The Black Tower (20 page)

Ghul was impressed.  He’d never imagined the humans would offer such staunch resistance.  Still, the battle was as good as won, and it had proved a momentary distraction, at best.

The war chariot thundered through the wall of fire.  Ghul held his breath and shielded his face with his arms, and though the skin beneath his greaves blistered it would heal soon enough. 

The Voss stood on the deck of Crinn’s command chariot, a ridiculous device that served no real purpose apart from nurturing the pathetic madman’s ego, but since Ghul had built the vehicle it was of course a work of Veilcrafted art -- every jagged rivet and corner was designed to perfectly complement its other components, each wheel and piece of armor plate was carefully tempered and tied into place with beast sinew washed in Allaji blood.  The hulking transport was squat and wide, easily big enough to fit three giants.  Sharp spines splayed from the deck like a porcupine’s quills, and the shielded platform was heavily armed with bolt-throwers and ballistae.  The vehicle was drawn by a huge
drad’mont
and carried its own terrible momentum, and the lower deck had enough space for a small unit of soldiers and their mounts.  Great wheels crushed enemies with ease, and the sound the vehicle made as it tore across the landscape was truly horrifying.

Ghul knew little of Crinn save that he was dangerous, but he didn’t need to know any more.  The Cabal’s newest member had played his part by assembling this Black Army and chasing the Dream Witch north so she would be captured by Kala.  Now it was Ghul’s turn, and with the weapons and troops Crinn had assembled he’d show the world what it meant to anger the Voss.

The battle raged as the chariot thundered up the valley road and took to higher ground, where the Tuscars and humans had clashed head-on with the foolhardy Jlantrian forces.  The Black Army’s overwhelming ground troops smashed through the White Dragon infantry.  Ghul ordered the chariot forward, and the human pilots at the helm of the deck pulled on the complicated series of levers and pulleys which controlled the
drad’mont’s
reins. 

Black Army soldiers parted before the advance of the war machine.  Ghul smelled blood and burning skin and heard the crash of steel and flesh.  The great wheels crushed molten bodies that had been smothered by the Jlantrian’s magical assault or left maimed and ruined by the barrage of the Iron Tower.  Torsos were flattened and exploded like paste inside their armor.  Bodily muck sprayed across the front of the chariot as it rolled over sand and stone. 

The battle stretched to the ridge and the cusp of the valley.  Beyond the mulching fields of slain were more Jlantrains being pushed back by Crinn’s front lines, which continued to part before the war chariot’s advance so as to wisely avoid being smothered beneath two tons of monstrous steel and bone.

Ghul stood at the fore of the deck and removed his capped iron helmet, allowing the charnel wind to blast against his dark face.  He smelled the corpses, tasted the blood.  The scent of battle was sweet, and it had been far too long since he’d tasted it.  Ghul’s pitch black armor was the same hue as his skin, lending him the semblance of a man carved from midnight.  His black iron sword was streaked with red, permanent stains of blood left by his victims, a thaumaturgic enhancement which strengthened the blade and lent it sharpness.  His ebon flesh was nicked with scars and self-inflicted cuts, left there intentionally by stained Veilcrafted weapons so they’d never heal.  He bore one wound for each of his kin he’d lost during the Rift War, a permanent reminder of the lives he’d avenge now that the time had finally come. 

Tuscars and black-clad mercenaries surged forward in a metal tide.  Battle cries rang across the blooded morning.  Arrows and stones flew through the air.  His grey-bodied soldiers moved as a relentless mass, crushing their own in their attempts to reach the front of the battle. 

The purple sky was stained red with iron smoke and blood.  He felt his skin chill in the damp morning wind, and his thick fingers clenched the heavy rails.  His chest swelled with excitement.

This was where he belonged.  His kind had been cautious and paranoid since the war.  Their leaders had convinced themselves that their interference with affairs on the surface world had initiated a countdown to their own destruction, that their desire to do battle beyond the confines of the under realms had triggered the beginning of the end.  The War of the Iron Crowns seemed to have proved those prophecies true. 

Imbeciles. 
The Voss had lived in shame ever since the end of the Rift War, hidden away as if they feared the humans.  Only a few such as he had the courage to seize control of their destiny.  It was a way of life at stake, the honor of the Voss.  He would finish what they’d started decades ago and conquer the human lands, subjugate the weak and pale-skinned neophytes and show them the true meaning of power.  He was sickened by the weakness of his own people, and in the end he’d been forced to turn to help from the surface. 

Insulting as that had been, in the end he would be the one who’d gained the most.  The Cabal was undoubtedly mad, but they were powerful, and they were driven by nearly as much hatred for humankind as he was.

Ghul stepped forward and readied his blade as the war chariot thundered to the cusp of the battle.  The Jlantrian forces had been hedged between Ghul’s forward lines and the flanking units, who’d kept the White Dragon ranks occupied on two fronts. 

The giant breathed in the scent of human blood.  He couldn’t wait to wade into the melee and claim kills of his own.  Every human he destroyed brought him closer to his destiny. 

Today, the war began.

They were inside Chul Gaerog.  It didn’t seem possible, like something out of a terrible dream, and Argus had to admit it was every bit as dreadful as he’d imagined it would be.

Long halls laced with shadows led off in every direction.  The corridors seemed endless, a confusing labyrinth of switchbacks, crossroads, and deep caverns.  The interior of the Black Tower was impossibly vast, far larger than its outside dimensions suggested.  Argus thought the complex was easily as massive as the city of Ral Tanneth. 

They saw the tower’s central core, an enormous stone shaft that stretched straight up and down to preposterous heights.  Dank subterranean winds scoured the black and vine-addled stones, many of which came loose and plummeted into the yawning void as the hunters took to the walkway circling the chamber.  Argus tried not to look into the heights of the shaft too long for fear of being sucked into it.

A chill glazed his skin.  Sound echoed all around them, and the shadows clung like webs.  Thick drops of briny fluid fell from crenelated stones and jagged stoops, leering gargoyle faces and twisted balconies wrought of barbs and blades. 

They moved in silence, into long winding corridors lined with soot, guided by Argus and Reza’s Veilsight which led them towards Ijanna Taivorkan.  Brutus the troll brought up the rear and watched their backs while Fon, Jar’rod, Slayne and Malei took the lead, keeping the Veilwardens well protected at the center.  Their original party of nearly eighteen people had been difficult to conceal, but now it was down to just those seven.

They’d lost the rest of their group shortly after arriving.  One moment the small army of Black Eagles had been moving down a wide hall bordered by pillars and long-dried fountains, and the next thing they knew multi-armed shadows launched at them from out of the darkness.  Argus and Razel recognized them as
dra’aalthakmar
, forlorn monstrosities fueled by hatred and suffering. 

Argus saw flashes of the battle in his memory, horrifying images of razor-edged teeth.  His chest still ached where the claws had cut him, and he still smelled the blood of the fallen where it had sizzled on the ground.  Most of the Black Eagles perished in that skirmish, torn to pieces by monsters of shadow, and in the end only the Island girl Malei and Slayne himself were what remained of the assassin’s ranks, a fact which left the white-haired mercenary even more bitter than before.  He gathered his men’s knives after the battle was over. 

Before long more of the demons bled out of the darkness, and it was only through sheer luck that the seven survivors managed to withdraw and drive deeper into the pitch-black fortress. 

They were lost.  Even with the Veil to lead them towards Ijanna, they had no idea as to the layout of the Black Tower, and quickly forgot their bearings.  Argus knew that even if they located and eliminated the Dream Witch it was unlikely they’d ever find their way out again, and the thought of being trapped in Chul Gaerog soured his stomach.  Once they’d sacrificed the Red Hand Bloodspeaker they’d captured to re-activate the
cutgate
they’d stepped into the center of a vast and open chamber, on a bridge which spanned a gulf of darkness and ruined stone.  There had been no apparent means of egress from the twisted citadel.  Of course, they’d all accepted the possibility that the mission into Chul Gaerog would be a one way trip before they’d even stepped through the portal, but that notion still cast a cloud of gloom over them all. 

Stay focused.  Remember why you’re here.

It was hard to imagine that just a few days ago he’d been safely back in Ral Tanneth.  No matter how bad he’d imagined things then, when thought of the horrors he’d soon face had kept him up at night and anxiety clawed through his veins like a sickness, the reality had proved much, much worse.    He kept willing himself to wake, kept wishing there was some way to snap himself from this reverie of shadows and fear, and knowing he was trapped only made his blood run that much colder.

They came to a high-vaulted chamber with stark stone walls and bladed archways.  Corridors led off in many directions, and a single massive stone door stood against one wall.  Dim flickering light the hue of blood curled up from the floor, as if burning.  They might have been in that chamber before...it was hard to tell. 

The seven individuals stayed together.  Argus waited for the familiar sensation of Ijanna’s life signature to register in his Veilsight when a blood-curdling cry rang out, a piercing sound like the call of something reptilian.  It came from beyond the massive door, which was covered with frescoes of burning fields and falling skies.

“Hold it closed!” Slayne shouted at Brutus. 

Without hesitation the troll pressed his huge red body against the door.  His beady eyes stared straight ahead as he gnashed his teeth and tensed his thick muscles, his back against the rune-carved stone.  The scratch of talons sounded on the other side, and the ringing of shadowed nails on rock sent chills down Argus’ spine.  His skin ran cold as he used the Veil to reinforce the door, layering the open space around the edges with a cold gel which sealed the gaps like mortar; he’d barely finished when he sensed Razel’s magic paste invisible sheets of force to help hold the portal in place.  Even with that thaumatrgic effort, Argus sensed the sheer number of demons on the other side.  It wouldn’t be long before they forced their way through, assuming they didn’t just find another way around first.
 
It wouldn’t take long – even if they were mindless, the demons doubtlessly knew the layout of Chul Gaerog. 

“We have to get out of here,” Malei said.  “We can’t just stand here and wait for them to break the door down!”  She and Slayne stood near Brutus with their weapons drawn. 

Argus watched the open archways, whose stone corridors stretched into thickly folded shadows.  He kept turning in a circle, waiting for something to come launching out at them.  Fon, Jar’rod and Razel were close to Argus, standing back to back. 

“Do any of you fools know which way we need to go?” Fon said.  Her chosen form was slipping, the normally human skin flecked with spots of scaly grey, her eyes darker and larger than they should have been, her hands capped with wickedly curved claws. 

“Do
you
?!” Malei demanded.

Fon hissed.  Her skin slid, shifted like she’d stepped into a furnace flame and started to melt.  The flesh darkened, she grew taller and more thin, and in a few moments she was an exact duplicate of Malei, right down to the sweaty skin, braided hair and almond-shaped eyes.  Even her voice was identical.

“Oh, help me,” she said.  “I’m Malei, a stupid, whiny bitch...”

Slayne stepped forward with his blade, but Argus moved between them.

“Enough!” he shouted.  “We don’t have time for this!”

For a moment he wasn’t sure if Slayne was going to stop – there was murder in his eyes, dark rage the likes of which Argus had never seen there before.  He understood why Toran had warned him the Black Eagle leader was dangerous. 

“Fon is right about one thing,” Razel said, barely containing her panic.  “I’m not sure which way to go.”

“I thought you two were tracking Ijanna...” Slayne said angrily.

“I’ve lost her,” Razel said.  “Something about this chamber is blocking my Veilsight.”

“Damn it,” Argus said.  He’d been trying to get a new lock on her position, but with the noise hammering at the door and his nerves on edge he’d completely lost track of the fact that he, too, suddenly couldn’t find her.  “She’s right.”

“Then let’s move,” Slayne said.

Brutus groaned with effort.  The door pressed in and looked as though it were ready to snap free of the cracked stone frame.  The troll’s clawed feet scraped against the floor, and the monster had to turn and put his full force against the portal to prevent it from coming open.  Argus took a deep and freezing breath, so hard and icy his throat went raw, and then pushed at the door with all of the power at his disposal.  The strength drained from his body as the sapphire shine from his eyes bathed the room in light.  His limbs shook, he felt weight press down on him, and he knew that if he didn’t stop soon it would snap his bones. 

Hold on.  Just hold on.  It’s not going to end like this, not when we’re so close.

One last heave did it – Argus felt himself hollowed, a sudden release of pent-up pressure.  Everything was spinning as he wove strands of Veil into a solid iron wall between Brutus and the door.  The troll jumped back in surprise as the dark and pitted plate braced over the portal, several inches thick and hewn to the wall as if it had been sealed there centuries ago. 

Argus nearly collapsed.  Razel took hold of his arm and steadied him.

“That should hold them,” he said. 

“Until they find another way around,” Slayne said.

“We need to find a more defensible position,” Razel said.  “Something with fewer entrances to worry about...”

“Good idea,” Malei said with a sneer.  “Let’s box ourselves into a corner.”

“I’m Malei...” Fon started saying in a mocking tone, and Malei stepped forward with her blades ready.  They were about to come to blows when Jar’rod spoke.

“I can find the Dream Witch,” he said.  His voice was so confident and icy it seemed to block out all other noise.  He was the only member of their party who seemed unaffected by the sheer scope of the danger surrounding them.

“How?” Argus asked, still gasping for breath.  “With
dae’vone?
  I thought she had to be asleep...”

“It’s easier that way,” Jar’rod said.  “But not necessary.”  Even with the iron wall erected the
dra’aalthakmar
continued pounding against the door, a swarm of angry bodies.  The sound of their clawed mass seemed to come from everywhere at once.  “Her subconsciousness mind leaves footprints in the world of dreams,” Jar’rod explained in his dark voice.  “It will be difficult, but I can follow those tracks back to her physical form, even if she’s awake.  It will be especially challenging considering her level of raw power, but the fact that she lacks training will work to our advantage.”

“And why the hell are you only mentioning this NOW!” Slayne shouted.

Argus stared at the man, and tried to catch his breath.  He felt like he’d just run for miles. 

“Do it,” he told Jar’rod.

“Here?!” Razel said. 

“We have at least one way sealed,” Argus said.  “By the time we find a better room to hold up in, it may be too late.  Like Malei said, the last thing we want is to get boxed into a corner.  At least here we have space to defend ourselves.”  He peered down each open corridor, watching for shadow bodies.  “Razel, levitate Jar’rod so he’s closer to the ceiling.  That should put him out of harm’s way.”

He could tell Razel wanted to protest, but she didn’t.  Slayne shook his head in anger, but if he had any better ideas he wasn’t sharing them.  The assassin said some quiet words to Malei, who glared at Fon but nodded.  It seemed they’d keep doing their job, regardless of how they felt about the rest of the team.

Good.  The last thing I need is to worry about you two.

Jar’rod sat cross-legged on the floor.  The serene look on his face and meditative position were entirely out of place in that shadow-addled chamber, with its leering gargoyle visages and bladed buttresses.  The vaulted ceiling was cavernous, pocked with broken black arches and deep crevices that for all Argus knew could have housed giant bats.  The Den’nari mystic cast his red and orange cloak to the floor, leaving his dark and rune-covered chest and arms bare as he folded his hands and bent his frame inwards.  He drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes, and in just a matter of seconds seemed lost in trance. 

Work fast,
Argus thought to him. 

Razel wove a pulse of invisible force, the same sort of Veilcraft she used to reinforce the door.  Jar’rod slowly floated up.  Argus sensed the lines of aether she drew, saw how she tied the Veil’s effect to her will so it would hold so long as she drew breath.  It would be taxing on her over an extended period of time, but it would also allow her to direct her attention to other activities. 

Like helping keep us all alive.

“Spread out,” Argus said.  “They’ll be coming.”

Brutus drew his blade, and Slayne and Malei readied throwing
ring’tai
and short swords.  Fon and Razel watched the corridors.  All of them were battered and exhausted, their skin covered with dried blood and black soil. 

Argus steadied his breaths.  He was shaking, but he tried to fight past his fear.  He kept wishing himself back in Ral Tanneth, back to his overwhelming duties and nerve-wracking schedule, back to trembling in the shadow of the Empress.  As horrible as that had been, it was nothing compared to this.

You’re here now
, he told himself. 
Deal with it. 

“This is insane...” Slayne said.  He was about to say more when the clawing sound from the other side of the iron wall abruptly stopped, and the air went silent.  Argus was afraid to breathe.  They watched dark dust settle from above, felt the cold and rigid air in the room tighten.  Their eyes watched the shadows.

And then the demons came.  A rush of black bodies, a torrent of shadowflesh.  Twisted black visages, eyes of burning white, their claws scraping the walls and drawing trails of spark and smoke.  They poured in from an open passage, a stampede of scaly ebon flesh.