The Iron Ghost (56 page)

An unknowable amount of time later he awoke with a start, sensing movement out in the darkness. A flicker of something, a suggestion of change in that bleak landscape, and then the points of light grew slightly larger. It was still impossible to make them out clearly, but as he watched he thought he could see the crystal glitter of starlight against their wings. The sisters were coming.

Sebastian took a slow breath, marvelling at the sight despite everything that had happened. Gradually, they came into focus: the dragon’s daughters, flying on gossamer wings, like dragonflies. The moonlight shone on their silver hair, and here and there on the weapons they wore. Soon, he could make out individual faces, and he saw Ephemeral in the lead. Her bright hair was tied back into its habitual braid, and she was grinning as she came. Sebastian suppressed an uneasy smile; how many people had seen that grin and known it meant a painful and messy death? Now Ephemeral’s face was full of a simple, bright enthusiasm.

These are strange times
, mused Sebastian.

Eventually they landed, hovering to the ground and then gathering together, stretching out tired limbs. Ephemeral came over to Sebastian. She bent slightly at the waist, a nod that was almost a bow. Sebastian had no idea where she had picked that up from.

‘You called, and we came, Father.’ She had composed her face on landing, but couldn’t help smiling again.

‘You did. Thank you, Ephemeral.’ He glanced around at the other sisters. There were twenty-three of them in all, the sisters who had decided not to follow the Second. ‘It is good to see you all.’ He turned back to Ephemeral. ‘How was the journey?’

‘Successful. We mapped a large section of the land to the south, and discovered new flora and fauna.’

‘And did you bump into anyone?’

Ephemeral shook her head emphatically.

‘We were very careful, Father, to remain hidden. Just as you said.’

‘Good.’ Sebastian paused. Once more he felt lost again. He kept expecting Wydrin to interrupt, with a complaint or an off-colour comment.

‘Father, should we not make camp?’ said Ephemeral. She gestured to their surroundings; the only light came from the nearby holding and the bright stars overhead.

Sebastian smiled wearily. He looked at them, this strange bunch of other-worldly women, all with more blood on their hands than any knight he’d ever known. They were cold murderers, every single one. They had killed women and children with their bare hands, had burnt down towns and villages and chased the survivors with smiles on their faces. And now they were his only friends.

‘Let’s do that, Ephemeral. I have a lot to tell you all.’

‘So, you’re haunting Joah Demonsworn, then?’

Wydrin spoke in a low voice, peering cautiously around the next street corner. They were making very slow progress; the Rivened were confused and their bodies were rotting, but they lit up with hunger if they happened to spot her, and they displayed a remarkably determined attitude once they got moving. Wydrin and Xinian were working their way towards the city wall, with frequent pauses to separate heads from necks or simply run in the other direction.

‘Yes,’ said Xinian. The woman was leaning against the wall next to her, weighing a sword she’d found in her hand. Her magic was still inert, just as it had been when she’d been a ghost. ‘You could say that.’

‘What do you do? Move things around when he’s asleep? Mumble curses in his ear? Spoil the milk?’

‘It is not as easy as all that,’ Xinian said quietly. Up the street, three husks were standing around a fallen werken, staring at it as if they almost remembered what it was. ‘My ability to manifest comes and goes. For the longest time, I haunted the grove where Bezcavar hid his tomb, and I was just a voice in the wind. A shadow of who I was. When the demon brought him back, gave him flesh and blood again, I seemed to become stronger too. When your friend was dying, I became clearer to him as he moved into the world of the dead. And now,’ she gestured with her sword, ‘this whole place inhabits the world of the dead.’

‘Here, look,’ said Wydrin, ‘they’re completely transfixed by that werken there. I reckon if we’re quiet and stick to the other side of the street, we can get past them without any bother.’

Together they turned the corner and moved swiftly across the cobbled road, keeping an eye on the group gathered around the werken. Wydrin wondered if they’d been werken riders before the Rivener had torn their souls from them. It seemed quite likely.

As they passed, one of the husks stumbled back from the werken, shaking its head slightly as though it sensed movement somewhere outside of its field of vision. Xinian elbowed Wydrin in warning and together they moved as far as they could to the other side of the street, skirting along the edge of the stone buildings.
The problem is,
thought Wydrin as she moved as silently as possible,
we make it to the end of this street and we have no idea what’s waiting for us. Could be none, could be two dozen of the bastards.

Right next to her ear there was the brittle tinkle of broken glass, and a blackened arm shot out of the window she was passing, fingers closing around the top of her arm with surprising strength. Unable to stop herself she yelped in surprise, and the three husks so captivated by the werken turned at once.

‘What are you doing?’ snapped Xinian.

‘Doing? What does it look like I’m doing?’ Wydrin yanked her arm away from the window, half dragging the Rivened figure through it after her. She had a moment to notice the way the pieces of glass had opened up the creature’s chest and stomach, the way its eyes rolled wetly in their sockets, before Xinian’s sword sliced easily through the husk’s neck. The head, still looking mildly surprised, hit the cobbles with a thud before rolling down the street, but they were already in trouble. The Rivened that had previously been unaware of their presence were shuffling quickly over, and when Wydrin glanced back the way they’d come, she saw more decayed figures limping round the corner, moaning hungrily. Wydrin brushed the creature’s slackening grip off her arm in a compulsive gesture of disgust.

‘I think we’d better get moving, ghostie.’

They ran the rest of the way, no longer troubling to be quiet, and the Rivened followed, making low noises of desperate hunger in the backs of their throats. Four more lurched out of the building ahead of them, and Xinian kept running, taking off another head with a high sweep of her short sword as she moved past. Wydrin came on behind, jumping hurriedly over the body. In the next street was another fallen werken; it was the size of a house, one of the biggest Wydrin had seen. It had apparently been struck by something even bigger, as a huge chunk of rock was missing from its shoulder, and it lay in the street like a ruined temple. Wydrin and Xinian hurried behind it, glad to be out of the husks’ line of sight.

The pair crouched behind the rock, breathing hard. The milky disc of the sun had moved to the west, and was now disappearing behind the horizon. The red caul that hung over Skaldshollow was deepening, and Wydrin did not like to think of being in this place after dark. She had no magical globe of sunlight, and no mage to create one.

‘I can see now why they called you Battleborn,’ she whispered to Xinian. ‘I didn’t realise mages were trained in swordplay.’

The corner of Xinian’s mouth crept up a touch. ‘This is why they call me Battleborn.’ She held out the arm that ended in a smooth stump.

‘You lost your hand in a fight?’

‘No. I was born without it.’

When Wydrin raised her eyebrows, Xinian continued.

‘My people believe that we live different lives, in different worlds, one after the other, and we carry pieces of those lives with us, into the next. In my previous life, I was a great warrior, injured in battle.’

Wydrin nodded, taking this in. From down the street they could hear shuffling and moaning, and the light was draining swiftly from the sky.

‘But if you move from life to life, what are you doing here still? You should be in your new life by now.’

Xinian scowled. ‘A simplistic view.’

‘Hey, I’m just saying, that by your own rules—’ There was a chorus of groans, and much closer. ‘What do you say we find somewhere to rest up for the night? I don’t much fancy running into these things in the dark.’

Xinian nodded shortly.

It wasn’t easy. The Rivened were all over the city, and even a sniff of Wydrin’s presence was enough to bring them shuffling in droves. The first two buildings they tried were equally infested with them, and as Wydrin cut them down, one after another, she thought of how Skaldshollow had been before they arrived – crowded with people, warm and full of life, going about their business. Now every fire was out, and nothing moved save for the shambling empty shells of those who’d had their souls torn from them. And all by a man who should have been long since rotten in his tomb. There was a rage building inside her, and that was good. Rage was useful.

Eventually they found an empty tavern, the door thrown open and a drift of snow half covering the entrance. Wydrin went in first, moving swiftly through three large rooms joined by wide wooden doors, her dagger and sword held in readiness. Several of the tables and chairs had been turned over, and in one corner she found the corpse of a man who had apparently died of some sort of head injury, his face covered in blood. She stopped when she saw him. Did they panic when the monster climbed over their walls and the sky turned red? Of course they did. She thought of Y’Ruen, moving slowly across Relios, burning everything and bringing death. She thought of the lost city of Temerayne, trapped under the ocean by the god of chaos. And Joah, who no doubt thought himself a god by now, killing people and, worse, taking their souls from them. Like they were nothing. Humans always suffered when they came into contact with the godly, it seemed. She scowled, her grip on Frostling tightening until her knuckles turned white.

‘Is it safe?’ Xinian whispered from the entrance. ‘They will spot us soon enough.’

Wydrin dragged her gaze from the corpse and glanced once more around the tavern. There were still some half-full tankards on the tables.

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘And I think I spy a few unbroken bottles.’

She helped Xinian wedge the front door shut, and they used some pieces of sacking from behind the bar to cover up the small windows that looked out onto the street. Once that was done, Wydrin went to the fireplace, thick with soot, and set about making a small fire.

‘Is that a good idea, sell-sword?’ asked Xinian. She was standing by the door, her arms crossed over her chest. ‘They could see the smoke from the chimney.’

‘I don’t think those poor bastards out there are very good at putting two and two together any more. Besides which, if I have to spend another night freezing my arse off, I shall be as mad as Joah myself.’ She paused, having banked the fire into a respectable blaze. ‘And for the love of the Graces, Xinian, sit down and rest for a minute. We’re not going anywhere tonight.’

The mage stood by the door for a moment longer, as if convinced that they might have to leave at any second, before shaking her head slightly and coming over to the fire. Wydrin had dragged two of the unbroken chairs over and Xinian sat in one, looking a little to Wydrin as though she had forgotten how to do simple, everyday things like sitting in a chair.

‘I’m so hungry my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut,’ said Wydrin conversationally. ‘I don’t suppose you have any food on you?’

Xinian leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, staring into the fire.

‘I have not had any need for food for quite some time, sell-sword.’

‘Ah, right. Silly me. Still, plenty to drink.’ Wydrin uncorked the mead she’d found behind the counter and took a swig straight from the bottle. It tasted as though it had been steeped in spices, and it warmed her up straight away. When she offered it to Xinian, the mage shook her head.

They fell into a silence then. Outside there was no wind at all, and every now and then they could hear a groan or a stumbling footstep. Wydrin rubbed her fingers across her eyes; tired, but too strung out to sleep. She kept thinking of Frith and Sebastian, wondering where they were. They would probably think she was dead, and, at the moment, that felt too close to the truth, trapped as she was in this place with a ghost and an army of soulless corpses. And she thought of Mendrick, whose link had saved her life again, and whose presence had been so abruptly cut off. She had a terrible idea she knew what that meant, but it was too much sorrow to contemplate in this awful, death-filled place. She took another swig of mead.

‘Tell me about it, then,’ she said eventually. Xinian looked up from the fire, startled. From the look on her face, she had been having her own long thoughts. ‘I doubt I’ll ever get the chance to talk to someone who lived a thousand years ago again. What was it like? The gods, the mages, the power. It must have been quite a time.’

Xinian stared at her for a long moment, her dark eyes shining.

‘It is a long-lost age,’ she said. ‘Ede was strange then, and full of magic. This place –’ she gestured around the small tavern, taking in the world outside too ‘– this place is riddled with Edeian. The stones whisper and walk, and wyverns still thrive here, but once all of Ede was such, and gods walked among us. The green woman, Y’Gria, was still seen in the wilder places when I was a girl, and Res’ni and Res’na could be summoned, if you had the power. And we were so powerful then. All the secrets of the world were there for us to discover, when Ede was young and full of magic.’

Something outside knocked heavily against the door, and they both shifted imperceptibly, but then it moved on.

‘Joah Demonsworn wanted it all,’ she continued, staring at the fire once more. ‘The secret language of the gods wasn’t enough. He said that they were keeping knowledge from us, and we replied, of course they are, they are gods. But there were others that agreed with him, others who were more powerful than me. The elders gave him permissions, knowledge, and turned a blind eye, because he was the most remarkable mage of his age. Of any age, probably. A genius. When he started learning to craft the Edeian, some eyebrows were raised, because so few people possess that skill, but no one thought to stop him.’ Xinian smiled, and it was as cold as a razor’s edge. ‘Rumours started to circulate that he was opening new avenues of research, ones that were potentially dangerous. Some began to whisper of demons, and no one really wanted to believe it. He grew so powerful in that time. That reluctance to believe fuelled so much. And of course, by then, the gods had turned on us, and Joah’s genius helped us to construct the Citadel. It would hardly be seemly, the elders said, to question him now.’