When the Heavens Fall (19 page)

Luker rose. “Heal her,” he cut in, gesturing at Jenna as he strode from the room. “If she dies, so do you.”

 

C
HAPTER
6

T
HE DARK
of the night was almost total, the moon and stars hidden behind a veil of cloud. Romany raised her hood against the drizzle that misted the air. Earlier she had spent two bells combing the city for a building with its roof intact before settling for the remains of a house that was sheltered by the drooping branches of a wolsatta tree. With nowhere to sit, she was forced to clear rubble from the ground—her! A high priestess! Then, sitting cross-legged on the newly exposed tiled floor, she had found it impossible to get comfortable. Her back ached abysmally, and every few moments some unseen piece of debris would clamor for attention beneath her posterior.

Her stomach grumbled. The Spider had warned her there would be no food or drink in this place, even suggesting she should be grateful for the chance to shed some of the excess weight she was carrying! True, the goddess's sorcery meant Romany would not need provisions during her time here, but didn't the Spider understand there was more to eating and drinking than mere sustenance? The priestess's mind wandered. Sweetmeats from Balshazar, a glass of chilled Koronos white wine … Then again, even if such delicacies had been available, the prospect of having to serve herself was too offensive to contemplate. No servants! What other unpleasant truths had the Spider kept from her?

More than enough time had now passed for greed to weave its spell on Mayot, but Romany was minded to let him fret a little longer before returning to the dome. Let him think she had flown, and with her any chance of him gaining mastery of the Book. The more anxious he became, the more likely he would be to seize a second chance when it was offered. Such an odious man! A part of Romany hoped he declined her assistance, for he would soon come to rue his stubbornness when he stood alone against Shroud's disciples. Of course, even if Mayot accepted her aid, the Book's power would serve only to delay the inevitable, for against the Lord of the Dead there could be no victory. Romany gave a contented sigh.
A downward spiral to oblivion.
All she had to do was ensure Mayot took the first step on that precipitous road. Ultimately her victory over Shroud in this game would be no less a victory over Mayot himself.

The priestess put such thoughts aside for now. She had begun the task of weaving a web of sorcerous threads across Estapharriol and the forest beyond. It was proving to be a frustrating exercise, for the tendrils of death-magic emanating from the Book warped whichever parts of her web they touched. To the north she had observed scores of Kinevar settlements, some abandoned, others being evacuated. The Book's death-magic had infiltrated the creatures' sacred glades, blighting the trees and poisoning the river. Romany stroked her chin. Strange that they had chosen to flee instead of striking at Mayot, but then no doubt the Kinevar were too witless to determine the cause of their plight.

A handful of leagues to the south and east of Estapharriol, the forest was thronged with spirits—all that remained of the people who had once inhabited Estapharriol and the settlements round it.
The Vamilians.
Dead for millennia, yet seemingly cursed to wander the land for eternity. They must have been able to detect her ethereal presence, for their hollow gazes followed her as she passed among them on the threads of her web.

And in the midst of the spirits, cutting through the forest in a gentle arc …
The White Road.
Clear of leaves and roots, it glowed white even when the moon was hidden behind clouds. There was magic here, Romany sensed, buried deep beneath the ground as if the road had been constructed along some ancient axis of power. The sorcery had a primeval flavor to it, unquestionably older than the Vamilian civilization, perhaps even than the Forest of Sighs itself. Whatever its origin, the spirits must have been drawn to it—why else did they not dwell in the cities where they had once lived?—and yet it appeared none of them were able to set foot on the road itself.
Intriguing.
She would have to remember to ask the Spider about it when they next spoke.

Not that I'll get an answer.

From the north and west came a twitch along the priestess's web. Not so much a twitch, in fact, as a tremor. Frowning, she followed the threads to the source of the disturbance.

And stiffened. A rider beset on all sides by a howling tangle of spirits. The stranger's horse was black as Shroud's soul, and its hooves were shod in a metal that burned with white fire. Eyes rolling, it snapped its teeth at the Vamilians all about. When it reared, its flashing hooves cut a swath of destruction through the spirits in front of it.

Its rider was covered from head to foot in the most battered suit of armor Romany had ever seen. He—for it was surely a man—wore a plumed helmet with a horizontal slit for the eyes. Through it the priestess saw crackling blue light, as if a lightning storm raged behind the faceplate. The same infernal glow played across the man's sword, and where the weapon fell the spirits seemed to dissipate. The spectral forms were throwing themselves not at the man but at his blade, Romany realized.
They seek oblivion.
A fate that the rider appeared only too happy to dispense. The priestess could feel him drawing on the tendrils of death-magic in the air to fuel his slaughter. She pursed her lips. Only one of Shroud's minions would have the power to deliver such finality to the dead.

Retreating from the apparition, she fled back to her body along the strands of her web and opened her eyes. The knight was only a few leagues from Estapharriol, and the spirits would not detain him for long. Maybe his coming was a blessing, she told herself, for Mayot would surely have to see sense now and accept her offer of assistance. And yet even if she were to unlock the secrets of the Book, would the old man be able to harness its sorcery before the knight arrived?

So little time!

Romany clambered upright and set off for the dome.

It took her half a bell to retrace her steps to Mayot's lair, stumbling and cursing in the gloom. Inside, the building was silent but for the susurrant whisper of waves, softer now that the wind had dropped. Nothing stirred on the dais. Had Mayot fled? No, as her eyes grew accustomed to the blackness she saw the mage's outline on his throne. She'd half expected to find him pacing up and down, anxiously awaiting her return, but instead he just sat there, still as a corpse. Halting at the foot of the steps to the dais, she called out, “I have come for your decision, my Lord. It is time.”

“Your time perhaps, woman,” Mayot said. “Not mine.”

The priestess ground her teeth together.
If he calls me “woman” one more time …
“A servant of Shroud is coming. Surely you have sensed his approach.”

“And you assume I need the power of the Book to defeat him? You forget, I am a necromancer. The death of the forest releases energy I can draw on. I am in my element here.”

“As is your adversary.”

“Then, if it is a confrontation he seeks, we should be well matched.”

Romany shook her head in disbelief. Was the old man really such a fool? She could not make out his expression in the gloom, but his voice revealed no quaver of fear.
He truly thinks he can win.
“And if you are victorious?” she said. “What of the next disciple Shroud sends, and the next, and the next?”

“What of them?”

Along the strands of her web, the priestess could sense the knight nearing the outskirts of the city. There was no time to play out the rest of this game as she would have liked. She would have to try a different tack. “Enough of this,” she said to Mayot, her tone hardening. “Even if you
are
capable of single-handedly defeating Shroud's army of servants, this is your last chance to accept my offer of aid. Or had you forgotten the Book of Lost Souls? Decline now, and I walk away. The Book's secrets will forever remain out of your reach.”

“Indeed? It occurs to me, woman, that you need my help in this as much as I need yours. If I refuse you, whatever scheme you have dreamt up will fail.”

Romany was grateful for the darkness that covered her frown. “The difference is in the stakes we have wagered.
My
life does not hang in the balance.”

“It also occurs to me,” Mayot continued as if he had not heard her, “that I stand to lose whichever course I choose. If I destroy this disciple, I make the Lord of the Dead my enemy.”

“Then give up the Book, old man,” Romany said, her voice dripping scorn. “Grovel at the feet of Shroud's servant, if you must. Just stop wasting my time.”

The mage did not respond.

The priestess spun on her heel and headed for the exit.

Mayot's voice drew her up as she reached the mouth of the passage leading out. “Wait. What price your help if I accept it?”

“We have no time—”

“What price, damn you!”

Romany bridled at his tone. “No price, my Lord. As I have already said, my aid is freely given.”

“There is always a price.”

The priestess kept her silence. Mayot's last comment had been spoken so softly she suspected it was not meant for her ears. She held her breath, sensing the old man's decision wavered on a knife edge. A wrong word from her now and the game would be over before it even started. Imagine the indignity.

As she waited, she shifted her attention to the threads of her web. Shroud's knight had entered the city and was riding along one of its main thoroughfares. The strands of death-magic would serve as a beacon, guiding him to the dome. He was but heartbeats away from taking Mayot's decision out of the old man's hands.

“Very well,” the mage said at last. “I will lower the wards round the dais. But I warn you, woman, any hint of trickery and I will kill you.”

Romany released her breath. “A wise choice, my Lord.” There was no time to savor her triumph. With the knight closing in, the moment had come for the Spider to take up the baton.

She sent a thought inward.
My Lady.

Nothing.

Were those hoofbeats she could hear outside the dome?

My Lady,
she tried again.

Still no answer.

Romany muttered a most unladylike obscenity. Her mind worked furiously. Had the Spider already grown bored of this game and moved on to another? Or had Shroud found out about the goddess's involvement and taken steps to deny her interference? The Spider would not think twice about abandoning Romany to her fate …

Suddenly the goddess was in her mind, a vast suffocating presence. The pain was excruciating, like Romany's worst migraine multiplied tenfold, and she raised her hands to her temples. Lights flashed before her eyes, and she felt consciousness slipping away.

The Spider's mental nudge was like a slap in the face. Abruptly the pain eased, and the goddess's voice filled her head. “You took your time.”

I could say the same of you.
For once, though, Romany could not muster the will to retort. The Spider had entered her mind before, of course, but never so intimately. The goddess masked her thoughts with wards of steel, yet Romany could still detect whispers of her emotions: determination, assurance, but also … anticipation. It occurred to her then that she should be shielding her thoughts in the same way the Spider did. She sensed the goddess's amusement at the idea.

“What secrrrets does a high priestess need to keep from her patron?”

“If I told you that, they would no longer be secrets.”

The Spider's attention had already moved on, though. She stretched out her senses toward the Book of Lost Souls, and Romany watched with grudging admiration as the goddess set to work, peeling away layer upon layer of the Book's wards. Whoever had last owned the thing had spared no effort in safeguarding its secrets, for the Book was protected by traps within traps, each deadlier and more devious than the last. As one was disarmed, another would be triggered; one neutralized, another activated. And so it went on. Feints and illusions, strikes and counterstrikes, like two blade masters dueling. Indeed, the Spider showed a deftness of mind that, Romany had to acknowledge, almost matched her own.

As each set of defenses fell away, the magic of the Book grew stronger. The priestess's migraine returned, a throb of pain accompanying each new ward undone. The power that remained locked within the Book was now pushing against the shields that held it back. An idea occurred to Romany. Dare she risk breaking the goddess's concentration?

No choice.

“Perhaps you should hold something back, my Lady. We may need it to bargain with later.”

“Yes, thank you, High Priestess,” the Spider said. “The thought had already occurred to me. There are some secrets here that I will not deliver into Mayot's hands, however pressing the need. Shroud may be my enemy, but at least he has learned the rrresponsibilities of power.”

A dozen heartbeats later, the goddess disengaged herself from the Book's defensive onslaught. Then, without so much as a word of farewell, she was gone, withdrawing with a wrench that left Romany's mind reeling. The priestess waited for the inside of the dome to stop spinning.

All in all, it had not been a good day.

It stood to get much worse, though, if Shroud's disciple were to find her here. She sensed another vibration along the threads of her web. The knight was but a street away. Romany took one final glance at Mayot. The mage had reestablished his wards about the dais and was now clutching the Book to his chest, mumbling something over and over in the darkness as if he had been robbed of his wits. Not an encouraging sign, admittedly, but Romany had done all she could for the old man now. He would have to face Shroud's knight alone.