The Iron Ghost (25 page)

Wydrin stepped between them. Her dagger was out of its scabbard.

‘Where is he? Where have you had him taken?’

For the first time there was a flicker of unease from Ip. She looked away from Wydrin towards the fire, and smiled.

‘Ah, Nuava, it is good to see you again.’

The girl shrank back, saying nothing. Ip shrugged.

‘For what it’s worth, your brother hardly suffered at all. A great personal disappointment to me, you must understand.’ She turned to the Narhl prince. ‘Your people have been most entertaining. I felt each of them die, and it was glorious. Joah always was so good at causing the maximum amount of pain to many people at once. It has been quite the tonic, this little battle.’

‘Enough,’ said Wydrin. ‘You will answer my question, demon, or I will open your throat.’

Ip rolled her scarlet eyes at that.

‘I am not
here
, tavern-brat. My physical body is still safe in Skaldshollow, warming itself on the many fires that are now destroying the city. And besides which, could you really do it? Kill a child in cold blood? Ip is still in here with me, you know, and she would die too.’

‘Is she, though?’ asked Sebastian. ‘Perhaps Ip is long gone, or perhaps she longs to be set free from your tyranny. Do you even let her speak any more?’

Bezcavar laughed at that. ‘Dear Sebastian, you are as ignorant as the rest of your ridiculous order. I am here by Ip’s choice. She accepted me into her head, and has no qualms about the agreement. Indeed, I can only be here by invitation.’ She grinned then. ‘Would that make it easier for you to kill her? You came very close at my temple in Relios, Sir Sebastian.’

‘Tell me where this Joah has gone,’ said Wydrin again. ‘Tell me where he has taken Frith, or I swear on my claws you will suffer for it, demon.’

And there it was. Just for the briefest moment, Sebastian saw the confusion on Ip’s face. She recovered her habitual sneer quickly, but it was enough.

‘It will be you that suffers, sell-sword,’ said Bezcavar through Ip. ‘I will feed on all your deaths.’

With that she vanished. Wydrin let out a growl of frustration, stalking back to the fire with her shoulders rigid.

‘By the graces, I will cut that demon’s head off myself,’ she spat. ‘What are we going to do now? We have no idea where they could have gone, and if he’s used the same spell that Frith used to spirit us away from the Citadel, it could be anywhere.’

‘We don’t know where they’ve gone,’ said Sebastian, ‘but the good news is, neither does Bezcavar. Did you see Ip’s face when you mentioned Frith? The demon was expecting us to be dead, Wydrin. Whatever this Joah has done, it wasn’t according to Bezcavar’s plan.’

Nuava cleared her throat. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, her voice strained. ‘Joah lived and died in these mountains. His stories are written everywhere, in this land. Before he took me away from Skaldshollow, he was talking to the Prophet about carrying on his work.’ She looked up at them, and for the first time since she’d appeared with the mage there was a glint of something like defiance in her eyes. ‘We don’t know where he is, but we might be able to guess.’

‘What on Ede does he think he’s playing at?’

Bezcavar came back to Ip’s body with a sudden jerk, shivering violently at the transition. The girl was hiding underneath a discarded cart, its load of barrels scattered all over the road. All around her Skaldshollow was in chaos; Joah’s rampage had left hundreds dead and many more injured, and now she was stuck here by herself. Tamlyn Nox, no doubt, was out for her blood.

This was not how events were supposed to pan out. Joah had always been Bezcavar’s most loyal servant – impetuous perhaps, and occasionally hot-headed, but he had done what the demon asked, most of the time. The demon had tried looking for him, searching for the familiar shape of the mage’s mind, but Joah had always been powerful enough to hide if he wanted to. It was one of the things that made him interesting, when they had worked together so long ago.

And, back then, Bezcavar had inhabited an adult woman, a famous warrior from a forgotten land. The demon remembered that body with fondness – strong, beautiful, fast. It was a shame that it had come to bones and muck, as all human bodies did eventually.

Ip shuffled forward to peer beyond the wheels of the cart. Men and women were still shouting to each other, but the panic was starting to fade as it became clear that the man responsible for the destruction had vanished. The magical fires he had set had proved to be quite difficult to extinguish, even in this frigid part of the world, but they were starting to get them under control.

‘Where is he? And why has he not returned?’

The mercenaries were still alive, and bold enough to summon the demon. Worse still, Joah had taken the upstart mage somewhere, and something about that caused a slow trickle of fear in what passed for Bezcavar’s heart. He should have been glad that the mages, his old enemies, were gone, and yet there was that look on his face. Almost like grief.

A woman fell against the cart, sobbing loudly. The bottom of her furred skirts were blood-stained. A man came and put an arm around her shoulder, leading her away. Ip shuffled back into the shadows again.

If only the girl were older. If only this were the body of a warrior, a man or a woman with brute strength behind their sword hand. In a different body Bezcavar might have been able to clear a path towards the great stone gate, but Ip was hardly big enough to lift a sword, let alone wield it successfully, and every guard would be on the lookout for her now. It was just a matter of time before she was found and brought before Tamlyn Nox.

In the dark under the cart, Bezcavar twisted Ip’s face into a grim smile.

‘I am not out of tricks just yet.’

Ip took a dagger from her belt and began to chop at her hair, now mostly loose from its braid. It came away in clumps, until her hair was cut closely to her scalp and she could feel the bitter cold around her ears. Once this was done to her satisfaction she picked up a handful of the dirtier snow and let it melt into her hands, before rubbing the muck over her face. Finally, she stripped off the warm fur overcoat, and rubbed some more dirt into her linen shirt. Not much of a disguise by anyone’s standards, but she had only ever been seen clean and well-dressed, and she had spent most of her time behind the thick gauze curtains of her bedchamber.

Ip scrambled out from under the cart and began to walk slowly down the street, not making eye contact with anyone. It was important not to run, not to appear guilty. If she looked like she belonged in Skaldshollow – just another lost child, reeling from the unexpected attack – then no one would look too closely, or wonder who she was. And she might be able to survive a few days, by which time Joah would almost certainly have returned from his unexpected trip.

A pair of soldiers walked past her, their werkens following. The men looked at her but she turned her head away, her gaze focussed down the street as if she’d spotted someone she knew. Ip moved away easily, still not running, still not running.

Frith awoke and looked up into a clutch of glowing ruby eyes.

Blinking rapidly, he scrambled to his feet, almost colliding with a low stone table directly behind him. He was in a cavernous patchwork room with a domed ceiling, the air stinking of ancient dust. The walls were constructed from a confusion of stone and dark pitted lumps of metal, layered over the top of each other like scales. The eyes he had seen were red lamps in the ceiling, casting a ruddy light down over the jumbled contents of the room. Someone, presumably Joah Demonsworn, had lit an oil lamp and left it on a stone bench.

Frith held on to the table for support. His head was swimming, and his vision was dark at the edges. There were tables everywhere, all of them covered in tools that looked like they’d seen better days, the dust on them nearly half an inch thick, and there were other items that Frith was less than pleased to see: a tray of knives of various sizes, like those Yellow-Eyed Rin had once used, along with rusted hacksaws and an ornamental dagger covered in dark stains. One of the walls was made of black iron plates, daubed here and there in strange dark writing that Frith didn’t recognise. There were steps on either side of this wall, leading up to a flat platform at the top that Frith couldn’t see properly, although, set directly below it, was a chamber with a wide glass section, like a window on to nothing. The glass looked very fine indeed, even better than the glass the Secret Keeper had made, and the chamber shone with a strange pale light. Underneath that was another smaller aperture with no glass, and it was empty. Looking at the metal wall, with its glass prison and its ragged black writing, Frith felt a fresh stab of fear. What was this place?

‘Ah, you’re awake.’

The mage who Nuava had named as Joah Demonsworn appeared from behind him, wiping his hands on an oily rag. There were several doors leading out of the room, although Frith found he couldn’t have said which one the mage had come through. It was difficult to think.

‘Good to see you up and about,’ he continued. His voice was calm, even slightly distracted. ‘I was beginning to think I’d hit you too hard.’

Frith glanced quickly down at his hands. His last bandage was the one for Force – all the rest had vanished into dust by now. He flung his arm up, planning to throw the rogue mage against the iron wall with enough violence to disable him, but Joah merely waved at him and Frith collapsed back onto the floor, suddenly unable to breathe. It felt as though there was a steel band around his chest, slowly contracting.

‘No . . .’ he gasped.

‘No indeed,’ agreed Joah mildly. ‘Can’t be having any more of that, my friend. It’s all very well, a bit of a scrap when we’re getting to know each other, but we have work to do now.’ He bent over Frith and quickly untied the remaining silk strip, tucking it away inside his robes. ‘I’m going to let you up, but please bear in mind that I can remove your ability to breathe at any time.’

The steel band vanished, and Frith hurriedly sucked in some air.

‘There’s a good man.’ Joah turned away from him, looking around the room. ‘It is much as I left it. Somewhat musty, of course, but that can’t be helped. All the important parts are still operational.’ He slapped one of the stone tables fondly.

‘Who are you?’ said Frith eventually. His head was still throbbing, and deep inside he was starting to panic. This mage was alarmingly powerful, and obviously much more at home with the Edenier than Frith was. Save for the glass chamber, there was nothing resembling a window in the strange room, and the sense of claustrophobia was overwhelming. ‘What do you want?’

‘I am Joah. Here,’ he came over to Frith and carefully pulled him to his feet. He even paused to brush some dirt from Frith’s clothes. ‘You must forgive me, brother, for bringing you out here without even a chance to fetch your belongings, but as I’m sure you can see, the situation is not ideal.’

‘I am not your brother.’ Frith shook his head. ‘Where have you taken me?’

‘You
are
my brother, of course you are.’ Joah took his shoulder and squeezed it. ‘The only one left, if Bezcavar was not lying to me about that too. How glad I am to find that I am not entirely alone.’ He smiled then, and it was the friendly smile of someone who was slightly nervous and eager to please. Frith had to remind himself that this was the same man who had appeared out of nowhere and killed so many of Dallen’s soldiers.

‘I didn’t . . . I thought there were no other mages,’ said Frith, hating himself for the confusion in his voice. ‘All dead, for centuries.’

Joah nodded, full of sympathy. ‘Yes, you would have been quite alone. Luckily, Bezcavar, wily creature, made it possible for me to join you in this new age.’ He grinned. ‘And now, instead of labouring by myself, I will have you to help me.’

‘I will not help you do anything,’ said Frith flatly. ‘You have taken me against my will.’

Joah’s grin faded and he shook his head, as if Frith were a child refusing to eat his vegetables at dinner time. ‘It’s quite all right, Aaron. I understand completely. You’re bound to be disorientated.’ He chuckled a little. ‘I am rather disorientated myself. The world is so different now, and so much has changed. Still,’ he clapped his hands together, ‘we have all the time we could need. We’ll come to terms with this together, Aaron.’

‘Do not call me that.’ Frith felt a wave of dizziness move through him. The last people to call him Aaron with such easy familiarity had been his brothers. ‘How do you even know that’s my name?’

‘Ah, well,’ Joah wagged a finger at him, ‘just one more little trick you’ll come to learn in time, my friend. A most useful one, one that will make things much easier for us here.’

Frith leaned heavily against the table. There was a weak fluttering against his chest, and belatedly he remembered pushing the small bird-body of Gwiddion inside his cloak. He rested his fingers on the feathered warmth hidden there, hoping it would bring the griffin some comfort. He realised he had no idea if Joah Demonsworn knew he’d taken Gwiddion with him.

‘What is this place? Are we underground?’

Joah beamed, pleased to be answering civil questions.

‘This place? It is my secret workshop, and now, I suppose, it is the heart of my greatest project. I did much of my best work here, you know, Aaron. I used to call it the Forge.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You know, obviously, that there are two types of magic in Ede? Edenier and Edeian? Of course you know, you are a mage.’

Frith nodded cautiously. ‘Well, the old mages were so obsessed with the Edenier that they were uninterested in the possibilities of any other magic.’ He went over to one of the stone tables and began fiddling about with pieces of what looked like broken plate armour. ‘They didn’t understand what you could do if you combined both of them, you see.’

‘From what I heard, you were more interested in the powers granted you by a deal with a demon,’ said Frith, staring at the armour. He knew it was unwise to antagonise the man, but he felt strangely reckless. ‘And deals with demons cost lives.’

Joah shook his head irritably. ‘You’re missing the point. You’re missing the point just like they did.’ Joah’s hand tightened around a piece of plate until his knuckles turned white. ‘Don’t . . . don’t be like them. It will make things difficult.’ He forced a smile. ‘Please. Listen. The demon, Bezcavar, was another tool, another way of using magic. Through what it knew, we could move away from relying on the language of the gods. We could become independent! I made some extraordinary things, blurring the Edenier and the Edeian together, through the lens of that demon’s knowledge.’