Isaiah?”
He woke, springing almost instantly into full wakefulness. How had he slept so long? It was midmorning already.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The Skraelings aren’t looking at us anymore.”
He blinked at her, not understanding, then looked at the Skraelings.
They were all staring south.
“Shetzah!” Isaiah muttered.
“What is it?”
“The One comes. The pyramid made…well, made of whatever flesh it is, I suppose. Hereward, I don’t know what will happen. I will do my best for you.”
Hereward’s eyes welled with tears, surprising Isaiah.
He hesitated, then rested a hand on her shoulder, only to have her shrug it off.
“I just want to get out of here, Isaiah. I just want…”
She didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to.
I just want to live.
“I will do my best for you,” Isaiah repeated, wishing he had something better to say.
Hereward wiped her eyes, then nodded at the Skraelings. “Look.”
The Skraeling throng was slowly shuffling apart by the glassed river, opening up an avenue to the south.
Isaiah glanced at the book—it was lying by Hereward’s feet—then looked down the newly formed avenue.
Something was coming.
It was still a few hundred paces away, but Isaiah could just make it out.
A man-shaped figure, but one formed by what appeared to be gleaming blue-green glass.
Hereward took a step closer to Isaiah, and he thought she must truly be scared to want to stand so close.
Strangely, given their mutual dislike, he was very glad of her presence. Hereward would be useless in any confrontation between the One and himself, but at least she was there, providing the comfort of another warm, living person.
The Skraelings had begun to whisper, a low, hissing, undulating mumble of adulation.
A shiver ran down Isaiah’s spine.
The One drew closer, and Isaiah could make out its features. It had assumed the form of a handsome man with a strong nose and piercing eyes, and Isaiah recognized its features instantly.
The pyramid had taken the physical aspect of Boaz, the Magus who had once thought to destroy it.
Boaz, Maximilian’s kinsman and Ishbel’s ancestor.
Then Isaiah’s eyes were caught by something trailing a pace or two behind the One, and his eyes widened in shock.
It was a small, red kitten, gamboling along as if it didn’t have a care in the world.
Feed the pretty kitten, the Book of the Soulenai had said.
The kitten was so incongruous, and so bizarre, that Isaiah had difficulty dragging his eyes away from it. It darted this way and that, enjoying itself hugely, chasing an insect here, an airborne speck of dust there.
Then it suddenly realized its master had walked too far ahead, and it sped forward, batting at the One’s ankles with its paws.
Isaiah managed to drag his eyes back to the One, who was ignoring the kitten. He was very close now, and Isaiah could see the glow of the pulsating golden pyramid within the creature’s translucent breast: he had the Infinity Chamber for a heart.
“Well met, Isaiah,” said the One, coming to a halt a few paces away. His voice was strong and rich, surprising Isaiah, who had expected something uglier.
Instead, his voice was almost hypnotic in its beauty.
Hereward had by now crept so close to Isaiah that she was pressed against his side, and he put an arm about her shoulders.
Isaiah doubted very much that either of them were going to get out of this alive.
“I’m not going to kill you,” said the One. “Not if you do as I wish. Shall we sit?”
“I know who and what you are,” the One said to Isaiah, once they sat in an awkward little circle on the riverbank.
The kitten was playing a few paces distant, just at the corner of Isaiah’s vision, and he found it irritatingly distracting.
He wondered what its purpose was.
“Water or river god, tyrant, meddler, call yourself what you will,” the One said. “It is of no matter to me. All I need from you is to deliver a message for me.”
A message. Not death, then.
“And you?” said Isaiah. “What should I call you? Kanubai?”
“I am not Kanubai, as well you know,” said the One. “Kanubai is dead. Used and useful, but very dead. Now I walk. I am the One. I have no name save for the indivisible.
“Now,” the One continued, not giving Isaiah a chance to respond, “you will deliver a message to Maximilian Persimius.”
“As you will,” said Isaiah. “A message is easy enough. But will you not tell me of your purpose? Why it is that you have chosen to wake from your pyramid and walk? Why you have chosen to murder this land and river?”
The One smiled. His teeth were completely translucent, and Isaiah could see the green swell of the creature’s tongue through them. “My land and river now. No longer yours, in any measure. And how have I murdered it? I have merely turned it to my own will.”
The One’s tone changed as he spoke, becoming infinitely more threatening, and so Isaiah inclined his head, deciding to deflect the creature’s anger. “As you will. Will you tell us the message you wish Hereward and myself to deliver to Maximilian?”
“You are going to deliver the message to Maximilian Persimius for me, Isaiah. Hereward’s fate is not yours to decide.”
Isaiah saw Hereward turn her head and stare at him, terrified, and he hoped she would keep silent.
Hereward said nothing. She dropped her eyes to her hands clasped in her lap, and Isaiah now found himself irritated that she had kept her silence.
“Maximilian and Ishbel,” said the One, “are committed to my destruction. It is in their blood. So I need you to deliver to them this message.”
The One took a deep breath, and Isaiah found himself fascinated by the movement of the glass of his chest. It looked very pliable, almost soft, and Isaiah wondered if it was warm to the touch.
“Maximilian Persimius,” said the One, “and Ishbel Brunelle Persimius are to bring to me, at Sakkuth—”
Isaiah kept his face impassive, but the choice of meeting place puzzled him. Sakkuth?
“—three objects. They are to bring the Weeper. They are to bring to me the Goblet of the Frogs. And they are to bring to me the crown of Elcho Falling.”
“Or…?” Isaiah said.
The One smiled, very tight, very cold, and there was a brief gleam in his black eyes. “Ah, in the ‘or’ lies the rub, does it not?”
Bingaleal stood on the plains between Hairekeep and the entrance to the Salamaan Pass. Thousands upon thousands of Isembaardians continued to stream into the Pass, hoping to escape from the destruction of their homeland. Some of his companions had reported to Bingaleal earlier in the day that there was a massive wave of Skraelings sweeping through Sakkuth. Soon they would be moving northeast toward the Salamaan Pass.
The reports had also said that there was not much left of Sakkuth.
The Isembaardians had generally accepted the Lealfast’s attempts to aid them. The Lealfast were, after all, better than what lay behind them. Most of the refugees were completely benumbed. All they could think of was that they needed to get beyond the FarReach Mountains into safety.
Bingaleal did not know how “safe” the Outlands would prove. He was not sure if the Skraelings would stop at the Salamaan Pass, or if they’d just continue to surge through.
And if they did? What then?
In the end, Bingaleal did not care overmuch. What he was truly interested in lay much further south.
All he wanted was the chance to explore it. He wondered, not for the first time, if he should abandon the Isembaardians and fly down to DarkGlass Mountain.
But every time this thought crossed his mind, something stopped him. Some deep instinct told him that flying south to the pyramid was a useless exercise.
It was coming north to meet him.
Far to the north, in the Central Outlands, Bingaleal’s brother, Eleanon, led a large sortie of Lealfast toward a column of soldiers some five thousand strong marching northwestward.
The Isembaardian column was led by the renegade general Armat, in full view of the forward-flying Lealfast scouts.
“If Maximilian and Ishbel do not bring me these objects,” said the One, “I will invade their lands with such horror that—”
“They will resist you,” said Isaiah.
“Ah, I was so afraid that you would say that,” the One said. “It might get very messy, yes?”
Again, that frightful, cold smile and the brief gleam in his obsidian eyes.
“They will not refuse,” said the One. “I am, Isaiah, going to build a curse on their future. It is not a ‘might be’ curse, it is a reality. The instant I build it, their future has altered. Watch, Isaiah, and see what Infinity can do when it is roused.”
The One lifted a hand. “Watch,” he said, “the power of the One.”
“Armat!” the scout reported back to Eleanon. “Armat!”
“Where?” Eleanon said. He, and the other Lealfast with him, were traveling on the air, almost invisible.
“A half hour’s flight to the east,” said the scout. “He’s leading a column of some five thousand men to the northwest, perhaps to try to intercept Maximilian’s force.”
“Perhaps.” Eleanon wondered why Armat had chosen to show his hand now.
“I’ll fly on to the StarMan,” the scout said, “and tell him what we’ve seen.”
“No,” said Eleanon. “Wait.”
He stopped, thinking. Was it a trap on Armat’s part? And if it was, what should he do? If he was sensible, Eleanon should tell the scouts to keep an eye on the column while he relayed the intelligence to Axis.
If he was sensible…
But “being sensible” stuck in Eleanon’s craw. Axis didn’t think much of him, and neither did Maximilian, who, Eleanon was only too well aware, had sent Axis on this mission to test the Lealfast.
Why not do what Axis and Maximilian assumed he would? Something foolish. It was what Bingaleal had counseled—deceive Maximilian and Axis into thinking that the Lealfast truly were nothing but arrogant foolishness. This would be the perfect opportunity, but, oh, how it irritated Eleanon that for the moment Maximilian and Axis should have their egotistical suspicions confirmed.
Still…it would position the Lealfast splendidly for the future.
Eleanon’s thoughts churned; he was aware that the scout waited impatiently. If he did what Maximilian and Axis expected, then he would have the freedom to journey south without raising their suspicions and confirm in their minds that the Lealfast were useless as fighters—but, oh, the price…
“Eleanon? Should I fly on to Axis StarMan?”
“We can handle this,” Eleanon said, the bottom of his stomach almost falling out of his belly as he made his decision. “We are tens of thousand strong, and far superior to five thousand Isembaardian soldiers. We have the advantage of near invisibility and of height. They’ll never know what hit them. We’ll capture Armat, then tell the StarMan.”
The scout regarded Eleanon for a brief moment, then nodded his head. “As you will.”
“Then lead on. Show us this general.”
This decision would kill hundreds of Lealfast, perhaps thousands, but Eleanon justified it to himself on the grounds that it would position the Lealfast the better to ultimately betray Elcho Falling. He also promised himself that he would personally murder Axis for what this day would bring.
Today’s blood would be Axis’ fault, not Eleanon’s, and Axis would one day pay for it.
The One traced his finger through the air, green trails of light following in its wake. Within moments he had drawn a perfect outline of a pyramid that stood about the third of the height of a man. Once it was completed, he laid his hands upon the pyramid, drew it before his face, and closed his eyes.
Light flared briefly, then the One guided the pyramid down to the ground in the center of their circle. It was now clothed in blue-green glass, capped with gold—a perfect representation of DarkGlass Mountain.
“Rather more beautiful than the spires you used to contact your friend Lister, eh?” said the One.
Isaiah was feeling progressively more uneasy. He glanced at Hereward. Her face was white and drawn, and Isaiah wondered if his own looked much better.
The One was toying with them, and Isaiah sensed that very soon the One would grow tired of the game and move straight into horrifying practicalities.
“There is no longer a question of what will happen if Maximilian and Ishbel refuse to bring me the objects I desire,” the One said. “The curse I am about to build shall be a reality. It will happen. The only question is whether or not I can be persuaded to destroy the curse before it does too much damage. But see, I have not yet finished.”
His voice strengthened, became harsh and sharp, like the sound of the cold wind whistling over the striking sword.
“Do you feel the power I now wield, Isaiah? Can you recognize it?”
Isaiah jerked his head in assent, so overwhelmed by the power that now throbbed about the circle that he dared not speak.
“Name it!” hissed the One.
“The…” Isaiah swallowed and tried again. “It is a power made of the blood of Maximilian and Ishbel’s daughter, of the blood of her death, and of the power of Infinity, which you touch.”
“Very good, Isaiah. I needed you to recognize the power I use so that you can later vouch for the veracity of this curse.”
The One lifted his hands and ran them lightly down two sides of the pyramid, from cap to base.
Isaiah and Hereward both gasped. As the One’s hands traveled down the glass, so it became translucent and they could see within.
A man and a woman lay on a great bed. They were naked.
“Maximilian,” said the One, looking at Isaiah. “And Ishbel. Yes?”
“Yes,” Isaiah said reluctantly.
The One waved a hand at the pyramid and what it contained. “This will be, Isaiah. Understand that.”
“Maxel and Ishbel no longer—”
“This will be, Isaiah! Understand that!”
Isaiah gave a jerk of his head.
“Good. Then witness herewith my curse on Ishbel,” said the One. “When Maximilian Persimius succumbs to her blandishments and beauty and once more slides the ring of the Queen of Elcho Falling on her finger, and slides his own flesh into her body, then so shall sorrow and despair envelop Elcho Falling and all it touches.”
The One’s voice became increasingly stronger and harsher as he spoke, his words falling over themselves, and Isaiah could feel the One’s power binding the curse to Ishbel.
Within the pyramid, Maximilian slid the ring onto Ishbel’s outstretched finger, and then rose over her body.
“When Maximilian slides that ring on her finger,” the One continued, “and once he bears her down to his bed, then so shall he marry the One to Elcho Falling. I shall become its lord, and when I arrive at the gates of Elcho Falling, so shall Ishbel crawl forth and surrender to me all the power and might of the citadel of Elcho Falling.”
Ishbel cried out as Maximilian entered her, and clung to his shoulders.
She rolled her head to one side on the pillow, and for an instant her eyes met those of Isaiah’s.
“And so shall Ishbel be sorrow’s midwife,” Isaiah murmured, almost unaware he spoke aloud. “As Ravenna foretold.”
The One suppressed a smile. Ravenna. She had been so useful. “Do you recognize the power with which I have made this curse, Isaiah?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recognize its reality?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I make a fine Lord of Elcho Falling, do you think?”
Isaiah could not answer.
“Do you think I shall make a fine Lord of—”
“Yes. Yes!”
“Maximilian will succumb to Ishbel’s beauty,” the One said, his voice almost soft now. “You know this. I can see it in your eyes. And when he does…”
The One waved his hand and the pyramid once more turned green, hiding the sight of Maximilian and Ishbel’s writhing bodies.
“But,” the One’s tone relaxed almost into geniality, “the curse can be destroyed. That is possible. All Maximilian and Ishbel need to do is to bring me the—”
“You will kill them,” Isaiah said.
“Of course I will, but Elcho Falling shall remain inviolate. If they bring to me those three objects, then, yes, they die, as they would have me die, but I shall turn my back on Elcho Falling and return to DarkGlass Mountain. If they deliver to me their lives, and those objects which are most precious to them, then Elcho Falling and all the peoples of the northern kingdoms shall live. If they do not bring those objects to me, and if they try to save their own lives, then the curse remains, and all shall fail and fall into sorrow and ruin.”
Again that casual hand wave over the pyramid, and within the space of a breath it vanished.
“I want you,” said the One, “to take my message back to Maximilian and Ishbel. They are already doomed, but I will spare Elcho Falling and the lands and peoples north of the FarReach Mountains if they bring to me at Sakkuth that which I desire.”
The One looked at Isaiah’s face, and he very slowly smiled. “Ah, I can see your thoughts mirrored all over your desperate face, Isaiah. You think you can get to Maximilian and warn him in time, don’t you? Warn him before he condemns Elcho Falling to my rule? But I am afraid, Isaiah, there is one other little disaster I need to tell you about.”
Eleanon circled high above the column of slow-marching men. Armat was clearly visible, riding a horse at their head.
There was a horde of Lealfast in the sky, invisible save for that curious grayness they lent to the air. The men below had made no indication they realized the presence above them.
It was going to be a nightmare, but it was a nightmare that would free the Lealfast into their destiny.
Eleanon allowed himself a moment of hesitation to reflect on his decision, then, mind settled, he gave the order to attack.