Surrender to the Will of the Night (37 page)

Nassim sighed. He was exhausted. He did not have much left. And still his allies insisted he use what remained against everyone but those who had made of him their deadliest enemy.

20. Realm of the Gods: Time and Tide

The Ninth Unknown felt the weight of each of his years, though he had forgotten all but the most interesting. Nor was he sure his recollections of those were trustworthy. Could anyone be so old? And he was in little better shape than he had been on escaping the Realm of the Gods.

This time he had worn himself out trying to find the son of Arlensul.

***

The ascendant, in human form, joined Cloven Februaren in a place Aelen Kofer magic had made over into a tavern. Into the idea, or dream, or soul, of a tavern. Never did a more taverny tavern enter Februaren’s life. There were people and dwarves and, for a few brief minutes, one of the daring mer. Loud talk, ribaldry. A potent, all-pervasive impression that this must be a place far away from anywhere that an honest man would want to be. A place to leave other worlds behind.

Could it be another pocket world?

No. Like so much the Aelen Kofer wrought the tavern was almost entirely illusion.

“Irrelevant,” the ascendant said. “How have you fared?”

“I’ve made my mark in the middle world. As a failure. I’ve successfully identified ten thousand places where our man is not. That, by the way, is a fact? Arlensul birthed a son?” It would be embarrassing if he had overlooked a daughter through assumption.

“Yes. A son. As the legends say.” The ascendant had learned to waste no time responding to, or even acknowledging, what he perceived as the Ninth Unknown’s provocations.

“Why did you want to meet here? So I can validate the quality of the brew? I can’t do that, brother. These dwarves like it too thick and bitter.”

He lied. The beer was astonishingly good, especially for somewhere so far out in the wilds that it was in another world. But, no doubt, the brew would be perfection to any taste.

The ascendant shrugged, indifferent. “The Aelen Kofer are supple artificers. The beer is perfect. Any failing will be found in the drinker. I want you to meet some people.”

Cloven Februaren downed a pint, quickly. “Tasty.” He considered asking for another. Probably not wise. He was feeling that last already. “All right. Lead on.”

The ascendant, in Svavar-form, did so. Out of the tavern, toward the great barge.

“Some dramatic changes there,” Februaren observed.

The entire Realm of the Gods had grown less gloomy. The waterfront town had returned to life. Color had wakened everywhere, like a spring that renewed every aspect of the world. The ship of the gods had gone from dangerous derelict to opulent barge.

A boat was tied up in front of that, its mast the only evidence of its presence from where Februaren stood. He paid it no mind.

“More changes will come. If the power continues leaking through. This world is still a long way from what it was. But.” He stopped the old man, turned him, pointed.

Februaren looked up the mountain. Clouds obscured the Great Sky Fortress, incompletely. They came into being off to the right, whipped past the home of the gods as though riding a mighty wind, then dematerialized again to the left. They waxed and waned quickly.

“The bridge!” Februaren blurted. “The Aelen Kofer have restored the rainbow bridge!” The rainbow bridge, bright and beautiful, arced right up to the fortress gate.

“Pretty much. You can walk across now. If you want to go try.”

“I want. Very much.” The Great Sky Fortress itself showed signs of rejuvenation. “If this ancient flesh can survive the climb.” His turn sideways trick did not work inside the Realm of the Gods, even with the gateway open. He could jump in from outside. Once inside he had to walk. Even to the gateway to get back out. Though taking the barge left his clothing a little less damp.

“The Aelen Kofer have a goat cart that can take you up, when you decide you have to go.”

“But we’re headed somewhere else, now. Aren’t we?”

“We are. To the barge.”

***

Their destination proved to be a family, five members, all pallid, bony, and blond where they had any hair. A grandfather. His daughter. Her husband. Their children, boy, girl, eleven and eight. A lone Aelen Kofer watched them. Februaren did not recognize the dwarf. The ascendant dispensed with introductions. “These people escaped across the Ormo Strait. Former followers of the Windwalker. They found a boat, fled, and turned up here.” He exchanged glances with Februaren, so the old man knew he was not without reservations.

“I see. Unusual, that.”

“Yes. But the Windwalker has shown no knack for inspiring fanaticism. His worshippers execute his will because what lies ahead is less terrible than what pushes from behind. Kharoulke is a Punisher kind of god.”

“Not so many of any other kind,” Februaren said. “Can we talk to them?”

“Bluntnose has the dialect. It was spoken in Andoray before the Old Ones arrived, dragging us along.”

“Seatt?”

“One of those tongues.”

“I thought the Seatts were squat and brown.”

“Some were. The name includes all of the ancient tribes of the farthest north. These people … It doesn’t matter. Their ancestors were entirely surrendered to the Will of the Night. Their sorcery served the Windwalker and his kin. They lost their lands and gods when the Andorayans came. This crew amounts to little. They have no sorcery.”

“Let’s see what they can tell us.”

Bluntnose left her seat on the cargo hatch, joined Februaren and the ascendant. Februaren wondered how he knew the Aelen Kofer was female. What cue had he caught? He could not find it consciously. She said, “These people are desperate to cooperate. They understand their situation. We’ve fed them. They know we could stop. Also, they lost many friends and relations because of the Windwalker.”

Februaren asked, “Do you know who I am, Bluntnose?”

“Yes.” With a certain reserved disdain for even the most lethal of middle-worlders.

The Ninth Unknown winked. “Then tell them who I am, sweetheart.” While she did, he told the ascendant, “They don’t look much recovered.”

“They were in bad shape to begin. I didn’t think they’d make it. The Aelen Kofer worked some deep magic but you can tell from the missing bits that frostbite was too far along for even dwarf magic.”

The ascendant related what the Seatts had reported so far. Which was that the Windwalker was angry and hungry. “Pretty much his normal state, though maybe more so now because he knows what we’re doing.”

Bluntnose said, “I told them, wizard. Your name failed to strike terror.”

“That’s a pity.” Using Bluntnose to translate, he interrogated the Seatts.

From the barge Februaren could see the cliffs of ice away toward Andoray. He saw shapes and shadows atop them. The ascendant followed his gaze, captured his thought. “He’s getting close. We have to try a new tack. Soon.”

“Something is being done. To buy some time.”

Bluntnose said, “They want to know how long we intend to hold them. They don’t want to be here when the Windwalker comes.”

“They won’t be. One way or another.”

“What?” Bluntnose turned to see what had the others’ jaws dropping.

A fishing smack had appeared outside the gateway. It headed in.

The ascendant said, “Get Iron Eyes. Tell him to bring everybody he can. It’ll take some serious artificing to handle this.”

Februaren saw nothing worth excitement. Other than that the smack’s approach was deliberate.

Typically, in myth, visitors to the Realm of the Gods did not arrive of their own accord. Not until recently. But lately a rush had developed.

Korban Jarneyn and a dozen weighty henchdwarves turned up implausibly fast. Iron Eyes explained, “We felt them cross over.”

The Ninth Unknown could now distinguish the “them.” “I’ve heard of these things. Though never of more than one in one place at a time.”

The boat was filled with Krepnights, the Elect. Februaren got a different count each time he tried a census. The average was a dozen. So many that the boat had almost no freeboard. Februaren could not imagine how it had made the crossing without swamping.

Aelen Kofer kept turning up, each as heavily armed as an individual dwarf could be. They brought along all the magic they could manage, too.

There were a surprising number of dwarves. Many more than had made the climb with Februaren and Iron Eyes.

They were getting ready for something.

Likewise, the ascendant. He had backed off to have more room as he experimented with several ferocious shapes.

An unpleasant animal musk preceded the smack. It reminded Februaren of the den of something large and filthy. A bear, perhaps.

“No fooling around here,” Iron Eyes said, apparently to himself. He rattled orders in a language Februaren did not understand.

The boat lurched up out of the water. It continued landward at the same steady pace but climbed higher and higher.

Iron Eyes barked a command that had to be, “Now!”

The boat fell. From eighty feet, it plunged to the quay. Pieces and things were still scattering when the Aelen Kofer swarmed the impact site.

Februaren said, “Try to save a couple for questioning.”

“Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs, mortal.”

The butchery did not last long. Nine hairless, tiger striped things ended up dismembered and, before long, consigned to a bonfire built special to accommodate them. Three captives suffered hamstringing. They could neither flee nor fight.

They would not talk. It was unclear whether they could if they wanted.

“This is a puzzle beyond me,” Iron Eyes said. “These things are constructs. Not unlike a number of mythical creatures the gods made to amuse themselves. Only, these are deadly tools. They have no feelings, no fears, no insides, nothing but an obsessed determination to execute the will of the Windwalker. Who breathed just enough of himself into each to give it the strength to do what he wants done.”

Februaren went to the ascendant, who seemed determined to turn into a giant jumping crab. He had not participated in the reduction of the striped creatures. “Any way you could look inside those things?”

The ascendant seemed surprised by the question, then irked. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because you’re what you are. With bits of god packed up inside. Your god stuff might be able to burglarize their god stuff.”

“I don’t get anything but cold. And a fair certainty that they’d tear me apart if they could just get at me.”

Februaren said, “I may have another tool. But I’ll have to take one of them somewhere else.”

“More time,” Iron Eyes grumped.

“More time, Mr. Gjoresson. You’re going to get it. I have something going. It will buy us a lot of time.” But he was uneasy. In fact, he was damned worried and getting more so by the hour.

It should have happened already.

***

Cloven Februaren was in a state approaching panic, more frayed than he had been in centuries. His schemes were coming unraveled. Heris should have done her part three days ago. He had to get out of the Realm of the Gods. He had to find out what had gone wrong. What had happened to Heris.

He should not have listened when she volunteered.

He had to check in on Piper. Piper ought to be in Alten Weinberg by now.

Maybe that was why Heris was running late. Piper might have gotten into deep trouble and she was digging him out.

The old man was on the quay, staring over the Seatt boat, out the gateway into the middle world. Korban Jarneyn joined him. “Not much to see out there.”

Exactly. Just haze and a bleak dark sea where waves had begun to run high in anticipation of an approaching storm. As true winter closed in it became ever more difficult to see all the way to the land of always winter, with its monster denizens, now drawn so close.

When the old man did not respond, Iron Eyes asked, “Why so dour and distant of late, friend?”

“The Night may have chosen to instruct me in the matter of hubris.”

“Interesting. I don’t know what you mean, but that’s interesting nonetheless. I’m here to report that the Aelen Kofer have come to a wall. There’s nothing more we can do.”

“What?”

“We’ve taken our part to the point where we can’t do anything more till you do your part.”

Cloven Februaren said, “I thought too much of my own skills as a teacher.” Which did not fit.

“Find Arlensul’s whelp, sorcerer. Or the course is run. That thing out there, that horrible toad in the mist, will drive the ice this far before spring. If ever it does return. Unless you …”

Red-gold light flared in the mist, far away. A second flash followed, shorter, brighter, and more yellow. Then a dozen more flashes, in varying shades, followed quickly, creeping from right to left.

“What would that be?” Gjoresson mused.

The Ninth Unknown had a sudden, sobering thought. “Can you close the gateway? Quickly?”

“After all this time prizing it open an inch at a time?”

“We’re going to get deadly wet if you can’t at least make the hole a lot smaller.”

The dwarf heard his urgency. “All right. I trust you to worry about your own skin.”

Februaren explained while Iron Eyes worked at whatever Aelen Kofer did when they tinkered with magic. It was not dramatic. Nor ever was, till it was over and there stood something like the rainbow bridge. Iron Eyes did not understand the Ninth Unknown’s explanation.

The gateway’s diameter had shrunk ten feet before the first dull, protracted, barely audible
crump
arrived, forerunner of a series of thumps, cracks, and crunches that whispered about very big noises having been birthed a long way away, across cruelly cold water.

The bellow of an outraged god soon followed. It had so much anger behind it, it might be heard for a thousand miles.

The Ninth Unknown’s mood improved dramatically. “She did it! She did pull it off! I was right. He had no one guarding his back.” But fear returned as he recalled the certain consequences of success.