Tyron nodded at Konnit. ‘Thrym wants to be a part of it: he’s agreed to bring with him four feral lacs to carry and discharge the weapon.’
‘That will be a more than useful addition to our party. The weapon is heavy, so it will free up four more of our warriors,’ he said.
‘How many warriors are we going to take?’ I asked.
‘No more than twenty in all,’ Konnit replied. ‘I’ll pick the best – at least five archers. I will include Donat, who is the best with the short bow.’
‘Garrett would have loved to be part of this,’ I said, frowning.
‘Yes, he will be missed,’ Konnit agreed, his voice low. ‘However, there is a warrior called Kalasar who will lead the swordsmen. He is big and can also fight with two longswords. Few apart from Garrett could do that.’
‘One of the artificers wants to come with us. His name is Brid – he played an important part in our previous attempt on Hob’s life,’ Tyron told Konnit.
‘He is welcome,’ he replied.
‘And what about you, Wode? Do you intend to be part of the attack?’ Tyron said, turning to address him.
Wode shook his head. ‘With my bad leg, I think I’d only be in the way. You’ll need to move quickly through those tunnels. I’ll organize a force to guard the Wheel. Not all Hob’s selves will necessarily be in the citadel. Once your attack is under way, others might seek to do damage in the city.’
‘That’s true,’ Tyron said. ‘So be it.’
‘It may not be necessary to kill all Hob’s selves,’ Ada pointed out. ‘I could do what I attempted in the Wheel before the Protector’s Guard intervened. With one of Hob’s selves in our custody, I could put an end to all the others without penetrating too far into his citadel. That would also include the shateks he uses to create new selves.’
Konnit shook his head firmly. ‘That I cannot permit. It is—’
‘Don’t you think I can do it?’ Ada interrupted angrily. ‘When the Protector’s Guard entered the Green Room, I was just moments from destroying Hob!’
‘I’m sure you could, but we cannot permit it, Ada,’ Konnit declared, frowning as he looked across at Tyron, who nodded his head in agreement. ‘We don’t mean to question your abilities, and I am truly sorry if we have offended you in any way, but you are much too valuable to be put at risk in Hob’s lair. You have an unparalleled knowledge of technology and, though there seems to be no immediate threat from beyond the Barrier, that could change, and then we would need you more than ever.’
Ada sighed and bowed her head. When she looked up, there were tears glistening in her eyes. ‘You are right, Konnit. But I cannot forget what Hob did to Tal in the arena. I want to pay him back for that!’
Tal was Ada’s husband, and I remembered his death with horror. He had fallen to his knees, and Hob had struck his head from his body. No wonder she wanted revenge. For a long time I too had been seeking revenge. I was glad that I’d be among those who set off to attack Hob’s lair.
THE SYCODA SHATEK
Nym is immortal. Wurdes can never die.
Thus creatures formed from it shall inherit eternal life.
The Manual of Nym
LEIF
Just before the sun dipped below the horizon, a bank of heavy cloud began to build in the east and a breeze sprang up, carrying with it a premonition of rain.
Then, with the dark, that rain came down, buffeting the wooden dwellings and rattling their doors; a torrential rain that turned the streets to mud, cleansing the market pavements and driving the vultures to shelter beneath the abandoned wagons by the canal terminus, where they huddled, bedraggled and peevish.
Tyron was already driving the lead team of oxen into the teeth of the storm, encouraging them up the hill that led ever more steeply towards Hob’s citadel.
We were taking the direct route, which Tyron and I had used the night we went to buy back Kern’s soul. In all, there were four wagons, betraying not a glimmer of light in the driving rain.
Following close behind, led by Konnit, were mounted Genthai warriors wrapped in dark hooded cloaks.
My stomach had twisted into a knot, and the movement of the wagon was making me feel nauseous. We had been making preparations for two days, and that had given me too much time to think.
I felt sure that Hob would have anticipated our attack; that he might even have been warned; that he would be ready for us.
We believed that, for combat in the arena, Hob had reined himself in; his speed, his strength and his weaponry had conformed to the norms there. He had been prepared to operate within those parameters, perhaps to test himself in some way. But now there would be no restrictions …
As suddenly as it had begun, the rain ceased, and the clouds, already ripped apart, were blown away like fragments of rag across the horizon.
The moon shone down upon the land of Midgard then; a horned moon, thin and terrible, with the sharp promise of the Wolf. For it was the gramagandar, the Breath of the Wolf, that would give us a real hope of victory against the myriad selves of the rogue djinni.
Soon the great curved wall of Hob’s citadel lay ahead, reflecting that moonlight: huge blocks of stone within a sheen of bronze that glittered with particles of crystal. As we passed by, I glanced into each of the small dark openings at its base that angled down underneath the citadel. They were used by Hob’s servants – a degenerate type of tassel, more beast than human.
At last we stood right in front of the gate. Two of the Genthai would stay to guard the wagons. The outcome of our endeavour could not be predicted and our means of escape had to be protected.
As I leaped down off my wagon, I felt the damp chill of the night air; a fine spray fell from the towers, the legacy of the recent rain.
I looked upwards. This time Hob’s citadel was not obscured by mist and I could see the thirteen spires clearly in the moonlight. They were of equal height, but each spire was different – twisted and corrugated with great craftsmanship, as if five artists, each at the peak of their abilities, had been in competition. And amidst them, invisible from the city below, were other structures, also of stone, yet as fine as the antennae of insects. They were similar to the structures on the roof of the krie-kore, the underground fortress where I had first been imprisoned by Shalatan.
The main structure from which the towers sprouted was embellished with grotesque ornaments: limbs and twisting necks supporting distorted, bestial faces that leered and sneered at those below. There were curves and ridges and dark recesses within which, I fancied, foul abominations might lurk, as if within a cave on a cliff face. Below these were windows, tall, sharp and angular, through which light seemed to flicker fitfully, as if its source continually waxed and waned.
I wondered how it was that such detail was visible in the moonlight, but then I realized that, in addition to the flickering light in the windows, the citadel was glowing from within; a glow that glittered and shimmered as the drops cascaded down.
There were cavernous openings, high-arched and daunting, all but one sealed by gates of bronze. Tyron had visited Hob’s lair more than once and had told us that this small gate was always open – although for what purpose he didn’t know. It was flung back to reveal only forbidding darkness, with just the faintest flicker of light beyond; and I saw that the dim light was a reflection from the wet flags of a courtyard.
My anxiety returned. I thought again of Hob, who’d lived in Midgard for so long he must surely have considered the possibility that an attack might one day be made upon his lair. He would therefore have a contingency plan; some countermeasure that Tyron and Konnit had not foreseen …
I remembered Peri saying that the djinn name for Midgard, the land within the Barrier, was Danur – the Place of the Beast. I had shouted at the barska and orla, telling them that I was the ‘Beast from Danur’. I had assumed that the djinn thought humans were that beast, perhaps because they had constructed and used the gramagandar.
But what if it was Hob who was th
e beast: a being so dangerous and formidable that the djinn had also imprisoned him? If so, his power might be such that we could not hope to win.
And what forms might be taken by his other selves? They would not all necessarily look human.
There was just a few minutes’ delay while we took up our positions. Tyron knew the layout of this section of Hob’s lair; the intention was that five of us should go in through the courtyard and, without aid of torches, throw open one of the wide double doors to allow entry to the remainder of our force. The courtyard entrance was very narrow and, trapped within that bottleneck, we’d be unable to bring our full military strength to bear.
Without further delay, we passed through the portal and across the courtyard. Tyron was in the lead, I was directly behind him, with three Genthai warriors forming a tight knot to our rear – three archers armed with the short bow, which was deadly at medium range.
We crossed the courtyard and headed into a tunnel in single file. I felt a sense of claustrophobia and was glad to emerge into a vast hall with colonnades to either side and a sense of dark space above – a space that, no doubt, hid the base of at least one of the spires.
It was just as I remembered it from my last visit with Tyron. The two colonnades reflected each other, and beyond those pillars, on either side, were disturbing areas of darkness. At the far end of the hall were the three steps leading up to the throne, which was mercifully unoccupied.
Tyron and I had found Hob here, sitting on that throne. Tyron had bought back the head of Kern and, appalled and angered at the sight of his living head being kept in a box, I had drawn my blades. Tyron had guided them back into their sheaths, and then knelt before Hob, banging his head on the floor as he pleaded for my life.
There were no rustlings or whisperings this time; no sense of being watched. Just the echoes of our boots as we stepped cautiously onto the tiled marble floor.
Tyron betrayed no fear as he led the way forward, following the outer wall in a clockwise direction. He walked purposefully, with the confidence of a man who knew exactly where he was going and what he intended to do.
He had argued that Hob would never expect anyone to just walk boldly into his lair and throw open the main door. The audacity of the move should take the djinni by surprise. So far Tyron had been proved right. Already we’d reached the huge bronze door, but then, as Tyron reached up to draw back the first long heavy bolt, the hall suddenly began to grow darker, and instinctively I looked back at the throne and, even in the fading light, saw that it was now occupied. The dark-clad figure seated there looked like Hob as he’d appeared on my first visit.
It was Hob.
I looked back at the large hairless head with its hooked nose, which resembled the beak of a predatory eagle. The whites of his eyes were very large, the iris small and dark. I avoided his gaze. When I’d fought him in the arena he’d turned a fearsome glare upon me so that my legs had felt weak and I became temporarily in thrall to him.
I felt a spike of fear rise through my chest and into my throat. Tyron must have felt the same, for his hands had frozen on the heavy bolt; he was simply gazing back at the throne. But then, with a groan compounded of fear and frustration, he turned back to the door and drew back the first bolt with a great clang of steel upon bronze.
In response, Hob hissed like a reptile and came to his feet. He descended the three steps from the throne, and slowly began to approach the door, his eyes glowing brighter with each step. Tyron struggled with the second bolt like a man drowning, groaning as if in torment.
I turned towards the three Genthai, thinking to put their marksmanship to use. ‘Fire!’ I cried, pointing towards Hob.
But their hands were rigid upon their bows and their eyes were wide with terror. And suddenly I too felt hopelessly weak in the presence of the djinni. I remembered how Shalatan had pointed her finger at me, rendering me instantly unconscious. This was a different type of power, but one that was equally difficult to resist. It was nothing to do with courage; it was simply impossible to counter the force. The power of movement slowly began to desert me, and I lacked even the will to draw my sword or lift my shield. My knees began to buckle beneath me.
Other dark figures were now moving out of the shadows towards us: Hob’s dark, cowled servants, whispering in harmony as they assembled behind their dread master. There were perhaps fifteen or twenty of these tassels, and they carried cruel curved blades that gleamed in that low light.
But then, with a terrible cry, Tyron threw back the second bolt and fell to his knees, struggling desperately with the third and final one, which was set close to the floor. This bolt was the longest and heaviest of all, running right across the great double doors.
I saw that Tyron lacked the strength to draw it back alone. I gritted my teeth and took a step towards him. But one step was all I could manage; I couldn’t move again.
Now Hob was moving directly towards Tyron. The nearest of the tassels was almost upon me, raising its hooked blade to cut my throat.
Just when it seemed that we had failed and would die here, with an agonized groan, Tyron managed to draw back the third bolt, and immediately the doors began to open as if pushed by an invisible, giant hand. He rolled clear, and a shaft of moonlight was cast down between the doors like a great spear. And now it was the turn of Hob and his servants to halt; they stood immobile, as if rooted to the floor.
And suddenly a horse and rider straddled the threshold, bathed in moonlight. The horse reared up, its nostrils flaring, and steam formed a cloud about its head like dragon’s breath. And above and beyond the rider, like a partial halo, I could see the sharp curve of the crescent moon; the phase known to the Genthai as the Wolf Moon.
At this apparition, Hob raised his hand to form a fist, which he pointed towards the door; a wave of terror seemed to radiate towards us, causing my knees to yield, and I fell forward. The horse reared up again and whinnied, but the rider controlled it and its hooves came down with a crash, throwing up sparks from the mosaic floor.
I looked up at the rider, and recognized the heavy moustache of the Genthai warrior – and the resolve in his eyes. Who else could it be but Konnit! He was always at the forefront of Genthai attacks: he had been first through the gate during the battle for the Protector’s palace. But could he withstand Hob’s terrible power?
Konnit urged his mount onwards. In his left hand he carried a torch that flickered against the colonnades and filled the hall with yellow light; in his right he raised his bright sword.
Horse and rider surged forward as one and, with one blow, Konnit struck hard and true at Hob’s neck, severing the head. So powerful was the blow that the head went sailing through the air and landed amongst the pillars, to be lost in the deeper darkness there.
Three other mounted warriors – Donat, Kalasar and Tundar – now rode into the hall; and each, like Konnit, carried a torch and a sword. All four Genthai now attacked Hob’s servants; servants who fled before them, their spirits broken. But they ran in vain, for they were pursued even amongst the pillars, the torches casting grotesque shadows as they screamed and died. And the Genthai archers beside me tried to take aim with their bows, but could find no certain target, so fast and furious was the slaughter.
Within minutes, no visible enemy still breathed within that hall, and the bodies of the fallen either lay inert or twitched in the agonies of death.
Then the remainder of our force entered the hall. First came Thrym, dressed for combat in Arena 13. He wore the same armour as us humans, hiding his throat-slit so that he looked like a warrior. His face looked grim but noble, and his glittering eyes were stern. The lacs behind him had great double-bladed battle-axes strapped to their shoulders and, slung between them on poles, carried a heavy cylindrical leather case. To these four had been trusted the gramagandar – the weapon upon which our victory would depend.
They set their load down on the tiles and stepped forward. Two of them tugged the axes from their shoulders, and there and
then began to dismember Hob’s carcass.
Tyron came to his feet slowly, releasing his breath with a great sigh; he reached out a hand and pulled me to my feet.
‘Well, Leif, it was a close-run thing. Closer than I expected. For a moment there I thought we’d lost at the first throw …’
I just nodded. I felt drained of all strength and couldn’t speak. Tyron walked across towards the pillars on the left. He returned holding aloft Hob’s bloody head. This he cast down onto the floor close to the mutilated body, and made a sign.
One of the lacs brought the axe down twice, cutting the head into four pieces. Tyron watched closely while this was done, then came back to join me.
‘We do this for a purpose – not in malice,’ he said. ‘A djinni has great powers of regeneration. Each self must be dismembered and scattered as widely as possible. Burning is best, but we don’t have time for that now.’
He made a gesture, and the pieces were taken outside to be scattered widely on the hillside. At the same time the four warriors returned their mounts to the keeping of those guarding the wagons. It was time to descend into the labyrinths beneath Hob’s citadel; horses would be of no use there.
‘Well,’ said Tyron. ‘First blood to us, but that was just one of Hob’s selves. Now, as we begin our descent, we face an even greater danger.’
Thrym led the way, with Konnit at his shoulder and Tyron and me following close behind. Immediately to our rear, Kalasar, Tundar and Donat led the other Genthai warriors. Then came the lacs with their burden. We passed beyond the throne, down three steps from the dais, through an ornate bronze archway and into a circular chamber with a floor of polished white marble. From this chamber radiated five dark, narrow passages.
We followed Thrym into the central tunnel. At first it descended steeply, but soon levelled out. The going was firm, but there was a thin covering of dust; dust that rose in clouds about us as we walked. The walls radiated a soft yellow light, so we had no need for torches.