Faerie Wars 01 - Faerie Wars (31 page)

The sun was low in the sky and the sulphur fumes, or whatever they were, had given it an angry, fiery hue. If he was to reach anywhere familiar before nightfall, he needed to get started. He made a brief check of his possessions, glad he'd taken up Mr Fogarty on his offer of a knife. The old man kept going on about how you never knew when you might need a weapon, and while Pyrgus hadn't expected to end up in the middle of nowhere, he knew from past experience his own world could be a dangerous place. The knife was no Halek blade -- Mr Fogarty had found it in his kitchen -- but it was better than nothing.

He also had a knapsack -- Mr Fogarty called it a 'kit-bag' -- with food. He hadn't thought he'd need that at all, but he liked the stuff you got to eat in the Analogue World and had packed the bag with crisps, Mars bars and a tin of baked beans. Things could be a lot worse. If he had a few miles to walk, it was no further than he'd walked before. Even if he was forced to sleep in the open for a night or two, it hardly mattered. He'd done that before as well.

He slung the knapsack over his shoulder and started down the hill.

He reckoned he'd walked for an hour before deciding something else was wrong. The landscape hadn't varied and the angry sun still hadn't set. By his calculation, it should be growing dusk by now, yet the sun hardly seemed to have moved from its original place in the sky. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced it hadn't moved at all. That wasn't possible, so he had to be mistaken about how long he'd been walking.

Pyrgus stopped. His surroundings still looked much the same as they'd done when he'd reached the surface. Were they actually the same surroundings? Was he wandering around in circles? He pushed the thought aside. It couldn't be that simple. The sun hadn't moved. Which meant no time had passed. He felt a little tired, as you might expect after walking for an hour. He
remembered
walking for about an hour. But if the sun hadn't moved, he
couldn't
have been walking for about an hour. He wondered if the fumes had affected his mind. It was a scary thought, but could he be hallucinating?

He started to move again, very much aware of placing one foot in front of the other. He was walking. Of course he was walking! He slipped his knapsack off his back and dropped it on the ground, then watched it as he took half a dozen backward paces. The knapsack stayed put and he moved away from it, exactly as he should. He walked back and retrieved the knapsack. He was walking. Of course he was walking! He'd been walking for an hour or more. So why hadn't the sun moved?

He walked on, westwards, in the direction he'd been walking before. What else was there to do? But the mystery disturbed him. It was like the smell of sulphur -- he
still
had that in his nostrils -- and the yellow sky. Something was
wrong,
yet he couldn't figure out exactly what.

He topped a rise and found himself looking down on a ruined city.

The ancient buildings rose up out of the barren plain like rotten teeth. Collapsed walls left heaps of rubble, but enough remained standing to show this had once been a busy metropolis. He could see the remnants of a pylon gate and the foundations of stone towers. There was a central
plaza,
its paving split and cracked. Old roadways and streets were half hidden by patches of the same strange vegetation he'd seen earlier. Even in ruins, the city was impressive. The wall stones were enormous. Several must have weighed tons.

Pyrgus felt a sudden chill. He'd never heard of a city like this anywhere in the Realm of Faerie and certainly not anywhere near his palace. That meant it had to be undiscovered, probably in some distant country on another continent, which would explain the unfamiliar vegetation. How far was he away from home? It might take him weeks, even months, to reach his father and warn him about what had been going on.

If he could get back at all ...

Pyrgus had an optimistic nature, but, all the same, he knew he needed to be realistic. He'd been walking across countryside so barren it was almost a desert, confused by fumes and with absolutely no idea of where he was. He had food -- of a sort -- in his knapsack. With care, it might last him two or three days, but after that he'd have to hunt and so far he hadn't seen so much as a gruntrat in this desolate terrain, let alone anything edible.

More to the point, he hadn't seen water either and he had no water at all with him. He wouldn't last much more than a week without water. It was cool enough now with the sun near the horizon, but tomorrow at noon it could be leaching moisture from his body at a frightening rate.

He glanced towards the sun. It hung in the same place in the sky as if time itself had stopped.

Water had to be his first priority. He needed water to survive. Without it, he would never reach his father, never warn him, never find out who was behind the murder attempt, never -- He cut off the train of thought and forced his mind on to the immediate problem. He might be able to squeeze some moisture from the curious plants, but that had to be a last resort since he'd no idea if they were poisonous. What he really needed was a stream or a pool or...

Or a well!

The ruined city must have had its water sources! The city planners might have built cisterns to collect rainwater, but there would be wells too -- they were the only certain source of supply. Some, maybe even most, would probably have dried up by now. But there was a chance one or two might still hold water. All he had to do was find them.

He started down the slope towards the ruins. The thought occurred that he might be lucky enough to stumble on an inscription that would give him some clue to his whereabouts. Once he had water and knew where he was, he'd no doubt he could find his way home, however far away it was. Somehow.

Close up, the city was more impressive than it was at a distance. On several of the structures, the massive stones had been cut and slotted together like a jigsaw. There didn't seem to be any mortar between them, yet they were a perfect fit. He'd never seen anything like it before, although there were several enormous buildings in his father's realm, including the palace itself. He wondered how old these ruins really were -- a thousand years? ten thousand years?

He wanted to search systematically, so he began at the surviving pylon gate and began slowly to follow the main thoroughfare that led to the central
plaza..
There were two possible types of well. One would be enormous borings to ensure a water supply for the city as a whole. These would probably be located somewhere near the centre. But there would be another type as well. Some families, particularly the wealthy ones, would want their own water supply and would have sunk shafts near their homes, possibly even inside them. It was these shafts that were more likely to hold some water now, rather than the over-used municipal borings.

He walked slowly, alert for residential buildings. They weren't as easy to find as he'd thought. Thousands of people must have lived here once, but their homes would have been the smaller, less-well-constructed buildings -- the first to fall to rubble. What was left now were segments of the massive city walls, portions of temples, ancient factories, observatories and the like. And in their ruined state, it was tricky enough to tell one type of building from another, especially when all you had to go on were a few flagstones or sections of enclosure walls.

But one area looked promising. The buildings there had all but disappeared, leaving no more than tumbled stones and traces of foundations. It was those foundation outlines that attracted Pyrgus, for they seemed to show small houses clumped together. There were one or two dark crevices that could repay exploration. Even more exciting, there were two cracked slabs that might -- just might -- be covering shafts.

He was clambering across some rubble to investigate when the demons seized him.

Pyrgus fought like a demon himself. He had no chance to reach the knife Mr Fogarty had given him, but he punched and kicked furiously. There was something about the creatures that sent him into a frenzy of revulsion. They were nearly naked so he could see their repulsive, chalk-white, hairless bodies and their spindly limbs. When they touched him, his skin crawled.

Individually, they were smaller than he was, but there were dozens of them and more swarming across the rubble to help. He had never seen so many in one place, never
heard
of so many appearing at one time. Even the most skilled Wizard of the Night could call up no more than three at once, not dozens. They chittered like insects and darted excitedly towards him, snatching at his clothing, then jumping back to avoid his flailing fists.

He knew enough not to look at their faces. Instead, he concentrated on kicking at their legs, which were brittle and fairly easily broken. The trouble was, the demons knew that just as well as he did and took care to keep well clear of his boots.

Something grabbed his head from behind and held it like a vice. Despite their size, demons were strong. He jerked and twisted, trying to break free, but the creature clung to him. Then more demon hands seized his head and in a moment he could no longer move it at all.

'Nooo!' Pyrgus wailed.

He stopped fighting to concentrate on what he knew was coming. He closed his eyes tight shut and tried to hit backwards at the demons holding his head. Then his arms were caught as well and he knew he was done for. Probing fingers crawled across his face to prise open his screwed eyes. He looked down at once, but the creatures anticipated the reaction and pulled back his head. He found himself looking into a demon face.

The huge, black eyes stared into his own.

'Be still,' a voice said in his mind.

The sensation was hideous, like slime-mould oozing through his brain. He felt the paralysis beginning in his limbs.

'Be still,' the demon voice repeated.

'Rented a tent,' Pyrgus murmured. 'Rented a tent. Rented a, rented a, rented a tent.' It was something Tithonus had taught him. Sometimes rhythmic gibberish could lock your mind enough to break free of a demon's spell. 'Rented a tent. Rented a tent. Rented a, rented a -- '

'Your name?' the demon voice demanded in his mind.

Don't think the name! Whatever you do, don't think --
Once a demon knew your name, its power over you increased. He'd never heard of anyone escaping demons once they knew his name.
Don't think P -- P -No, don't think it! Rented a tent. Rented a tent. Rented a -- Don't think --
He felt the name hovering on the edges of his mind, waiting to rush in, to float in, to creep in. --
tent, a tent, a tent, a pent, a py- Don't think P-P-P-P ... Don't think PYRGUS! Dammit, dammit, dammit! Well at least don't think Pyrgus Malvae. Oh, double dammit!

'Come with me, Pyrgus Malvae,' said the slime-mould in his mind.

The demon hands released his arms and head. The demon horde fell back so that the way was clear. The demon speaking in his mind drew thin lips over tiny, pointed teeth. It took Pyrgus a moment to realise it was smiling. The creature turned and walked away across the rubble.

Pyrgus followed like a lamb.

Arthritic hands or not, Fogarty had the pump-action shotgun all together now. He sighted down the empty weapon and worked the pump a few times to make sure it was functioning properly. It gave a satisfying, well-oiled ratchet sound.

'Your boy isn't here,' he said.

The Purple Emperor leaned forward to look him directly in the eyes. 'I believe you, Mr Fogarty. I believe everything you have told me. I believe you were a friend to my son, as was the boy Henry you mentioned. But Pyrgus has not come home and I hope you will be a friend to me as well.' He held Fogarty's gaze for a long moment before adding, 'You will not find me ungrateful. Or ungenerous.'

'What do you want?' Fogarty asked.

'I want you to help me find him,' Apatura said.

'What do I call you?' Fogarty asked. 'Highness? Majesty? Something like that?'

'You may call me anything you wish, Mr Fogarty. You are not one of my subjects. My given name is Apatura Iris.'

'All right, Mr Iris. I liked your boy. I liked him a lot. Tough little squirt -- reminded me of myself when I was a kid. If I can help you find him, I will. But I don't see how.'