‘HOW much further?’ Livia asked.
They pressed on through driving rain so dense she could hardly see ten yards in front of her.
‘Not much,’ Durius answered. His collar was turned up and he’d pulled his hat down almost to his nose. Somewhere he’d abandoned his walking stick, proving it had only been for show in the first place.
‘There must be an easier way there than this,’ she replied, feeling the cold and wet creeping into her bones.
‘What would you have me do?’ Durius shouted above the torrent. ‘Summon a convocation of giant eagles to carry us there?’
Livia had no idea what a convocation was, but riding on giant eagles seemed greatly preferable to slogging through this downpour.
Glancing back she could see Hera helping Mandrake through the harsh conditions. She refused any help, though his head was becoming more fuddled with every passing step.
Just as Livia began to think this had been a fool’s errand, they walked out of the rain and into bright sunshine, as though passing through a curtain. She looked behind her, seeing no sign of the downpour they had just endured, only endless open fields.
Durius took off his hat, beating off the rain against his thigh.
‘See,’ he said, motioning across a grassy glen. ‘We’re here in no time.’
Livia looked across the lush green grass, speckled with yellow and blue flowers. It rolled along for miles to the foot of a bright blue tower that spiralled up to the heavens. Of all the strange and wonderful sights she had seen since arriving in this place, this one struck her with the most awe.
There was a sudden cry of pain behind her, and Livia turned. Mandrake was on his knees, clutching his side as though he’d been stabbed. Hera held onto him tightly, powerless to do anything but cradle her lover.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Livia asked.
Durius looked on gravely. ‘Armadon must be in battle in the mortal realm. The Archon of War can endure any amount of pain, but it appears Mandrake cannot.’
‘We have to get to the tower,’ Livia said. ‘We have to help him.’
Durius shook his head. ‘There is nothing to be done, Livia Harrow. You cannot stop this, no matter how hard you try.’
‘I don’t accept that. There must be something that can be done. You don’t know what might happen once we reach the Heartstone. You said so yourself.’
Durius placed his hat back on his head with a sigh. ‘Very well.’
He turned and walked on towards the Blue Tower.
This time Hera accepted Livia’s help and they both carried Mandrake, following the path Durius led across the verdant glen. The closer they came, the more Livia sensed something emanating from the tower; a power lurking at its summit.
Detritus was scattered on the ground. At first a rusted sword discarded in a tangle of grass, then a magnificent winged helmet dulled by age. Soon the ground was littered with the scraps of an ancient army. Bones protruded from the soil alongside the desiccated corpses of huge mounts, all wallowing amidst the ragged and dulled pennants of some forgotten kingdom.
‘This place is a graveyard,’ Livia breathed. ‘Was there a war here long ago?’
Durius inclined his head. ‘Yes and no,’ he replied.
‘Which is it?’ Livia snapped, losing patience with his cryptic twaddle.
‘In this place the war was an ancient one. Elsewhere it may only have happened a day or two ago. Let’s just say what’s done is done and let that be an end to it.’
Livia was happy to do just that, sick of asking for a straight answer to anything Durius said. Besides, she’d need all her energy if she was going to reach that tower’s summit. From a distance it had seemed huge, but now they were almost at its base the thing looked higher than any structure she could imagine.
When finally they reached the foot of it, Livia looked up. The top of the Blue Tower was impossible to see, but Durius for one was undeterred. Without a word he walked inside, and they followed him beneath a huge archway crested by winged seraphs. They appeared to shift in aspect as she passed beneath, closer to demons than angels.
‘If this place is so important, why is no one guarding it?’ Livia asked as they made their way up the winding stairs.
‘There were once guardians here, servants who followed each of the Archons, loyal slaves specially picked to ensure no one entered here. What’s left of them is rotting out on that field. For now, no one guards the Heartstone.’
‘So what’s to stop someone passing through into the mortal realm?’
‘All-out war,’ Durius replied. ‘Three Archons have already gone through. As yet the consequences of that are unknown. The rest are merely waiting, plotting, deciding what their next move should be. Should Siff fail to bring Armadon and Innellan back to the fold I fully expect this place will become very busy.’
‘So why doesn’t one of you go and help her?’
Durius winked. ‘Waiting. Plotting. Deciding. Don’t you listen to what anyone tells you?’
‘When they talk bloody sense I do,’ she replied.
Durius found that one amusing, and he skipped along up the stairs with renewed vigour.
Livia saved her breath for the climb. She helped Hera carry Mandrake, who had managed to calm himself, the pain he previously felt now miraculously gone.
‘At least he’s no longer suffering,’ Livia said, as they struggled with the weight of him.
‘The Iron Tusk must have healed himself of his wounds in the mortal realm,’ Hera said, her face still marred with concern.
‘That’s good… isn’t it?’
‘For now,’ Hera replied.
On they went, feeling the weight of their burden with every laboured step. Just as Livia thought she could go no further, that her legs would not allow her another step, they finally reached the top.
Despite her fatigue, Livia looked out, open-mouthed. She could see for miles, rolling country, soaring mountains, blasted desert. A myriad of vistas in one. But the sight paled in comparison to what lay at the pinnacle of the tower.
The Heartstone was like a giant diamond, easily as big as a man. Every facet shone a different colour, winking in the sunlight, shifting and changing as Livia moved around the dais on which it rested. It pulled her towards it with an irresistible attraction like a long-lost lover. It wanted her and she felt the same. Desiring it. Needing it. Beyond the veneer of that stone lay her homeland, and she could almost hear it calling to her.
Livia reached out to the Heartstone, her fingers tingling as though the stone were trying to take her hand and lead her home.
‘What if I just… What if I just went through?’ she asked.
‘Through to what?’ Durius replied. ‘You have no physical form there anymore. Innellan now possesses your earthly body. You could wind up drifting as a lost spirit for the rest of time.’
‘You know that for sure?’
‘I don’t know anything for sure, but it’s as likely an outcome as any.’
Livia felt the Heartstone pulse with life at her presence, trying to communicate with her, trying to tell her something.
‘What’s it doing?’ she said.
‘The Heartstone has a story to tell,’ Durius replied. ‘You just have to listen.’
Livia closed her eyes, silently waiting for the answer to a question she hadn’t asked. Willing the Heartstone to tell her.
* * *
She sat on a dark throne, white hair cascading down her shoulders, crimson gown flowing to the floor. Kneeling before her were the fallen masters of the Ramadi death cults. Blood regents, warlords, eidolons all. Former rulers of the desert now subjugated to her will.
Innellan rose like a snake from its lair, and climbed the stairs down from that onyx throne. She passed the servile leaders of her army of fanatics, across a darkened hallway and out through a high arch to the balcony that overlooked her realm. The desert air was scorching, but she did not feel it. All she felt was victory.
This place was hers. A land ripe for the picking, and pick it she had. Every mortal in the realm now worshipped her as a god. Every prayer was in her name, and she could feel them filling her with power.
But it wasn’t enough.
It could never be enough.
Innellan turned her eye to the south. For centuries the Ramadi cults had fought one another. It was the only thing that had kept their neighbours safe. But they were safe no longer. She would mobilise, unite, conquer.
And there would be nothing to stand in her way.
* * *
‘She is preparing for war,’ Livia said, reeling from the vision, feeling the Heartstone releasing her from its pull. ‘We have to do something. The Archons have to do something.’
Durius raised a hand to placate her. ‘Someone will,’ he said. ‘Siff will not stop until Innellan is defeated. Or until she dies trying to stop her. But first she must defeat Armadon.’
Livia looked over to Hera and Mandrake, both kneeling on the marble floor. Hera cradled her lover as his lips moved in a soundless rant.
‘I need to see,’ Livia said, turning back to the Heartstone.
This time it pulsed brighter; Livia felt somehow she had gained the artefact’s trust. As though she were part of it now, and it a part of her. They were connected, and with that joining the Heartstone showed her what she asked for…
* * *
The brute raged against the gate. It was all that stood between him and conquest of the western nations. He roared from within a horned helm, the sound echoing through the mountains. At his back was an army built to conquer. United behind their immortal master and devoted to executing his will. All that stood in their way was the last fragile gate of a fortress.
Beyond it a tired militia. Ordinary men, some too scared to stand.
Before them was a woman: stout, resolute, but… she was wounded. Weakened.
Where the warlord commanded an army’s worship, she stood alone. All that might stop this monster. All that could save the west from devastation.
* * *
Livia fell back from the Heartstone. ‘They’re all going to die,’ she whispered, staring at the stone.
‘Well, it certainly looks that way,’ Durius said. ‘When Armadon finally breaks through the mountain pass, he and Innellan will start a war that will ravage the entire continent.’
‘There must be something you can do to stop them.’
Durius shrugged. ‘What would you suggest? Shall I fling myself into the mortal realm and join in the fray?’ His expression turned incredulous when she didn’t argue with that idea. ‘Do I look like some god of war?’
‘Is that it?’ Livia was on her feet now, shouting at this little man. This god. ‘That’s all you’re going to say? There must be something you can do.’
Durius approached the Heartstone, staring into its depths. It reacted to his gaze, the facets dulling, becoming more transparent. Inside Livia could see a core of roiling smoke, becoming ever more agitated at Durius’ presence.
‘It’s been so long,’ he said, staring intently into the stone.
‘Since what?’ Livia asked.
He dragged his gaze away. ‘Since I listened,’ he said. ‘Since I felt the exquisite pleasure.’
‘For fuck’s sake, of what?’
‘Of worship. Of you mortals falling to your knees in adoration. Not that I’d feel it now. Not that there’s anyone praying to little, insignificant Durius. And without it I’m powerless to do anything. I can’t help you.’
‘Try,’ she demanded. ‘Please just try. Listen, just for a moment. Maybe there’s someone. Anyone.’
Durius shook his head. ‘It is forbidden.’
‘Balls to forbidden,’ Livia cried. ‘You said yourself, the rest of the Archons are just sitting on their hands, weighing up their next move. Aren’t you supposed to be the trickster god? Aren’t you supposed to be one move ahead of them all?’
Durius stared at her, his despondent look gradually becoming a gleeful smile.
‘You might just be right, Livia Harrow,’ he said, turning back to the Heartstone.
He reached out a hand towards it, closing his eyes. Livia could see the mist inside become increasingly violent, until it swirled in a furious vortex.
‘I… I have been all but forgotten,’ Durius said. ‘Looked over in favour of warrior gods and temptresses. But…’ the smile on his face widened. ‘But there is one.’
‘One worshipper?’ It didn’t sound like much to Livia.
‘Yes, one,’ Durius replied. ‘But it could be all I need.’