They snapped and savaged, and they killed many, but within heartbeats Carlon’s streets had been overrun with millions upon millions of rodents, and even as magical as they were, fifteen Alaunt could do little.
The cats had as little success. They had leapt immediately to the fray, but they were only a dozen, and smaller than the Alaunt, and while they feasted well, they cleared no more than one street corner.
Meanwhile the rats and voles, earthworms grown fat on the rotting land, mice and black millipedes, even the rabbits, hares and foxes that followed in a second wave of destruction, all listened to one voice, and all had one target.
The small male two-legs.
And after they’d all been chewed and nibbled, the small female two-legs would become the next target, and after them the breeders of the small two-legs, the big two-legs, and then maybe, just maybe, the world would be a safer place.
And so, in an attack that left every soldier and guard stunned and confused, the invading rodents targeted every child within the city. Not only did children tend to be in places relatively unprotected by the army and militia—attics, cupboards, pantries, anywhere their parents thought they’d be out of the way—if a soldier or guard was there to protect them, then they found that scrambling, tiny-bodied rodents, tens of thousands of scrambling, tiny rodents, were virtually impossible to smite and kill with cumbersome pikes, swords or arrows. A man might kill several, maybe a dozen, but then he’d be dead himself, covered in rats or mice, his throat choking with a thousand millipedes.
It made the older among them yearn for the relative certainty of a large-bodied Skraeling.
The youngster who’d impressed Herme with his plan to empty barrels of oil down city streets was among the first to die. The children—and adults, for that matter—had planned as best they could for an invasion of the animals, but nothing had prepared them for this tiny-bodied flood.
The boys, the small male two-legs, died horribly. None of them was granted a quick death. While a score of rats would attack a face, keeping hands occupied, thirty or forty mice would chew into a belly, diving through entrails and tunnelling up through diaphragms and lung cavities until the boy began to cough mice and whatever millipedes and centipedes that had scrambled in after the initial invasion.
Then, if circumstances permitted it, the rats and sundry rodents would leap off the dying two-leg’s body and sit in a fascinated circle about him, listening to his frenzied screeches and wails, watching his agonised convulsions, their whiskers twitching in anticipation as the blood ran in bright rivulets towards them.
There was little that Herme, or any other captain, lieutenant or even general horse waterer could do, save shout orders for people to climb as high as they could and block exits to floors below.
The streets are awash! To the attic, to the attic!
And when families and army units ran for the attics, and thought of some means whereby to block the grey writhing mass on the stairs behind them, not a few instinctively grabbed at lamps and candles, and threw them down to erect a moat of flame between themselves and the rodents.
But it was not only the rodents that went up in flames.
Within a quarter hour of the initial attack, Carlon was on fire.
Beyond the walls the bestial army howled and shrieked, scrabbling at the gates in the hope that soon guards would be dead and bolts chewed through.
Beyond both walls and demonic force, and totally unnoticed by any, the waters of Grail Lake began to quiver…almost as if something within their depths was moving.
Upwards.
64
The Doorways
“We have lingered here far too long,” Drago said again, and the others looked at each other, wondering at the fear in his voice.
“What is wrong?” Zared said.
“Carlon is under attack,” Drago said. “Desperate attack.”
“Then what are we doing here?” Zared said, waving an arm at the gently waving flowers. “Get us back to the Ranges, and then to—”
“No,” Drago said. “We cannot go back to the grassy flat. It is the mid-morning hour of Tempest, and you and Theod would lose your minds the instant we transferred back there.”
He opened and closed his hand about the staff, and the next instant sketched a symbol in the air. Again, without being asked, the feathered lizard poked his head out of the flowers, then raised a claw and retraced the symbol in light.
This was pure white light, and the symbol was the least complex Faraday had yet seen Drago draw.
It was a simple rectangle of light, slightly taller than the height of a man, and half as wide.
Through the rectangle she could see the dizzying balconies and stairwells of Spiredore.
“A fortunately uncomplicated enchantment,” Drago said, and Faraday looked at him sharply, hearing for the first time the weariness in his voice. She remembered how Axis, as all Enchanters, had sometimes pushed themselves close to death by wielding enchantments that required them to manipulate a frightening amount of the Star Dance.
“Are you all right?” Leagh asked, moving close to Drago and taking his arm.
Faraday watched Leagh and wished she’d thought to ask first.
Drago nodded. “Quick. Through the door. Theod, say goodbye to your sons. They cannot follow for the moment.”
For the moment? Faraday locked eyes with Leagh, but she shrugged slightly, and no-one else seemed to take any note of Drago’s words. Theod bent close to his sons, kissed each one on the cheek, then stood back as they drifted off through the flowers.
“Thank you,” he said to Drago.
“Time enough for thanks later,” Drago said. “Through the doorway. Now!”
They walked through, a not unpleasant buzz passing through their bodies as they did so, and on the other side grouped on a balcony within Spiredore. Once the lizard had ambled through after them, Drago turned to the rectangle of light, the field of flowers clearly visible, and literally folded the rectangle up into a tiny box of light which he slipped into a pocket.
Curious, Faraday was about to ask what he was doing when he turned to her.
“Faraday, take Katie and DareWing back to Sanctuary—”
“I come with you!” DareWing said, then bent double coughing.
“—and hand DareWing to one of the Icarii Healers,” Drago said. “Tell StarDrifter to expect the people of Carlon to start arriving—and tell him to expect that many of them may be injured. Burned. Then get WingRidge, as many of the Lake Guard as are present, and bring them back to me. Fast!”
“How will I find you?” Faraday asked, her eyes and voice steady.
“The bridge leading to Sanctuary can reconnect you with Spiredore, and ask Spiredore to bring you to me.”
Faraday nodded. “Katie, DareWing…come.” She held out her hands, and Katie took one.
DareWing looked at the other, then looked silently back to Drago.
“I need you well,” Drago said softly. “Now…go!”
DareWing continued to stare at Drago for an instant longer, then he jerked his head in assent, and turned to Faraday.
“I can walk,” he said, ignoring her hand.
“Spiredore, I ask that you take myself, Katie and DareWing FullHeart to Sanctuary,” Faraday said softly, and walked down the stairs before her, DareWing following, leaning heavily on the balustrade.
Drago watched them disappear, then looked at Goldman and Gwendylyr. “I will need your help, as yours, Leagh. Are you strong enough?”
“Yes,” Gwendylyr and Goldman said together, and Leagh just nodded.
“But—” Zared said.
“Zared,” Drago said. “Swords and fighting skills are not going to save Carlon, not now. These three can. Will you deny me their company?”
Zared shot one desperate look at Leagh—how could he put her straight back into danger after having almost lost her?—then made a helpless gesture. “What can I do?”
“Both you and Theod can join us,” Drago said, “for your wi
ves will need your support. Spiredore, take us to…to Herme, Earl of Avonsdale.”
StarDrifter, standing in the meadowlands that lay between the bridge and the valley entrance to Sanctuary, could hardly believe what he was seeing. Faraday and the girl? The Strike Leader? Wearing that…that tunic? And he looked ill. “Faraday? DareWing…what are you doing wearing that—”
“StarDrifter, we have no time for pleasantries. Here, take Katie’s hand and look after her well. Is WingRidge close by?”
StarDrifter tore his eyes away from DareWing, taking Katie’s hand. “He’s still at the top of the stairwell. Some of the Avar Clans are coming in. Some…Isfrael has made no effort to order the lot in.”
“Get DareWing to a Healer. I have to—”
“Faraday, whatever is wrong can wait just one more moment.”
“No, it can’t, StarDrifter. Carlon is under attack, and Drago needs me back there. Very soon there are going to be tens of thousands of Acharites coming over that bridge, and they are going to be frightened and many injured. You are going to need help here to get them into Sanctuary.”
“Yes, but, dammit, listen to me Faraday. The Demons have come and gone from Fernbrake. And—”
“Why tell me this?” Faraday almost shouted, desperate to get WingRidge and the Lake Guard and get back to Drago. “We always knew that they would go to Fernbrake! I do not need to hear the details of what desecration they committed there. I just don’t want to hear it!”
StarDrifter, angry himself now, seized her arm. “Yes, you do need to hear it! They have seized WolfStar, and the damned undead Niah thing he had with him. Whatever else, you cursed impatient woman, Drago needs to know that!”
And the details of exactly what desecration had been committed in that dead rose garden, StarDrifter certainly knew Faraday did not need to hear.
She stared at him. “Very well. I will tell Drago. Now, will you let go my arm and take DareWing’s? He needs your support and help far more than I!”
“Faraday…be careful.”
“I will, StarDrifter.” Impulsively she leaned forward and briefly kissed him. “Take care.”
She hugged Katie, and then she was gone.
Spiredore sent Drago and his companions into a living nightmare that must have sprung straight from the firepits of the AfterLife.
They walked into a room thick with smoke and heat.
Drago took one breath and choked. He pulled a section of his cloak over his mouth and blinked away the stinging tears in his eyes. “Herme? Herme?”
“Who…?” There came the sound of coughing, and then Herme materialised out of the smoke. His face was smudged and lined with sweat. His scabbard was empty, but his hands were swordless. “Drago? Is that you?”
“Yes. What is happening?”
Herme opened his mouth, waved a hand helplessly, and had to obviously battle tears before he found the strength to speak. “Rodents swarmed from the sewers. Gods, millions of them. They attacked nothing but children, for the gods’ sakes! Our weapons were useless against them. Too many. Too small. People fled to attics and high rooms, and some set fire to their stairwells to prevent the rodents following…soon…soon…”
“Where are we?”
“Where?” Herme looked puzzled, then his face cleared as he realised no-one could see where they were. “We’re in the guard room of the palace. Your palace, sire,” Herme added, belatedly catching sight of Zared and the others. “Gwendylyr, is that you? And Goldman?”
They nodded, but did not speak as Drago carried on. “How bad are the fires?”
Herme smiled darkly. “Bad. The palace, and the two or three streets surrounding it, has not yet caught afire. This heat and smoke is from the rest of the city.”
“And the people?”
“Burning.”
Drago stared at him, then he spun on his heel, stared into the dense smoke, and gave a piercing whistle.
He waited.
Herme shifted from foot to foot, looked at Zared, who, while he was tense, just indicated Drago with his head and gave a small reassuring nod. He had his arm about Leagh, making sure she kept the hood of her cloak tight about her face to block out as much smoke as possible.
There was a sharp bark in the distance, then another much closer, and the next instant ivory shapes materialised out of the smoke. Sicarius rushed forward and greeted Drago ecstatically, his paws on the man’s shoulders, licking his face.
Drago quickly pushed him down, but he had to restrain a grin.
As the hounds milled about, one of the cats appeared, two mice hanging lifeless from its mouth. Another cat loomed from the haze, and then soon the room was milling with Alaunt and cats, pushing through and rubbing up against legs indiscriminately in their joy at seeing Drago back.
Drago started to say something, then choked on the thick smoke. “Enough!” he muttered, and reached into his pocket, withdrawing the small box of light.
While the others watched, Herme in utter amazement, Drago stretched it out into its full size again.
“Spiredore!” he shouted, “take this smoke and smother the damn Demons with it!”
Leagh stared at him. “Drago…are you sure? They will know that—”
“They will know anyway,” he said. “And I might as well make the knowing uncomfortable for them.”
And pray to every god in creation, he thought, that they do not know the who behind the doing!
Within moments the room cleared of smoke, save for a thick tendril that the enchanted doorway pulled from a nearby window into its depths.
Herme gave a final cough, and wiped the tears from his eyes. Behind him, Gustus and Gwain, silent and unnoticed until now, stared in amazement at Drago.
“Do you have a map of the city handy?” Drago asked.
The TimeKeeper Demons were running their mounts at full speed across the northern Plains of Tare. WolfStar was tied across the back of Rox’s former mount, his hands and ankles tied under its belly, his face dragging through the thick dust kicked up by passage of the black beasts. The Qeteb-man sat his own mount easily, the Niah-woman before him. His thick hands held on to her, running automatically up and down her body, kneading her soft flesh as they went.
The smoke enveloped them without warning.
WolfStar did not immediately know what had gone wrong, for the presence of the smoke made relatively little impact on his own problems breathing through the thick dust, but he jerked as his mount faltered, and the Demons and StarLaughter cried out.
The Demons’ cries were unintelligible, animalistic shrieks of rage and frustration, and soon the black mounts were milling about in confusion.
Magic!
Enchantment!
Carlon!
Magicians! Magicians!
“What?” WolfStar heard StarLaughter cry out. “What is happening?”
There was a continuation of the enraged shrieks for a moment, then Mot roared an answer.
“It is the StarSon! He thinks to frustrate us! Fool!”
WolfStar, even consumed with his own struggle to find air to breathe, nevertheless managed a triumphant—and relieved—grin to himself. He has frustrated you, you imp! he thought.
But the next moment a tunnel of clear air appeared through the smoke, and the mounts began their run southwards again.
“To Carlon!” Sheol shrieked. “To Carlon!”
And Qeteb.
Faraday ran across the bridge, ignoring its polite greeting, and started up the stairs to the Overworld. Damn, how long was this going to take? It seemed that within minutes she was out of breath, her legs and chest screaming in pain, but she gritted her teeth, clung to the railing and literally hauled herself upwards. She had hours of this climb to look forward to.
What was happening in Carlon?
She paused, out of breath, and stood with her hands resting on her thighs, her head hanging down, heaving in as much air as she could. Finally, she took a great breath, shook the hair out of her eyes, and started back on t
he long climb.
“Damn you,” she whispered, and hit the railing in frustration. “I need to get to the top!”
And the next instant a breath of cold air ruffled her robe, and a shaft of weak sunlight bathed her face.
She blinked, utterly astonished. How had she done that?
But there was no time for further thought, for here was WingRidge walking across the grass towards her.
“My Lady Faraday?” he said. “What do you here?”
“Come to fetch you,” Faraday said. She looked about, paling a little as she saw what had become of Fernbrake Lake, then noted that only a few Icarii were moving down the path towards the stairwell.
“The Icarii have evacuated?” she asked.
WingRidge nodded.
“And the Avar?”
“Isfrael claims he can protect them better.”
Faraday’s patience snapped and the words were out before she even thought. “Has he muddled his mind fucking deer arse? What does he think to do against the cursed Demons?”
WingRidge stared, speechless. His perception of Faraday had just been stood on its head.
“Qeteb is only a soul away from seizing their minds forever,” Faraday said, still furiously angry. “And Isfrael just says he can protect them better? Ah!”
She made a curt gesture of utter impatience and frustration, and WingRidge thought it prudent to steer the conversation back to her original statement. “You said you had come to fetch me?”
Faraday took a deep breath and calmed herself. Isfrael would have to wait…but what would that wait cost the Avar?
“Drago needs you,” she said. “In Carlon. Now. With as many of the Lake Guard as you can muster.”
“I have only a few score with me here,” WingRidge said. “The rest are…are at the Maze Gate.”
“What are they doing there?” Faraday asked.
“Attending to its needs,” WingRidge said, ignoring Faraday’s exasperated look. “What are we waiting for? How do we get to Carlon?”
“First,” Faraday said, “we have to get down those stairs again.”
The floor of the room vibrated gently, and Drago strode over to the window as Gustus rummaged about in a drawer for a map.