The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) (38 page)

He took her arm and leaped. For a moment she thought Asho had launched them at the demon, but she saw instead that they were flying over the shadow corpses toward the steps. She stumbled as they landed, caught herself, looked up and saw Mæva.

She was bloodied, her back toward them, facing Ashurina who had positioned herself in the center of the archway.

You do not have my permission to leave,"
came the demon's voice.
"Ashurina. Stop them.

Ashurina yowled. It was an unearthly sound, more akin to metal being tortured than anything else. She hunched, convulsed, grew in size. Warped completely, her talons extending horrifically, her wings shriveling and dissolving into shadow. Her brindled fur darkened to mottled black, and she swelled to the size of a bear such that she blocked their sole means of escape.

Asho stepped forth, sword at the ready, but Mæva extended her arm, blocking his path. "No." Her voice was choked with fear, her breath coming in fast gasps. "This is my curse. My burden to bear." She looked over at Asho. "I'm glad you refused my gift." Her smile was heartbreaking. "It means I can die in peace."

So saying, she drew her knife and plunged it into her chest. Kethe felt her whole body clench in horror. Ashurina yowled in an ecstasy of excitement and pounced onto Mæva, bearing her down to the ground.

Kethe went to swing at the former firecat, but Asho caught her arm. "Go! Now!"

The demon was laughing, the sound echoing off the walls.
And to where will you run? Your ruined hold? I shall come for you, my Flame Walker, my Alabaster. Run, then. This year the Black Shriving will come early. This year the Black Shriving will spill over your ruined hold and continue across the land, drowning your world in flame and shadow!

Asho and Kethe fled the chamber and out the tunnel into the open. He hauled her along by the arm, till finally her legs gave out and she collapsed to the ground.

Kethe lay still, panting, unable to catch her breath, wanting to cry. Her soul was lacerated, the pain deeper than any heartbreak, any loss, any anguish.

Howls floated up from below, interlaced with laughter.
Mæva
.

Asho stood. His skin shone, slick with sweat. He reached down and scooped her up into his arms. Her head lolled back. She couldn't focus her eyes.

Their escape was a delirium, a fever dream, a series of never-ending turns and forks through which Asho carried her, his strength unflagging, his will unbreakable. Kethe floated in and out of consciousness. Several times she heaved and vomited.

They climbed. She felt the rough scrape of stone against her cheek. She fell, hit the floor hard, closed her eyes. Was picked up. She heard shouts, the clamor of battle. She should help, should fight. Then she felt hands. She moaned, pushed them away. Was again picked up. She felt a leap, then a jolt as they landed. Asho was speaking to her, his voice urgent, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.

Fresh air. A different kind of darkness, softer, natural, soothing. She inhaled it deeply as Asho set her down. He spoke to her again, then held a water skin to her lips. She drank. The water washed away the oily layer that had cloaked her mouth. She choked, spat, opened her eyes.

They were outside, resting at the bottom of a deep crevice. Asho was crouching alongside her. He was shivering continuously, his whole body shaking as if he was freezing to death, but didn't seem to pay it any mind. "Kethe?"

"We're out?" She looked around. Relief swamped her, and she lurched forward to hug him tight, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, tears squeezing out of her closed eyes. He hesitated, then hugged her back. She took a deep, whistling breath, got herself under control and pulled away. Wiped at her cheeks. Felt cuts open, saw blood on the back of her hand.

"We've got to keep moving."

"Mæva," she said, fresh horror arising within her. "How could she..?"

"She saved us." Asho shook his head in wonder. "She saved us."

"Where are we?" She struggled to rise and failed. "How do we get back down?"

"I - I don't know if I can," he said. He gave her an apologetic smile, shivering all the harder. "I'm - I'm burning up. I can't pour any more into you. I know you can't take it. But I can't hold it. I took in too much. It wasn't even a choice -"

"Asho." She took his hands in hers. His skin was scalding hot. "Let it go. I can take it."

He almost leaped to his feet. "No. No, you can't. You were vomiting blood!"

"We have to get away," she said. "We'll both feel better the farther away we get from the Gate." But she felt exhausted. Could barely countenance the idea of climbing down the mountain.

"I - yes." He nodded. "Maybe movement will help me burn off - some of - ah!" He shook his head and closed his eyes tightly. "I feel like I'm going to burst. I can't - I -"

"Asho." Kethe fought her way to her feet. Despite the dark she could make out Asho's pale features with terrible clarity. "We're going to make it. Just stay focused. Come on -"

A sound came from behind Asho. A slight shift in the rocks. They both looked up from the gulley in which they were standing and saw the four-legged demon standing over them, its body a deeper black against the night sky, the refulgent light of the rising moon gleaming darkly on the blades of its monstrous flail.

Kethe staggered back. She couldn't tear her eyes from the unnatural yet weirdly organic folds of its head. No eyes. No mouth. No features of any kind, just a delicate elegance, a rose of stone, an orchid -

Asho drew his blade and laughed. "Didn't you hear from your master? We are to descend unmolested."

The demon towered high into the night. It was easily the height of four men, its torso whip-thin, its arms spiderlike in their length, its strength awesome as it held its double-headed flail with ease. It flexed its four legs and leaped down, landing just beyond them with a heavy crunch on the loose stones.

"Very well," said Asho. He sounded manic, almost joyous. "You want to dance? I'm in need of a partner." He laughed again, the sound just shy of madness. "Let us dance!"

The demon whipped its arms up and around, sending both flails spinning through the air with such speed that they blurred. Kethe felt the wind across her face, heard the dull keening. Asho walked off to the left, picking up speed, jogging then breaking out into a sprint, then leaped up onto the wall and ran along its length, perpendicular to the ground.

The demon sent a flail flying through the air at Asho. It smashed into the wall with a deep, wrenching
crunch
, sending huge splinters of rock flying in every direction - but it missed the Bythian. He ran along the wall and then leaped again, this time diving along the ground, a foot above it, his sword a sliver of moonlight in between the demon's legs.

Kethe couldn't keep track of what happened next. The demon's insectile speed caused it to sidestep, but then it screeched and stumbled and Asho was somehow behind it, spinning his blade.

It didn't turn, but instead brought its thrown flail back to its side, set it to spinning in a tight arc over its head, and then began to launch both heads in a series of brutal sweeps at Asho, one barely clearing the other in horizontal swipes, then both cascading down in diagonals, bouncing off the rock floor to be swept up again into another attack.

Kethe put her hand over her mouth. But Asho laughed and threw himself over the monstrous flails' heads, dove underneath, rolled aside, was back up, a ghost amongst the attacks that the demon couldn't touch.

Until it did.

Asho was ejected from the fight as if he'd fallen off the face of a cliff, spinning through the air to hit the rock wall and bounce off it. Kethe hadn't even seen what had hit him.

He lay still.

No.
No.

The demon canted its head to one side like a bird, then issued a series of interrogatory clicks. It was ignoring her. Where was her blade? There – it lay but a few feet from her where Asho had set it down. She could barely stand, but she had to attack the demon now, while its back was turned.

Asho pushed himself to his feet. Kethe groaned as taint flooded out of his ruined shoulder and shattered arm, knitting them whole and seeping into her. She sank back into a crouch and steadied herself with an outflung hand. Asho shook out his arm, picked up his blade and threw it like a spear, straight at the demon's head.

Swords were not made to be thrown in such a manner, but Asho's blade slid almost to the hilt into the demon's alien skull. It screeched, reared back, chains jangling as the flail heads danced, legs tripping as it turned from side to side. Asho sprinted forward, leaped, touched one foot down on the demon's thigh, pushed off, and spun in midair to grasp the sword hilt. Momentum carried him over the demon, and in doing so caused the sword to cut up and around and split the demon's head in half.

It shrieked again, spasmed and collapsed. Asho fell onto the rocks and lay still. The demon rattled its limbs again and again, slapping at the ground, whipping its head from side to side. Eventually it too lay still.

Kethe crawled over to Asho. He still wasn't moving. She touched his cheek. His skin was cool.

His eyes flickered, then opened. "What happened?"

"You..." Kethe shook her head. "I don't know. I saw it, but I don't know how to describe it."

Asho groaned and rolled onto his side. He winced, touched his healed shoulder and gasped in pain. Blood was leaking from the corner of his mouth, dripping from his nose and ears. "I don't..." He closed his eyes and went still.

"Asho?" Panic. She reached out and touched the side of his neck. His pulse was weak and irregular. What had he done? He'd Sin Cast without her help, burned through an enormous amount of magic in moments.

"Asho!" Her terror mounted, gave her strength. She knew she shouldn't draw power from the world around her, drain the magic and in doing so find strength. But she had no choice.

Kethe inhaled deeply, and felt a swirling rush of magic sinking into her soul. With a grunt, she slid her arms beneath Asho's body and rose to her feet. Her skin felt too tight. Her eyes were dry, her tongue swollen in her mouth. They had to make it down. They had to warn the others. Kethe turned and began to stagger down the length of the crevice. Patterns of light danced before her, swirls and dots as if she had just been staring at the sun.

She had to make it down. She had to warn Ser Wyland. She had to tell him that the Black Shriving followed at her heels.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The log burst into coals and sparks as it split in half across the stone troll's face, and an instant later Grax rose to his feet with a roar of fury. Immediately Gregory was on his feet too, but Tharok gave a brutal roar all of his own and stepped forward, shoving Gregory to the ground.

Grax loomed over Tharok, twice his height, some fourteen feet in all, gangly and stooped but all whipcord muscle under his stony hide. The troll shook his head, took up his great hammer, and swung it toward Tharok with terrible strength.

Time slowed. Tharok brought all his thoughts to bear on a single point: Grax's left eye. The hammer moved toward him as if through honey. He had to think like the troll. He had to
be
a stone troll. He had to convince himself so thoroughly, then and there, that Grax would believe it too.

The circlet became searing hot, and Tharok almost cried out as alien thoughts and images and sounds poured into his mind. Darkness black and thick like oil and the night a tender lover touching him in all his monstrosity, sinking into the cracks in his great stone iron carapace, wrapped around him in the bowels of a cave or sweeping about him like a great ragged cloak when he stood on the top of peak. Hands so powerful they could crush rock and carve grooves into the very stone, the world a strange and frenzied place, frantic and rapid, his own mind a center of instinct and hunger around which the madness of reality whirled. The calm beauty of the stars, the fresh enchantment of true blood-freezing cold, his body growing ever more powerful and large but slower and deliberate till one day it would merge with the mountainside and he would bleed his sense of self into the peaks and valleys and become one with the world, true death, true dying being that absorption, that dissolution. Power and strength and the calm of trees growing and the fundamental rightness of eating another and darkness about him, but everywhere and true was the stone and mountain, the boulder and block, the living rock of which he was but only a slightly more aware part of. Mountain and rock, shale and stone, the deep organ grinds of boulders shifting in the heart of chasms and gorges. Time changing the face of the world. The sigh of wind through the valleys. The crack of ice parting slivers. Time and bone, darkness and blood.