The Archon's Assassin (21 page)

Shadrak’s shirt was damp with sweat, his cloak heavy with it. Even here, so close to the entrance, his breathing was growing labored.

Keeping close to a tuberous wall, he started to creep ahead. If they wanted to stand there all day and argue, then shog them. He wanted this over and done with. Besides, the racket they were making, the fire giant would be on them in no time, and they’d never even hear him coming. Shadrak didn’t intend to be there when that happened.

Behind him, Galen continued to complain. “I sweated blood to bring her to this infernal world, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave her here as goblin fodder. It is a principle of honor, don’t you know—”

“Honor’s not all it’s cracked up to be, laddie,” Nameless said. “Stay with the horse, or come with us. Makes no difference to me.”

“Last chance,” Shadrak said over his shoulder.

“Now look here,” Galen protested, but there was defeat in his voice. “Oh, for goodness sake. What is the point of talking with you people? Blackguards, the lot of you.”

Ludo put a hand on his arm and muttered something in his ear.

Galen sucked in a deep breath and let it go in a huff.

Ludo nodded encouragingly then stooped to study some rocks as Galen tethered his horse outside. “Fascinating.”

Shadrak turned back. “What is it?”

There were intricate patterns in blue and green across the surface of the stones. Higher up, bright pink shapes tattooed the wall with the intricacy of a spider’s web.

“Mineral deposits, at a guess.” Ludo stood and straightened his cassock.

Albert bent down and sniffed at the patterns, dabbed at one and tasted it. He made little smacking noises with his lips and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Useless,” he muttered, “Utterly useless.”

The flapping of wings echoed along the tunnel as a large raven alighted on the rocks. It gave a long, drawn-out squawk, and the air around it shimmered. There, where the raven had perched, stood Bird, swathed in his cloak of feathers, black eyes glinting as he said, “Bug shit.”

Ludo raised a bushy eyebrow and let out a breathy “Ah!” He wagged his finger, as if commending a clever pupil.

Albert puckered his face up and reached for a waterskin.

Shadrak’s eyes rested on Bird, noted how his clothes were already fading to reflect the gray of the tunnel walls. The little man was proving a bit of a mystery; much more of one than Shadrak liked, or could usually tolerate.

The black eyes rolled toward him, met his gaze. Bird gave an awkward smile, then quickly looked away.

***

The tunnel wound downward at a gentle gradient, its scabbed and noduled walls smoldering and glowing like dying coals. High above, there were broad shelves of sagging rock leading to twisting vents and natural steps.

The passageway narrowed to a vertical cleft, through which Nameless and Ekyls pushed the mule, while Albert pulled on the reins from up front. They emerged into a chamber like a hollowed-out column, its heights peppered with tunnels of varying sizes.

“Looks like the inside of a tree,” Ludo said.

“It is.” Bird stroked the wall; pressed his ear to it.

Shadrak could see it now: the perfect mold of an enormous tree, its wrinkled bark now permanently pressed in stone. The tunnels were nothing more than the impressions left by its branches.

“Magma surrounded the tree,”—Bird waved his hand to take in the chamber—“cooled at the edges, and burned away the wood and sap.”

“Incredible,” Ludo said. “The outer layer forms a crust around it and preserves the shape.”

Shadrak scurried down a gully made by the tree’s roots and entered a tube of reddish rock that snaked into the distance. Ludo clambered after him, coughing and spluttering.

Shadrak’s mouth was dry, lungs burning from the acrid air. He waited until Albert brought the mule alongside, and took a long draft from a waterskin.

Nameless was making hard work of it, boots scraping and thudding, breaths echoing from the great helm in rasping heaves.

On instinct, Shadrak offered him the waterskin, then realized his mistake and withdrew it.

Nameless snorted, and then chuckled, as if he wanted to give the impression he wasn’t suffering, but he must have been sweltering in that helm; beneath his hauberk.

Galen came up behind the dwarf, wringing the moisture from his mustache.

Ekyls crouched at the lip of the gully before dropping lithely to the ground. Rivulets of sweat streamed down his torso, and his tongue lolled from his mouth like a dog’s.

“Where now?” the savage asked.

“Down,” Shadrak croaked, and tried to clear his throat. “Toward the magma chamber, Aristodeus said. Apparently, the giant likes it hot.”

Nameless chuckled.

Albert tutted and shook his head.

Ludo tugged at Galen’s sleeve. “Do you know what this reminds me of?”

“No, Eminence, I do not.”

“Luminary Bertold, remember?” He looked around to make sure everyone was listening. “Bertold was a stout fellow, possessed of great strength and fortitude. Actually, not too dissimilar to you.” He wagged a finger at Nameless. “Yes, a strong man, and zealous with it. It is said he marched straight through the Abyss and out the other side. Right into the heart, he went, deep into caves of fire, where he glimpsed a gigantic figure entombed in ice.” He touched his forehead, and Galen followed suit.

Ekyls sniffed. “Fool, then, to go there.”

“He was serving the Lord Nous,” Galen said, as if he were reprimanding a small child.

Ekyls leered. “Nous foolish, too, if he allow fools to serve him. Mamba Tribe throw idiots into snake pits.”

Ludo smiled and shook his head. “One man’s foolishness is another man’s wisdom, eh Galen?”

“Pah!” Ekyls pushed roughly past them and loped down the tunnel, which suited Shadrak just fine. If there were problems ahead, he’d sooner the savage found them first.

Ludo tilted his spectacles so that he could peek over them. Even in the soft glow emanating from the rocks, he appeared gaunt, wasted. His head poked too far forward, like a chicken’s, and his back was stooped, as if he’d spent a lifetime hunched over a desk.

Baggage. About as useful as that bug shit at the entrance.

Ludo leaned conspiratorially toward Shadrak and beamed a crooked-toothed smile.

“I think we made some progress.” His eyes followed Ekyls. “A few words, small gestures.”

“What’s this, your civilizing the dumb savage routine?” Shadrak said.
Try that on Kadee, and she’d have put you in your place. And right after, I’d have put you in the ground.

He grunted and wasted no time moving away. Ludo’s breath stank worse than a cat’s arse.

***

Ekyls was on his stomach, peering over the edge of a crevasse when they caught up with him.

Scalding air wafted up from the depths in dirty plumes. Shadrak covered his nose and mouth and risked a look.

Hundreds of feet below, a slick stream of magma sloughed through a gorge. Black pillows of crust scabbed the surface of the flow. On and around them, licks of flame wavered and danced. He withdrew quickly, face stinging with heat and sweat.

“End of road.” Ekyls spat into the chasm.

“You think?” Shadrak said. “Albert, chuck us some rope, and tie the other end to your ass—the one with the ears and a tail.”

Quintus brayed and stamped, refusing to move any nearer to the edge. He caught Albert with a hoof, sent him hopping away clutching his knee and whimpering.

Nameless raised a fist. “Stop being an ass, Quintus.” To Shadrak, he said, “I’m winking, laddie. Not as good as yours, but who’s keeping score?”

Albert was, judging by the sour look he gave Shadrak.

Bird glared at the threatened fist, but Quintus lowered his head and stopped struggling.

The dwarf uncoiled a length of rope and passed one end to Shadrak, tying the other firmly to the mule.

Shadrak looped his end around his waist and backed onto the edge of the precipice. “Pay it out each time I push off from the wall.”

“Right you are, laddie.”

“It’ll chafe,” Ludo said. “Perhaps some gloves?”

“Nothing he ain’t used to,” Shadrak said, and Nameless guffawed.

Ludo looked to Galen for an explanation, but it was lost on the dragoon, too.
Wanker
.

Shadrak stepped back and began to rappel in steady, easy jumps.

Sulfur filled his nostrils, made his eyes run. He held his breath as he descended a few feet, then took in a gasp of acrid air. Nameless let out a little more rope, and Shadrak dropped again. When he ran out of slack, he called up, “That all we got?”

Nameless’s great helm appeared above him. “Hold on, laddie. I’ll drag the mule closer.”

After a moment’s scuffing and braying, a bit more slack was paid out. Thankfully, it was enough.

Shadrak lowered himself to a narrow shelf. Untying the rope, he dropped to his hands and knees so he could peer over the edge.

Just below, there was an opening in the chasm wall that looked big enough to squeeze through.

He rolled from the shelf and hung by his fingertips. He could feel the heat coming off the lava flow through the soles of his boots. It scorched the seat of his britches like he’d sat on a hotplate. Sweat poured down his face, made his grip slippery.

He glimpsed what seemed a good handhold to his right, and started to pendulum-swing his legs. When he’d picked up enough momentum, he let go and flung his arm out. Rough rock cut into his fingers, and pain lanced through his bad shoulder, but he grimaced and held on. Once stable, he swung toward another knobby protrusion. From there, it was a case of shuffling hand over hand until he reached the opening.

It was a soot-blackened lava vent.

He squeezed in sideways, back scraping against one wall. The ceiling was an inch or so above head-height for him, so he was able to make quick progress all the way to a junction. There, things grew tighter, and he followed the left turn downward on his hands and knees. His legs were abraded raw through the rent fabric of his britches, and his palms were bleeding from scores of tiny cuts.

He emerged into a cavern bristling with rocky fangs that twisted from the ceiling and floor. Every surface was painted with the same vivid deposits they had seen at the entrance. A yellowish haze, like fetid breath, left the air thick and cloying, heavy with brimstone.

Shadrak walked among the stalagmites until he reached the banks of the lava lake. Its scabby ooze bubbled and seethed, coughed up gouts of dirty smoke.

He heard the others hollering, and looked up to see them peering over the brink high above. Ludo tossed down a coin to phwat upon the crust, sizzle, and slowly liquefy.

“Is there another way down?” Nameless hollered.

Shadrak doubted the dwarf could squeeze his shoulders into the lava vent, assuming he could even negotiate the handholds to get there. And as for the rest of them… Quintus the mule had more chance of making it. Except maybe for Bird.

Thought of the shapeshifter gave Shadrak pause. Scouting ahead would have been a cinch for him, if he turned back into a raven. Shog, the scut could probably become a cockroach. Odd that he hadn’t. Before his mind ran away with suspicion after suspicion, Shadrak put a lid on it. All he needed to do for now was register the fact and file it away for another time.

He signed for them to wait, be quiet, before he realized only Albert would recognize the hand signals. For brevity’s sake, he put a finger to his lips, made sure they saw it. Last thing he wanted was to bring the giant down on them, but with the racket they were making, it was probably already too late.

When he was sure he had Albert’s attention, he signed for them to stay put while he did a quick recce.

He searched around the walls of the cathedral cavern, ducked in and out of tunnels, and had climbed part way up a winding vent, when he heard cries from above.

“Scutting arsewipes,” he muttered. “What the shog now?”

Someone screamed—Albert?

A sound like the roar of flames. In its wake, the rumbling wheeze of air echoing through the lava tunnels. Was there a surge coming? An eruption?

Shadrak dropped back down into the cavern. He swirled his cloak around him and slipped behind a stalagmite. There was a shift in the play of light coming off the burning crust.

Steeling himself, he chanced a look.

A column of flame stood within the flow. It rose and fell. A second followed in its wake, wading through the magma, lifting, bending—

They were legs. Giant legs, wreathed in lava.

Slipping from one stalagmite to the next, Shadrak approached the bank.

Thunderous breaths blasted across the cavern. Laughter boomed and rumbled.

It was a man. A colossal man with charcoal skin and fiery veins. Heavy brows hung like outcrops of coal above blazing eyes. His hair was a raging conflagration, his beard a molten cascade. A tail of lightning skimmed the lake behind, and in his hands, held cupped before his face, were the bodies of Shadrak’s companions.

THE SWORD IN THE GRASS

Britannia, Earth

C
rimson sunlight bathed the summit of Mount Caburn on the far side of the valley as Shader crested the rise of Firle Beacon. The livid skies above the Weald were streaked with ribbons of pink and amber.

A lone wolf-man loomed from the mist, its shaggy bulk shuddering with each muffled growl.

Shader lowered Pete to the dew-damp grass, slid Sandau’s sword from his belt.

Another figure materialized from the gray and placed a hand on the wolf-man’s head, stroking and patting it.

“Two days, I says. Two days afore you come to the beacon.” He sounded pleased. The only thing missing from his delivery was an “I told you so.”

The haze dispersed to reveal a piebald mask, the wisp of a cloak that swirled like cobwebs in the breeze.

Heredwin leaned on a scythe. In the half-light of dawn, he looked like an angel of death come to reap.

“You sent the wolves.” Shader pointed his sword at the mask.

The wolf-man bared its fangs and snarled.

“Not I, Pater.”

The title stung. Shader’s anger showed it for what it was.