The White Towers (44 page)

Think about it. But don’t take too long, lest these oaks rip my arms and legs free
…

And the pathway opened. It blazed like a bright golden trail before her, and Kiki felt the power, as if it resided in a vast golden lake beneath the surface of the planet, and all she had to do was reach down ever-so-gently and dip her finger into this well of massive energy. And she did. She reached down. And the glowing gold opened before her. Eternal. A gathering of life and power and mana and purity. Pure energy. Pure life-force.

Kiki leaned forward a little.

Reached up, and brushed a few strands of hair from her face.

She reached into the power of the
Shamathe
. Left by the old gods. Left by the bad gods. Left by the
Equiem.

It flowed inside her, like a new best friend, like a returned lover, like an infusion of purity.

And she welcomed it.

 

Dek wheezed in the darkness, feeling battered and beaten. He vomited into the woodland debris, and the world felt the wrong way round and the bad way up. Stars spun in his head and he realised that fucking tree had cracked two ribs. “That motherfucker,” he snarled, and got to his knees, and clambered to his feet, dizzy and puking, and started staggering back towards the road, and the sound of Kiki screaming…

He accelerated and realised he’d lost his sword. In the glow he could see Zastarte stood, frozen, and to the right the other four Tree Stalkers, motionless, watching, smiling, aware that their
leader
Aeoxir could handle one little
Iron Wolf…

“No!” he bellowed, words lost in the vastness of the forest and the howling storm as he saw the oaks shift, settle backwards, their roots and branches curled around Kiki, stretching her to the limit of human endurance and physical torture. He stumbled forward, hands clawing the soil, tripping over branches and fallen logs, his boots scrabbling in rotting leaves, his whole being stretching forward, yearning to be close to Kiki in this, her moment of death.

A noise boomed through the forest. It was so deep it was beyond human hearing, but came up through Dek’s boots and belly and made him instantly vomit yet again. He hit the ground on his knees, and bright light washed over the scene as if the sun had exploded. He saw the four elf rat Tree Stalkers picked up and tossed away like dry stick kindling. The roots and branches holding Kiki in thrall whipped away as if cut by razors, snapping back and slapping other trees and the woodland floor. And yet Kiki still hung there, rotating softly and bathed in a golden glow. The booming sound, like the charging pulse of the ocean in the deepest caverns beneath the waves, rose up and up and up through the ground and trees and forest, and the oaks that had ensnared Kiki wavered, then bent backwards and their roots tore from the earth with terrible shrieks and then went spinning off through the woodland, knocking aside a hundred trees each. Dek ducked as one huge oak, easy three hundred years old, whirred above his head like cast-off driftwood, its bulk the largest moving thing Dek had ever seen in his life, its mass carving a wide path through the woodland that would last for a hundred years.

And then the storm died. And silence fell.

And Kiki hit the ground with a thud.

 

Dek floated for a while, and then consciousness drifted slowly back to him. He was lying on his side, curled in a tight ball, an embryo again. His ears were ringing, his mouth and throat burning with a dull throb, as if he’d been screaming until his lungs burst; but he did not remember. He breathed deep the scents of winter woodland, mud, damp undergrowth, mould and the aroma of decay. He forced open his eyes, which were filled with grit. The world swung into a lazy, blurred lack of focus. Dek rolled to his knees. He felt as if he’d been pounded with helves. He crawled forward, and soft, blurred light, a diffusion of reality, gradually moved into recognisable focus.

The dawn had come, spilling wintry light through the high treetops. The world was white and green, and the gods only knew what time it was; how long Dek had been enveloped in the bitter wings of unconsciousness.

He was lost. Disorientated. He crawled forward for a while, pausing to cough up balls of phlegm and spit them out. What he’d give for a long, straight glass of cool, fresh water.

He reached the edge of the road and, slowly, recognition tumbled into place like the levers inside a lock. And there was Kiki, lying on her back in the middle of the road. Around her was devastation. It looked like a world-killing hurricane had torn through the forest, destroying everything in its path, uprooting mammoth trees whole and flinging them around as if they were children’s toys. Zastarte knelt over Kiki, and Dek watched for a moment, frowning, confused, for the scene did not look quite right. And then he realised Zastarte was talking to her, obviously trying to rouse her.

Dek forced himself to his feet, and Zastarte turned upon hearing his approach. He gave Dek a bleak smile.

“The horses have gone.”

“How is she?”

“This little lady? She’s fine. All her signs seem normal, she’s just in a really deep, deep sleep.”

“What the fuck did she do to them?”

“The Tree Stalkers? Way over there, and there, and there,” Zastarte gestured, and grinned. “In a hundred pieces, I expect.”

Dek nodded, and knelt by Kiki’s side. He reached out and touched her cheek with uncharacteristic gentility. His bear’s paws, with their scars and half-finished tattoos, looked strangely out of place against Kiki’s pale skin.

Dek looked round at Zastarte. “Do you think you can track the horses?”

“I can try.”

“And we’ll need our weapons as well.” Dek scratched his cheek, then shook Kiki gently. “Wake up, Keeks. Time to wake up.”

She roused slowly, and was confused for long moments, staring at Dek without recognition. And then she sat up, and gazed around.

“Shit. Did I do this?”

“Yep. And destroyed the Tree Stalkers into the bargain, by the looks of things. I still think we should get moving, though. Who knows what other freaks of nature are on our trail?”

Kiki nodded, and Dek helped her to her feet. She groaned.

“What is it?”

“I hurt. I hurt
everywhere.”

Dek took her face in both hands, and leaned forward to kiss her. “I thought you were going to die,” he whispered.

“Takes more than the elf rats’ finest to murder me,” she croaked, and stumbled, Dek catching her before she hit the ground. She leaned against him, encircled by his massive pit fighter’s arms, and grinned.

“You look like trampled horse shit.”

“I feel like it. Let’s find those horses.”

 

Zastarte’s tracking skill led them for two miles before they found their mounts, standing idle, their packs still intact, cropping at winter ferns. With gentle coaxing the horses were gathered and checked over; for, as Zastarte pointed out, Kiki could have quite easily blasted every living thing in the forest to the Furnace and back with her magick and summoning. Dek snorted a laugh.

They rode for the rest of the day, but Kiki’s exhaustion forced them to halt early and build a temporary shelter by the edges of Skell Forest. As they approached the edges of the forest, so more snow was channelled into the haven, blown by powerful surges of wind. Kiki suggested an early night, and the others agreed. Skell Forest, for all its brooding silence and the possibility it could contain predators, was at least a place of shelter away from the wild brutal elements that had overtaken Vagandrak.

Dek and Zastarte forced Kiki to rest as they cut branches and ferns and constructed a lean-to, out of the wind. Then Dek built a fire and cooked a thick soup using wild mushrooms and onions he’d dug up with his recently re-discovered sword, apologising to the blade for this lack of honour. But when you were hungry, honour had little place, and a sword made a damn fine spade, if a little narrow.

Darkness fell, tumbling across the sky, and the three Iron Wolves ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Zastarte seemed to have retreated into himself: no more jokes or light-hearted banter, no talk of the women he’d conquered or the fine wines he liked to sup. Now, his face was lined with weariness and anxiety, his movements tinged with lethargy. After eating, Dek said he’d take first watch, despite his own weariness, and watched Kiki pass into an immediate sleep reaching right down to oblivion.

Dek sat, watching the fire. A cool breeze whispered through the trees, and beyond the orange flames the shadows seemed darker than ink, and he shivered when he cast his mind back over the last few months. What wild times we live through, he thought sombrely. And then he sank into thinking about his dear, departed mum. He remembered the good times, he remembered the best times, and found tears filling his eyes and running down his cheeks. He hadn’t contemplated her recent death; indeed, had been so busy dealing with bastards with swords trying to hack off his head, since the night he’d burned down her house and cursed his brother, Ragorek, and consigned the bastard known as Crowe to the flames; well, he hadn’t had much head space for contemplation.

Now, with only the fire as company, he remembered the good times. His mum cooking at the stove, making him sweet cakes and letting him run his fingers around the bowl, licking their sweet stickiness. Playing with his friends in the woods, swords made from hacked branches, taking on the violent hordes of monsters from the Plague Lands and beating them back, then running through long ferns, jumping streams and getting home ready for thick broth and Mum’s homemade bread. Building a dam with Ragorek using rocks and mud, then watching with patient fascination as the water level built up to form a small pond, then tying a rope above it to make a swing and watching Ragorek swing across, slip and fall head first into their newly created reservoir, all spluttering and cursing to Dek’s screams of laughter… and Mum’s warm towels by the hearth as she rubbed dry his hair and made soft clucking noises. Lost days, distant days; love and warmth long gone and dead and buried in the ashes of the fire and distant memory.

Dek coughed, and rubbed the tears from his eyes, and felt an arm around his shoulders. He looked up into Kiki’s eyes, saw the concern there, and forced a grin he did not feel.

“Are you okay, Dek?”

“Just thinking about my old mum,” he said, his voice a little wavery.

“Come to bed.”

“No, the Tree Stalkers might come back…”

Kiki closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head, her eyes opening a fraction later. “There’s nobody here in Skell, Dek. Trust me. There’s no threat. We can sleep easy tonight, at least.”

She led Dek into the shelter, and welcomed him under her blankets where they clung to one another like children, like young lovers, like newlyweds, like a couple waiting to die; and drifted off into a shared sleep and a welcoming oblivion of darkness.

 

Leaving the towering treetops of Skell Forest they rode east, hard and fast. Within a few hours they could see the distant city of Dunn, and beyond that, the towers of Kantarok, but they feared the worst and knew it was more important to push on, imperative they reached Zalazar beyond the White Lion Mountains. The land here was hilly, with some large climbs that forded them views of the White Lions – towering peaks, easily in the same league as the Mountains of Skarandos far to the southwest.

For the next two days Kiki, Dek and Zastarte rode the hills, and then foothills of the White Lion Mountains, which marched steadily towards them, mammoth, white-coated sentinels, tightly packed like teeth. More snow fell and the going was slow, but on the third morning after leaving the shelter of Skell Forest, they breached a rise that fell away, jagged vertical cliffs falling away to the sloping approaches of the first White Lion.

The land was snowy, but even the snow could not combat and cloak the huge rocks that littered this land. The Iron Wolves dismounted and tethered their mounts to a nearby stand of trees, and gazed down into the vast valley far below.

“You know the way through the mountains?” said Dek, and then his mouth fell open, for far below, and a little to the south, lay camped an army. Dek closed his mouth, and forced himself to remain very, very still.

“Elf rats,” said Zastarte, finally.

“The army Sameska promised would march,” said Kiki, her eyes shining. “On their way to deliver slaughter and mayhem to Yoon’s armies, wherever they may be camped; on their way to bring blood and death to the men and women of Vagandrak.”

“We’re too late,” hissed Dek.

“No, because we move faster than any damn army can. But it will be close, Dek. We know that now.”

“How do we get through them? They’re camped before the only fucking pass that runs through the White Lions, and that’s being fucking generous, as we all know how treacherous that path is to walk.”

“They are preparing to move,” said Kiki, her eyes fixed on the encampment.

“How do you know that? Is this your magicking
Shamathe
powers at play again? I am mightily impressed.”

“No.” Kiki pointed. “Look. They’re packing up their shit.”

The three Iron Wolves lay on their bellies for an hour or so, watching the elf rats dismantling tents and packing bundles onto massive carts pulled by oxen, six beasts to a cart. Kiki estimated the army to number around six thousand warriors, with a third that number again in ancillary staff.

Eventually, they moved back to their horses and spent a while gathering wood, which they tied in bundles and to their horses’ saddles; it was going to be a long trek across the mountains, and without fuel they would surely die of exposure.

Finally, when Kiki was happy they had enough fuel for the journey, they began looking for a way down into the valley, which took them several miles north, then onto a winding, man-made road of savage switchbacks cut into the rocky cliff-side itself. It was narrow and dangerous, especially in the snow and ice, and Kiki found vertigo a constant friend as she felt as if she teetered on the brink of some savage drop into an abyss. Hooves clattered and kicked in snow as they walked their horses down this descent, and they took their time, dropping carefully towards the distant valley floor.