The Fatal Gate Page 7

  “Is that all?” she said.

  “All we could find on the paving stones,” said the young Aachim man called Nimil, who had a metal slit in his neck and spoke with an odd whistle. “The rest of the casing will be in the grass beyond.”

  “Search the grass for thirty yards in all directions.”

  The Aachim resumed the search. “What are you looking for?” said Tallia.

  “The black crystal from the end,” said Malien, “and whatever was inside the casing.”

  Xarah was still pacing back and forth with her scrying board, moving in a series of parallel lines across the paved area. She conferred with Malien again, then walked outwards in a tight spiral centred on a patch of paving stones that bore red scorch marks. Suddenly she stopped, turned and spiralled back in to the point she had started from.

  Tallia headed across to her, and Nadiril and Lilis followed. “What have you found?” said Tallia.

  “Evidence of a gate,” said Xarah, “but unlike any gate I’ve sensed.”

  “Did Snoat made it?”

  “Making gates takes powerful mancery, way beyond anything he or Vyl could have done.”

  “Then how did it get here? Was it Shand?”

  “No, I know his gates.” Xarah rubbed her short yellow hair, making it stand up. “I … I think the destruction of the Command device linked this spot to the Merdrun’s gate just as it was opening, via the summon stone. I think that created a kind of … bastard gate—an appendix of the true gate—and it unbalanced the Crimson Gate. And in the backlash the bastard gate was flung away like a speck of mud off a spinning wheel, who knows where.” She fell silent, colouring a little. It was a long speech for her.

  “Taking Llian, Ifoli and Hingis with it?” said Nadiril.

  “There’s no evidence Hingis was here,” said Malien.

  “What about Llian and Ifoli?” said Lilis.

  “The bastard gate might have taken them,” said Xarah. “But it was very unstable; it wasn’t meant to exist. And I’m afraid …”

  “What?”

  “That without any source of power to maintain it, it couldn’t last long before it collapsed.”

  “Into what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “And if Llian or Ifoli were inside?”

  “If the gate collapsed on them, they would cease to exist.”

  11

  THEY’RE KILLING EVERYONE

  “Is there a chance the bastard gate could still be in existence?” said Nadiril, glancing up at the stars. “Must be hours since it formed.”

  Malien shrugged. “Unlikely.”

  “Can Xarah have a look?” said Tallia.

  Xarah was moving her pointers around the brass rings. She looked up from her scrying board for a second and her eyes flashed green, then looked down again without speaking.

  She seemed excited. What about? Tallia considered what she knew about Xarah. Her twin, Shalah, had been killed many years ago by a flailing stay cable when the great tower of Katazza collapsed, not long after Rulke escaped from the prison of the Nightland. It had taken Xarah many years to come to terms with her grief—if indeed she had.

  Since the accident she had devoted her time, her craft and her gift to the development of scrying devices like the one she had here, and no other Aachim had a tenth of her skill at it.

  “This place is saturated with waste mancery,” said Malien. “We’ll go back to the campsite. Xarah can work better there.”

  A rare smile utterly transformed Xarah’s sad face. By the time they were back in the clearing it was well after midnight. She sat back in the trees, well away from the glow of the campfire, and set to work with the scrying board. “This could take a while.”

  Tallia slumped onto a log, struggling to digest the reversals of the night: the Merdrun invading through the gate, the disastrous failure of the attack on Snoat, Sulien’s mortal danger and Karan stealing the sky ship, Shand’s treachery and mysterious disappearance, the loss of Snoat’s flagship and war chest, and the fate of Llian and Ifoli. Every way forward was littered with unknowns and, with the best will in the world, how could they have any hope? Was she leading this sad collection of allies to their doom? Would the doom of Santhenar follow? Had the last ten years of her life been an utter failure? It seemed so.

  The Aachim prepared supper, and she ate it without knowing what it was, or caring. Afterwards she sat watching the deft movements of Xarah’s long fingers, though her own thoughts were far away. The failed confrontation with Shand had shaken her; it had brought home the realisation she had been avoiding for years now—that she wasn’t hard enough or single-minded enough to be a good Magister.

  Why had she wasted half her life in an occupation that required control and domination of others? An occupation that, clever and hard-working though she was, she was utterly unsuited for. Because Crandor, and the prospect of a life learning the management of her family’s cocoa plantations, had utterly bored her. She ached for it now.

  But she had taken on the job and no one else could do it. Could she learn domination? Perhaps in this situation the end did justify the means.

  “Ahh!” sighed Xarah.

  “What is it?” said Malien.

  Xarah lifted off the long, curving brass pointers, then added a third graduated ring inside the two mounted on the board, and a milky, opaline half sphere at the centre, replaced the two pointers on the outer ring and extended them so their tips hovered above the half sphere. She added a third pointer to the middle ring, and a fourth to the inner ring, nodded, then, eyes closed, slowly moved the pointers around their circles.

  Tallia wrapped a blanket around her and dozed. Whenever she woke, Xarah was bent over her scrying board. From where Tallia sat it was just a blur of graduated brass circles, pointers, the opaline half sphere in the centre, now glowing bluish-grey, and a little orange crystal inset into the upper rim that was winking, winking …

  “I’ve found a gate!” cried Xarah. “And there’s someone in it.”

  Decrepit old Nadiril, a collection of brittle bones held together by skin as wrinkled as boiled parchment, leaped out of his blankets. “Is it Ifoli?” There were tears in his cloudy eyes.

  Tallia scrambled up. It was well after dawn—the sun was slanting through the trees. She ran to Xarah.

  “I can’t even tell where it is.” Xarah pointed to a bright blue spot on the half sphere. “It’s too far from the centre.”

  “The general direction?” said Malien.

  “North-north-west.”

  “The Great Library is north-north-west from here,” Lilis said excitedly.

  “So is the great island of Faranda,” said Nadiril, “and a thousand other places near and far.”

  “It’s further than the Great Library,” said Xarah. “More than that, I can’t say.”

  “What’s the gate doing?” said Tallia.

  “Sitting there—as if it’s waiting.”

  “Can we take it?” Nadiril said quietly.

  Malien caught his arm. “What are you talking about?”

  “Snoat’s mancers tried to take control of the gate Shand and Ussarine escaped from Carcharon in. And nearly succeeded before Shand directed it to us in Vilikshathûr.”

  “How did he do that?”

  “I was using a bit of mancery,” said Nadiril obscurely, “and it allowed him to locate us.” He thought for a moment. “What if we tried …” He put his lips to Malien’s ear.

  She nodded. “It can only fail.”

  He shook his head. “If it goes wrong—” He looked to Tallia.

  Tallia wrestled with her long-held fear of making the wrong decision. No, she thought. If ever there’s a time for boldness, it’s now.

  “Do it!”

  Malien and Nadiril set to work, conferring with Xarah all the while. Tallia gnawed her knuckles until they bled. Why was it taking so long? Was this the most reckless decision she’d ever made? What if Merdrun held the gate? They might burst forth into the clearing, in
which case they would finish their only opposition in a few seconds of violence.

  The gate appeared as a hurtling, howling, blue-streaked cyclone. It struck the ground on the far side of the clearing, flinging dirt and fallen leaves everywhere, bounced, touched down again on the fire, hurling red-hot coals high and sending up a mushroom cloud of ash, shot towards Xarah, then all the violence drained out of it and it shuddered to a stop a yard in front of her.

  The whirling blue streaks went still and Tallia saw someone inside the gate, holding a stick or staff. She drew her sword. Beside her, Malien’s long fingers were extended towards the gate.

  “Ifoli?” cried Nadiril.

  The wall of the gate became transparent. The figure wasn’t Ifoli, or Llian. A slender silver-haired girl stood there, supporting herself on a black sword Tallia knew all too well.

  “I’ve seen the enemy,” gasped Aviel. “They’re killing everyone. And they’ve got Wilm!” She hobbled forward, her ankle turned under her and she fell. Tallia sprang and caught her. “They … they’re going to kill him.”

  Aviel told them what had happened at the summon stone, and that the Merdrun were in a hot, humid land where the grass was thick and a brilliant green, the forest trees were gigantic, and the people were even darker than Tallia.

  “Most of the far north is like that,” said Tallia, “from Nys in Faranda to Roros in southern Crandor, and thousands of islands scattered near and far.”

  “Note all your settings,” Malien said to Xarah. “Try to locate the place.”

  “The gate can’t last,” Nadiril rapped out. “Is there anything we can do?”

  Xarah moved the pointers on her scrying board, looked up sharply, then whispered to Malien.

  Malien, clearly startled, said, “Really?”

  “If you do it right away.”

  The gate was colourless now, and smaller. Malien shouted to her people, who heaved their packs on and drew their weapons.

  “What’s going on?” said Tallia.

  “We think we can take control of the gate.”

  Malien went into a huddle with Nadiril and Xarah, then Nadiril put his right hand on Xarah’s left shoulder and Malien put her left hand on Xarah’s right shoulder. Xarah’s jaw muscles stood out, her fingers moved the pointers delicately, then the gate brightened and began to rotate.

  “Direct it to Vilikshathûr,” said Malien.

  “No, Sith!” said Nadiril.

  No, thought Tallia. We need coin more than anything. “No! Xarah, we’re taking Snoat’s flagship—and his war chest.”

  No one moved. Was this the stupidest decision she’d ever made? But there was no time to think about it; the gate was shrinking by the minute. Xarah nodded. Tallia drew her sword and leapt in. “Come on!”

  The world vanished. She felt a thump in the lower belly, a whirling dizziness that robbed her of sight for a few seconds, a whiff of salt spray, then she landed on a wildly rocking deck lit only by a pair of lanterns behind her. It was windy, the ship wallowing in heavy seas, and every time the bow plunged into the swell cold spray was flung into her face.

  “We’re under attack!” bellowed someone from behind her. “Guards!”

  Boots thundered along the deck. Tallia cursed. Snoat’s troops and sailors were well trained, and she was alone. Where was the gate? Had Xarah lost control of it?

  A pair of soldiers wearing the uniform of Snoat’s personal guard hurled themselves at her. She thrust at the man on the left but he parried, thrust and almost got through. She fought back desperately, knowing that the fellow on the right was waiting for the chance to put his blade into her belly.

  He saw his opportunity and hacked at her. She ducked, and his sword struck the mast and wedged there. Instantly she thrust into his heart. He died without a sound though there was an awful lot of blood; it flooded the deck around him, and the soldier on the left slipped in it and lurched backwards. Tallia struck him hard on the kneecap. He shrieked and fell on his back, howling and holding his ruined knee.

  But now guards were coming from everywhere, dozens of them, and if she had to fight them alone she would soon be killed. Behind her, four steps led up. She scrambled up onto a deck with the wheelhouse in the middle.

  The captain, a very fat, bald man, was half turned away from her, roaring for more guards. His purple sagging jowls were covered in a week’s growth of stubble and he wore a vulgar but expensive coat of crimson velvet with gold buttons over a lurid green waistcoat whose buttons were under near-fatal strain.

  He was swaying on swollen, stubby feet crammed into shoes that no longer fitted. Tallia leaped behind him, grabbed him with her left arm and thrust her blade against his throat.

  “Back!” she roared to the half-dozen troops who had reached the foot of the steps. “Or your captain dies.”

  The leading soldier, a lantern-jawed fellow in a lieutenant’s uniform, sneered. “Think we give a damn if the fat fool lives or dies? Cut his throat and be damned.”

  Without help she would soon die, but she had to keep fighting; she had to take control. “I’m the Magister! Snoat’s dead and we’re at war. If you steal this ship, you’re mutineers. Wherever you go, you’ll be hunted down and hanged.”

  “No one can stop the Merdrun. It’s every man for himself now—and a fast ship to the end of the world is our best hope.”

  The captain whined, “They’re dangerous waters and no one knows them but me. You need me, Lieutenant!”

  Clearly he was a greedy man with his eye on a fortune. Snoat had plundered the wealth of Iagador for his personal collections, and to support his army of fifty thousand men he would have needed a colossal war chest. Most of it would be on this ship—perhaps the greatest treasure ship in the history of Santhenar. What soldier, or captain, wouldn’t kill for a share of it?

  She needed it desperately. For the past two months the allies’ efforts to raise an army had been hindered by lack of coin; thus far they had only been able to recruit and arm five thousand men. This treasure ship could change all that, and Snoat’s well trained army was there for the taking, if she acted fast. But she had to get to it before his generals heard that he was dead and the army broke up into militias bent on plundering while they could.

  The lieutenant was climbing the steps, grinning. Where the hell were the Aachim? Had the dying gate faded out before they could get into it? She fought the fear; she had to keep going.

  The captain gasped and clutched at his chest. Was he having a heart attack? She shoved him aside and sprang forward as the lieutenant stormed up the last three steps and thrust up at her. She swept his blade aside then swung hers horizontally at his exposed throat. The tip carved a red line across it though the wound did not stop him.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” he grinned and leaped at her. “Die, bitch!”

  But on the last word his bloody throat frothed and gurgled, and the breath whistled out of it. She had nicked his windpipe. He stumbled and fell to one knee, looking up at her, and she saw the moment he realised that he was doomed. Terror contorted his face. He tried to shrug it off, to go at her and take her with him, but as he came to his feet she slid her sword into his heart and with her left foot thrust him down the steps into his men.

  “There’s only one of her!” yelled a squat, muscular fellow. “Cut her down and we’re rich beyond our dreams.”

  The sun broke through the clouds, lighting up the deck and the mass of soldiers advancing towards her, at least a hundred of them.

  Tallia was fighting hopelessly when the gate reappeared near the foot of the mainmast with a boom that shook the flagship, and a dozen Aachim stormed out of it, followed by Malien, Nadiril and Lilis, and finally Xarah. Soon there was fighting everywhere but the Aachim troops, outnumbered eight to one, were being driven back. The ship was miles offshore and if they were forced into the sea they would drown.

  From the corner of an eye Tallia saw Nadiril swaying on his feet, trying to shelter Lilis and Aviel behind him. He ha
d a sword in one hand and, for an ancient, was wielding it competently, though there was no hope of him beating an experienced soldier. Her reckless gamble had failed and Santhenar’s hopes would founder here.

  “Sorry about losing the gate,” called Xarah, who was hunched against the side, still working her scrying board. “But this may pay for it.”

  She stood up, moved all her pointers to the centre, and the gate whirled across the deck and into the mass of enemy soldiers. There were wild cries as it passed between them, tossing everyone it touched off their feet and tearing down spars and rigging, then it exploded with a reverberating thud that blasted soldiers, ropes and splinters of wood in all directions, and vanished.

  At least fifteen troops had been hurled over the side into the roaring seas. Their cries soared above the whistle of the wind in the rigging, then stopped.

  “Surrender!” shouted Xarah, brandishing her scrying board. “Or next time I’ll take the rest of you.”

  Their officers tried to rally the soldiers for another attack but the heart had gone out of them.

  “Those who surrender will be treated fairly,” said Tallia, stepping across the bloody deck. “Those who continue to fight will be hanged as mutineers, there.” She indicated the lowest boom of the foremast.

  Every eye turned to it. The moment was poised, then a sergeant came forward onto the open deck between his comrades and Tallia, and tossed down a sword and a pair of knives. Another man followed him, then another and another, and it was over. The Aachim collected the weapons, then marched the troops below decks and locked them in.

  “How did you do that?” Tallia heard Malien say to Xarah.

  Xarah began an explanation that Tallia, for all her mastery of the Secret Art, could not follow. Her knees had gone weak and she could not think straight. The short fight should not have taken so much out of her, but over the last couple of months, dogged by an infected wound that had only recently healed, she had lost battle fitness. She had better get it back, quick.

  “Could you have attacked them?” she said to Xarah.

  Xarah shook her head. “The gate’s gone to nothing.”