The Archon's Assassin (58 page)

“Come on,” Shadrak said, heading back into the corridor. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Where’s Albert?” Shader said.

“Does it matter? It’s not like he’d stick around if things turn nasty.” With that, Shadrak strode off, apparently expecting everyone else to follow.

Rhiannon stopped shaking her head; raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Shader.

He gave the slightest of shrugs. “Maybe he’s resting?”

Rhiannon scoffed, and this time, when she shook her head, Shader knew exactly what she was thinking.

Fat chance
.

***

They left the plane ship by one of its many side doors, stepping out into stark light that came from overhead strips. All about them, homunculi scurried with their gray slates in hand.

They were in a hall of some sort. It was so vast, Shader could only see the nearest wall: perfectly cut gray bricks, neatly mortared, studded with heavy doors painted cyan. There were yellow signs with black symbols on each of the doors. The floor had been reduced to rubble, apparently dug up to reveal an immense circuit of interconnected pipes, each wide enough for two horses side by side. They were made from some sleek red material, and followed a series of twists and turns until they terminated at the foot of a metal archway.

Mephesch, the homunculus who’d been Sektis Gandaw’s righthand man, was beneath the arch inspecting the wires that connected it to the pipes. Suddenly, he looked up and raised a hand. The other homunculi—there must have been upward of thirty—seemed to glide to the walls and melt away from sight.

One of the doors opened, and a man came in. He was armored in splint mail and carrying a spear. But it was the fist symbol on his shield that gave him away. That, and the trailing black cloak. He was one of Hagalle’s. He was Sahulian.

The soldier turned his eyes on the companions, opened his mouth to shout, but a homunculus emerged from the wall behind him. There was a fizz, a buzz, a flash of violet light, and the soldier collapsed in a heap.

More homunculi stepped away from the walls to drag him deeper into the room, which is when Shader saw there was quite a pile of dead soldiers. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before the Sahulians realized something was wrong and came in force.

“Step this way,” Mephesch said. “Once you are all beneath the arch, we will fire up the…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Portal maker. You must be alert. The transition will be disorienting. You will be as close to the cavern of the Cynocephalus as I can get you without waking him. Make haste, for the portal will not be stable. Grab the Shield of Warding and don’t look back. If the Cynocephalus wakes, run, and don’t stop running. Any questions?”

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Nameless said. “Another deception?”

“It’s a bit late to back out now,” Mephesch said. “And besides, I’m a homunculus. Any answer I give is likely to be tinged with trickery. Isn’t that what they say in Arx Gravis?”

Nameless turned the eye-slit of his helm on Shader. “Laddie?”

Shader nodded, and together they got into position beneath the arch. Rhiannon came next, and then Galen.

“Now,” Mephesch said into a vambrace on his wrist.

The drone of a thousand insects ripped through Shader’s eardrums. White light strobed all about him, and then he was falling.

SON OF THE DEMIURGOS

Threshold between the Abyss and Gehenna

“F
our years without a cigarette. Back home that would be 1,460 days, or 35,040 minutes, or well over 2 million seconds (2,102,400, to be precise). On Aethir, God knows how long it’s been since my last smoke. Do you know? Does anyone? Are you there? Hello?”

Shader groaned and tried to tune the mumbling out, but beneath it there was a rhythmic growl, a reverberating rumble. He was hot. Too hot to sleep. And what was that smell? Something was burning.

He sat bolt upright. Only he didn’t. He was already standing, and the act of trying to sit threw him off balance. He stumbled and almost fell.

There. Ahead of him: the orange glow of flames. Sulfur was thick in his nostrils, and smoke heavy in the air, so dense he could barely see. He coughed on instinct, and around him others coughed in response.

Behind them came the stark blaze of the portal. It formed a cavity of blinding brilliance in the dark rock of a wall.

And then he remembered. He’d not been sleeping. It must have been the disorientation Mephesch had warned them about. They had passed through the portal. They were in the Abyss. And the portal was already flickering, as if ready to fail.

“Two plus one plus zero plus two equals five. Blast! Ah, but add the four and two more zeros and you have nine, divisible by three to make three times three: the perfect number. Huzzah!”

That voice again: Cadman’s voice. Only this time, it wasn’t inside Shader’s head. He heard it through his ears, as if the formerly fat doctor were standing right beside him. He checked, but all he saw was Nameless wobbling precariously on his feet; Rhiannon down on her knees; Galen turning on the spot and gawping at the fiery glow behind the smog. A heavier pooling of the shadows told him Shadrak was there, wrapped in his cloak.

Shader felt about in his coat pocket and found the glass vial Aristodeus had given him.

“About time,” Cadman said, clear as a bell.

“That voice,” Rhiannon said. She swayed as she rose, but Nameless caught her arm.

Shader produced the vial and held it up.

Rhiannon’s eyes widened. “It can speak?”

“It?” Cadman said. The roiling wraith within pressed up close to the glass, red eyes glaring. “It?”

“It’s really him?” Rhiannon said. “Really Cadman?”

“I’m afraid so,” Shader said.

Rhiannon snatched the vial from his hand and held it aloft. “Good. Then we smash it.”

“Yes!” Cadman said.

“No.” Shader grabbed her wrist. “We might lose him.”

“So?” Rhiannon said.

“So?” Cadman echoed.

“We may need him.”

“Oh, the utility,” Cadman said. “Is that compatible with Nousian unconditional love?”

Shader pried the vial from Rhiannon’s fingers, meaning to put it back in his pocket.

“Wait,” Cadman said. “Let me take a look.” The black mist swirled around the vial. “Well, well, well. Isn’t that a thing? I should be petrified. I should be screaming with dread, but I feel quite calm. Now why do you suppose that is? I’ve spent a lifetime—considerably longer—doing everything in my power to avoid the Reaper’s scythe, because I had a nasty feeling I’d end up in the Abyss. And yet, here I am, still not quite dead, and not nearly as afraid as I probably should be. It’s something of a revelation.”

“A fear faced is a fear halved,” Nameless said.

“Quite,” Cadman said. “All my fives have turned to two-point-fives. It’s an advertisement for bravery, any way you look at it. Do you suppose, if I tackle the two-and-a-halves head on, they’ll turn into one-and-a-quarters?”

Galen shuffled closer, treading carefully over nubs and gnarls of coal.

They were atop a promontory formed from igneous rock that looked down upon a smoke-wreathed river.

Shader squinted against the stinging fog, saw that the river oozed rather than flowed; that it was tar rather than water, like the polluted moat that surrounded the Perfect Peak, and the one around the keep of Wolfmalen Castle. It gave off an odor that was overwhelming. He drew in a breath through his nostrils, trying to identify the mephitic stench, but was rewarded with dizziness and the urge to jump in.

“Aren’t you going to unstopper me?” Cadman asked. “Let me get a whiff?”

Galen put a hand on Shader’s arm, pulled him back. “That noise,” he said. “The rumbling. What is it?”

“Ah,” Cadman said. “Isn’t it obvious? No? Well, I suppose I have the advantage of being a medical man.” He made the sound of mock snoring.

“The Cynocephalus?” Nameless asked.

“Bravo!”

“And now can we ditch him?” Rhiannon said.

Shader pocketed the vial.

Cadman’s voice came out muffled now: “Fat lot of good I’m going to be if I can’t see.”

“How come he can talk?” Rhiannon said. “I mean, he’s just a black swirly thing.”

“Yes, I was wondering that, too,” Cadman’s muted reply came. “The telepathy earlier was all me. It’s amazing what hidden recesses of the mind you can tap when stuck in a test tube for four years. I even started to build my own imaginary world, but I stopped when I realized that’s exactly what the Demiurgos had done. That’s how this place came about. Now, will you please remove me from your pocket? If I’m to be of any use, I need to be able to see.”

“Fine,” Shader said, removing the vial once more and holding it up.

The wraith’s eyes were minute beacons staring off into the gloom.

“Quite crepuscular, isn’t it?” Cadman said. When no one responded, he added, “Gloamy? Bordering on twilight?”

“Come on,” Nameless said, heading toward the source of the rumbling. He sounded grim as death.

“Must we?” Cadman said. “I mean, so soon? If this is to be my last gasp of life, couldn’t you at least take pity, pop the stopper, and give me a sniff of nicotine? No? Then what about cognac? Just a smell of the stuff will do wonders for my spirit. Anyone?”

“Shut the shog up,” Shadrak said, slinking after Nameless.

“Lovely to see you again, too, Shadrak,” Cadman said. “What, not even a ‘hello’ for old times’ sake?”

Shadrak raised his middle finger and kept on walking.

“Charming,” Cadman said.

A keening wail echoed along the tunnel through which the black waters sludged. It was quickly followed by a maniacal cackle, and what sounded like the chatter of a thousand monkeys.

“Yes, well, perhaps the dwarf is right,” Cadman said. “My vote is that we follow.”

With as much haste as they dared make over the uneven surface of the promontory, they caught up with Nameless and Shadrak.

The dwarf had stopped before rough-cut steps that led down to the level of the river. The rumbling snores were louder here, and they merged with the slop, slop, slurp of the black waters pouring over the lip of a chasm in a parody of a waterfall. A narrow bridge that appeared to have been woven out of dried strands of tar spanned the river, and on the far side, there was an immense opening in the wall. It was at least seventy feet tall and half as wide. Two obsidian megaliths flanked the opening, and atop them sat a capstone inscribed with glyphs and sigils in cobalt, the same hue as Aethir’s sky.

A shriek sounded from somewhere behind them, and then came the crunching steps of an army, or the banging of a hundred drums.

“Keep going,” Shader said. “In and out, remember?”

“No shogging way to work,” Shadrak grumbled, but he still followed Nameless down the steps to the bridge.

The dwarf had barely reached halfway, when the surface of the river broke in five places. Dragon heads atop sinuous necks streamed into the air, belching fire, lightning, fluid, gas, and a funnel of rock dust. Most of it struck the Liche Lord’s armor and the scarolite helm and did no harm. Nameless swung his axe, but the monster vanished, as if it had never been there. He hurried across to the other side.

When Shadrak reached halfway, an ancient crone appeared, floating in the air before him. Her hair was bound in dreadlocks, beaded with crystals. Her rheumy eyes had been taken over by her pupils. She was naked, all wrinkles and sags, with flaccid breasts like empty wineskins. Bones showed through her paper-thin skin, and she was disfigured by weeping sores.

“Kadee!” Shadrak reached for her.

She smiled: the loving smile of a parent for a child, and then she, too, was gone.

Shader was next. To him appeared a woman robed in Nousian white. Raven hair hung to her waist, and at first he thought it was an image of Rhiannon. But then he saw the eyes: inhuman eyes of electric blue. The eyes of Sektis Gandaw.

Rhiannon gasped. “I thought it was my mom. But it’s not. I think… I think it’s Saphra.”

“Saphra?” Shader said, even as the phantom dispersed. But she’s—”

“Saphra?” Cadman said. “Who the deuce is Saphra?”

“My daughter,” Rhiannon said. She’d still not stepped onto the bridge.

Shader almost added “ours”, but he wasn’t convinced. He had no way of understanding what Aristodeus had done; whether it was even possible.

“You don’t look old enough,” Cadman said.

“I’m not,” Rhiannon said. “Saphra’s only four.”

“Only—?” Cadman was cut off by a tall man materializing on the bridge. A man with an aquiline nose, yellow-stained gray hair, and thin lips that bespoke unimaginable cruelty. “Blightey!” What promised to be a scream ended up as a quavering whisper. So, Cadman was still scared of something.

The Liche Lord looked different to Shader, but then he would, wouldn’t he? He’d worn a borrowed body when he’d been Thecla Cawdor, and another when they’d battled him in the castle.

Galen roared and pushed past, aiming a saber blow at Blightey’s head. As it connected, the Liche Lord turned to smoke and mingled with the fog coming off the river.

Ludo appeared in his place, as he had been before Verusia: tall, kindly, ungainly. He peered at Galen over his glasses, smiled. And then blood erupted from his mouth as the spike came through, and Galen moaned.

Shader felt it, too, though his dismay was washed away in a new wave of anger. He breathed deeply of the noxious fumes from the river, put a hand on Galen’s shoulder, and led him the rest of the way over the bridge.

Rhiannon was last. When she reached the middle, Shader half-expected to see Gaston, or maybe her parents bleeding out in front of their home. Instead, Sammy appeared, half-naked in the Dreamer style. His tanned torso was marked with white patterns that made him look like some macabre skeleton. His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, and he glared at Rhiannon as if he’d never known her.

“Sammy?” she said like a supplication, but he was already gone.

“Phantoms of the mind,” Cadman said. “Memories, old hauntings.”

“But Saphra,” Shader said. It could only have been the future. Or at least some wild imagining his mind had thrown up.