Unholy War (63 page)

The spectre’s right hand had been severed and it was still yowling in anguish; that agony was all that kept it from striking instantly. But the hand was reforming, fuelled by spirit-energy it was pulling from everyone around it. As Rutt watched with appalled eyes, its joints popped and its sinews wept yellowish fluid, and fresh blood dried on its fingers. The energy came from the three crossbowmen, whose auras were snuffed out in the same instant that they collapsed soundlessly. He’d have died the same way had he not been well-warded. Thankfully, its eyes were fixed on Tullesque, not him.

Rutt would have dearly loved to have let it have the Grandmaster, but that would mean Elena got away. Instead, he raised his hands and committed a rare act of selfless courage. Reaching with his own necromantic powers, he sought to snare the spectre.

He cast a web of violet light about it, protecting Tullesque but drawing its attention on himself. Seconds turned to years as it turned on him, following a new path of control, leading to him, not Tullesque – then, with pure terror, he realised that he was not strong enough to master the spectre, not with the handicap of his imperfect control over Guy Lassaigne’s body. And it was too late to vacate the body and run. His scarab would wither in seconds the moment it was exposed.

The spectre took another step, and another. It reached out.

Suddenly he was bathed in purple light and Etain Tullesque’s voice crackled around him. Renewed gnostic-light lit the spectre, trapped it and enfolded it, and Rutt fell backwards against the wall and sagged to the ground as the Kirkegarde mage-knight reasserted control over his summoning.

The shrouded thing went still. Its arms fell to its side and its head dropped.

Rutt looked up at Tullesque. For an instant, there might have been gratitude in the Grandmaster’s eyes, then he turned back to the spectre and commanded: ‘Bring me Elena Anborn, dead or alive.’

With a flurry that dropped the temperature of the room even further, the death-summoning turned and smashed straight through the door – only to find Elena and her Noorie gone.

With a howl of rage, the spectre took to the air and flashed out into the night.

Within the room was carnage. One of Tullesque’s mage-knights was a dead husk, as were half a dozen of his knights. The Grandmaster’s face was thunderous as he whirled to scream at the further soldiers pouring down the stairs into the lobby area. ‘Rouse the garrison, and scour the city!
Find them!
’

The officer leading the reinforcements saluted, barking orders as he hurried away. But he was back a few minutes later. ‘Grandmaster, a windskiff just lifted off from the other side of the lake.’

Tullesque spat a curse. ‘Damn it, how—? All right, we must make new plans. Mobilise the men! Alert Gyle! We must flood this region with windcraft. The hunt does not end here, it begins!’

Tullesque turned finally to Rutt Sordell, who had regained his feet. ‘Well, Magister. I thank you and I commend you. I owe you my life. A Tullesque does not forget his debts.’

Rutt bowed, his heart still thudding. ‘Nor do I,’ he panted.
Nor my humiliations
.

Tullesque went to the lake-door, staring out into the night. The cord of light still ran from his fingers out into the skies. ‘Find her, my lovely,’ he whispered, just loud enough for Rutt to hear. ‘Find her and kill her.’

27

Combining Gnostic Effects

Elena came to her senses with the wind whipping through her short hair and the crack of canvas sails above. She jerked awake, the image of the spectral creature leaping to her mind and looked about. Everything was dark except for the faint glow around Kazim’s right hand as he poured Air-gnosis into the keel of the
Greyhawk
. He must have been doing it for hours, because he looked drawn; his teeth were pulled back in a snarl and his eyes were bloodshot. To her gnostic sight, he looked even worse: his aura was a swirl of crimson and black, a tentacled void that boiled about him. A terrifying number of those tentacles were buried in her own aura, like worms burrowing into her soul, pulsing as they fed.

‘Kaz?’

He looked across at her, and a look of utter relief filled his face. ‘Alhana! Ahm be praised! I thought you were lost!’

She pulled herself up, though that only told her how frighteningly weak she was.
How much is he taking from me – and how much did that God-awful eidolon take?
She looked around dazedly. ‘Where are we? What’s happening?’

‘We’re running, that’s what.’ Kazim threw a look over his shoulder. ‘But that
bakhtak
won’t stop coming.’

‘Huh?’ She looked back and stared behind them. It was Darkmoon, Luna’s face hidden, and the star-studded heavens were turning to indigo. They were weaving through narrow mountain clefts, the landscape shadowy except for the occasional blotches of snow still to melt. At first she saw nothing … and then something dark scudded over the last ridgeline and even half a mile away she knew what it was.

‘Holy Kore, how long have I been unconscious?’

‘Two hours,’ Kazim told her grimly. ‘You went out like a candle flame, halfway round the lake. I had to carry you the rest of the way. But I got you out.’

She looked down at herself. Her sword arm was bruised to the elbow and the hand-print of the creature looked burned into the skin – but at least it was living tissue still. Otherwise she felt okay, just incredibly tired. She crawled down the hull and buried her head against his chest. ‘You did. I love you.’

His eyes went round with pleasure and wonder. ‘You’re only saying that because I pulled your arse out of the fire,’ he teased. But his eyes never lost that look of joy.

I do love him. I do … And this is what it feels like …
She immediately tried to rationalise it: they’d fought together, saved each other, their auras were linked … but that didn’t really explain it at all.

Love isn’t rational
, her sister Tesla had once told her, trying to explain why she was marrying Vann Mercer.
It just is
. She blinked back tears and laid her hand beside his on the keel. She tried to concentrate on the danger, instead of the relief. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Wherever the wind takes us,’ he replied. ‘When I got us aloft in Lybis it was blowing westwards, so that’s the way I flew. It’s not strong enough, though, and I’ve been having to try and generate more to stay ahead of that damned bakhtak.’

‘What’s a bakhtak?’

‘It is a ghost of the night.’ He glowered. ‘So how do you kill it?’

‘Lots of ways. I can do it, I think.’ She faltered, then admitted, ‘No, I’m not sure.’ The fact was, the damned thing terrified her. For a moment it had become the embodiment of all she feared and now she doubted she was up to dealing with it. That doubt could be fatal. ‘With those things, you’ve got two options: banish it or kill it. Banishing is easier, but you’ve got to be a Wizard or a Necromancer and I’m neither.’

He shrugged. ‘So we kill it then.’

‘We try – but it’ll be near impossible, because it can pull energy from all round to keep itself alive. That includes drawing energy from your spells. It takes healing-gnosis to keep it at bay. I can do that, but you can’t, so we’d have only a few seconds to kill it before it gets us.’

They looked at each other, let each other see the worry and the fear.

‘The bastard who summoned this knows what he’s doing,’ Elena said. ‘He knows who I am and he’s tailored this thing specifically to get me. Our best hope is to run. These sort of summonings can’t be maintained beyond dawn – sunlight messes with the Necromancy.’

Kazim looked encouraged by that. He returned his attention to the
Greyhawk
as they shot along a gully, then brought the windskiff around a granite outcropping and into another long valley, almost doubling back. They both scanned ahead worriedly: there was no visible exit; they’d flown into a cul-de-sac of stone. There was a small lake at its base, though it was in shadow, a black emptiness beneath the jagged cliffs. Snow clung to the peaks and their breath streamed behind them. Their fingers had gone numb and the chill was cutting through them both, drawing on already plummeting gnosis levels.

Looking at Kazim’s aura, twined about her own, was like watching a vine choke the life of a tree. She could feel the linkages, feel her energy flowing out of her. He knew it too; the look on his face told her that. But they both knew he couldn’t afford to stop doing it.

Will it kill me before the spectre does?

‘I can’t see a way out of this valley!’ he said suddenly.

‘Rukka!’ Elena breathed, casting about frantically. She engaged her night sight, but sheer cliffs rose on all sides except back the way they came. The wind was swirling, caught in a funnel by the enclosing cliffs. They were losing speed and had nowhere to go.

The spectre floated lazily around the outcropping, its shriek of gleeful fury audible all the way down the valley.

*

Kazim gripped the tiller and tried to catch the swirling winds but they were slipping ineffectually past and the sail flapped uselessly against the mast as they hung in the air. They’d lost all momentum. ‘What do we do?’ he shouted, fear coming out as anger.

‘Stay calm, Kaz. It’s still minutes away.’ She scanned the cliffs, then pointed. ‘Look, there!’

He peered upwards, wishing the moonlight was brighter. There was a lighter patch on the rock face, and he turned the skiff towards it, rising sluggishly. The bakhtak howled triumphantly and its ragged death-shroud flapped in the wind as it flew unerringly towards them.

‘There! There!’ Elena gasped frantically. ‘It’s a cutting, to another valley!’

He blanched. The cleft she was pointing at ran between two overhanging cliffs, almost a tunnel, and it looked incredibly tight. But the ghoulish thing streaming towards them froze his blood and he was feeling dangerously spent. He could see what he was doing to Elena too, the way her aura was growing fainter, but he couldn’t stop his gnosis from draining hers.

One last effort.

No, not ‘last’. Never that …

Her hand on his lent him strength; more than that, it soothed him, calmed him, helped him think. He called the wind and this time it came and caught the sails, sending them lurching forward with growing momentum. But when he looked back, the bakhtak was almost on them – barely forty yards away, and so close he could see its glowing violet eyes.

‘Take the tiller!’ he shouted, twisting and rolling into the small aft cavity behind the pilot’s bench. The craft bucked as their weight changed, but he kindled a mage-bolt and hurled it at their pursuer, then another, then another, firing wide thrice, before finally one connected. The thing shrieked as the white light blazed at it and drew back, snarling.

‘Okay, let’s try it,’ Elena called breathlessly. There was plenty of power in the keel, and the wind was behind them so all she had to do was steer. Kazim prayed she was up to it, because she looked worn-out, like a preview of old age. The starlight had turned her hair silver and etched lines in her face. And the bakhtak was closing in again.

*

Rutt Sordell stood guard over Etain Tullesque atop an open-topped tower, the highest in the emir’s palace. The height allowed better linkage to his death-summoning. Somewhere to the northwest, the creature was pursuing Elena Anborn and her Keshi ally, whoever he was. From up here Rutt had clear views over the town and lake. The streets were restless, but a line of torches revealed reinforcements: more Rondian soldiery arriving, following a forced march through the night.

Rutt smiled to himself. Actually, ‘reinforcements’ wasn’t precisely the right word.

Tullesque was deep in concentration and oblivious to his surroundings. Controlling a summoning of any sort required some degree of the mage’s attention; one this powerful required full concentration, and the longer the chase went on, the harder it was to maintain that. Rutt had guided Tullesque to the tower top himself, helping him every step so he did not slip and lose the link.

Or to put it another way: Tullesque is completely in my power …

The column of torches had reached the gates of the emir’s fortress now. No doubt their arrival would cause considerable consternation, for these were not Dorobon men, or more Kirkegarde, but Endus Rykjard’s mercenaries – officially the Pallacios XX, but known in the army as the Blackthorns. Rykjard’s lieutenant, a giant Hollenian mage named Arnulf Rhumberg, had been in mental contact with Rutt for an hour or more now.

Rutt approached Tullesque carefully. ‘What is happening, Grandmaster?’ he asked, as loudly as he dared.

Tullesque’s eyes, glazed and bloodshot, continued to stare into the skies. Slowly, awkwardly, his lips moved. ‘Trapped … I have her …’

Excellent.

Rutt looked to the east. Dawn was about to become a factor. ‘You must hurry, Grandmaster. The night is passing.’

Tullesque nodded to show his understanding. ‘It … won’t … be long … now.’

Someone hammered on the door at the foot of the stairs that led to the rooftop and Rutt hurried over and hissed, ‘
Quiet!
The Grandmaster must concentrate!’

‘Sir, there are mercenaries at the gates. What are our orders?’

‘Who is this?’

‘Tribune Brayle, Magister.’

One of Tullesque’s officers. ‘They are our reinforcements, Brayle. Admit them at once and send their commander to me.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The man clumped away and Rutt leaned against the door, breathing a little heavily. Deception was not his greatest skill – he was Argundian, and prided himself on his honesty.
I’m not a saint, but lying is not among my sins
, he liked to say. But needs must, sometimes. He hurried back to Tullesque’s side, praying that the Kirkegarde Grandmaster was about to solve the Elena problem for them once and for all. He arrived just as Tullkesque burst into a strange dance.

‘Now!’ Tullesque roared. ‘Strike to kill!’ He clenched his fists, then crowed in triumph, ‘Dead!
The bitch is dead!
’

*

Elena set the skiff hurtling towards what was little more than a hole in the cliff-face. The winds coalesced behind them, propelling the little vessel at an increasingly terrifying speed. She dared not look back, but she could feel the chill of the spectre’s presence right behind them.

Then they hit the cutting, the shale of the slopes whipping past no more than a yard beneath the keel. The right-hand cliff was almost touchable and the left one was getting closer as they soared along the cut – then suddenly the earth fell away and she had to haul the tiller about with all her diminishing strength. The sails flapped and the boom flew across, barely missing her face, as a rock wall loomed ahead.

She felt Kazim’s gnosis flaring again as he started firing bolt after bolt behind them, and she heard the spectre yowl each time a bolt connected … then it fired back. The purplish bolt of light flashed past her left shoulder, just an inch or so away from her, and hit the rock wall. Kazim’s shields flared, such a drain on her that she almost lost control as a dizzying wave washed over her.

‘What was
that
?’ he shouted.

‘It’s the ghost of a mage!’ she replied. ‘It’s got its own gnosis! Hold on!’

The cleft veered right, along a ridgeline like a serrated stone knife, then she hauled left again and drew the wind with her, aiming for a lighter patch of darkness dead ahead. They shot out into space again and sideswiped a boulder, cracking timbers and jolting them both. The craft tipped sideways and she frantically threw herself to the right, using her bodyweight to counteract the tilt, hanging half-in and half-out of the skiff. Then the mast struck the left-hand cliff and snapped, halfway down.

The whole craft spun, almost flinging her out, but somehow she managed to cling on as they struck the slope and began to careen backwards down the scree. For a few seconds the craft righted itself and she found herself staring past the stump of the mast at darkness above them. ‘Kaz!’ she screamed, as they shot down a steep slope littered with boulders. Kazim was still with her, hunched over and firing another volley of mage-bolts up the slope as the spectre appeared at the top, howling in fury.

Then the slope vanished beneath them and they were airborne again – but not sustainably. The keel was badly damaged and leaking power and they started tumbling downwards, completely out of control. She had time to glimpse a flat plain, with a river winding towards a glittering expanse: the sea.