“Death. There has been a great deal of death here, although I felt it more strongly in the black corridors leading to this chamber. There is terror, and it is stronger in this chamber than elsewhere. There is fear. There is…”
“Opportunity?” Isaiah said, and Axis wondered if Isaiah had, after all, heard the voice that had spoken to Axis.
“Perhaps,” Axis said. He wanted nothing more now than to get out of here. Stars, Ba’al’uz had said Isaiah came here and sat for hours at an end. What did DarkGlass Mountain say to him then?
“You want to leave,” Isaiah said very softly.
“Yes,” Axis grated. He could feel DarkGlass Mountain probing at his mind, feel its temptations—I can realize all your dreams for you, Axis. Touch the Star Dance again, touch Azhure again, touch—
Without another word Axis turned on his heel and strode from the Infinity Chamber.
“You didn’t like the Infinity Chamber,” said Isaiah. “Why?”
They had not spoken until they had ridden down the causeway and back onto the roadway running beside the river. They trotted along this for a little way, then, of one accord, pulled the horses to a halt and turned them so they could look back at DarkGlass Mountain.
More time than Axis could believe possible had passed since he’d entered the pyramid. It was now late afternoon, almost dusk, and the sun was sinking behind the pyramid, streaking the deep blue-green of the glass with long fingers of rust.
Or blood.
“Where will it be safe to speak, Isaiah?” said Axis quietly.
“In my chamber,” said Isaiah, “away from its shadow.”
They turned their horses for the river and did not speak again until they were, indeed, safe within Isaiah’s most private chamber.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Pelemere, the Central Kingdoms
It was, for almost an entire half hour, a time of the most exquisite joyousness.
Ba’al’uz sank back into the shadows by the hearth, concealed by the gloom, and watched mayhem erupt at Sirus’ lunch table.
Evenor’s murder had been enjoyable—but what Ba’al’uz experienced now was the most intense ecstasy normally only felt during the climax of sexual relations.
Ishbel, perhaps overwrought by all the anger about her, vomited what little lunch she’d eaten onto the snowy linen-covered expanse of the high table.
Guards rushed to surround the high table—members of Maximilian’s Emerald Guard as well as Sirus’ palace guard.
Maximilian had shoved Allemorte to one side in order to reach Ishbel. The baron had no time to recover his balance before Ba’al’uz had stepped smoothly forward from his shadow, wiped the poison over Allemorte’s wrist as he tried to grab the back of a chair, and then retreated, unseen and unremarked by all as Allemorte slipped to his knees. He made as if to rise, but the next moment gagged, turned a horrible shade of gray-purple, clutched at his chest, then collapsed in convulsions.
Sirus lurched to his feet, his eyes initially on Ishbel and Maximilian, before turning in bewilderment to look at Allemorte writhing on the floor.
The hall erupted in shouting and cries and the sound of benches and chairs tumbling to the timber floor as people leapt to their feet.
Within a moment attention had turned from Maximilian and Ishbel to Allemorte. The poison had done its work in an instant, and where it quickly became obvious that Ishbel was well (apart from her sick stomach), it just as rapidly became obvious that Allemorte was in his final extremity.
Sirus was the first to reach him, leaning down and grabbing at the convulsing man’s shoulder. “Allemorte!” he cried. “Allemorte!”
He was pushed unceremoniously aside by the arrival of a man Ba’al’uz could not name, but who was immediately recognizable as a physician. The physician grabbed at one of Allemorte’s flailing hands, held it, an expression of deep concentration on his face, then looked up, first to Sirus and then to Maximilian, now holding Ishbel to one side.
“He has been poisoned,” the physician said. “He is dying.”
Ba’al’uz raised his eyebrows. The physician had uncommon skill—a depth of intuition that bordered on the magical. He was wrong in only one respect—Allemorte was not dying…by now he was very dead indeed.
“Murder!” cried Sirus, and turned instantly to Maximilian. “You murdered him!”
Ba’al’uz had to bite his inner cheek to keep himself from crowing out loud and betraying his presence. This was too good to be true! Now Ba’al’uz was torn between wanting desperately to stay and enjoy the continuing drama, or scurrying back to where the Eight waited and regaling them with the excitement.
The Eight could wait. The excitement here was too good to leave just yet.
As Sirus and Maximilian shouted, and as guards milled, Ba’al’uz studied Ishbel.
She was very pale, and Ba’al’uz thought he could see continuing traces of sickness about her eyes.
The baby.
Bring her to me, Kanubai whispered in his mind, and Ba’al’uz nodded.
Far away, on the banks of the River Lhyl, the brindle dog lay, head on paws, looking at the pyramid rising in the sunlight, but seeing nothing but Ishbel Brunelle reacting to the ring’s call of danger.
The dog had no mind of its own now. Instead the shadows that chased about its skull were the thoughts of Kanubai, still waiting far below the pyramid.
Kanubai knew that bringing Ishbel to DarkGlass Mountain had its own dangers, but, oh, the strength that the sacrifice of her child would give him! The baby carried powerful bloodlines, magical bloodlines, and its sacrifice to enable Kanubai’s rise would give him such power in life that he would be virtually unstoppable.
Never more would he be trapped.
Never again the bleakness of the abyss, but only that bleakness transferred to the light of day so that all joy and warmth might be murdered.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Palace of Aqhat, Tyranny of Isembaard
They rode back to the palace in silence, save for an odd comment about the strength of the river current or the evening chill of the air.
Once at the palace, Isaiah led the way at a brisk walk to his private chambers, waving aside the murmurs of courtiers and servants. He brought Axis to the large airy room that served as his dining and living chamber, checked to make sure all the windows were shuttered, then turned to Axis.
“Well?” Isaiah said.
“It spoke to me.”
Isaiah drew in a deep breath. “Ah.”
“You are not surprised.”
“No. It has spoken to me, as well. Mumbled words at first, but now far clearer. What did it say?”
“It tempted me with the Star Dance…you know what that is?”
Isaiah shook his head. “Not truly. I have heard of it, but…”
“The Star Dance is the music the stars make in their dance through the heavens. That dance creates patterns, and those patterns can be manipulated by those with the ability—among the Icarii race it was the Enchanters—to achieve various ends. The more powerful the Enchanter, the more powerful the end. The Star Dance filtered into Tencendor via the Star Gate.”
Axis thought back to his first sight of the Star Gate. Buried deep underground, the Star Gate had initially looked like a pool of blue light. But when Axis had looked deep into it he had seen the universe, the real universe, not the poor reflection that chased across the night sky. Galaxies and solar systems of rich, exquisite colors had chased each other through multihued stars…and the Star Dance, the music of the stars, had rushed out at him, engulfed him…
In a few quiet words Axis described the Star Gate for Isaiah. “It was astounding, Isaiah. The power it contained, its beauty…its allure…unbelievable. It was dreadful and frightening and irresistible, all in one. And it was our only connection to the Star Dance. The moment the Timekeeper Demons destroyed the gate, we lost the Star Dance. DarkGlass Mountain—or whatever it is that lingers in there—promised me the chance to touch the Star Dance
again. Ba’al’uz said the original Magi who created DarkGlass Mountain made it as a gateway to Creation.” Axis gave a small shrug. “There is no reason not to suppose that DarkGlass Mountain could not also be a gateway to the Star Dance.”
“But—”
“But can you imagine what would happen to the Star Dance as it filtered through DarkGlass Mountain? Stars, it is a nightmare! It is so…corrupt. Darkness and filth.”
“Axis, what does your gut tell you about DarkGlass Mountain?”
“What? Darkness and filth isn’t enough for you?” Axis gave a small shrug. “It is toxic and dangerous beyond belief. And that…” Axis paused, thinking.
“And that…?”
“I think that whatever is wrong with DarkGlass Mountain is far older than the pyramid itself, although that damned pile of glass is cursed enough. There’s something there, Isaiah, something beneath the pyramid, a part of the very soil on which the Magi built. It is very ancient and very powerful. I don’t know what it is, or what manner of thing it is: whether object or cavern or spirit or potential or sheer damned memory, but there it is. Isaiah, tell me what you know. Why do you go and sit inside it?”
“To test myself. To know my enemy. To try and discover his movements and his plans.”
“His plans?”
Isaiah waved Axis to a low chair, poured them each a goblet of strong fortified wine, then sat down himself in a nearby chair.
“Let me tell you what I know of that pyramid, Axis. I agree with you. I think something dark and malignant lives far below the pyramid. For centuries DarkGlass Mountain was nothing but a great mound covered by sand, some rough grasses, and the odd scrap of rubbish. Then—”
“It regrew, Ba’al’uz said.”
Isaiah gave a hollow laugh. “Yes. It uncovered itself, and then reclothed itself in its gown of glass. It fed on the bleakness waiting below it, and it just…regrew.”
“That did not terrify people?”
“Terrify? For a year or so, when this first began to happen, the Tyranny of Isembaard was paralyzed. Ezela, the tyrant at that stage, did not know what to do. He had his army try to destroy it—instead, the army was crippled. Any soldier who touched it with intent to damage it was, oh gods, turned to stone. Fortunately no one lived in this area at that time, so there were no loose tongues to waggle, and Ezela himself made sure that not one of the soldiers who survived ever spoke of what had happened.”
Axis winced, imagining only too well what Ezela must have done to those men.
“Ezela could not destroy it,” continued Isaiah, “and he could not stop the pyramid’s self-regeneration. So he did the next best thing. He watched it for years, until he was certain it would do little more than merely regenerate. Then, ever the innovator, he built the palace of Aqhat directly across the river from DarkGlass Mountain, settled himself inside, and claimed that Dark-Glass Mountain was a testament to the power of the tyrant and that the tyrant himself drew great power from it and that it was a great talisman for the Tyranny. Nothing to be afraid of at all.”
Now it was Axis’ turn to produce the hollow laugh. “And thus for centuries the tyrants have sat in their palace listening to the damn thing whisper?”
“The ‘damn thing’ only started to whisper twenty years ago, and only a very few can hear it. Like you, I believe that something waits below the pyramid. That the pyramid itself, while noxious enough, is also being used by something far more powerful. Something ancient.” He gave a slight shrug. “I refer to it as a ‘he.’ Somehow it helps to be able to personalize the nightmare.”
Axis had every suspicion that Isaiah was not telling him everything he knew, but Axis also knew Isaiah well enough to understand that he could not be pushed. “For all the stars’ sakes, Isaiah, you have this ancient monstrosity sitting directly across the river from your palace, stirring into gods-know-what witchery, and you’ve decided to invade the north in the meantime? Don’t you think this is a somewhat bad time to abandon your realm to…whatever that thing is…and go invade somewhere else?”
Now Isaiah laughed more genuinely. “You can’t think of a better time?”
“Isaiah…”
He sobered. “I have little choice, my friend. I told you about the Eastern Independences campaign.”
“Yes,” said Axis. But you have not told me why it was you failed.
Isaiah met Axis’ eyes. “I have been living on borrowed time since then. My generals plot among themselves. If I do not manage a successful show of strength, of war, of invasion, within the next year or two, then I am a dead man. Lister offers me that chance. With my army, and his Skraelings, the kingdoms above the FarReach Mountains are ours. Then I can deal with DarkGlass Mountain, or whatever that nightmare really is.”
“Isaiah, leaving that thing at your back—”
“What do you want me to do, Axis? If I stay here, if I stay actionless, then I die. But if I have the success of the invasion behind me, as well as the resources of the kingdoms to the north, then maybe I will have the strength and the chance to deal with whatever DarkGlass Mountain is plotting. Besides, the north has something I want,” Isaiah added, almost as an afterthought.
He moved away to a map table, indicating Axis should join him. As Axis walked over, Isaiah unrolled a parchment map. It showed the full extent of the Tyranny of Isembaard, as well as the kingdoms to the north and Coroleas to the west.
Isaiah’s fingers moved upward, tapping a drawing of a massive mountain. “This mountain is called Serpent’s Nest, home to a rather vile little order of psychic murderers. It is fascinating. I have heard such intriguing rumors about it.”
Axis waited, but Isaiah’s silence forced him to ask the question. “What rumors?”
Isaiah gave a small smile. “Oh, treasures-buried-in-its-dungeons kind of rumors. You know the sort of thing. Just—”
“Just the usual thing that makes a man uproot a million of his people and invade a foreign land.”
“It is just something I’d like to see, Axis. Perhaps something to obtain before Lister gets there, eh?”
And with that Isaiah rolled up the map and turned away.
“Why does Lister need to ally with you?” Axis said. “Why not just invade the north without you and take all for himself?”
“Because he and I are fools, Axis, and we cannot live without the other.”
And to that Isaiah would not add any more.
[ Part Four ]
CHAPTER ONE
Pelemere, the Central Kingdoms
Ishbel.”
She didn’t stir, so deeply asleep that Maximilian’s murmur and his soft hand shaking her shoulder could not wake her.
“Ishbel!”
She moaned softly, and tried to roll away from his touch.
Maximilian leaned closer to her, put both hands on her shoulders, half lifted her up, and gave her another, more substantial, shake.
“Ishbel, wake up!” he hissed.
Her eyes flew open.
“Shush,” he said, his voice low. “It is all right, there is no immediate danger, but we need to leave now.”
He left her sitting, confused and blinking, as he fetched some thick felt and fur clothes from a nearby chest.
“Here,” he said, “put these on. It is freezing outside—there has been a late, bitter snowfall—and we have a fair distance to ride.”
“Maxel? What…”
He sat down by her side again. “We can’t stay here, Ishbel. We barely got out of the great hall today without being tossed in Sirus’ dungeons. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but we can’t be here for it. We need to be far away before this palace and city awakes.”
“But…” Ishbel was still so sleepily confused she simply could not think. She’d been exhausted by the time they’d gone to bed last night, and ill both with the baby and the events of the day. She looked about their bedchamber.
It was still deep night.
“It is about six hours before dawn, Ishbel,” Maximilian said
.
“Where will we go?”
“I found somewhere on my way to Pelemere. It will do for the time being, but we need to get back to Escator as fast as we can. The Central Kingdoms are far too dangerous for me and for you now. Are you awake? Yes? Good. Now, use the bathroom—the gods alone know when next you’ll have the chance—get dressed and we shall leave.”
Maximilian sat on the bed, waiting for Ishbel, thinking that he felt as ill as Ishbel looked.
It had been an absolutely hellish day.
They had been lucky to have escaped Sirus’ dungeons, and only the fact that no one could find any poison on either Maximilian or Ishbel had saved them.
Sirus was still convinced, however, that one or the other had murdered Allemorte. Furthermore, he was now absolutely certain that Ishbel was in league with the Outlanders, and that the Outlanders—for whatever reason—were planning further murderous attacks, if not a full-scale invasion, within his kingdom.
Whatever chance there had been for peace between the Outlands and Pelemere and its neighbors was now completely gone.
Maximilian rubbed a hand over tired eyes. He’d spent the two hours before he’d woken Ishbel with Garth, Egalion, and Lixel, arranging for them, as well as the Emerald Guard, to melt away into the night in ones and twos and to reassemble at a spot a suitable distance, and in suitable seclusion, from Pelemere.
Sirus might have his guard on high alert, but the Emerald Guard were almost as attuned to the darkness as Maximilian was himself—they had all come from the Veins—and would be able to slip past Sirus’ guards without too much trouble. Maximilian thanked whichever gods watched over him that he’d brought only a relatively small retinue from Escator, and not a column of hundreds. That would have been impossible to sneak out of Pelemere.
Maximilian looked up. Ishbel had returned. Silently Maximilian helped her into the clothes he’d selected: thick felt underclothes and shirt, furred trousers, vest and hooded coat, and a heavy cloak.