The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) (22 page)

"Cowards, then," said Tiron. "To hide here while the others were killed."

"Perhaps," said Audsley. "We cannot guess at what happened. Still, if I were given the choice to die peacefully amongst books or at the edge of a sword, I know which I would choose."

Tiron didn't respond, perhaps tactfully, so Audsley stepped up to the books. "Yes," he whispered. "This is what we have been searching for."

The others settled down to wait, pulling forth cheese and dried meat to make a luncheon while Audsley moved about, too eager to study any one book for long.

The texts were written in a combination of Sigean and Aletheian, a combination that resulted in a powerful language all its own, blending the incisiveness of Sigean with the poetic allusions of Aletheian. Several times Audsley laughed out loud in delight at the combinations, but each time he stifled his pleasure as the others turned to stare.

There were no ladders with which to descend to the lower rings, so the others brought out their rope and lowered Audsley as needed. Eventually he descended to the lowest wheel, and there he stared at the withered corpses. There were six of them, gathered around in a circle, and they had died holding each other's hands. Their faces were covered in parchment-like skin with no flesh beneath, and their eye sockets gaped. Had they gathered to attempt one last casting of magic? Had they taken poison? It was impossible to tell.

Long through the night Audsley studied, and a wealth of information opened before his eyes. So many tantalizing avenues of potential exploration appeared and tempted him to delve further in their direction, but each time, through supreme effort, he pulled himself back from diving into their fascinating depths. History, botany, philosophy - there were enough trenchant texts here to occupy his entire lifetime, and still he might but scratch the surface.

But no; there was no time for that. He tore himself brutally from anything that did not reflect directly upon the mysteries of the Portals. For many hours he simply wandered within the ever-tightening circles, checking titles, attempting to decipher the more obscure languages, wishing for a companion with whom he could ruminate over his discoveries. Finally he found a ponderous tome that seemed promising. He sat at the only empty seat at the central table, careful not to brush against his dead companions, and pored over the yellowed pages.

The others had fallen asleep when at last he closed the book and sat back with a sigh. His eyes were strained and felt full of grit, his lower back was aching, and he had a terrible need to relieve himself. Still, all that was nothing compared to the ebullient joy that was pounding within his chest, which made him want to leap onto the table and cavort with glee. Carefully, slowly, he gathered himself and rose to his feet, took up the book and pressed it close to his chest. He searched the upper circles for signs of the others, but heard only snores.

"Tiron? Attend me, if you will! There is news! News such as you cannot dream of!"

"What?" Tiron rolled up to sitting and peered down at him from three levels up. "Ah. Yes. One moment."

It actually took ten minutes of heaving and hauling to extricate Audsley from the lowest circle, but soon the four of them were gathered together, panting and sitting in a circle. Unable to rest, buoyed by his effervescent happiness, Audsley rose to his feet and began to pace.

"The Portals. The Portals! I have but scratched the surface, but ah, so much now makes sense!" He rounded on them suddenly, his eyes wide. "Have you never wondered what arcane power allows the Portals to function, with the Sin Casters long gone? How do they continue to transport us across incalculable distances with the Black Gate closed?"

The three others glanced at each other, and then Tiron slowly shook his head. "No. I never wondered."

"Well, I did! At last I have my answer. They are self-sufficient, powered in a similar manner to that platform on which we fly, and the blade itself! I know not yet the true nature of that power, but each Portal stands alone, unique, and eternal as long as its form isn't damaged."

Temyl rubbed the side of his head. "That's all very well and good, Magister Audsley, but I don't see how that helps us."

"Ah! But think. The Portals do not need Sin Casters to operate, correct? Any man may pass through their archway and transport himself across the world. Thus, we do not need special magics of our own to operate them! They will provide the power if we provide the knowledge. Knowledge, may I add, which I have found in this very book!"

Tiron rose to his feet. His face had regained some of the color he'd lost due to his wound, and he moved a trifle less stiffly. "Do you know how to open the Portals?"

"In theory?" Audsley paused, eyebrows raised, enjoying the tension. "Yes! I do! At least, I know where to start. The runes that are inscribed over their surface are in a language I've never read before, but there is a primer here, a text that allows one to decipher them! If I can have some time with the Portals, I believe I can speak the words that will cause them to open."

Bogusch blinked and then smiled tentatively. "You mean we're getting out of here?"

"Well, perhaps." Audsley hesitated. "I must first master this rather difficult language. It is no easy feat. And the portals on the other side - such as the one below the Hold - do not have any inscriptions over their arches. Thus I wouldn't know what to say to open it from the other side."

Tiron rubbed his jaw, frowning with fierce concentration. "So we can only open these portals from within Starkadr?"

"Well, perhaps. I have much to learn. But yes. The names are only written on the portals found below. Once we step through, there is no way to return till they open of their own volition."

Tiron nodded. "And these names. Could anyone learn to speak them?"

"I suppose anybody
could
open these Portals, but they have to first be steeped in several ancient languages so as to get the intonations correct. Which, I suppose, limits our list of candidates to just one."

"You," said Tiron.

"Me," said Audsley. He tried to quell the pang of fear that ran through him. "I will thus have to remain behind to open the Portals to facilitate passage."

Bogusch leaned forward. "But how will you know when to open them if we can't tell you from the other side?"

"Pre-arranged times, my dear fellow." Audsley's smile was stiff. "For example, I could open the Portal to Mythgræfen once a day until you are ready to pass through to Agerastos, and vice versa. Tedious, but simple."

"Come," said Tiron. "Let us put this theory to the test. There is no need to delay."

The longer he dwelt on the necessity of his remaining behind, the dimmer his excitement grew. He would have to stay trapped within this floating tomb for as long as they needed the use of its Portals. Trapped within its gloomy halls.

Still, there would be plenty of books to read. Audsley restrained a smile. Sighing, he turned to follow the others. "Agreed. Let us go and see how well I have divined this secret of Starkadr."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Kethe heard Asho gasp. The sound was short and sharp and spoke of a sudden panic. Without thinking, she drew her blade, clasped it with both hands, and spun so as to fall into a crouch.

Asho stood still, gazing over his shoulder toward a monstrous hound that had padded up silently behind him. The creature was almost the size of a pony, though it was an unnatural combination of flesh and darkness. Its head, nape, and shoulders were covered in thick, matted black fur, but beyond that, it seemed wrapped in coiling shadow which did little to hide its spinal column and ribs. There was a hint of its rear legs, the talons digging into the rock, and its tail was a burning sheet of black fire.

Impossible. Terrifying. And sniffing at the ground just behind Asho's heels.

Kethe forced herself to swallow and glanced over to Mæva, who was staring at the shadow hound with wide eyes. There was no recognition in her gaze, no sign of a plan. Kethe felt Asho reach out for her and embraced his connection. Immediately, that strange whispering wind of the world pouring through him and into her soul started up. She drank deep, and felt strength coil within her frame, the leather of her gloves creaking as she tightened her grip on her hand-and-a-half castle-forged blade.

Asho took a step away, and the hound's ears flattened alongside its vulpine skull as it moved after him, scenting at the ground on which Asho had stood. Understanding hit Kethe like one of Elon's hammers. Mæva was masking their immediate presence, but not the scent they were leaving behind them. As soon as Asho moved, a fresh footprint sprang into existence before this shadow monster's nose.

Asho had made the same realization. He took a second step, but this time turned as he did, so that he was facing the hound when he stopped. Again the monstrous beast followed and sniffed at the latest print. It was utterly silent, not breathing, its huge talons making no sound as they touched the rock.

Asho was breathing in short, quick pants. He raised his blade overhead. The weak sunlight glimmered down its length.

Kethe's heart began to pound. He was going to strike. And why not? What better option was there? She felt more magic course into her, and knew that he was going to strike hard and true and sever the monster's neck. She willed him to bring the blade down. A moment of tension ran through him as he rose a fraction of an inch onto his toes, then he swung down, both hands cleaving his blade toward the beast.

It darted aside with preternatural speed at the last instant, leaving a wreath of shadows behind it like smoke that faded even as Asho's blade clanged against the rock. The hound threw itself blindly forward, a terrible howl tearing from its muzzle, but Kethe was there first. She crashed into Asho's back and sent him sprawling just as the monster soared through the space where he'd been, snapping its jaws and landing in a mass of confusion, lashing out in all directions.

"Run!" Mæva's voice was stricken with fear. "Follow me!"

Kethe hauled Asho to his feet. The hound was moving in tight circles, snout to the rock. It found their trail immediately, threw back its head, and howled. Black smoke rushed out from its jaws, a rising tendril of darkness that plumed higher and higher into the morning sky as the beast poured forth its mournful cry.

Kethe stared, wide-eyed. What was it doing? But Asho took her by the hand and hauled her after him, and soon they were sprinting after Mæva, up the shattered slope of rock, gasping, their packs smacking up and down as they ran. It was ungainly work, and each time she tripped Kethe skinned her knuckles, not wanting to release her blade. Looking behind her, she saw the shadow beast running after them, the column of smoke still spearing up into the morning sky where it had howled.

Cursing, she put on greater speed. Another howl sounded off to their left, then a third to their right. The rough slope tightened and became a path that hugged a cliff face, massive boulders beetling out over them and extending like ledges below. Mæva ran like the wind, and high above them Kethe saw a second hound leaping from boulder to boulder as it tracked the path.

Kethe sensed more than heard the attack, and with a cry dropped to the ground. Asho spun just in time to take the leaping hound's attack full on the chest. He went down beneath it, crashing onto the path, yelling and struggling to free his blade. Kethe reared up, both hands on her sword, and swung through the creature's back. Her blade dug deep, white fire flourishing where she cut, and the hound let out a shrill cry and whirled away from Asho to snap blindly at the air in front of her.

It was blind to her attacks. She backed away, sword held before her. Shadows poured from its maw like morning mist, disappearing just before they hit the path as it padded after her, ears pricked, sniffing sharply, black eyes narrowed.

Without a sound, Asho leaped a good five feet up and landed astride the hound's back, sword reversed. He speared it straight between the hound's shoulders, driving it down with a jolt so that its head snapped down and hit the path. It howled again, shadows spewing out everywhere and engulfing Asho, wrapping around his arms and body like whips.

Kethe ran in and swiped her blade through the hound's head. She severed the top and both ears with one savage sweep. With a shudder it went still, and the shadows that clung to Asho faded away. Panting, she stumbled back. Asho rose to his feet, the body of the hound dissolving until there was little left but the rotted hide and yellowed bones of a wolf.