The Fatal Gate Read online

“What is it?” said Lilis.

  “Wilm’s dead! Gergrig killed him!”

  Lilis caught Aviel’s right hand between her own hands. “You poor thing. Right in front of you?”

  “No, the gate carried me away. But Gergrig ordered him to be killed.”

  “He might have changed his mind.”

  “The Merdrun love killing. Why would they spare Wilm?”

  Lilis looked down at the square bulge under the covers. “Is that the grimoire you pinched from Shand?”

  Aviel flushed. “I only borrowed it. Are you going to take it?”

  “You’ve done more good with it than he ever did.”

  “It’s a terrible book, but a great book too. When Shand comes back … When he proves himself innocent …” Aviel stroked the cover through the blanket. “I’ve never owned a proper book. The only book I have is a little one on scent-making I copied out.”

  “Any book you copied yourself is a very proper book.”

  “Are there grimoires in the Great Library?”

  “Quite a few, though they’re locked away and no one can see them without permission from Nadiril. They’re very dangerous books.”

  “What about grimoires on scent potions?”

  “Why do you ask? You already have one.”

  “Most of Radizer’s scent potions are for unpleasant purposes,” said Aviel, “and some are … evil. I think he was a very bad man.”

  “A dark potion can still be used for a good purpose. As you proved by using the Eureka Graveolence to find the summon stone.”

  “I’m afraid of being corrupted.”

  Lilis laughed aloud. “In the Register of Wickedness, which I’ve read three times, your deeds wouldn’t rate a mention.”

  Aviel felt her cheeks growing hot. She hesitated, but she needed to tell someone and she felt sure Lilis could be trusted. “I’m attracted to the dark potions. I’m scared that one day I’ll do something really bad.”

  “We all have bad thoughts from time to time.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. You’re so respectable.”

  “Can I tell you an embarrassing secret?”

  “Of course,” said Aviel, leaning forward eagerly.

  “All the important librarians are old and, except for Nadiril, very boring. And as an assistant librarian, I’m becoming more like them every day. I love my work, yet sometimes I feel a mad urge to burst into their meeting room, throw off my clothes and run the length of the table, kicking off all their papers and whooping like a mad thing.”

  Aviel smiled for the first time. “Do you think you ever will?”

  “Of course not,” said Lilis, a trifle wistfully. “But that’s why I came east with Nadiril. It takes me back to my childhood, when life was hard and painful and dangerous—but every day I knew I was alive.” She stood up. “Nadiril wants to talk to you as soon as you’ve finished.”

  “Oh!” Aviel said with a sharp intake of breath. She took the cap off her mug of soup and ate the rest slowly, then the cake.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Lilis. “He’s hard on people who don’t meet his expectations, but he’s a kind man … deep down.”

  It did not help. What expectations would he have of her, and how could she, an uneducated girl from an insignificant town miles from anywhere, possibly fulfil them?

  Lilis rose. “He said to bring the sword and the grimoire … and anything else that’s important.”

  Was he talking about the remains of the Origin device?

  Aviel limped after Lilis along a series of narrow companionways that stank of grime, pee and the putrid bilges, then up again into a large and luxurious cabin which, judging by the treasures in it, must have belonged to Cumulus Snoat. A little brass incense burner clipped to the far wall emitted trails of blue smoke and a thick, cloying scent that did not completely disguise the reek of bilgewater.

  Nadiril sat at the end of a large table. Tallia was to his right and Malien his left, and there were three Aachim men at the nearer end.

  “Ah, Aviel,” said Nadiril. “Sit down.” He indicated the seat across the table from Malien. “We need to know what happened at the stone before the gate carried you and Wilm away.”

  Aviel perched on the front edge of the chair, the copper sheath in her lap, and stared at her fingers. “Wilm was down, paralysed,” she said quietly, “and Unick was going to kill him. And then we saw the Crimson Gate.”

  “Leave out no detail,” said Malien.

  “It was like a red shadow on the wall of the cavern. I could see the Merdrun army through it and I knew they were about to invade. Unick went for me, and Wilm, um, ran him through.” Aviel held up the black sword. “Unick crashed into the summon stone and … it … consumed him.”

  “And then?” said Tallia.

  “The shadow gate was turning into a real gate and the Merdrun were racing towards it. There wasn’t time to think—but I realised that if the gate was alive it might be poisoned, and I took the flask of quicksilver out of the Origin device and hurled it at the summon stone, and it smashed and ran down it.”

  “Ahh!” sighed Malien. “And then?”

  “The enemy were shouting and yelling; they seemed afraid. Then the summon stone split into a crimson one and a blue one. The crimson one carried the Merdrun up and away, and the blue one closed around me and Wilm and took us with it. I must have been unconscious all night; the next thing I knew the blue gate had opened in a hot green land, and it was dawn.”

  “Could you see the other gate?” said Malien.

  “No,” said Aviel.

  “You ended up in the same place as the enemy, somewhere in the tropics, but eight or nine hours later,” said Tallia. “The gates must have been linked; we’ll need to ask Karan about that.”

  “If she ever comes back,” said Malien, tight-lipped.

  “That was very well done, Aviel,” said Nadiril. “By poisoning the stone, you made the enemy’s gate open far from where they planned the invasion. And from Xarah’s observations, I think it closed after they got there, and they don’t have the power to reopen it.”

  “You mean they’re stuck there?” said Nadiril.

  “Until they can draw enough power from the summon stone to reopen their gate.”

  “The summon stone is gone from Carcharon,” said Xarah.

  “What?” cried Malien. “Where to?”

  “I can’t find it. But it seems more powerful now, more dangerous, and more warped.”

  “How naïve we were,” said Malien, “to think it could be destroyed so easily.”

  “Well,” said Nadiril, “it’s two days’ hard sailing from here to Vilikshathûr. By the time we get there we’ve got to have a plan to find the stone, locate the Merdrun and attack them before they can reopen the gate.”

  “We’ve got the bulk of Snoat’s war chest,” said Tallia, “and if we’re quick we can take over some of his armies. If only we had the sky ship …”

  “I have more on the way,” said Malien, “though it may be another fortnight before they get here.”

  “We may have lost the war by then.”

  Malien knotted her knotted fingers as if wrestling with a dilemma, then said, “There are shipyards in Sith, are there not?”

  “The best in Meldorin.”

  “As an iron rule, we do not share our secret craft with outsiders. But the Merdrun threaten us all and—for the duration of the war—I’m prepared to assist your people to make your own sky ships. We have a small supply of the vital crystals, and my people are skilled artificers. We will begin the moment we reach Sith.”

  The Aachim at the other end of the table scowled and stood up. Malien held up a hand and they sat again. They did not look pleased.

  “Thank you,” said Nadiril, who looked astounded.

  “Just for the duration of the war,” said Malien. “Then we will have our crystals back.”

  Aviel, sure they needed nothing more from her, slipped away. She longed to go home but Casyme was hundreds of mil
es away and with no money she had no way of getting there. Indeed, with Shand on the run, wanted for treason, it wasn’t clear that she had a home any more. Shand, who had taken her in, protected her from those who wanted to enslave her, and had given her her beloved workshop, might be put to death as a traitor and have all his possessions confiscated.

  If that happened, what would become of her?

  15

  THERE THEY ARE! TAKE THEM!

  Karan was steeling herself to go out into the howling darkness when Yggur let out a savage roar and the stern of the cabin lifted by a couple of feet, swung sideways in the wind and crashed down again, snapping her teeth together. He had freed the trapped skid from the crevasse.

  The sky ship started to drift across the ice, lifting and crashing down on every bump and rut. A cupboard door at the back sprang open and dozens of carefully packed boxes crashed to the floor. Small metal parts went everywhere.

  “Yggur?” she yelled, but he did not reply.

  She sat down and took hold of the levers, gnawing her lip. She could not risk the sky ship sliding into a bigger crevasse, but if she moved it and Yggur was trapped she ran the risk of killing him. She ran to the door, looking left and right. There was no sign of him.

  “Yggur!” she screamed into the darkness.

  A groan. He was directly below her, clinging one-handed to the ladder. His left arm hung limply and clearly he did not have the strength to climb in.

  She crouched in the doorway, hanging on to the rail with her left hand, and reached down. “Take my hand.”

  He bared his teeth in a rictus of pain. “Never … lift me.”

  “Hand! Now!”

  His huge hand caught her small one and tightened into a crushing grip. Karan winced. There was no possibility of lifting him with one arm; she did not have the strength. But if she could take some of his weight … She tried to straighten her legs but the gusting wind heaved the sky ship left, then flung it to the right. She hung on until the wind died and tried again.

  But Yggur was too heavy; her leg muscles were burning and she could feel the strain in the thigh bones she had shattered twelve years ago. He grunted, groaned, heaved again and so did she, and he made it up another rung, then another, then doubled over at the waist, pressing his long body flat against the floor. She forced herself backwards, heaving his arm, and after a tortured couple of minutes he raised his dangling legs and she dragged him in.

  “Get us gone!” Yggur rolled over, kicked the door shut and lay on his back, panting.

  Karan’s right arm felt as though it had been wrenched out of its socket. She pulled herself up into the pilot’s seat, jerked up the golden beryl knob to let more protium into the airbag, heaved back the black obsidian lever and thrust the red porphyry lever forward. The sky ship shot into the air, tossing him against the side wall.

  “Steady on,” he murmured. He braced himself between two seats, closed his eyes and lay there, holding his shoulder and grimacing.

  She climbed until the sky ship was higher than any of the mountain peaks, turned south for the rain-drenched western coast of Salliban, and looked back. Hingis had not stirred. Yggur’s pain-clenched face had relaxed and he was breathing steadily. He was asleep.

  Karan wished she was too, but that wasn’t going to happen. She was concentrating on keeping the sky ship steady in the unpredictable winds when pain flowered behind her forehead, and a link was forced open.

  Karan! roared Malien, and her rage would have cracked rocks. Answer me!

  The contents of Karan’s stomach curdled. She was tempted to break the link and block Malien, but that was no way to treat a kinswoman who had gone out of her way to help her.

  I—I haven’t been able to link since Cinnabar. How did you get through?

  With great pain and labour, Malien said furiously, neither of which I could afford, I found what was blocking you and lifted it … temporarily. Where are you?

  Approaching Salliban.

  Have you found Sulien?

  Karan was tempted to lie and say she had, but could not do that either. Not yet.

  Come back at once. I need my sky ship.

  Karan did not respond.

  Karan?

  No!

  I … need … my … ship … now.

  As you once told me, a mother must do what it takes to protect her child—whatever the cost. Tell me that you would not do the same.

  Karan could sense Malien’s anguish, for she had only ever had one child. Rael had been Karan’s dearest friend when she lived in Shazmak after her parents died, and Malien had thought they would wed. But later Karan had fled in anger and confusion, and when she returned, years later, it was with Llian.

  Twelve years ago Rael had drowned helping them escape from Shazmak with the stolen Mirror of Aachan, and Malien had never come to terms with his death. It was one of the great tragedies of Karan’s own life.

  I’m so sorry, she sent.

  Sorry doesn’t begin to compensate!

  I meant about Rael. I should never have involved him.

  Oh! Karan sensed Malien’s shock and wonder but said no more.

  A minute ticked by, then Malien said, You’re not coming.

  I am, the moment I get Sulien back.

  Don’t link to her!

  What?

  The link between you and Sulien is fatally compromised. Use it at your peril, for it can be used to find you both and attack—

  Malien? Karan cried when she did not continue. What have you found? Is there any news of Llian?

  No answer.

  What about the Merdrun? Where are they?

  But the link was gone and she could not get it back.

  The sky ship was nearing the southern tip of the peninsula now and there was enough starlight for Karan to see the rugged coastline curving around and into the narrow entrance to the Karama Malama, the landlocked Sea of Mists. Beyond, the coast of Salliban, a series of long deep fjords, curved away to the south for hundreds of miles. Between the coast and the mountains ran the shadow of vast untouched forests.

  Sulien was in there somewhere, but where? She could not see any signs of civilisation: no roads or cities or towns, not even the lights of a solitary manor or campsite. How could she find Sulien in such a wilderness?

  Karan leaned back in the pilot’s seat, overcome by a sense of futility. She felt so very tired. She had been tired for months now, ever since the drumming began and Sulien had seen the Merdrun army in her nightmare.

  “I’ll take over,” said Yggur, sitting up with a groan. He rubbed his shoulder and winced. “You’re about to fall asleep.”

  Karan was glad to relinquish the responsibility for flying a craft whose workings she barely understood. She tried to stand up and nearly fell; her hands and feet were icy lumps.

  She lurched down to the tiny galley at the rear, stumbling over Hingis in the darkness, though he did not stir. She felt his throat; he was breathing, either unconscious or asleep, so she tucked his blanket around him and left him there.

  The galley was less chilly than the rest of the sky ship since a pipe ran through it from the rotors, providing hot water. She filled a pot with water and dried needles of gulid, a pungent plant the Aachim used for making a spicy tea, found two mugs and carried everything back.

  “Tea isn’t very hot, I’m afraid,” she said.

  Yggur clamped a big hand around the pot, strained, and the water boiled. “It is now.”

  Karan poured two mugs of blue-grey tea and handed him one. While she warmed her hands on the other, she told him about Malien’s brief link, and her warning.

  Yggur sipped his tea. “What are the enemy up to?”

  “I don’t know. What am I going to do, Yggur?”

  “About what?”

  “Locating Sulien.” Karan took off her boots and socks and attempted to warm her icy toes with her hands. It made no difference so she put her boots on again. “I don’t see that I have any choice but to link to her, dangerous though
it is.”

  He looked out the window at the dark landscape. “You’ve got to link to her—there’s no other way to find her. Do it soon, before the triplets come into their full power.”

  Uncharacteristically, Yggur shivered, and that was disturbing: he was one of the most experienced old-human mancers of all. He had lived for eleven hundred years, fought some of the greatest figures in the Histories and survived when most of them had not. If the triplets scared him, Karan should be very afraid.

  “But if I link to Sulien, the triplets will locate her—and attack.”

  “They may not yet have the strength. But the longer you leave it, the stronger they’ll be—and then they will find her.” He looked away, evidently thinking, then added, “You’d better include me in the link.”

  Karan drank her tea in a scalding gulp, then sat on a blanket with her back to the wall and closed her eyes, trying to sense out Sulien’s distant presence. The sky ship jerked in an updraught, knocking her empty mug over with a clatter. The rotors went ticker-tick; wind whined around the taut airbag cables.

  The top of her head throbbed, an echo of the pain she had felt when the magiz had attacked her previously, though Karan did not sense any connection to the triplets. She prayed that they were still weak.

  In the past it had been relatively easy to make a link to Sulien, but now Karan’s sense of her was gone and she had to create a link from scratch. But when it guttered into feeble life, like a candle flame in the wind, she did not sense Sulien at all. She caught a sour, sweaty odour underlain by the foul reek of a herb the Whelm fed to their cadaverous horses and chewed to numb pain or give themselves extra endurance on long journeys.

  “That’s Idlis!” she said aloud. “Why am I sensing him?”

  It had to be because Sulien was smelling him, but why could she not detect her? Karan probed deeper and caught a series of glimpses, each accompanied by its own odour: a cramped passage smelling of wet, rotting wood; part of a tunnel collapsing with a thump and a strong earthy odour; another tunnel made of cut stones with brown, peaty water trickling through the gaps, and the gaggingly foul reek of cat dung.

  “Idlis is taking her somewhere,” she said. “They’re underground.”