The Swords of Night and Day (52 page)

Inside was the entrance chamber he remembered from his past visit, a deep reception area that branched out left and right into tunnels, leading to a series of stairways. There were chairs here, and long couches, all covered with dust. The sight saddened him. On his last visit this area had been brightly lit, radiating harmony and warmth. It calmed the soul and lifted the spirits. Now it was cold and dead. Askari tapped his arm and pointed to the floor nearby. In several places there were mounds of dried animal droppings.

Skilgannon walked slowly across the reception area, moving toward the right and the tunnel that led to the first of the staircases. As he passed under the entrance arch to the tunnel the lights flickered. Then a voice echoed eerily from the walls.

“Do not enter here,” it said. The voice was bizarre, almost metallic. It was accompanied by a sound like wood crackling on a campfire. Skilgannon ignored it and walked on warily, both swords in his hands.

“These tunnels are guarded,” said the voice. “It is not my wish to see anyone suffer harm, but if you do not leave you will die.”

Askari moved alongside him. “From the droppings I would say the beasts are large, probably Jiamads.” Skilgannon nodded.

Together they advanced down the tunnel. They passed many doors, which had once housed priests of the Resurrection. There were none here now. The floor was dust covered, and there were cobwebs on the occasional chairs and couches placed in the recesses. Once this had been a temple of serenity and beauty. Now it was a shadow-haunted place of death and decay.

Sweat dripped into Skilgannon’s eyes. The feeling of nausea had not passed. He glanced at Askari. She, too, was suffering. His fingers began to tingle, and his mouth was dry. The light was poor, but Skilgannon could see the stairwell ahead. He walked on.

Something huge and pale rushed at him from a hidden recess on the left. The Sword of Night slashed out, cleaving into flesh. Then he was thrown from his feet. He struck the tunnel wall hard, then hurled himself to his right as the beast lunged for him. Askari leapt to his defense, the cavalry saber plunging into the beast’s back. It gave a shrill cry and spun to meet this new attack. Skilgannon surged to his feet and charged in. The Sword of Day sliced through the creature’s neck. Blood sprayed from the wound. The beast staggered. Skilgannon clove the Sword of Night through its heart. As it fell he dragged his blade clear, and the two companions stared down at the dead creature. It was unlike any Jiamad Skilgannon had seen. There were only patches of fur on the pale body, which was covered in huge warts and purple tumors. “It is grotesque,” whispered Askari. “Impossible to see with which animal it was melded.” The body was lying on its side. Skilgannon knelt to peer at a fist-sized section of skin-covered bone protruding from its back.

“What does that look like to you?” he said. Askari prodded the lump with her saber. The skin around it spasmed—and five bony fingers opened. Askari jumped back. “Sweet heaven!” she said. “It is a hand! A hand in the center of its back!”

“We need to move on,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. His stomach suddenly heaved, and he vomited. He stood for a moment, supporting himself on the wall. “We cannot stay here long,” he said. “The magic that warps the land outside has somehow seeped into here.”

Together they walked on until they reached the first stairway. It was of metal and speckled with rust. “This leads to the main dining and recreation area,” said Skilgannon. “There were also libraries and a museum.”

He climbed the stairs. The nausea had faded a little, but there was a metallic taste in his mouth, and his teeth began to ache. Behind him Askari staggered and grabbed the stair rail for support.

“I am all right,” she assured him. “Go on. I’ll follow!”

The top of the stairwell opened out into a vast deserted hall. Tables and chairs had been hurled around the room, as if by a storm. Books and scrolls littered the floors. There were also scattered bones. Moonlight could be seen through the high windows. Skilgannon walked out into the hall. A shadow moved against the far wall. Skilgannon spun. A massive, two-headed hound was padding across the hall toward them. It was the size of a lion. The hound began to run. Skilgannon sheathed the Sword of Night and held the Sword of Day two-handed. “Get behind me!” he ordered Askari.

The hound tore toward them—and sprang. Skilgannon leapt to meet it, the Sword of Day slashing down in an overhead cut that clove between the two heads, plunging down through its chest. The weight of the beast carried it on. It thudded into Skilgannon, hurling him from his feet. The Sword of Day slid clear. The beast rolled over, then came to its feet, both heads snarling. Askari hacked at it with her saber. It leapt for her, then stumbled, blood gouting from the terrible wound in its chest. Askari backed away. Skilgannon moved alongside her. The hound’s front legs gave way, and it crashed to the floor. Sunlight suddenly blazed through the windows, columns of golden light illuminating the hall.

Skilgannon watched as the light moved across the bone-littered floor. He blinked, then walked to the window. Askari joined him. Shielding his eyes, Skilgannon watched the sun rise.

“It is too fast,” he said. “The sun does not rise that swiftly.”

Askari pointed to a flock of birds in the distance. They were speeding across the sky. “Time is flowing faster out there,” she said. Skilgannon nodded agreement, and turned away from the sunlight. Taking a deep breath, he walked back past the dead beast and headed across the hall.

“Do you know where you are going?” Askari asked him.

“When I stayed here I was allowed to roam freely—except for the upper levels. So that is where we will make for.”

Crossing the hall, Skilgannon glanced at several skeletons. They were twisted and unnatural, some with overly curved spines, others with grossly distended bones. There was a skull with four eye sockets. Skilgannon and Askari traveled on in silence along deserted tunnels and up a second flight of metal steps. The higher they climbed, the better they felt. Skilgannon’s nausea passed, as did the tingling in his fingers. Another corridor led them back to a high gallery above the dining hall they had just left. There were creatures moving across it now, some like the giant hound, but other, paler beasts, hulking and brutal. One of them gazed up and saw them. It made no move to follow. Instead it loped to the dead hound and began ripping flesh from it. Other beasts joined in.

From far below they heard a high-pitched scream. Several of the creatures loped off toward the sound.

Skilgannon came to an oval wooden door. It was locked. Stepping back, he took several deep breaths, then hammered his right foot against the lock. The frame shuddered, but the lock did not give. Twice more he struck at the lock. On the third blow the door shuddered, and wood splintered around the frame. A fourth blow snapped the lock, and the door flew open. Skilgannon stepped inside. The room was an antechamber, leading to another door. This was not locked and Skilgannon passed through into a larger room, shelved along the far wall and stacked with books and scrolls. There was an open window with a balcony beyond, and before it stood a wide desk of beautifully fashioned oak. An old man was sitting there. He did not rise in alarm as they entered, merely looked at them with weary eyes. His face was oddly shaped, heavy bone around the brows and cheeks. His mouth was wide, the teeth misshapen.

“What is it you want, Demon Woman?” he asked Askari.

“She is not a demon,” Skilgannon told him. “She is a Reborn.”

“I know what she is. She is evil. We brought her back. We thought she would tell us the wonders of her age. She told us nothing. Landis begged her, and she laughed. Vestava questioned her, and she said she could not remember.
Give me time,
she asked us. Then she rode out and gathered an army. The days of blood and death began. I know her. I know her too well.”

“You are mistaken, priest. This is not the Eternal. She is one of her Reborns, and is, with me, trying to end the Eternal’s reign. We need to find the silver eagle and its egg.”

The old man laughed. “You cannot find the eagle, warrior. It floats so high that the sky is no longer blue. It moves among the stars.”

“But it sends power here,” said Skilgannon. “To feed the egg.”

The old man lifted a gnarled hand and rubbed at his face. “I am so tired,” he said. The hand was webbed, the knuckles grotesquely distorted.

“What is happening here?” asked Skilgannon.

“We made an error—a dreadful error. We tried to move the temple outside of time. Just a few seconds, so that she”—he pointed at Askari—“could not steal more artifacts. We discovered a series of hidden tunnels below the temple. There were artifacts there. Terrible artifacts.” His misshapen face turned toward Askari. “She knows this. Weapons that deal death over great distances. There were also scrolls and documents that spoke of even more ghastly devices. Aye, and maps that showed where they were hidden. She wanted them. It was not enough for her that she had corrupted our work. She desired even more power, even greater weapons. We could not allow it. We sought to hide the temple from her. At first we thought we had succeeded.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Instead we merely slowed time within these walls. What followed was more horrible than you could imagine. We began to change. Our structures became unstable. Bone continued to grow. Many of the brothers died, others became deformed. It was slow at first, and we did not realize what was happening. Once we did we tried to change the spell. It only made matters worse. The spells around the temple grew in power. After that everything happened so swiftly. There was no time to escape. Some of the brothers managed to reach these higher levels, where the mutations slowed for a while. Gradually they all changed, reverted to beasts, and tore one another apart or fled below to join the packs that roam the lower levels.”

“Yet you survived,” said Skilgannon.

Lifting his grotesque hand, he pulled clear a golden chain hanging from his neck. Upon it, in a golden clasp, was a black-and-white crescent, part crystal, part stone. “I carry the Abbot’s Moon,” he said. Idly he stroked the crescent. “Its power is almost gone. Once it shone white and bright. It sustained me.”

“It has been five hundred years,” said Askari. “How do any creatures still live here?”

“Five hundred years, is it? Not when each day outside passes in under an hour. By my reckoning it is fifteen years since we cast the spell—though my mind is not what it was, and I could be wrong. For a while we could leave and bring in supplies. When more of us became beasts we began to feed on each other.” His head drooped. “We believed we were the Keepers of Knowledge, that we could lift the world from its savagery. Instead we became savages. The mutation in our bodies also made us long lived.”

“Why did you not just end the magic?” asked Skilgannon. “That would surely have stopped the horror of the Eternal.”

The deformed priest looked bemused. “End the magic? How would one accomplish such a feat? We tried to change the spell. We knew it was destroying us. But the more we meddled with it, the worse it became. A few months back we made our last attempt. All we succeeded in doing was accelerating the process. Now there is no food, my people are dead, or changed. They feed on each other.”

“Listen to me, old man,” Skilgannon urged him. “The eagle feeds the magic. It comes somehow through the Mirror of Heaven. Where does it then go?”

“Magic does not
go,
warrior. Magic
is.”

“Where is the holiest place here?” asked Askari.

The old priest gave a cackling laugh. “That you of all people should ask that! How amusing. Evil seeks holiness.”

“Is there such a place?” Skilgannon pressed him.

“The Crystal Shrine. The great abbot built it, I believe. That is where we used to meet and pray, and heal the sick.”

“Is it close, this Shrine?” asked Skilgannon, patiently.

A distant scream sounded. Then another. The old man seemed not to notice. He stared at Askari.

“Where is the Shrine?” asked Skilgannon. The old man did not reply, but his gaze shifted to a far door on the western wall. “Let’s go!” said Skilgannon. The priest stumbled toward him.

“No!” he shouted. “She must not go near it. She would defile it!”

“Listen to me!” said Skilgannon, taking the man by the arm. “Try to understand. She is not Jianna! She is Askari, a young woman from the mountain lands south of here.”

“She might once have been this Askari you speak of. Not now. I am not fooled. I see beyond the flesh. I see the aura of her soul. She is Jianna. She is the Eternal.”

Skilgannon turned slowly toward Askari. She was standing behind him, her saber in her hand.

“The twisted magic here has driven him mad,” she said.

“No,” said Skilgannon, softly. He sighed. “I knew something was wrong back on the road when I looked at you in the moonlight. My heart almost stopped. I think I knew then. I just didn’t want to believe it. How did you do it, Jianna?”

He thought she was going to deny it. Instead she merely smiled. “Decado gave one of Memnon’s jewels to the girl. It connected me to her. All I had to do was die. It was most painful. Much like this . . .” As she spoke her saber lunged forward, spearing Skilgannon’s chest. He staggered back and tried to draw his own sword. Strength seeped from his body, and he fell heavily. Jianna leaned over him. “Do not fret, my love,” she said. “I will have you Reborn. Perhaps by then you will have put aside notions of destroying me. And now I must go. Memnon is waiting for me.”

With that she walked past the old priest, and through the far door.

A
s the sun rose the Drenai warriors filed out onto the road, forming up in ranks twelve men across and seven deep. A little way back a second phalanx formed, ready to rush to the aid of the first when needed. Stavut had been placed at the rear of the second group, along with the less experienced of the Drenai. These were the younger men, new to the front line. Stavut glanced at their faces. Many were nervous, but all stood ready. From this high vantage point Stavut could see the Eternal Guard forming up below. In their black-and-silver armor they looked invincible, and the inspirational speech Druss had given the night before seemed suddenly hollow and unconvincing.