Master of restless shado.., p.65
Master of Restless Shadows Book Two, page 65
part #2 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
The two of them stood in one of the gutters running along the stone floor of a huge tunnel passage—the thoroughfare leading to the Shard of Heaven.
Despite the early hour, dozens of wagons, carts and barrows loaded with goods already filled the passage. But what should have been a bustling scene was deathly still and silent. Everything alive had already succumbed to the Shroud of Stone. Merchants, priests, horses and chattel. A goose girl stretched midyawn, surrounded by her eerily silent flock. At the back of a wine cart an elderly priest clutched a bottle, caught in the midst of hiding it in the folds of his loose cassock. Everything alive, from potted plants to horseflies and human beings, had turned to stone. Yet cut flowers and sides of meat remained unchanged.
Atreau stepped out of the gutter and frowned at a piece of stone near his boot. Then he recognized the lower half of a child’s gleeful face. The Shroud of Stone must have taken the spindly boy in the midst of jumping from a wagon. His marble body had shattered on impact with the flagstones. Pieces of him lay scattered at their feet.
“What is—” Narsi frowned at the remains but then cut himself off midquestion. He crouched down and gently touched the boy’s cracked head.
“May your next life be filled with joy,” Narsi whispered over the boy’s remains. His graceful hands traced the Cadeleonian holy sign of peace and then the Haldiim one. Then he straightened. Atreau stood next to him, both of them absorbed in quiet thoughts. Thin white vapors drifted over their heads.
At last Atreau sighed. He opened his mouth to remind Narsi that they had to keep going; there were countless other lives they could still save if they could destroy the Shroud of Stone.
But a noise silenced Atreau. Next to him, Narsi went very still.
Claws scraped over flagstones as a creature padded between the wagons and carts. A low growl set Atreau’s heart hammering.
He and Narsi both turned slowly to look behind them. A large gray mordwolf prowled through the lines of motionless carts. It stopped to sniff a side of smoked pork, then ripped a hunk from the carcass. The crack of bones snapping between its teeth sounded like cannon shots in the quiet passageway.
Another mordwolf paced past it like a restless watchdog. Then Atreau noticed another gray shape in the distance. And another. As he stared in growing horror, Atreau picked out more and more mordwolves steadily invading the passageway.
One of Cire’s rats scurried atop Atreau’s boot and tugged frantically at the leg of his trousers. Then it hopped down and hurried ahead. Atreau and Narsi followed after it. Their every footstep and movement seemed amplified by the deathly quiet of the petrified crowd, but they didn’t dare stop.
At last they cleared the congested tangle of wagons and merchants and reached the entrance to the Shard of Heaven itself. Gray flagstones and rust-red bricks gave way to a towering wall of gleaming blue stone. Gold seams suspended within the translucent blue stone reflected lamplight like the eye-shine of countless beasts. Stallions and eagles adorned the open gates. Beyond them a wide blue staircase led farther up into the Shard of Heaven. Atreau wasn’t certain, but he thought he glimpsed a narrow alcove at the edge of one of the steps. But it wasn’t what caused him to drop behind the cover of a flower cart.
Two priests waited at the bottom of the steps. The elderly one stood, while his boyishly young companion sat cross-legged on the ground, encircled by white chalk symbols. At the sight of two priests, Narsi froze in place. Their guide rat raced ahead, bounding up into the old priest’s outstretched hands. The priest patted the rat, but his movements were terribly slow. The boy sitting behind him continued to silently mouth prayers.
Were they Cire’s contacts? Clearly her rat knew them, but Atreau had arranged to be admitted to the Shard by a cook, not two chapel priests. Then Narsi raised his hands to the elderly priest, offering a holy greeting and a smile brimming with surprised delight.
The aged priest gazed at Narsi with the same expression of happy astonishment.
“Sacrist Amabilo,” Narsi whispered, stepping nearer to the man. “It’s really you?”
“Yes. And you’re Timoteo’s little acolyte . . . Narsi!”
“What are you doing here?” Narsi glanced to the youth, who continued to mouth prayers.
“We’re delivering the key to the crypt to you,” the elderly priest whispered. “The Shroud already overcame the good man who was meant to meet you. But Gachello sent us in his place. It’s with his blessing that we were able to hold out this long.” Sacrist Amabilo extended his right hand with agonizing slowness and opened his fingers to reveal the glossy black key lying against his pale palm.
Studying the priest more closely, Atreau realized that his bare feet were already encased in white marble and the tips of his fingers looked the same.
“The entry to the crypt is through the alcove on the left. There’s a gate at the end, and the heart of the Shroud lies beyond that.” The old priest forced the last words out as the marble crept up his body.
“Thank you.” Narsi took the key but then reached out to touch Sacrist Amabilo’s shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to ease your . . .”
The shroud of stone enveloped the priest before Narsi could finish asking. Sacrist Amabilo’s stone eyes gazed at Narsi with sad benevolence.
On the floor, the young priest lifted his pockmarked face with obvious difficulty. Vapor rose off the chalk symbols surrounding him, as if they were boiling away.
“Gachello is still here. The Shroud of Stone can not yet devour the souls it has trapped,” the young priest murmured. “But you must hurry. We can’t go on much longer.”
The last of the chalk burned away and the youth closed his eyes as the Shroud of Stone enveloped him.
Narsi glanced back in Atreau’s direction. Atreau began to rise to his feet.
Then a man bellowed out from behind them. “Atreau! You son of a whore! How did you get in here?”
Atreau looked back to see Captain Yago charging through the crush of wagons and marbleized peddlers. Behind him, several mordwolves pricked up their ears. Unlike the enthralled mordwolves, a shield of enchanted flesh didn’t protect Yago from the Shroud of Stone. So why, Atreau wondered, wasn’t the bastard a statue? Then he noticed the glint of a red bauble hanging from a chain around Yago’s neck and he realized that Clara must have created her own shields for her agents, just as Skellan had provided charmed necklaces for Narsi and himself.
Yago drew his sword as he closed in. There was no more time to think. Atreau freed his own blade and rushed Yago. Their blades clashed and Yago staggered back a step, taken off guard. But he recovered quickly, thrusting for Atreau’s heart. Atreau barely blocked the strike in time.
“Go!” Atreau shouted to Narsi. The mordwolves were already closing in on them. Narsi only had moments to get away before they sighted him. But Narsi didn’t flee up the stairs; instead he drew the short sword Atreau had given him earlier.
Atreau’s heart raced and his mind seemed to burst with an explosion of desperate thoughts. He didn’t have time to convince Narsi to abandon him. He didn’t have the skill to beat Captain Yago, much less slay a pack of mordwolves. But he absolutely had to keep Narsi from being killed.
On an impulse of inspired desperation, he feigned to his left, luring Yago close enough to land a blow. Yago struck fast and hard. Atreau only managed a partial parry, knocking Yago’s sword low but not far enough aside. A terrible force punched through Atreau’s thigh. At the same time, he reached out with his free hand and tore the red bauble from Captain Yago’s body.
Yago gasped and grabbed for the bauble as a shell of white marble surged up his body. Atreau hurled the red jewel aside and Yago staggered after it. But his stone legs couldn’t balance. He teetered and Atreau shoved him with all his strength.
Captain Yago fell with a resounding crash. The sharp corner of a gutter shattered his neck and left hand into pieces.
Atreau swayed on his feet. The burning heat of his own blood poured down his leg. He took a step and a sick, sharp pain shot through his thigh. Narsi gripped his shoulder.
“Let me see,” Narsi said.
Atreau very nearly crumpled to the ground—very nearly gave in to the pain and shock and allowed Narsi to kneel over him.
This was the vision he’d seen in the Sorrowlands playing out. Him bleeding in a gutter, Narsi desperately attempting to stanch the flow of blood. Then the mordwolves tore them both apart.
This was how they failed to destroy the Shroud of Stone last time. This was the moment when he’d been too hurt and too scared. He had allowed Narsi to die with him.
“The alcove,” Atreau ground out, and he stumbled ahead.
Narsi ran, half dragging him along. Behind them Atreau heard mordwolves’ fast, panting breaths and the scrape of claws against flagstones.
Together he and Narsi made it up the first steps and into the mouth of the alcove. A low, narrow tunnel, barely a shoulder’s width across, stretched back into the Shard of Heaven. The walls were all a luminous blue.
This would be the place to stop them.
Atreau braced himself in the opening of the alcove. Below him, two huge mordwolves reached the staircase.
“I have to stop the bleeding.” Narsi dug into his medical satchel with trembling hands.
“Destroy the Shroud of Stone. Then come back and save me.” Atreau lifted his own necklace over his head and braced his body across the opening of the alcove. His hand shook as he gripped the charm Skellan had given him in his hand.
“What are you—No! Atreau, no!” Narsi lunged to stop him, but Atreau had already released the charm.
He felt a constricting chill surge up his body. His chest grew too tight to draw breath, but the unyielding stone of his body held back the first rush of snarling mordwolves. They couldn’t reach Narsi. Relief washed through Atreau.
Then he felt nothing more.
Chapter Thirty-Six
As Fedeles charged across the Gado Bridge, he plunged from a world of lively summer noise into silent streets swathed in frigid white fog. Grand structures and human figures alike were obscured to pale gray impressions. The pounding of Firaj’s hooves resounded over the flagstones like war drums.
Fedeles shuddered as damp tendrils of mist brushed over his face and clung to the bare skin of his neck like grasping fingers. Firaj shivered and tossed his head. Skellan’s charm flared vivid red, burning the mist back from Fedeles. What little strength he still retained Fedeles poured into the scarlet shield, expanding it to cloak Firaj as well. A raw ache gnawed through his chest, but he continued protecting his horse.
Ariz flew just ahead of them. His gold wings sent walls of mist whirling aside, and Fedeles took in the frozen chaos of the street before him. In the open spaces of gardens and city fountains, the white mineralized bodies of countless bees, dragonflies, wasps and butterflies lay like fresh snowfall. Marble trees abounded with icy white flowers and fruit, while grass lawns looked like fields of frost.
On the roads and walkways the fleeing populace had been captured in jarring stone displays. Horses sprawled in a tangle with the traces of an overturned carriage. A man cowered in horror while another raised his sword. Fear and confusion showed on so many faces. But compassion and tenderness was captured all around him as well. Another powerful beat of Ariz’s wings revealed the marble figure of an old woman bent to hoist a puppy into her arms. A child clung to her back. Even in their last moments, people still sheltered each other. Imprisoned in stone, they still retained their humanity.
Fedeles shifted and Firaj responded at once. They bounded over all three figures, briefly soaring alongside Ariz. Fedeles smiled as the tip of Ariz’s wing brushed his shoulder. Then he and Firaj took the ground, galloping onward.
Despite the grim surroundings and the desperate situation, sparks of optimism kindled within Fedeles. Ariz was alive. He was free. And he was with him. No matter what they faced, they now took it on together. Fedeles’s misgivings about himself gave way before an assurance in the two of them. Their reunion had to be something more meaningful than mere chance. Fedeles had devoured flames and crossed through ancient portals; Ariz had defied death itself to meet him again. If any two souls shared a destiny, it had to be them.
Together they would provide the distraction Narsi and Atreau needed. They would stop Clara and save Marisol. He had to believe that.
They charged deeper into the mists, closing the distance to the Shard of Heaven. Near the ornate balustrades of the Dasma Bridge, the first mordwolf leapt forward to ambush them. Ariz swooped down, catching the creature by its neck. He hauled it into the air, then simply released the mordwolf to the mercy of the river far below. Through the mist, a second and then a third mordwolf appeared ahead of Fedeles. Faint shadows betrayed more of them lurking even farther along the bridge.
Had Clara seen through their ruse? She knew he wasn’t carrying the Horns of Yah-muur. Then he realized he was attributing far too much honor to Clara. Why would she risk him or Ariz getting near her if her mordwolves could kill them, then drag their carcasses and the relic they carried to her?
Once, Fedeles would have wasted minutes feeling revolted by such a cunning plot. Now he simply acknowledged Clara’s efficiency and concentrated on countering her attack.
What shreds of magical power remained in him he currently burned through, protecting Firaj from the Shroud of Stone. He couldn’t cast even a small spell over Clara’s mordwolves, much less kill them. But then, he didn’t truly want to kill them.
Instead he released his hold over the emptiness gnawing at his insides. All the heat and strength surging through the mordwolves drew that hunger. Fedeles felt the excited currents of spells bursting through the mordwolves like firecrackers. The intricate teal spells Clara used to enthrall these men sank too deep into their flesh and minds for Fedeles to devour without hurting them. But the superficial enchantments that cocooned them in animal flesh were loose and luscious wrappings. Sweet dumpling skins he could peel away.
Fedeles devoured the spells with ease.
All at once, bristling hides and powerful muscles stripped back from the charging mordwolves. Their extended limbs shrank and twisted. Stunned guardsmen tripped and tumbled to their knees. At once, the Shroud of Stone seized on their exposed bodies, engulfing them in marble.
Fedeles and Ariz advanced. More mordwolves attacked in packs as they pushed across the Dasma Bridge. Fedeles stripped transformation spells from those in front of them. Ariz circled, slashing and ripping apart those that lurked to ambush them from behind. Soon the few remaining faint shadows of mordwolves fled before them.
When they at last crossed the bridge, they were bathed in scarlet light. The wall of flames Skellan had raised over the river lit the grounds like a setting sun. Even the brilliant blue stone beneath them looked dark. The seams of gold buried far below glinted like distant flames.
As they proceeded toward the steps of the chapel, Fedeles noticed breaks in the white mist of the Shroud of Stone. They looked like long streamers of swirling clouds—like crossing into the eye of a storm. And yet the sight of marble priests and pigeons scattered all around the grounds warned him that the Shroud of Stone could still overcome them at any time. A tiny marble frog gaped at Fedeles from a stone reed, then a river breeze sent it tumbling into the water of the fountain below.
Fedeles paused at the foot of the chapel stairs. He patted Firaj’s neck, his heart aching.
If Fedeles asked it of him, Firaj would carry him into the chapel, even though it would be impossible for Firaj to avoid ambushes from among the maze of stone beasts inside. There were just too few open spaces to maneuver or retreat. Although Fedeles would feel safer riding Firaj, he knew that taking the warhorse inside would condemn him to a savage death. Fedeles could spare him that suffering, at least.
“We have to say goodbye now,” Fedeles whispered. He swung down from his saddle but kept a hand in contact with Firaj’s warm body. He stroked Firaj’s velvety nose. Firaj snuffled his face. Fedeles indulged himself for a moment, scratching the big warhorse’s jaw.
He didn’t want to let go.
At last he forced himself to withdraw his hand. The light of Skellan’s shield fell away from Firaj’s glossy black body. A ribbon of white mist immediately coiled around him. Firaj snorted once but remained steadfastly in place, watching Fedeles even after his eyes went white and sightless. Captured in stone, Firaj looked valiant, forever ready to carry Fedeles to safety.
Fedeles turned away before sorrow could overcome him.
Ariz landed on the step beside him. He straightened to his full height, returning to his natural body in a fluid motion. Gold feathers melted away to reveal his calm face and the sculpted muscles of his bare chest. His gray eyes struck Fedeles as very clear and bright, while the scars that had marred his chest, arms and back seemed faded. His hair appeared more auburn than brown in the scarlet light. That one wayward tuft still stuck up at the back of his head.
He touched Fedeles’s shoulder and Fedeles understood the unspoken sympathy in that brief, gentle contact.
“Thank you,” Fedeles said. He couldn’t restrain himself from reaching out and brushing his hand over Ariz’s hair, stroking that curl down. He didn’t know why, but it reassured him to feel the stiff hair flick back up as he drew his hand away.
Fedeles started up the chapel steps.
“I have your back,” Ariz said as he fell in behind him. Fedeles heard him draw his weapons, and suddenly the threat of everything ahead of them gripped Fedeles’s heart. He didn’t want Ariz to have to fight or bleed. Didn’t want him to suffer any more in his life. And yet this was what they were meant to do—what they had to do to protect this world and the people they cared for. At least they would do it together. Neither of them had to face their enemies alone.
