Shadow City (20 page)

“You could leave—reassure them,” Ilanion suggested.

She was more than a little tempted. She sighed and shook her head. “Traveling the abyss takes too much out of me. I need the strength I have left to help Scooter.”

“Then come and sit,” he said as someone knocked on the door and it opened. Servants brought in heavily laden trays and set them about. Max watched them in surprise. They looked like they were made of stone, and judging by the heavy thump of their hooves, feet, and claws, they probably were. They smelled of Uncanny magic, though with an underlying tang of something that Max didn’t recognize. It was . . . electric and dark.

They looked at her and then away. Their eyes glowed like blue coals and were full of intelligence. They set their burdens down with surprising lightness before withdrawing. They all wore metal bands around wrists and ankles, the same kind she’d seen on many inhabitants of the city.

“Are they from Chadaré?” Max asked in a carefully neutral voice as she sat down.

“They were born here, though their people come from elsewhere.”

“In captivity?”

“Yes.”

“You keep slaves.” Suddenly, Max was not at all hungry.

“Slaves?” He reached for a waxy yellow fruit and bit into it. “They are bound servants. I provide well for them, and they have freedom.”

“Have freedom,” Max repeated. “Like coming and going when they want? Like saying no when you tell them to do something?”

Ilanion finished the fruit and wiped his fingers on a napkin. “Of course not.” He cocked his head, seeing her anger for the first time. “It is much like you were until I broke your binding. Clearly, you were not entirely unhappy serving your witch.”

Since she’d just made a show of her very mixed feelings, Max didn’t bother arguing the point. “It doesn’t make it right.”

“In Chadaré, might makes right. If you can’t protect yourself or don’t claim the protection of someone powerful, you are free for the taking. In this case, the Enay chose me. Centuries ago, they requested my protection. In exchange, they serve.”

“Their whole lives.”

“Some do. Some do not.”

He didn’t appear inclined to explain any more, and Max didn’t push. Chadaré had its own rules, and she wasn’t going to alienate Ilanion because she didn’t happen to like them. She was going to save Scooter and then get the hell out.

She silently dug into the feast, bolting down the food without tasting it. A knock on the door signaled the arrival of her clothing, which another of the gargoyle servants brought in. She or he—Max couldn’t tell—laid them on the bed and left.

Max shoved herself back from the table and started pulling them on, not bothering to go hunting for privacy. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen everything already.

“I need some weapons,” she said when she was through. “I don’t suppose you have a couple of forty-fives lying around?”

He shook his head. “Guns are not permitted in Chadaré.”

“That doesn’t usually keep them out. Smugglers are everywhere.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re right. But all the gateways are warded against them. Only those who can travel straight through the abyss can bring them in, and you and Nayan are a very rare breed.”

Max digested that, then nodded. “What have you got?”

He stood. “Come. I’ll show you my armory.”

He led her through what was more a medieval palace than anything else. The walls and floors were white stone and broad enough for Ilanion to fly through. Here and there were joltingly modern touches, such as a CD player and speakers.

“Powered with magic,” Ilanion said when he saw her surprise.

She wondered what his music tastes ran to but shrugged away the thought. It didn’t matter. “Are there any more like you?” she asked, motioning toward his wings.

“I am one of a kind,” he said with a slight smile that didn’t really answer the question at all. He could just as easily have been saying that he was a special snowflake and no one in the world could ever compare with his wonderfulness. Or he might have been the only one of his race.

They came to a broad platform that overhung a vast cavern. It had to be a half-mile across, and it was full of shadows. She had no idea how deep it was.

Without warning, Ilanion pulled her against him, his chest warm against her back, his arms circling her waist. “Ready?” He didn’t wait for the answer. His arms tightened, and he leaped out into space.

For long moments, they plunged downward. Then Ilanion spread his wings, and they jerked into a lazy spiral to the bottom, which had to be a good three miles down.

The cavern floor was covered in a layer of fine sand. The place was incredibly warm and smelled of rosemary and lavender. Gold witchlights flickered to life around them, illuminating the area in a dazzling glow.

Max stepped out of Ilanion’s arms. “Nice place. Is this where you hatch your eggs?”

His eyes gleamed, and he smiled. “It is.”

She had no idea if he was joking.

“Come on.” He led her to a wall. He touched it, and wards flared brilliantly. The stone melted to reveal a short corridor on the other side. It led into the armory. The place was easily as big as an airplane hangar. The roof was about fifteen feet high. Racks lined the walls from floor to ceiling and also crowded the floor space. They were full of every weapon imaginable, and plenty of others that Max had never imagined. They were organized generally into categories: spears, swords, daggers, shields, clubs, armor, and then a bunch of miscellaneous stuff.

“Choose what you like,” Ilanion told her.

It was like letting a kid loose in a toy store. But she didn’t have time to play. Instead, she strode through the ranks of weaponry. She needed to travel relatively lightly. At the same time, she had no idea what she was going up against, except that there were going to be witches on steroids.

She picked out a pair of plain swords with razor edges and a sword belt with two scabbards. She added two daggers to her waistband and a couple more to her pockets. She fingered a spear. The haft was six feet long, and it was topped with a slightly curved blade that was another two and a half feet. The thing was well balanced. She considered it a long moment, then reluctantly put it back. The swords were enough and she wanted to have her hands free when she wasn’t fighting.

Next, she wandered into a collection that looked more like a fine jewelry store than a weapons locker. There were rings, necklaces, bracelets, arm bands, jeweled belts, headdresses, and crowns—you name it, it was there.

Max picked up a ring. It was a large emerald surrounded by a sunburst of yellow diamonds. Or something that looked like them. She turned it over to examine it.

“Careful,” Ilanion said as he plucked it from her hand. He was once again dressed in his armor, his helm tucked under his arm. He held the ring carefully. “This one will drop you like a bag of rocks,” he said, settling it back in its velvet case. “It’s quite painful, and the effects are lasting. I spelled it myself.”

She should have known. “Got a garrote hanging about in here?” she asked.

He nodded. “Of course. Right over here.”

He led her to a case of necklaces. Some were crusted with jewels. Others were ornate twists of precious metals. A few on one end were plain. One looked like a torque. It was U-shaped gold with dragon heads on the ends. The gold was twisted to look like a cable. She picked it up, not seeing how to pull it apart. Usually, a wire was hidden inside. “How does it work?”

“Like this.” Ilanion took it and pulled it wide. The metal stretched until it was easily long enough to put around a horse’s neck to strangle it.

“Seems a little big,” Max said doubtfully.

“It responds to your needs,” he said. “You may trust it. I made it, and I tested it myself.”

There was a grim look to his expression that said he’d tested it in an actual battle. Good enough for her. Max took it back and settled it around her neck. It was heavy and warm from Ilanion’s hands.

“There is one other thing you might find useful,” he said, drawing her after him into a section of armor. He pulled down a mail shirt. It was a silvery blue, and it shimmered in the light. It spilled over his hands like watered silk. “I’d like you to wear this.”

Max took it from him and held it up. It was light and flexible. If she put it on, it would hang nearly to her knees and all the way to her wrists. It would totally hamper her movement. “I don’t think it’s my style,” she said, and started to pass it back to him.

He shook his head. “Do you realize that that is the most powerful piece of armor I possess? Possibly the most powerful armor in Chadaré? It will protect you against bursts of magic—as long as they strike the armor. If you had been wearing it when we were fighting, you would not have been affected by my attacks. In some cases, it’s possible to deflect attacks back onto the attacker.”

“Impressive,” Max said. “How is it against steel and claws?”

“Better than with magic.”

“Why give it to me? Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“If I wore it, the Korvad would take it as a sign that I am prepared to go to war with them.”

“So what do you get out of all this? Helping me?” she asked suspiciously. There was no such thing as a free lunch in the world of magic. Favors meant payback. This armor counted as going above and beyond the call of duty. If she took it, she was going to owe him, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She’d played that game once with Scooter. Not that she had a lot of choice at the moment. Not if she wanted to keep Scooter alive.

“I want Nayan to live,” Ilanion said slowly. “And I want the Korvad broken. If you succeed, you rob them of considerable power—power they’ve used to control Chadaré for thousands of years. Without it, and with Nayan’s help, Chadaré will become a free city again.”

“Free? Or you want a chance at taking over and running the whole shebang yourself?”

“I have always been content with the Torchmarch,” Ilanion said. “But there are others . . .” He drifted off, and for a moment, his gaze went cold and pitiless. Then he shook it off. “Others have suffered. It is time for change.”

So he had a personal stake in this. That answered a lot about why he was helping at all. “If I take your help, then you don’t expect payback?”

He shook his head. “If you save Nayan, then you break the Korvad. That’s all I want. Your death would prevent that. So I want you to wear the armor. You can return it when you’re done.”

Max nodded. “All right.” She removed her weapons and pulled the mail shirt over her clothing. It felt icy at first, then warmed. Suddenly, it shimmered and constricted, sinking under her clothing. It tightened around her arms and body like a second skin. It slid up over her neck and head and down over her legs until she was fully encased except for her hands and her face. “What the hell? How do I get this off?” She scraped her fingers over it, but it was impervious. She glared at Ilanion accusingly. “Is this your idea of a joke? Or is it a trap?”

“Neither. When you want to remove it, know its name, and tell it what to do. It will obey.”

“Know its
name?
” Max repeated. “It has a name? Does that make it a living creature?” Somehow the idea sent chills slithering along her nerves.

“In its way,” came the very unhelpful answer.

“Some people just need killing,” she muttered under her breath, repeating Thor’s favorite saying as she eyed Ilanion balefully. She felt like she was wearing a really bad comic-book-hero costume. Call her Peter Parker. Or Catwoman. She curled her toes, wishing she had a pair of boots. “OK, what’s its name?”

He flushed. “It will tell you. It is different each time you put it on. That way, no one but the current wearer can control it. Blood is required to make contact.”

“Of course it is. This keeps getting better and better,” Max said dryly. No point in wasting time. She picked up one of the daggers she’d chosen and dug the point into her thumb. She smeared the blood on the armor sleeve of her other arm.

Instantly, the armor went hot. Prickles ran over her skin like bee stings, and then a ribbon of white spooled across her mindscape. It curled through her mind. It felt alien. Max flinched, and it halted, like a deer in the headlights. Max could feel shyness radiating from it. She frowned and reached out to it. The touch brought a flash of fierce joy and then a feeling like a cat rubbing up against her and purring. A big cat. Like a sabertooth tiger.

“What’s your name?” she whispered.

The answer was not words but a kind of tune mixed with a dance of color and a faint flavor of salt. How the hell was she supposed to reproduce that? It repeated again and then again. Max could feel its impatience, as if it were waiting for her try. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated, and then she repeated the color and sound in her mind. She tried to imagine salt—sweat and ocean brine and blood.

There was a shiver like laughter and then a swirl of movement as if in celebration. Max repeated it again and then four more times, each time with a questioning lilt in her mind.
Is this right?

By the last time, the armor creature seemed satisfied, and Max focused on what she wanted.
Pull down from head,
she thought, and instantly, the armor loosened and slid down to form a collar around her neck.

“Very good,” Ilanion said with raised brows. “Impressive. It took me a bit longer than that to make the armor’s acquaintance.”

“Good thing I’m a fast learner,” Max said acidly as she strapped the sword belts on again and tucked the daggers back in. She put the torque around her neck.

“The armor is versatile. It can make pockets in itself and even become other forms of clothing, though I’ve never been successful in making it change color.”

“I’m not looking to be going to any parties in it,” Max said. “I just want to get going. And I know right where to start,” she said, remembering the house where she’d followed the hunter and his pack of Calopus.

That surprised Ilanion. “Where?”

She described the place: the red and cream stone wall, the opalescent mist within, and the magic warding it.

He nodded. “Indeed. Asherah is a very powerful member of the Korvad and was my first thought, though getting inside her house will be difficult.”