Stranger of Tempest: Book One of The God Fragments (51 page)

Reft held up a splayed palm, Anatin volunteered two and Varain had another three. Like Lynx, the others didn’t often bother with earth-bolts and they knew without looking that their plundered cartridge cases wouldn’t contain any. He took one now, as did Toil and Teshen, one shot each proving scant comfort but better than nothing.

The group were walking fast through chambers, looking left and right as best they could to try and work out where the golantha was. There was no sound of breaking stone to follow. The halls here were larger so, while it might have been forced on to an oblique path by the odd bottleneck, it wasn’t having to smash its way through.

‘Shattered gods!’ Varain yelled suddenly, pointing through an archway.

They all turned and froze as flickering light illuminated the far side of the neighbouring chamber. For a moment they just stared until dancing trails of light cut the gloom and the scrape of claws on stone seemed to fill the air. A dark, broad head with huge tusks rounded a corner and that broke the spell. The mercenaries all broke into a sprint in the other direction while a roar of fury boomed through the tunnels behind.

Lynx heard it coming but didn’t pause to look back. It was large enough that it couldn’t run through most tunnels and arches, but if it reached them out in the open he knew it would chase them down easily. Just as he thought that they came to a massive domed room, the Duegar lamplight picking out great friezes of geometric shapes and strange beasts soaring amid the clouds. The dome itself was specked with glowing shards of crystal, casting a clear-enough light over their predicament.

‘Make for the far side and cut back,’ Lynx yelled, glancing behind. He couldn’t see the golantha yet but could hear it coming. ‘I’ll go this way, try and find my way to the bridge.’

‘Follow the light,’ Toil replied as the others fled without a second thought. She pointed through the archway he’d spotted, beyond which a faint glow gave some texture to the dark. It wasn’t much, but the smooth floor seemed to gather all the meagre scraps of illumination available and he knew he’d worked long hours in no better.

‘Head that way and let the bridge lamps guide you.’ She paused. ‘You sure about this?’

‘We’ll soon see.’ Lynx’s attempt at a smile became more of a grimace, but even that was lost to the dark. All the same, Toil gave him a slight nod before she turned on her heel and sprinted away after the rest.

Just as he was about to run Toil slewed left, away from where the others were making for. Lynx felt his heart stutter as he watched her head into the darker depths of the ruin’s interior and soon become swallowed by Shadows Deep.

Away from Sitain, away from me. Oh, shattered gods, was this her plan all along? Were we the ruse?

Lynx felt his guts turn to ice as he stared after her. Ahead of him, the strange light of Sitain’s lamp vanished as the rest of the mercenaries turned a corner and a wave of numbing, irrational terror struck him like a fist. He staggered back, gasping as the black closed in around him and his chest seemed to tighten with every feeble effort for breath.

I’m going to die in the dark.

The words seemed to float through Lynx’s mind, a jack o’ lantern that somehow worsened the darkness of terror enveloping him. Heart hammering, muscles wavering, he almost fell to his knees. Sour fear welled from his stomach to choke up his throat, his head swimming as phantom shapes twisted before his eyes. But, even as he felt himself stagger, a flame of rage was kindled, the shackles he fought every day to keep on it falling away. As the darkness tried to consume him, a blind beast reared up and faced it, aware only that what it hated was all around.

Somehow it gave him the strength to move, to fill his lungs and turn towards the scrap of light still visible, through the archway. As he did so, the menacing click of claws on stone cut through the air behind him, unmuffled by stone walls.

Lynx turned and saw the glowing strands of the golantha’s tongue flicker at the edge of the chamber entrance, seeming to caress the corners of stone as it sought him. Fresh panic jolted him into movement and Lynx started off for the light ahead of him, barely remembering to pull a sparker from his cartridge case and drop it gently on the ground.

A trail of breadcrumbs!
he thought, feeling drunk with fear.
Shattered gods, mebbe I’ve finally tipped over the edge.

Hoping the monster would follow the scent, he fled down the short tunnel that led off in the direction of the rift. At the apex of the tunnel’s curve he set another cartridge down just as the monster roared and set off in pursuit of him. A muted cracking sound followed and Lynx felt a moment of hope then a surge of panic as he realised it must have taken the bait of his discarded sparker.

Means a horror from the deepest dark is following you
, he reminded himself,
so fucking run!

It wasn’t far to the rift, he soon discovered, a vaulted hall spanning most of the distance he had to cover. There was debris of shattered stone littering the floor of it, the thirty-foot-high columns that looked out over the rift mostly a brutalised mess now. This was where the monster had broached the ruin and on the periphery of his vision Lynx thought he glimpsed pools of blood and broken bodies.

He didn’t stop to check. The imagined horror was enough to spur him on and ignore the stitch building fiercely in his chest – years of a generous appetite catching up with him again. The golantha was close behind and he hadn’t reached the rift-side avenue on the other side by the time it forced its way into the hall. Lynx tossed the burner in his hand behind him as far as he could, hoping it would buy him a few more seconds. He turned the corner and started the sprint to the bridge, realising with a jolt it was only fifty yards off.

That was when he noticed the bedraggled squad of Charnelers – eight or nine of them, all with their guns pointed his way.

‘Run, you fools!’

Lynx sprinted towards them, yelling as loud as he could but not slowing when their guns twitched. If the monster hadn’t roared as it entered the wrecked hall behind him, they would have likely shot him dead. As it was the Charnelers simply paled and looked past the running mercenary, frozen with fear by what was following him.

Lynx decided he didn’t care and raced on, chest burning and knees screaming, but terror kept him moving. The light of the great oil lamps on the bridge shone out through the darkness, filling him with hope despite the fact they’d make him a clear target. He craved the light all the same, as much as he feared the shadows behind.

The Charnelers were close to the mouth of the bridge, just a dozen yards short of it, and Lynx gave them a wide berth as he ran past. His cartridge cases flapped madly at his side and he was forced to run with one hand holding them for fear of setting the contents off. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Charnelers shrink back. A whimper escaped more than one as there was a thump and clatter of rubble behind him. The golantha heaved itself out on to the wide road leading to the bridge, scattering fragments of stone.

Mage-guns rang out almost as one great sound, the sharp report of icers echoing out across the rift as Lynx raced past. He didn’t see what followed, but he heard the sinister rasp of the golantha’s tail as it swept forward and a deafening roar of fury. He rounded the great pedestal that bore one stone lamp bowl and kept running, legs barely able to keep going as his strength wavered. The full expanse of the great bridge shone before him, bathed in yellow light. Had he had the strength, Lynx would have howled at how far it now looked to the other side.

One last shot cut through the air behind him then there were only brief screams, followed by the crackle of ice-bolts succumbing to the golantha’s strange hunger. Lynx lowered his head and willed himself on, black spots appearing before his eyes as his lungs screamed for air. After twenty yards he could stand it no longer and tugged the spare cartridge case free, dropping it on the ground as gently as he could manage before running on. He hoped that would buy him time to get clear, time enough for the others to arrive and save him.

As he reached the dancing flames that marked the halfway point, something gave and Lynx tripped, flapping madly as his ankle seemed to fold underneath him. He twisted and hopped as momentum carried him forward, then flopped down awkwardly on to one knee before ending up sprawled on his back. Lynx looked up at the darkness above as pain flowered in hot bursts across his knee and he heaved for breath.

Behind him the golantha closed, its attention fixed on the cartridge case he had dropped. It prowled forward and Lynx felt a moment of sheer terror as the monster regarded him with what seemed a wary intelligence. It moved without haste but its long limbs swallowed up the yards as easily as its shroud of darkness blurred the flame-scars marking its body.

He somehow found the strength to get to one knee and fumbled with his gun, pulling a sparker he’d kept back. It was his last one. The rest were just icers, aside from his single earther, but he knew he’d get only one chance.

A sudden sense of calm came over him and his trembling fingers managed to slide the spark-bolt into the breech and close it in one neat movement. The golantha reached the cartridge case and paused, watching Lynx as he stood his ground.

It’s expecting me to run – it’s not used to anything facing it down.

Lynx dismissed the worrying thoughts that accompanied that and eased his gun up. The jangle of fear and simmering anger flowing through him had struck a strange balance and he knew he wouldn’t run any more. If the others didn’t appear he would stand his ground. He had made his choice and nothing would sway him. That resolve had been how he’d survived his years on the road. More than once he’d wanted to end it, to violently escape the crawling personal demons when drink had failed him. It had been obstinacy that had kept him alive, that much he could admit to himself. Not bravery, not strength of character or morals – the simple blinkered refusal to accept defeat that had stayed his hand when his mage-gun seemed so inviting. If this was the day obstinacy killed him rather than kept him alive, so be it.

There was a movement to one side as the others raced towards the bridge, but he kept his focus on the beast as though breaking eye contact would make it attack. In truth he knew it wasn’t interested in him – the couple of dozen cartridges and two grenades in that case before it were far more attractive – but he still felt a surge of hope as it continued to watch him. Even if Toil had abandoned them the rest had appeared behind him and were cautiously making up the ground. If it couldn’t really be hurt, it wouldn’t care – kill him if he attacked it maybe, but otherwise ignore him. That it seemed to notice him, or perhaps his mage-gun, probably meant he was more than just an annoyance.

‘Or mebbe you just guessed there’s a plan here,’ Lynx muttered, sighting down the barrel of his gun. ‘There’s always the cheery option I suppose.’

Slowly the golantha dipped its head, jaws open and snaking trails of tongue reaching for the cartridge case. Lynx let it curl one glowing thread around the case before he pulled the trigger. The mage-gun slammed back into his shoulder and the jagged sparker-trail slammed forward. It hit the cartridge case dead-on and burst into a ball of crackling light. An instant later the case exploded and everything went white.

Lynx was thrown back by the force of the impact, a blinding flash and roar of flames seeming to fill the world as he was hurled across the pitted stone of the bridge. He rolled, arms up across his face, and forced himself to keep going as a wave of heat washed over him. His ears rang with pain, the hurt spreading across his body. Finally he found himself face down on the cool stone, blinking at the crazed streaks of light and dark running across his vision. In the distance there was a roar – of anger or pain he couldn’t tell – dulled by the peal of noise echoing through his head. He tried to look up, hand tightening around the stock of his gun, using it to push his body up.

Lynx flopped on to his back, unable to properly keep himself upright, but managed to jam an arm underneath himself. The dark of the rift and the orange of flames seemed to continue moving around him, swirling and shuddering even as he got his other arm around to support his lurching body. Legs splayed in front of him, Lynx tried to see what had happened further down the bridge, but all he could see were smears of light against the dark. The effort of looking was enough to make his head spin and his guts spew up what little remained in his stomach. The sourness of bile added to the dirty stink of burning oil at the back of his throat, causing his stomach to heave once more, but once that was done his wits seemed to return a fraction.

He dragged himself sideways towards the support of the stone wall running down the side of the bridge. The golantha, somewhere amid the chaos of flames, roared and thrashed at the stone beneath it. Lynx could feel the violence of its movements and guessed he’d really hurt it, but before his vision could clear enough to behold his handiwork more gunshots rang out.

He heaved himself up, propping his back against the wall before jerking the breech of his gun open. Moving mostly by feel he found the earther he’d taken from Reft and loaded it. He still couldn’t see well, but he staggered forward towards the writhing, shadowy blur of the golantha. Finally he started to be able to see something and stopped dead as the monster whipped around, rear legs tearing furrows in the bridge’s surface. Chunks of rock skittered past him, one striking him square on his injured knee.

Lynx howled in pain then the sound died in his throat as the golantha slammed its forelimbs down on the bridge and made the ground shudder under his feet. Its body still seemed to be traced in fire and lightning beneath battered stone plates, but now half the glowing trails of its tongue hung limp and dark. One great tusk had shattered, deep fissures running through the stub that remained. Its limbs were flame-scarred and bent too, one forelimb stiff and unmoving, the other curled inward and struggling to take much of the monster’s weight.