“And the rest of the Lealfast Nation,” Isaiah said. “Can they fight?”
Inardle had to clear her throat twice in order to speak. “Many of them, yes. As, I believe, happens with the Icarii, all Lealfast men and women in their youth go through training. They will not be as sharp as the force currently about Elcho Falling —”
Axis winced at that.
“— but they will still be very good. And you must not forget they are now changed by the One. They fought while invisible within Elcho Falling and that was not something my brothers and sisters could do previously.”
“If the Skraelings are still in league with the One by the time we get to the citadel,” Axis said, “we are going to be in deadly trouble. From what you tell me, it sounds very much as if they are herding you into a trap.”
Now it was Isaiah who winced. “Perhaps we will all have clearer wits by morning. Axis, how is your shoulder?”
“Well enough,” Axis said. “The shepherd cleaned and stitched it tidily. I am grateful.” He nodded toward the second fire, where sat Isaiah’s men and the three shepherds. “The Outlanders are good men.”
“Indeed,” said Isaiah. He rose and moved over to Inardle. He might as well have a look at her wounds, if only to say that he had tried. With the way she looked now, he didn’t expect her to be alive by morning.
He squatted beside the Lealfast woman. She flinched as he laid a hand to her shoulder, but did not resist while he ran his hand down her arm and lifted her injured hand, unwrapping the bandage the shepherd had placed about its wound.
The arrow had gone through the back of her hand, emerging from her palm. When she and Axis had rolled from the horse, the arrow had ripped its way free, completely tearing through the section of her hand from central palm to thumb. It was a bad injury under any circumstances, worse when it had spread poison through Inardle’s system.
The edges of the wound looked inflamed, even green in places, and oozed a vile black muck.
Isaiah put it down, then looked at the other wounds on her wings and shoulders. They were not as bad in terms of initial injury, but they, too, were inflamed and oozed the same muck. Isaiah could feel the heat pumping out from them and realised Inardle must be in considerable pain.
“I am sorry, Inardle,” Isaiah said, now placing both hands on her shoulders as he squatted behind her. “I wish I could do something for you, but —”
Isaiah broke off abruptly, frowning. His hands tightened on Inardle’s shoulders, the fingers digging into her flesh. She cried out softly, and Axis looked concerned.
“What are you doing, Isaiah?” he said.
“Wait,” Isaiah said, his hands moving over Inardle. “Inardle, I am sorry, but this will hurt a little. Just bear with me.” One of Isaiah’s hands now rested at the nape of Inardle’s neck, the other on her chest, just above her breasts.
They were pressed against and into her flesh.
Inardle cried out, louder this time, trying to free herself from Isaiah’s grip.
Isaiah sat back, lifting his hands, and Inardle gave a single sob, choking back tears.
“Isaiah?” Axis said.
Isaiah was staring at Inardle. Then he blinked. “Axis, may I examine you for a moment? This is an intrusion, for I am likely to cause you as much discomfort as I just caused Inardle . . . it is important, more than you can know. Please.”
Axis looked at him, then gave a single nod.
Isaiah moved about the fire and placed his hands on Axis as he had on Inardle. They rested on nape and chest lightly, then Isaiah pressed hard against Axis’ flesh.
Axis had to restrain himself from crying out, too. It was the most uncomfortable experience, part pain, part fear . . . the sense of someone else within his body, probing, probing, probing.
Just when Axis thought he could bear it no more, Isaiah sat back, lifting his hands.
“Amazing,” he murmured.
“ What is amazing?” Axis ground out through clenched teeth. He had had to endure Inardle almost freezing off his arm; now Isaiah was biting his power deep into Axis’ body. Axis felt he’d had enough for this current month.
“Inardle’s Skraeling blood,” Isaiah said, moving again to sit behind her. She cringed as she felt his hands on her once more. “I just felt something deep within her. It was either her Icarii blood, or her Skraeling blood. I had to examine you to see if you had it in you, but no. It must be her Skraeling blood.”
“ What?” Axis said.
“Water,” Isaiah murmured. “She has a great affinity with water within her, bequeathed by her Skraeling blood. Inardle, I can help you, after all, but what I will do in drawing the poison from your body is going to pain you like nothing you have ever felt before. I am so sorry for this, but I know of no other way to manage it. But it does mean that you will live.”
“Then do it,” she said. “Do it.”
Axis watched, appalled.
Isaiah sat behind Inardle, his legs sprawled to either side of her. His hands rested as they had initially and again they pressed into Inardle’s flesh, but deeper this time, the expression on Isaiah’s face one of intense concentration.
It caused Inardle to cry out immediately, twisting under Isaiah’s hands, but his grip was so tight, so profound, nothing she did could free her of him.
Axis stayed where he was, only moving to give a calming sign to the soldiers and shepherds, who had risen, concerned, at Inardle’s first loud cry.
He knew better than to interfere.
Isaiah kept his hands pressed against Inardle’s neck and chest for several long minutes, then he moved them, running them all over her body. His hands and fingers pressed deep into her flesh wherever they travelled; occasionally they paused so that he could sink the heels of his hands in as deeply as possible, as if he were collecting great pools of poison beneath them.
Then, very gradually, he began shifting the poison up Inardle’s body, from her toes into her torso and toward her shoulders.
All the time Inardle wept and twisted. Axis understood it was not the pressure of Isaiah’s hands that caused her so much pain: partly, it was the poison Isaiah shifted through her body, and partly the deep intrusion into Inardle’s body of Isaiah’s power. Axis thought that he must have endured only a fraction of the discomfort that Inardle must be feeling.
He was shifting water. He was using the water within Inardle to flow the poison back toward the puncture wounds.
Axis was not sure at what point he realised this, but somehow he did. Isaiah was using his own deep affinity with water to manipulate this mysterious water element within Inardle’s body, to remove the poison from her system.
Isaiah’s hands travelled faster now, from toes to hips, from hips to belly, from belly to breasts and thence to shoulders; and from her fingers all the way up her arms, over the elbows, to shoulders again.
There Axis saw blackness pouring forth from the wounds, more of it than he would have thought, a vile flood of poisonous substances that actually steamed in the cool night air.
It stank, too, and Axis had to swallow on several occasions in order to keep his bile down.
Praise the stars this poison had no effect on him.
As he watched, Axis began to feel guilty about his hard words earlier, insisting that Inardle could heal herself. He wished he hadn’t said them, although he reasoned he had actually been entitled to speak them.
Inardle had, after all, very effectively tricked him with her previous, healable, wounds.
Damn it. He wanted to continue to be angry with her, but right at the moment he could feel only sympathy.
Isaiah sat back, finally done. Inardle lay before him, crying softly, arms outstretched, pools of vileness collecting under her shoulders.
“I’ll find some water,” Axis said quietly, “and some wash cloths.” Isaiah nodded at him, and gave him a small smile.
He looked very weary.
Later, when Inardle had been washed, and her wounds bound loosely to collect the last of the pois
on as it drained forth, Isaiah came to sit with Axis.
“She will be better when she wakes,” Isaiah said, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Inardle’s sleep. “Tired, exhausted even, for a few days. But she will recover. She will be able to close over her wounds herself when she wakes.”
“Good,” Axis said.
“Good?” Isaiah said, a glint of humour in his eyes.
Axis gave a small, indifferent shrug of his shoulders, and Isaiah repressed a wider smile.
“What is this strange ‘water’ you found within her?” Axis said. “What is its importance? And it came from her Skraeling blood?”
Isaiah took a long time to answer, and when he did it was no answer at all.
“I think maybe this Skraeling alliance is a good idea, after all,” he said. “We should meet with them, you and I and Inardle. But when we do, there shall be one slight change to your plan. I should be their Lord, not you.” He grinned. “Isaiah, Lord of the Skraelings. It has a nice ring to it, yes?”
Chapter 20
The Twisted Tower
“Maxel, Ishbel, I am glad to see you.” Josia beckoned them up to the fifth level of the Twisted Tower where he had managed to clear a space and find some chairs for them to sit on. “Ishbel, Maxel told you why I wanted to see you?”
“Yes,” Ishbel said, seating herself. “Hairekeep is stuffed full of souls, whom we need to release. Or are they as yet alive, Josia?”
“Alive,” Josia said, giving a smile that lightened his normally serious face. “They are people still alive. In torment of spirit, but alive. Many, many tens of thousands of them.”
“In Hairekeep?” Maximilian said. “It is big, yes, but —”
“It has altered, grossly so,” Josia said. “It now pulsates with the power of the One. Nothing you could do would ever murder him, Ishbel. He lives. Where, I have no idea. But he lives, and doubtless spends his time plotting your own murders.”
Ishbel bridled a little at the “nothing you could do would ever murder him, Ishbel”, but let it go. Josia had reason enough not to have kept up with the social niceties after his time spent locked inside the Weeper.
“What can we do, Josia?” she said.
“Look,” Josia said. “I have done a rough sketch of the fort as I have seen it from the window on the top level. I could take you there, but .”
“We would die, I know that, Josia,” Ishbel said, bending forward to look at the paper Josia had produced. “Maxel! That looks a little like the Twisted Tower!”
“A parody of the Twisted Tower,” Maximilian said. “It is black, and vile.”
Josia nodded. “As is the One. This drawing is bad, I know, but it gives you some idea. The ‘fort’ is perhaps five times as large as what you saw when riding past it on your way out of Isembaard, Maxel.”
“What do we do, Josia?” Ishbel said.
“You unwind it, as you did DarkGlass Mountain,” Josia said. “Look,” he drew out another page of sketches and plans, “this is where the key foundation stone lies. Unwind that, and the entire edifice falls apart, freeing those trapped inside.”
“I can’t do it by myself?” Ishbel said.
“For this you will need Maximilian and his power,” Josia said. “You complement each other perfectly. And . . . it may be that the One has reinforced Hairekeep since the destruction of his pyramid. It is better you both enter.”
“Well,” Maximilian said, smiling and squeezing Ishbel’s hand, “I for one am happy enough about that. I thought I would die of fear for Ishbel while waiting for her outside DarkGlass Mountain.”
“Good, then,” Josia said. “How goes your journey eastward?”
“We have left the boat,” Maximilian said, “and had thought we’d need to walk the entire distance to the east coast of Isembaard. But a day into our journey we found a small herd of horses who were as happy to see us as we them. So now we ride, and make good time. Can you imagine such luck?”
Josia beamed. “You must truly be blessed by the gods.”
Chapter 21
The Outlands
Axis sat sipping the cup of tea one of the shepherds had given him, watching Inardle as she pushed away her blanket and slowly managed to sit up. She was obviously very stiff and, from her numerous winces, still in a fair amount of pain. Axis said nothing, lowering his eyes when she glanced his way, and waited until she, too, had accepted with thanks a cup of tea. He remembered how once he’d had to remind her to thank his body servant, Yysell, for making her a cup of tea, and reflected that at least she’d learned some manners since then.
Then Axis considered what an ungenerous thought that had been. “You are still very sore,” he said.
She glanced at him, rapidly dropping her eyes to her tea. “Yes.”
“But better?”
“Yes.” A hesitation. “I will be able to close the wounds myself now.”
Axis bit back a grin at the tightness in her voice. “Is the poison all gone?”
“Yes. Isaiah . . . I don’t know how he managed what he did. Or why he wanted to.”
“Not everyone hates you, Inardle.”
That produced a long awkward silence, and Axis berated himself for his words.
“Inardle .”
“Yes?”
“Inardle, I am sorry for what I said yesterday. About you being able to heal yourself.”
“You did not know about the poison.” Another pause. “And you had every right to say that, based on my previous behaviour.”
Axis drank another mouthful of tea, grateful for the prop. Had any conversation with Azhure ever been this awkward? It was too long ago to remember.
“I am famous for my inability to apologise gracefully, Inardle.”
“We both have a great deal to apologise for, perhaps, Axis. But I do not want to start a score sheet.”
Axis almost remarked on why he could understand her not wanting to start a score sheet on their various wrongdoings, but managed to stop himself. “I already have enough women keeping score sheets against me, Inardle. Please don’t add yours to the crowd.”
She smiled. It was a slow thing, but genuine, and it relaxed her entire body. “No score sheet, then.”
They descended into yet another clumsy silence, saved only by Isaiah who wandered up looking overly fit, handsome and altogether too pleased with himself.
“We should start as soon as you are ready,” he said. “Inardle . . . you cannot fly, not yet.”
“I can heal myself now, Isaiah. A moment’s work only, once I have finished my tea.”
“Nonetheless you are still very weak from the poison. You’ll need to share Axis’ horse as we do not have a spare. Most of your horses scattered during the Lealfast attack, Axis, and we only managed to catch the one you were riding. So I am afraid it means you’ll have to share a horse . . . unless you want to borrow a sheep from the shepherds.”
Then, bestowing his broadest grin on both Inardle and Axis, he walked off again.
They rode for three hours before they caught up with Isaiah’s army and the following Skraeling horde. The ride, at least for Axis and Inardle, was as awkward as their morning conversation had been. They did not speak a word throughout it, Inardle keeping her hands light on Axis’ waist, and her body leaning back so that they touched as little as possible.
By the time they sighted the army, Axis had vowed to himself a thousand times over that he must always keep at least one spare horse on hand.
When they were some three hundred paces away, Isaiah signalled them to slow back to a walk.
“I want to talk to the Skraelings first. Axis, let me take the lead here.”
Axis had no problems with that. This was the first time he’d seen Skraelings since he’d battled them so long ago when they were vowed to his ghastly half-brother, Gorgrael.
Then they had been so vile, so hated . . . such a nightmare. They had wreaked havoc and murdered too many of his friends and people.
Axis found his stomach clenc
hing, his entire body tensing, as they approached the wraith army trailing the Isembaardians.
Stars, they looked so different. Most of them sported jackal heads, while others had malformed into grotesque horrors.
And half of Inardle’s blood was this .
“I dislike being their kin too, Axis,” Inardle murmured behind him, and he gave a curt nod. He was glad he didn’t have to speak to them.
Isaiah signalled the group to a halt as one of the Skraelings peeled away from the horde and made his way toward them. “Just myself, Axis and Inardle will talk with the Skraeling,” he said. “The rest of you can rejoin your units.”
His men nodded, peeling off to canter toward the Isembaardians.
Isaiah watched them go, then looked at Axis and Inardle. “Whatever happens here,” he said, “let me do the talking. It may seem strange to you, but I have my reasons.”
Axis and Inardle nodded.
The creature approached with a lumbering gait, and Axis’ face twisted in revulsion. It was huge, twice as large as any Skraeling he’d ever seen before, and its swollen, lumpy face was so grossly misshapen that its silver eyes, sitting on one side of its face, were actually set one above the other.
It is repulsive, Inardle said in his mind, and he gave another nod, not daring, or trusting himself, to speak.
The Skraeling stopped a good ten paces away, looking at Axis rather than Isaiah.
“You bring the StarMan?” it hissed from the slit of its mouth, spittle oozing down in a winding rope from one corner.
“And you will note he brings no army with him,” Isaiah said. “Surely you cannot be afraid of just one StarMan. He will not harm you. He answers to me.”
Axis closed his eyes briefly at that. Oh, how the Skraeling would rejoice, thinking the StarMan was now under the command of another.
“We have come with a proposition for you,” Isaiah said, and the Skraeling grinned.
“You want to surrender?” he said.
“You think I would surrender to you?” Isaiah said, and something either in Isaiah’s voice or in his face made the Skraeling, literally, cringe.