The Coldstone Conflict (5 page)

“It’s OK, it’s OK!” Effigy spluttered, staying the man’s arm. “He’s with me.”

“AND?”

“And you can let him aboard, thank you, Captain,” Vanya finished, smiling sweetly. “Dullitch has become an extremely dangerous place, and a few extra passengers will not noticeably slow our progress.”

The captain nodded, but somewhat reluctantly.

“Right you are, little miss,” he growled, eyeing the disheveled, breathless figure with nothing less than total disdain.

“O-o-obegarde’s fighting the …”

“I guessed.” Effigy hung his head. “He and Nazz have saved us both. May the gods spare them pain.”

As the ship moved slowly out of the harbor, Effigy turned and slumped onto a nearby barrel.

“Jimmy Quickstint, I’d like you to meet Vanya Visceral, daughter of the Earl of Spittle. She’s going to help us, if she can.”

Jimmy nodded at the girl briefly, then put his head in his hands and moaned.

“It’s been a rough day,” Effigy explained. “And we’ve lost two very good friends.”

“I understand,” Vanya said, turning sympathetic eyes away from Jimmy. “I totally underst—who’s that?”

As Effigy and Jimmy both turned, the girl pointed to the upper deck … where a vampire had landed, upside down, in the rigging.

Obegarde unhooked his foot and crashed to the deck, rolling sideways to avoid several sword-strikes from the alarmed crew.

“Easy! Easy!” he yelled, jumping to his feet. “Give me a break, here … I’ve just fought a pair of zombies and two ruddy great dragons—can I have a few minutes’ break?”

“Leave him alone!” Jimmy shouted, his face flushed with relief. “That’s our friend!”

The captain turned to Vanya.

“I appreciate your charitable nature, miss, but how many strays are we expected to take on board, here? This one’s a flamin’ gravewalker!”

“Only on my mother’s side,” Obegarde added, avoiding the swords and staggering toward the group. “But I’m really quite harmless, unless I get peckish. Call me Obegarde.”

“Um … hello,” said Vanya, nervously.

Jimmy’s face was all smiles.

“You’re amazing!” he said. “Absolutely amazing.”

“That’s me.”

“One thing I’ve always wondered, though: what happens with the clothes …?”

“It’s a concentration thing,” Obegarde informed him, with a smirk. “If your mind wanders, so do your trousers.”

Effigy smiled at the conversation, but quickly moved to change the subject. “Vanya, your father is on the High Council of Illmoor, isn’t he?”

The girl nodded, causing Obegarde to make a face at Jimmy, who quickly mouthed the word “visceral” to him.

“Yes. He has a special seat on the permanent council, along with Viscount Curfew and Prince Blood,” said Vanya.

“Viscount Curfew is dead.”

“D-dead? No he isn’t! I mean, how? When?”

“It’s a long story, but the High Council needs to know that a dark god has been unleashed upon Dullitch. If something isn’t done soon, all the citizens will die … and there will be more than dragons hunting the streets …”

Gordo helped the dazed Gape to his feet, then lowered his axe and went into a sort of voluntary trance.

There was a noise like a miniature thunderclap, and a fiery image of Groan appeared, hovering on the air and making the raindrops sizzle.

“The ogre has been eliminated,”
said the voice within.
“My pets made short work of him, yet I detect that you do not have news of equal success …”

Gordo bowed. “Indeed, master,” he said solemnly, his voice echoing with ethereal resonance. “The vampire and his friend have
temporarily
eluded us …”

“Do not think you bring me news, servant. My pool of second sight shows me all of Dullitch, and I observe everything within it. Enemies within these walls have no way of hiding from me …”

“Indeed, master …”

“Strange then, that I cannot sense the freedom fighter at all … can that be yet another of your mistakes?”

“No, master. He could not have sneaked past us.”

“The others did.”

“Yes master, but, begging your mercy, the dragons chose not to pursue the two rebels that … escaped.”

The image of Groan flickered slightly.

“That is because dragons, unlike yourselves, are thinking creatures: they are aware that my power to support them is earthed firmly in this continent. The oceans have their own gods … who grant me no dominion. Your ineptitude has cost me two—possibly three—souls …”

Gordo’s empty eyes dimmed.

“Master.”

“… souls who will sneak back on to this continent and bring me nothing but trouble wherever and however they can. You have failed me. Both of you.”

“We beg your mercy, master.”

“Beg not, for I have none. Return to me … and pray that you find Spatula on your way.”

Gordo bowed, and the image vanished.

Effigy marched up and down the deck, muttering to himself and occasionally stamping his feet. Obegarde, exhausted, had curled up on a makeshift hammock between two half-masts and gone to sleep.

“Can’t this damn ship go any faster?” Jimmy yelled, watching the harbor with keen eyes.

“Not unless the wind picks up,” said the captain, evenly. “There’s no magic wand that drives this vessel …”

Effigy cast a sidelong glance at the thief. “You think the earl will believe us?”

“Of course he will,” said Vanya, calmly. The young aristocrat emerged from the cabin with an urn and several oddly shaped cups. “My father is a very trusting man.”

“Not from what I’ve heard,” Jimmy muttered, suddenly smiling weakly when he saw that the girl was glaring at him.

“Well you’ve heard
wrong
then, haven’t you? Spittalian tea, anyone?”

Effigy looked at the girl in mock amazement.

“You know, considering your age and everything you’ve witnessed today, I must say you’re managing to remain incredibly calm …”

Vanya smiled, and turned back to the captain.

“Could you fetch a ravensage from the cabin? I need to send an urgent message ahead.”

“W-wait!” Effigy hurried over to the girl, his eyes alight with excitement. “You have a ravensage, here on board?”

Vanya nodded. “Yes, indeed. We have three, in fact. Did you want to send a message?”

Jimmy and Effigy shared a glance.

“Yes, we do,” they both said, in unison.

Vanquish sat on the throne of Dullitch, his red eyes gleaming in the shadowy dark. His mind was picking its way through the streets of the city, carefully searching every house, every alleyway for
outlines.
If his new servants couldn’t find Effigy Spatula, there was absolutely no doubt that
he
could …

His vision crept onward, through Royal Road, Market Place, Oval Square, Tanner Street, through The Goodwalk, Stainer Street, Burrow Street, Sack Avenue. Infuriating … there was no sign of him … not even the merest possibility of an outline … except … there,
there
at the harbor … was the memory of all three. So Spatula
had
slipped past them …

Vanquish let out a cry of anger, and slammed his fist onto the arm of the throne.

They would pay for their mistake; both of them would pay …
dearly.

R
AVENSAGE WERE A SPECIES
of bird set apart by their innate ability to locate even the most obscure of specified destinations. Once, long ago, they had been ordinary ravens. However, in common with the calling-crows of Rintintetly and the barrowbirds of Grinswood, they had, at some undisclosed point in the past, had a serious run-in with the magical arts.

These days, they were largely taken for granted. Still, a bird that could take a random description like “the place where three Y-shaped trees meet at a crossroads” and actually
find
the site was a bird worth existing.

The raven flew high over the Nasbeck Ocean. For a time it headed south, toward the distant land of Trod, but a sudden change of direction saw it fly west and, ultimately, north. At length, the ocean gave way to dry land. In its turn, the land became jungle.

Carafat sprawled in every direction, home to more dangerous species than Grinswood and Rintintetly combined. It was rumored that a vast city existed far beneath the jungle. Then again, in Illmoor, there were rumors about
everything.

The raven glided for a time, turning west again before coming to land on a rocky outcrop on the edge of the trees. It hopped along the boulder on which it had landed, cawed a few times and then waited.

A lone figure appeared on the fringe of the jungle. It looked like a goblin, but was a good deal smaller and possessed of a nose that was at least twice as big as a goblin’s. Its entire skin looked as though it had been dripped on and melted down. Everything appeared to be …
glutinous.

Burnie waddled over to the ravensage and unclipped the scroll from its leg. Unfurling the parchment, he began to read:

Burnie,

Danger worse than at first imagined. A dark god has arisen in Dullitch, presumably the result of the impostor’s wicked wranglings. He calls himself Vanquish, commands dragons and has the power to turn men into mindless gravewalkers. Groan Teethgrit has become a vessel for the fiend, who inhabits the warrior’s body. We must sadly report that Nazz, our true friend, has fallen in battle. Thanks to his courage, we have escaped the city in a ship belonging to Earl Visceral. We are hoping to travel to Spittle, meet with the earl and secure his support in some way. The capital must be reclaimed.

Your loyal servants, Spatula, Quickstint and Obegarde

THE SECRET ARMY OF DULLITCH

Burnie sighed and looked back toward the jungle.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures
, he thought.

“You failed me.”

Vanquish rose from his throne and descended the steps. Gordo and Gape were kneeling on the flagstones before him, their heads bowed in shame.

“A second chance, lord,” said the spirit inhabiting Gordo, obviously uncomfortable with the voice it now possessed. “Give us a second chance.”

“Please, lord,” added Gape’s soul-occupier. “Just one more chance.”

Vanquish said simply:
“No.”

He lowered his hands and two bolts of energy settled on the heads of both warriors. The energy changed color from red to blue and back again. Then the humbled pair re-opened their eyes.

Vanquish smiled through Groan’s teeth.

“The last two failed me,”
he boomed.
“You will prove yourselves infinitely better souls, I am sure. Now leave me in peace.”

The warriors bowed their heads once more, then rose and departed the room.

Vanquish waited for a time, then dropped to Groan’s knees and began to concentrate his thoughts.

Dragons. My very own creatures
… my first creations. Hear me. Now.

We hear, dark lord. Command us.

You must remain on the gates.

We hear, and obey.

Good. I need more of your kind.

There are no more of us left. We
…
are the last.

I need more.

There are none.

If not here: where?

In the otherworld … maybe … but most of the kin are lost …

Then I will open the gate and draw them forth.

As you wish.

Vanquish shifted his attention to a dark, shadowy corner of the throne room, and began to mumble an incantation.

A pocket of energy materialized in the space, swirling around as the force of the magic made it grow.

Vanquish increased the intensity of the spell, raising his hands and shaping the doorway as it developed.

Dragons in the depths. Hear me now. I command you: come forth.

There was no reply, in thought or tone.

HEAR ME NOW! I COMMAND YOU TO COME FORTH!

Nothing.

Vanquish sighed. It was as he feared; he would have to take Illmoor by a far more circuitous route.

He rose to his feet and marched determinedly from the chamber.

The dark portal began to disintegrate behind him, fading from the room like a half-imagined mist … but before it vanished entirely, a thin, pale hand appeared from within, clawing frantically at the flagstones as it attempted, once, twice, three times to pull itself from the darkness. There was a barely discernable
pop
… and out onto the floor rolled a youth, eyes mad with tears, and black hair matted to his face. His fingernails were bleeding.

I
LLMOOR HAD ALWAYS CONSISTED
of two worlds: the world above and the world below. A traveler in the world above might be warned of such things as trolls, ogres, elves, dwarves and goblins, but it was always
men
that caused the trouble. In the world below, tales of wicked fairies, stride-hares and at least one mutated rabbit with a time fetish masked the real threat to anyone passing through: the troglodyte Kingdom of Ungst. Little more than a legend to the higher races, the kingdom nevertheless existed, far beneath Carafat, and literally pulsing with life. Admittedly, it was small: the hundred or so inhabiting troglodytes went about their daily business—which consisted mainly of hitting each other with makeshift flails, and nesting.

Through these mean streets Burnie scurried, looking tired, hungry and more like a peasant than the Council Chairman of Illmoor’s capital city.

Make that ex-Chairman,
he thought. His flight from Dullitch had been an involuntary one: he’d managed to escape the clutches of Sorrell Diveal with his life, but not much else.

It was no accident that he hadn’t visited his birthplace since he’d left home, some thirty years previously: in fact, he’d planned
never
to return. However, he told himself, needs must as the devil drives, and the devil was certainly driving.

As he swept through the main plaza, Burnie noticed he’d gathered a crowd that appeared to be made up of half the city’s entire population. It wasn’t surprising: he was still dressed in the high robes of Dullitch Council and probably looked outlandishly impressive to the rest of his species, who mainly wore loincloths and little else.