The Path to Loss (Approaching Infinity Book 4) (3 page)

“I plan to kill Bek Ialo. Maybe not today, but I want to take a look at his fortifications.”

“I don’t doubt that you can kill him. Is that why you came here?”

“Not exactly. I plan to kill him as an exercise. I haven’t lied to you Kira and I won’t. Your world is doomed. Nothing can change that. I can’t save you from what’s coming, but I can do just about anything else you want me to up until the end.”

She looked at him blankly for a moment, then began to nod. He wasn’t sure if she really understood, and he supposed it didn’t matter. She accepted everything he said as truth, and while he hadn’t uttered a single lie, it was perhaps less than prudent to accept everything he said without a healthy dose of skepticism. She was drunk on him, though, and he liked her.

“I’ll be back. You have to work, anyway. You said that it would take five days for the cloud sea to pass. Close up tomorrow. Say that business is too slow because of the weather if you need a reason or an excuse.”

“You’ll come back? Really?”

“Yes.”

She lurched forward and kissed him. He gripped her buttocks, one in each hand, and ground his loins against hers, kissing her back with equal passion.

He took her face in his hands and gently disengaged them, a thin trail of saliva linking them momentarily before she wiped at her lower lip with the back of her hand.

“I’ll be back,” he said, and then went Dark before her eyes for the first time, bleeding out like a cloud of ink in the moist air.

She watched him gather slightly and flash blackly for the street. She fought to steady her breathing and to consciously purge the heat that suffused her.

The dense moisture slowed Stoakes down somewhat but allowed him a much longer float time. He moved through the streets—mostly empty of pedestrians, but not entirely—towards the part of the city that backed into the mountainous outcropping of rock, which farther beyond held Ialo’s castle. The city came to an abrupt end as the rock rose up, black and porous and everywhere sharp-edged, but it was no real obstacle for him. His pace was unbroken as he right-angled up the rock wall and over-shot its fifty meter height by another ten meters to drift down upon the uneven plateau some ways in where he kicked off and continued on towards Ialo’s.

Up on the plateau, perhaps because of the influence of the cloud sea, countless varieties of lizards cavorted. None were bigger than a meter or two in length, and many had pouches under their chins that expanded as they drank from the air. Stoakes had seen no sign of any animal life on the plain during his approach to the city, but he supposed that every species had its habitat. Maybe the plain was full of strange life now, too.

At the foot of Ialo’s castle was a forest of mushrooms. None of the stalks rose higher than three meters—making these dwarves compared to some of the others he’d seen—and some glowed with pale, sickly light, green or purple or pink. Littering the ground, too, were small globular fungi that visibly swelled as they absorbed the moisture from the air. Stoakes thought that these here, and wherever they were found, were likely harvested as storable water sources.

As he entered into the forest, he was immediately impressed by the surreal environment in which he found himself. The mushroom caps effectively blocked the sky, and the pale light they emitted gave them the appearance of giant sticks of candy. A moss-like fungus, surprisingly thick and soft, covered the ground here. He wasn’t sure what its natural color was, but it seemed to pick up the light from the mushrooms and alter it to further reinforce the sense of being in a candy wonderland.

He stopped and returned to normal to admire his surroundings. This was one of the great benefits of his otherwise grim assignment: being able to experience the infinite variety of nature’s imagination. He suddenly felt very light-headed and a little lethargic. His mind was starting drift. All the colors were becoming more vivid and patterns began to swirl within them. He became dimly aware of a sweet, cloying scent. He staggered two steps forward, having to support himself upon the stalk of the nearest mushroom. The abrupt stop provided by the support of the mushroom made his brain feel like it was bouncing painfully off the walls of his skull. He realized with a start that there were no lizards within the forest. He gasped for breath, which turned out to be counterproductive to clearing his head. He dropped to one knee and clung to a single thought until he could make his will a reality.

He went Dark. He didn’t move, but his muzzy thoughts solidified. Not having lungs to breathe now, he was no longer in any danger. He looked around the forest with a new respect. If not for his Artifact, he might be dead. Not a bad defensive perimeter, really. Especially if one didn’t know better.

He paused there long enough to recover and then resumed his course through the deadly forest for another kilometer until he emerged onto a rugged belt of rock that was intermittently course and glassy smooth. This wrapped immediately around the castle which resembled a volcanic cone in some places, a riot of bursting, liquid stone frozen solid in others, these latter riots forming turrets and whole, elevated wings.

The castle was pocked with crenellations, many of which were, Stoakes knew, nothing more than shallow depressions, but as he climbed the walls, he found he had his pick of entry points. He alighted upon the lip of one of the many holes and stopped. Though he had confidence in his stealth, he really didn’t know what he might be able to expect from Ialo. The Yellow Diamond Spectacles were very useful in situations like these. He put them on and saw the serpentine light he’d first seen on his way to the city. He studied the light, noting that despite the area it covered, it was diffuse. He narrowed his focus and located its source: a man, deep within the heart of the castle. He wondered if Yosen would have shown a similar light in size had he seen him through the Spectacles. Somehow he doubted it. Stoakes removed the Spectacles and put them away. Based on Ialo’s present location, he felt he had little to fear roaming the castle and so continued on in.

The deeper into the castle he went, the drier the air was, which was a bit of a relief. He imagined there were moisture traps funneling the condensed water down to natural tanks to stock the castle. It was noticeably drafty, too. The corridor he traveled was one of many, all interconnected and open to the outside. With each change in the air currents came a different, strangely musical tone. He guessed that all the channels through the rock worked together like a set of pipes, playing a melody dictated by the wind. He wondered briefly if his presence in the corridors altered the sound the castle made and if it were possible for Ialo to sense his presence through this disruption. He decided that it was possible, but not probable.

He made his way lower and lower into the castle. There had been no sources of light, natural or electric, in the upper corridors, but here wires were strung along the ceilings, powering bulbs at intervals. There were fewer openings to the outside down here and it was quite comfortable—one would never know that the air just outside was like a standing swamp. He came across an echoing chamber that housed a large volume of water, the walls alive with trickling runnels. He marveled at and was thankful for the conditions that separated the moisture from the air. There were people down here, too, servants or custodians. He passed several elderly males and some younger females. It wasn’t difficult to remain unseen. He stuck close to the ceiling, occupying the spaces just out of reach of the bulbs.

A cut in the rock and what lay beyond it caught his attention and brought him to a halt. He passed through two jagged outcroppings, which made an uneven aperture, into a vast cavern that rose up at least fifty meters and ranged another fifty meters to his left, his right, and ahead of him. Carved into the walls were shelves that reached the ceiling and were packed full of things that glittered. Spread out upon the floor of the chamber were stacks and stacks of… the only word that occurred to Stoakes which seemed appropriate was booty.

He approached the nearest pile, which consisted of countless pieces of jewelry, jewels and gemstones without settings, a stone statue, skillfully wrought, of a beautiful woman, another of a giant winged lizard, a dragon, really. There were small, inscrutable machines, carved effigies, and other artworks. A glance at the shelves revealed innumerable books with a variety of other articles interspersed between long runs of volumes.

Stoakes was impressed. Kira had said that Ialo’s Shield gave him the power to take what he wanted and here was evidence of that. He was not the least bit interested in anything here. He was simply shocked that anyone would want to amass such a collection of what were essentially useless trinkets, especially if Ialo was of the ruling class and could physically back his claim to his title and position. Then again, Stoakes supposed that if Ialo were known as the Shadow Thief, he really ought to have some proof of his ability.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?”

Stoakes, a black humanoid cloud, started and turned to face the man questioning him. “That’s the word exactly,” Stoakes said, “but perhaps not for the reasons you’d expect. What’s impressive is your discovering me.”

The man standing before Stoakes and blocking the exit was of a medium build. If he’d ever been particularly fit, he’d past that stage in his life. He looked soft, somewhere between forty and fifty. His hair was grayish. His ornaments, though polished and elaborate, and perhaps the finest Stoakes had yet seen, failed to make him look the least bit important. Indeed, they served only to make him look pretentious. “Not really. No, not here. Nothing passes into or out of this chamber without my knowledge. These are
my
things. My claim to them makes me exceptionally sensitive to them and the spaces they occupy.”

“Are they really
your
things? From what I understand, everything in here is stolen. You
are
Bek Ialo, aren’t you?”

Ialo grinned, his lip twitching unconsciously. “I am. That’s no secret. But
you
, you reek of secrets. Who and what are you?”

“Perhaps I’m like you, and I come bearing a Shield, looking to conquer.”

Ialo shook his head. “Looking to conquer, I’ll accept. But I’ve been to Chan Fa’s hall. I know all the Shields. I did my research long ago. I may not be the biggest or the strongest, but I am among the most knowledgeable. I would have to be. We all have our compensations.” He became distracted as he finished his sentence, becoming intrigued with Stoakes.

Stoakes followed Ialo’s gaze and scrutinized his own wispy, black belly. He saw nothing and raised his gaze again to try to meet Ialo’s eyes.

“That’s very interesting,” Ialo said, peering ever more intently into or through Stoakes.

Stoakes was becoming frustrated. “What are you talking about? What do your faulty eyes see?”

“Not faulty. Rather exceptional, really. Is that a knife? Is that what makes you the way you are?”

Stoakes’s frustration bloomed into concern. Could Ialo see the Suicide Knife? Of course the Knife could
be
a knife and usually was, but in truth, it was a part of him, the weapon was merely an extension of something that resided within, and was permanently merged with, Stoakes’s body, no longer in tune with physical space. Stoakes moved to pull the Knife from its sheathe and end this conversation, but found it absent. He saw it pass through his gauzy black form and land in Ialo’s outstretched hand. He realized with mounting dread that he was no longer Dark.

For the second time that day, Stoakes felt unsteady on his feet. His strength was fast abandoning him and he faltered, but just managed to support himself on his quivering front leg. “How. . . How did you. . .?”

Ialo turned the Suicide Knife over and over, examining it. “I saw its shadow,” he said absently. “I can take the shadow of anything I can see. Taking the shadow is tantamount to taking the item, as you can clearly see.” He glanced up at Stoakes, noted his condition. “Well, perhaps not so clearly.”

He was right. Stoakes’s vision was doubled. Beads of sweat stood out across his forehead. Nausea shot through him in waves. He thought he might lose whatever remained in his stomach.

This was appalling, Stoakes thought. The last remaining 19th Generation General of the Viscain Empire reduced to this. He might just be able to subject Ialo—his feet, anyway—to a spray of vomit. That was, of course, if he was lucky.

Stoakes blinked hard and as the moments passed, he began to regain some of his strength. His head cleared and the nausea passed. He steadied himself and allowed more of his strength to return, all the while feigning continued illness. Forty-two seconds had passed since Stoakes lost the Suicide Knife. He realized that he had all the strength that he was going to since most of it was being turned over in Ialo’s hands. He had to get the Knife back. Somehow he was certain that retrieving the Knife would restore him. Otherwise, he would be dead already from the Knife’s departure from his system. No Shade survived the true loss of his or her Artifact. It simply wasn’t possible.

Stoakes continued to pretend at being sick, and at losing his footing, but this was a ruse to move as close to Ialo as possible. His legs could still support his weight under twenty-five standard gravities, which made him formidable, even without his Artifact. As he moved, he made a show at trying to support himself with his right hand upon his knee, but his hand slipped off clumsily into a position close to Ialo’s right foot. With a speed Ialo could hardly believe, Stoakes was rising, his two-fingered Secret Sword fist sweeping up, threatening to cut him in two along a whistling diagonal.

Though terrifically startled, Ialo was fairly used to being attacked by his betters. He leapt back with reflexes not entirely his own while projecting his Shield forward.

Ialo’s Shield was quite a bit faster than Yosen’s had been, issuing forth and filling a decent percentage of the treasure room. Stoakes had watched Ialo as he was sucked into the coalescing image of the beast that had come out of him. It was as if they had switched places.