't judge distance or even direction with certainty, though it seemed—

“I think it's above us,” she whispered.
Could the king hear the way humans did?
“This crystal is many tunnels, all connected.”

Chalcus flashed her a smile. It was false, and the beads of sweat on his forehead were real. He resumed his tense, shuffling advance.

The ticking diminished and perhaps vanished, though Ilna's mind continued to tell her that it remained just beneath the threshold of hearing.
Had the creature passed through the tunnel above and continued on in a sloping path that would bring it face-to-face with them?
The material from which the tunnels were made was as clear as sunlit air, but its angles and surfaces sliced images into so many pieces that not even Ilna's mind could re-create them from a passing glance.

Well, they'd learn soon enough.

There was something ahead, a darkness that the scattering light distorted but couldn't hide. Chalcus stepped more quickly, almost running. Ilna followed, her mind as blank and clear as a sheet of ice.

Chalcus reached it, the statue of a girl in black basalt. The stone was too coarse to have recognizable features in this rainbow light, but there was no doubt in Ilna's mind that they'd found Merota: found her the way they'd known from the first they'd find her, a victim of the new king like so many others in this land.

Chalcus sheathed his dagger. He ran his fingertips over the girl's stone cheek and gave a terrible cry.

The ticking was growing louder, very rapidly. Ilna let the structure's pattern fill her mind. There was an opening, a doorway, between the tube they were in and the next one to the left. The crystal's shimmers and reflections concealed it from sight, but Ilna stretched out her hand and confirmed its presence.

“Chalcus!” she said. “Follow me! We have to get out of this tunnel quickly!”

“Fight a
man
for a change, monster!” Chalcus shouted. He leaped forward, sword and dagger gleaming with the all-colored light of the crystal. For an instant he was around the curve of the tunnel from Ilna.

A flash filled the crown and Ilna's world. Where Chalcus had stood was a smear of blackness in the mirrored perfection.

Ilna stepped into the adjacent passage and moved quickly along it. She knew why Davus had brought her to this place now. She would accomplish the task that he and the universe had set her.

And for all the rest of her life, however long that was, she'd wish that she'd never been born.

There was a lull in the battle beneath the cloud's false twilight. Garric drew a deep breath and went down on one knee. A Blood Eagle lay beside him, dead from a blow to the face by the spike of a bronze axe. Garric gripped the sleeve of the man's tunic and jerked it off at the seam.

The dead man was named Soutilas, a common trooper. He'd saved Garric's life twice before losing his own; if he'd survived he'd have been promoted to file closer.

But Soutilas didn't survive, and Garric needed to get the blood and bone chips off his blade. He wiped the cloth along the patterned steel, careful not to slice the web of his hand as he did so. It was easy to make a
mistake when you were tired, and making a mistake with weapons was a very good way to get hurt.

Attaper stood with his hand braced on a trooper's shoulder while Liane bandaged the cut in his forearm. The wound wasn't deep, but it was bleeding badly enough to be dangerous in the longer run if it weren't closed. They had to plan for the longer run, because Garric couldn't see any quick way to end this eruption of Hell-creatures into the waking world.

In all truth, Garric couldn't see any way at all to end it unless the Underworld ran out of monsters before he and those standing with him all died. Eventually he'd learn which was the case…but if the wizard behind this attack had been building his forces for a thousand years, the odds weren't on the side of humanity.

Several hundred infantrymen were double-timing up the street from the docks. Garric saw three separate standards, but there were probably more units than those represented.

Admiral Zettin was carrying out his orders to get troops across as quickly as possible. That meant they were appearing in half-organized or disorganized lumps, but they wouldn't need to make complicated maneuvers today. All the soldiers had to do—all they could do—was to form a cordon around the earl's palace and slaughter monsters till they themselves were slaughtered in turn.

“The Sister and Her demons, here they come again,” a soldier said. He didn't sound angry, and he certainly wasn't frightened, just resigned.

Over a hundred slug-white monsters ran and hopped and slithered from the palace entrance. In the course of the afternoon they'd come in seemingly random sequence from every door and window of the building, never less than a score at a time. Once nearly a thousand had spilled from the east wing. Garric had seen the attack, but it was beyond the ability of the troops around him to support those on whom it fell.

Besides, he didn't dare strip any point in the cordon to reinforce another. A further onslaught might spurt toward the newly emptied portion at any instant.

Garric straightened, lifting the shield he'd taken from a man who no longer needed it. In his mind his ancient ancestor waited, judging the situation with the eyes of long experience. This attack wouldn't break through, though no individual in the line could be sure
he
would survive.

Attaper flexed his arm to make sure the bandage held, then drew his
sword again. A soldier threw his javelin. It wobbled because the tip had twisted when he pulled the missile from its previous target, but the creatures were tightly grouped. The cast might have missed its intended victim, but it thudded into the chest of a monster with three heads and a cleaver in either hand, knocking it backward. Then the monsters squelched into the thin line of humans.

A creature with a spear charged Garric. The weapon was all bronze, head and shaft cast together. Garric caught the point on his shield boss and thrust into the monster's single eye. He put his boot on the chest of the thrashing creature and kicked as he jerked hard on his sword hilt, withdrawing the blade from the bone gripping both edges. He slashed right, then left, more by instinct than plan. Two more creatures dropped, one twitching till Attaper broke its neck with his shield

The attack was over. Garric gulped air, tired and nauseous. The creatures' blood was red like that of humans, but its sulfurous undertone made the stench of this slaughter even worse than that of a normal battlefield. The long rows of monsters smelled like mules dead three days in the hot sun.

Another soldier was down and a second was swaying. He'd have fallen if he hadn't thrust his sword into the ground like a cane.

The fresh troops arrived. Three captains, none of them men Garric recognized, pushed to the front. “Your highness—” they shouted, more or less in chorus.

“Around the palace to the left,” Garric said, aware as he spoke of how weak his voice was. He could only hope they understood him over the noise of fighting in the near distance and the sounds wounded men made. “Report to Lord Rosen and go where he puts you.”

The Shepherd knew the line here in front had been thin to begin with and was half that strength now. If the creatures' attempts to break through were equal on all sides, as they seemed to be, the cordon must be weaker still in the rear. The front of the palace was closest to the harbor, so reinforcements arrived there first.

For as long as there were reinforcements available. Perhaps that would be long enough. “Your highness!” Liane said loudly. “Earl Wildulf's returning at the head of his army!”

She pointed to the left, reaching past Garric's face to make sure he noticed. Horsemen in four and five ranks abreast, as many as the pavement and the riders' skill would allow, were riding up the street from the west
gate. That was where the Sandrakkan feudal levies had camped. Wildulf and several courtiers were in the lead.

“Bloody Hell!” Lord Attaper muttered. “Your highness, you shouldn't be here. Look, head back for the docks and stay there till—”

“Enough, milord!” Garric snapped. “This is exactly where I belong.”

The sound of weapons and screaming rose into a dull crescendo from the east or northeast of the rambling building. A fire had broken out in that direction: smoke rose in swelling, rapid puffs. Garric couldn't tell whether the flames came from the palace or if the latest assault by the monsters of the pit had broken the cordon and the city proper was beginning to burn.

Lord Renold rode around the southeast corner. He'd lost his helmet, and there were collops cut from the rim of his slung shield. “Your highness!” he shouted. “We need support! You've ignored my couriers, so I've come myself! The hellspawn's going to break through if you don't send reinforcements!”

“Renold, I'll send you the next troops that arrive from the docks!” Garric said. “I haven't sent you any sooner because I don't have any to send.”

He looked over his shoulder, hoping to see another battalion clashing its way up the brick street. There weren't any soldiers in sight, but plumes of smoke showed there were fires that way too. Was it accident, or had the creatures managed to circumvent the cordon through tunnels that reached beyond the palace?

Earl Wildulf and his cavalry arrived in a clash and rattle of horseshoes on brick pavers. Garric couldn't speak through the noise; he could barely think over it.

The earl himself and Lord Renold's professional cavalry were experienced in riding on pavement, but most of these horsemen were rural nobles with their retainers. As the squadron drew up, several horses slipped and hurled their armored riders to the bricks, adding to the cacophony. Wildulf bellowed a curse over his shoulder, then bent to glare at Garric.

“Your lordship!” Garric said, getting the first word in. “You're just in time to hold these monsters back before the rest of my troops from Volita arrive. If you'll take your force to where Lord Renold directs you, we can prevent a breakout. The ground under the palace is a nest of them for the Shepherd knows how far down!”

“Right, there's no time to lose!” said Renold. He tried to pull his horse around; it obeyed the reins sluggishly. “It may be too late already!”

“Hold them back be damned!” Wildulf said. “You,
boy
—where's my wife? Where is she?”

“Your lordship…” said Garric. He'd regained his voice but he was too tired to react, even mentally, to the Earl's discourtesy. “I'm sorry but the creatures her wizard called up”—Dipsas certainly
hadn't
called up the monsters and their ancient creator, but this wasn't the time to split hairs—“killed the countess in the tunnels before we could rescue her. The patrol I sent down—”

Again shading the truth, but Wildulf hadn't been rational about his wife even before the present cataclysm. Garric wasn't about to admit that he'd watched Balila die.

“—was barely able to get up alive to bring a warning.”

“Wildulf, by the Lady, don't dally!” Marshal Renold said. He was the earl's retainer but a noble in his own right, and he had a very good grasp of how desperate the situation was. “They were coming out of the servants' quarters when I left!”

“Cowards!” Wildulf shouted. “You're all cowards!”

He drew his sword. Attaper tried to step between Garric and the horsemen; Garric shouldered him back. The greater danger was that Wildulf would cut at Lord Renold—and the greatest danger of all would be for Garric to be seen to back down before a raving lunatic.

A fresh wave of white monsters spilled from the palace entrance like corpse fat bubbling from a cook pot. They mouthed syllables even more inhuman than they themselves were.

Earl Wildulf wheeled his horse toward them. “Sandrakkan with me!” he shouted. “The countess is in danger!”

He and first the leaders, then the whole of his troop, crashed into the pallid swarm. This was a major outbreak, hundreds at least of the creatures, but the weight of the horses and armored riders rode them down with relative ease. For a moment the battle continued at the gate and gutted windows to either side; then Wildulf dismounted and, with his men, hacked his way into the palace itself. His voice drifted back, calling, “Sandrakkan with me! For the countess!”

Marshal Renold watched the troops pouring into the building with a look of amazement and horror. He hadn't seen Balila being clubbed to death, but he knew that the tunnels under the palace were a certain trap for anyone fool enough to enter them.

“Attaper, give the marshal ten men,” Garric said tiredly. He wanted to
vomit at what was about to happen, but Prince Garric had the survival of every human in the kingdom to ensure right now. The earl and his followers were throwing themselves away, but Garric could give their deaths
some
purpose. “Those poor devils will take the pressure off here for a time. Renold, hold till I can get you reinforcements. There's some coming now.”

Wildulf had left the Sandrakkan infantry behind when he hurried to the palace with the horsemen. Best send a courier to make sure they were actually on their way…

The last of the Sandrakkan troop had entered the building. They hadn't left horseholders; their mounts milled and stamped in the forecourt, excited and frightened by the stench of blood and eviscerated monsters.

The ground quivered. “Bloody Hell, what's this—” Attaper said.

The palace and nearby structures shook like a dog come in out of the wet. Garric and everybody in sight lost their footing. A long crack ripped down the middle of the street, lifting bricks to either side; then the three-story buildings to the east of the palace crashed down in spurts of pale dust that hung against the black sky like giant puffballs.

The palace shivered inward a moment before the ground beneath it collapsed, swallowing the site whole. The ruin shuddered and fell a second stage, taking with it the surrounding plaza the way an undercut riverbank slips into the current.

“Get back!” Garric shouted, scrambling on all fours until he could get to his feet again. He'd lost his shield but still gripped his sword. “Back! on your lives!”

The ground continued to quake.
Duzi, how long would the shocks continue? Would the whole city fall into the bowels of the earth?

Liane was safe, most of Garric's troops were safe. The crater'd gulped down the corpses, those of men as well as the windrows of monsters they'd slain. At least one wounded soldier had dropped into the pit with a despairing cry.

That man was dead, and others were dead, and maybe they'd
all
be dead soon, but for the moment, Garric was alive. He'd fight for the Isles and his friends as long as he could.

Gouts of night like black fire spewed from the pit, darkening the sky still further. In the cauldron beneath, Garric saw the ancient, shrivelled wizard gesturing with his tourmaline athame.

Around him, crawling toward the surface with their weapons and hatred of humanity, were thousands of white monsters. More of the same sort pushed upward behind them.

Garric gripped his sword, leaning forward a little to make it easier to breathe. He waited, to fight and very likely to die.

But until he died, to fight.

 

Ilna heard the new king pass on in the adjacent corridor, clicking and sizzling like a rain-soaked tree a moment after lightning struck it. The creature didn't cross from the outer track to the inner one where Ilna waited. Its motion shifted the light in the crystal fabric, turning a shimmer of green-blue-indigo momentarily into yellow-orange-red, but Ilna couldn't guess as to its shape or even size through the wall separating them.

She had her cords out; her fingers were plaiting a calm pattern. The creature's movements were as easy to predict as the next swing of a pendulum.

This new king did certain complex things, but it did them by rote and, therefore, predictably. It had power through the jewel and enough cunning to supplant its human predecessor, but it was no more intelligent than the great black-and-yellow spiders whose dew-drenched webs dazzle those who see them on autumn mornings.

The new king had passed. It would return, but not until a fixed future time, a time far enough in the future for Ilna to complete her preparations.