Firestorm Read online

  White raises, black fells.

  He clenched his hands, the gauntlet a fist of darkness. His other hand looked vulnerable, white knuckled and bare. He wasn’t whole, merely a shadow self. How had this happened? Could Serjo have lied? ‘Ljúga, Serjo,’ his voice sounded strange in his ears, ‘heit vinna einhendr einn.’

  Silence brought Gareth back to himself, the strange words tasting like a cold blade on his tongue. Brégenne and Kul’Das were staring at him, the latter with the twist of a frown. ‘What was that?’ she asked.

  ‘I … don’t know.’ Gareth uncurled his fists, finding it difficult to focus. He was afraid of losing himself again, but the echo of the phrase remained, as if a door he’d never seen before had opened and been left ajar. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he went through it.

  ‘He said it would work on its own,’ he whispered.

  ‘What would?’

  ‘The gauntlet.’ Gareth looked at Brégenne. ‘Serjo told him it was safe to wear.’

  ‘Told who?’ she asked, her silvery eyes sharp on his face.

  ‘Kingswold.’ Was it his imagination or did the gauntlet contract at the name? ‘Serjo was his brother.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ Kul’Das demanded.

  Gareth knew he was right, in his very bones, he knew it. But that didn’t mean he wanted to voice it aloud. Both women stared at him, their breath steaming gently in the cooling night. He shook his head and started out again.

  Brégenne moved to walk at his side. ‘Have you considered that it wasn’t just coincidence that led you to take the gauntlet from the archives?’

  Gareth stumbled, grabbed at a tree trunk for balance. When he let go, his left palm was as charcoal-black as his right and he brushed it hurriedly down on his cloak. Brégenne was silent, awaiting his response. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked uneasily, looking around at her.

  ‘As you no doubt saw,’ the Wielder said, her tone a little wry, ‘there are hundreds of artefacts stored on the seventh level. And yet you found and took the gauntlet.’

  ‘It … called to me.’ Gareth shook his head. ‘But Shika was with me. Later, when the Nerian attacked, he could just as easily have put it on.’

  For some reason, Brégenne looked pained, but it vanished a moment later. ‘He didn’t, though,’ she said. ‘You did. And when we learned from Ümvast that Kingswold was of northern blood, I started thinking that your finding the gauntlet wasn’t an accident.’

  ‘Because I’m a northerner too,’ Gareth said softly.

  ‘Blood calls to blood. Perhaps it still seeks its master.’

  ‘Preposterous,’ Kul’Das interrupted. She’d been lagging slightly behind, placing her feet with care on the crunchy layer of twigs. ‘Kingswold has been dead these five hundred years. Nothing of him remains in the world.’

  ‘Do you exist to refute everything I say?’ Brégenne snapped over her shoulder. ‘I tell you, some part of Kingswold lives on in the gauntlet.’

  Kul’Das gave Brégenne a look of deep dislike, but didn’t deny the statement. If Gareth’s heart still beat, it would have been racing. Kingswold. To hear Brégenne voice the name aloud gave it credence and suddenly he remembered how Kyndra described hearing Kierik’s thoughts as her own. At the time, Gareth had struggled to visualize the idea, but was his situation so very different?

  They walked by the faint light of a Lunar flame and Gareth gazed into it, silent. Not only because he feared Brégenne was right, but because he might find himself speaking in the unknown language again. He’d already lost his body and health to the gauntlet; he wouldn’t lose his mind.

  The ambush came without warning, just before dawn.

  Perhaps Brégenne’s senses were dulled by the long, uneventful hours of walking, for she barely threw herself aside in time to avoid an arrow as it streaked through the gloom and thunked into a tree behind her. A warning shot. Kul’Das crouched instinctively and Gareth leapt in front of Brégenne as the Wielder struggled to regain her feet. ‘Stand close to me,’ she said and a shimmering Lunar shield expanded to surround the three of them.

  More arrows came, repelled by the shield, but it turned them into an unmissable target. ‘Move,’ Brégenne snapped and Gareth heard the strain in her voice. She jerked her chin. ‘This way.’

  ‘It’s nearly morning,’ he said, looking at the sky.

  Brégenne didn’t reply; the barrier was taking all her concentration. Gareth knew that maintaining a shield while moving was much harder – they’d practised it as novices a few times – and Brégenne was shielding three people.

  Dark figures began to circle the barrier. As the sky lightened, he could just about discern them through the translucent walls. Kul’Das had seen them too; white-faced, she clutched her staff tightly to her chest, almost tripping on Brégenne’s heels. They couldn’t go on like this. Gareth squinted at their attackers, feeling the gauntlet grow cold on his arm. No, he thought at it – at himself. He remembered the horror he’d unleashed before, the boiling tendrils of rot that corrupted living flesh. He would not call on that power again.

  Something blue and crackling shot inches past his nose. Gareth had only a moment to feel thankful that the projectile hadn’t hit any of them before the Lunar shield shattered into a thousand bright shards.

  Brégenne’s eyes widened. She looked at her hands, still glowing with weak moonlight, and then up at the figures surrounding them. Gareth followed her gaze and saw a woman holding a device that resembled a crossbow. Blue energy flickered around two small metal discs fixed to the frame and its holder smiled as she fitted another bolt into place.

  A new shield sprang up around them, Brégenne’s fists clenched inside her leather half-gloves with the effort. But the archer fired and, once again, the shield crumbled.

  Gareth could feel the chains that bound the Solar power falling away, as the sky rapidly lightened. He studied their attackers; there were about fifteen, clothed in the shades of the Deadwood. They were all women. Each bore two horizontal stripes across her left cheek.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded of them. ‘What do you want?’

  The woman with the crossbow gestured it at Brégenne. ‘Take the aberration alive,’ she said in a guttural accent that almost buried her words. ‘The Sartyans pay well for them.’

  Kul’Das stepped in front of Gareth, holding her staff at the ready. He was almost knocked back by the blast of heat as fire erupted along its length. ‘You think to stop us?’ she said with a valiant attempt at her usual disdain.

  Her display had the opposite effect. Grins spread among the watching women and their leader looked delighted. ‘Someone’s smiling on us, Takendo,’ she said to a hooded woman standing at her shoulder. ‘Two aberrations …’ she looked hopefully at Gareth – ‘perhaps three?’

  Automatically, he shook his head, but the woman didn’t seem disheartened. ‘That one shouldn’t be a danger,’ she said with a dismissive nod to Brégenne, as if she were speaking of an animal recently subdued. ‘But that one—’ She broke off in a gasp as Kul’Das swung the staff and a sheet of fire blasted across the short distance between them.

  Gareth used the distraction to tug Brégenne away from the fighting, pushing her in front of him. ‘Go,’ he said, keeping an eye on their scattered attackers. Kul’Das sent out another wave of fire before turning and fleeing with them. Perhaps, like Gareth, she was wary of the glowing crossbow and what it could do.

  They managed about ten yards before a dreadful shriek brought them stumbling to a halt. Kul’Das was on her knees. A bolt pierced the hand holding her staff, pinning her flesh to the wood. Kul’Das wasn’t looking at her hand, however; her eyes were fixed on the staff, on the vertical crack running up and down its length. As Gareth watched, the top piece sheared away, sending the shrivelled raven heads tumbling to the ground.

  Kul’Das stared at them. Fingers trembling, she reached out and picked one up. Blood dripped from her other hand onto the feathered head. The remainder of the staff split
around the bolt and fell in two pieces, leaving the metal buried in her palm.

  Gareth eyed the approaching women. A couple limped along; the leather of their clothes smoking where Kul’Das’s flames had caught them. Others bore scratches on their faces and arms. But most were unhurt, including their leader with the crossbow and the hooded woman at her side.

  ‘Kul’Das—’

  Before he could finish his warning, Kul’Das regained her feet and whirled to face their attackers. Tears glinted on her cheeks – of grief or outrage, Gareth didn’t know. With a snarl, she threw out her hands, the right dripping blood, and a wave of force hit the nearest women, knocking them off their feet.

  Kul’Das seemed in shock as she gazed at her own hands. Her eyes travelled from the broken staff back to her palms and she fired a look over her shoulder at Brégenne.

  It was the distraction the hooded woman needed. Faster than Gareth thought possible, she darted at Kul’Das, something small clutched in her fist. It was thin and blunt and Gareth couldn’t understand why Kul’Das screamed at its touch, tottering on suddenly unsteady feet. The hooded woman thrust the object at her again and the shaman’s body contorted, knocking her to her knees. The woman raised the device a third time. It was pronged like a fork, blue energy crackling between its metal points. Before she could strike, Gareth leapt in front of Kul’Das and caught the blow on his shoulder.

  Expecting pain, he tensed, but nothing happened. The woman looked equally surprised. She raised the device and struck him again. When he didn’t react, her smile slipped and she stumbled back. Gareth didn’t hesitate – he scooped up Kul’Das and turned to run.

  He’d gone only a few paces when something heavy struck his back, staggering him. A feathered shaft protruded from his shoulder blade. He spared one glance behind to see another woman, armed with an ordinary bow. Already she’d nocked a second arrow. It took him in the calf.

  He ignored it.

  Another struck his back, a fourth his thigh, a fifth his arm. He pulled Kul’Das in closer and kept on, feeling the thuds as the arrows hit, but no pain. He glanced over his shoulder again. The archer’s disbelief was swiftly turning to fear. When the hooded woman shouted something, she lowered her bow.

  Brégenne’s running feet stirred up the ash. It choked the air; in his arms, Kul’Das began to cough. Despite the arrows, Gareth could have kept up his staggering run until his legs rotted beneath him. But Brégenne, clearly exhausted by a night of walking and shielding them, eventually slowed. There were no signs of pursuit. For now.

  ‘Kul’Gareth,’ the woman in his arms said faintly. ‘I think you can put me down.’

  Gareth did as she asked, steadying her when she seemed about to fall over. Her face was pale; she still clutched a shard of her staff.

  Brégenne gasped when she turned and saw him. He would have found it funny once, stuck like a human pincushion, but he couldn’t laugh, not when the reality was so terrible. He wasn’t even human enough to bleed.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said shortly. ‘Can you get them out, Brégenne?’

  He noticed that she trembled slightly as she approached him, her gaze moving from one arrow to the next. But when she touched his back, her hands were firm. ‘You won’t hurt me,’ he assured her when she hesitated.

  ‘I don’t want to do more damage,’ she answered. ‘Until you’re back to normal –’ her voice wavered a little – ‘I can’t heal these wounds.’

  ‘Just work them out carefully, then,’ Gareth said tonelessly. ‘Don’t you think it would look suspicious if somebody saw me?’ He paused. ‘I’m probably the reason those women didn’t come after us.’

  Brégenne hesitated a moment longer before sighing. ‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘Kul’Das, come and help me.’

  Her blue eyes rather glassy, Kul’Das wandered over and crouched beside Gareth. She followed Brégenne’s instructions in uncharacteristic silence as they removed, with some difficulty, over half a dozen arrows from Gareth’s flesh. No blood dripped from the arrowheads. When he looked at the open wound on his calf, it was surprisingly clean; the blood dry and clotted, his flesh unyielding.

  When the last arrow came free with an unpleasant pop, Kul’Das stood up very quickly, her hand over her mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, taking several large strides away. Even Brégenne was looking rather green.

  ‘Thank you,’ Gareth murmured. He knew his body reeked, the decomposition arrested halfway through its gruesome work by his continued mobility. He wasn’t sure what was keeping him sane when he began each day wondering how much mutilation his body could take before it released him from this nightmare.

  ‘I think we might be nearing the edge of the Deadwood,’ Brégenne said and Gareth climbed to his feet, trying to shed his dark thoughts. The trees did seem thinner, more widely spaced. Beyond their black trunks, Ben-haugr waited. He was close, so very close. Something stirred behind his eyes at the thought, like a sleeper at the bottom of a well.

  I am come home.

  3

  Char

  The chamber was full of figures, limbs wrapped in grey bandages. ‘Du-alakat,’ Char heard Kyndra hiss.

  ‘Where is the eldest?’ Ma’s command echoed in the hollow chamber.

  The warrior who’d spoken was unmasked. She stepped forward, shadowed by her brethren. ‘He prepares. He has sent me, my brothers and sisters, in his stead.’

  ‘A mistake.’ Ma stepped forward too. But not a surprise. He lacks the power to stand against me.’

  ‘Why do you do this, Mariana?’ One of the Khronostians reached up and unwound their bandages, revealing a woman. Like all du-alakat, time had warped her features. It was impossible to guess her age, but she had the same dark skin as Ma.

  ‘Jin?’ Ma’s fierce stare wavered.

  The woman moved closer. ‘You would fight us? Fight me? We were family once.’

  ‘You give me no option.’ Ma shook her head sadly. ‘Cousin, the eldest has lost his mind. What he plans to do is an abomination. If he is not stopped, he will tear the fabric of time.’

  ‘You lied to me, Mariana,’ Jin said, taking another step.

  Ma raised a hand. ‘No closer.’

  ‘I could have helped.’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Jin.’

  ‘If you’d been honest with me, told me who you really were, none of this would have happened.’

  Ma’s expression grew cold. ‘The only thing my honesty would have earned me is a cage.’

  There was a moment as the two women locked eyes. Then they sprang into motion so swiftly that Char couldn’t tell who had moved first. Ma’s ironwood kali sticks met Jin’s and the hollow clack of wood on wood filled the chamber. A flash caught his eye; Kyndra was gone in a swirl of her cloak. She reappeared behind the du-alakat leader, who swept out her own weapons to intercept her strike. Kyndra’s skin was clad in a familiar dark silver – the star Tyr shielding her better than any armour. Kali sticks wouldn’t fell her. As he watched, more du-alakat closed in, hiding her from view.

  Others made for him, their strides determined, and Char backed away, trying to keep them all in sight. He was clumsy on the ground, still unused to this new body. Once, he’d have raised his own kali sticks in defence, balanced on the balls of his feet. He’d have sought the calm centre, as Ma had taught him, struggling against the rage that had threatened to tear his soul apart.

  And he’d have died. He couldn’t have taken on this many du-alakat.

  Now he drew a breath, felt heat in his belly, and let it out as blue-veined force. It knocked a warrior off their feet, but the others avoided it easily. They continued to stalk him and he backed away further. The captured dragon hung above them all, a gruesome totem frozen with wings spread wide, and Char felt a fresh surge of fury.

  Hunkering down, he took another breath. It roiled in his belly, desperate to be free, but he was used to that feeling – he’d spent three years resisting it. So he checked it, focused on finding the blue heart of it.

>   A blow landed behind his ear where the scales were thinner. He gritted his teeth against the pain, screwing his eyes shut. More blows came, more pain. They were clearly familiar with all the most vulnerable parts of his body. He concentrated on the blue force, feeling it tumbling over and over, remembering the effort it had once cost him to control it. The Sartyans called it ambertrix. They’d tamed the energy, forced it to power their crude devices. But in its pure form, it was raw and unbridled; it was wild.

  Blood slid down his scales; they’d prised off several sections, revealing the dark flesh beneath. Char snarled. He wouldn’t end up like the dragon that hung, twisted and tormented above. Refocusing on the energy, he changed it. Now the force in his belly was spitting, crackling like lightning. Acting on instinct, he released it upwards and outwards through his scales; it caught those du-alakat whose weapons were in contact with his body, surged into them, and they screamed, burning from the inside out. When he looked around, only one had escaped, staggering and singed. Char’s head darted out, caught the dazed warrior in his jaws and bit down. Hot blood filled his mouth, the Khronostian screamed once and then Char’s teeth sheared him in half.

  The moment he paused to take stock, his pain seemed to double. His exposed skin stung and he couldn’t hold back a growl. Although Ma was fighting half a dozen Khronostians, she turned at the sound. On seeing him, she bared her teeth and flung her sticks to the ground. Crooking her fingers, she raked the air in front of her face, the ouroboros on her palms blazing white.

  The air solidified around the six warriors. Their movements became slower and slower and consternation showed on every face. ‘What have you done?’ Jin demanded. The question reached Char word by word, each syllable distorted. Ma turned away, dismissing them, and started towards him. Beads of sweat glinted on her brow.