23 The Balance of Fate

MYRAL WATCHED AS her vampires boarded the ships. For over a week she had wandered the island of Rize, her mind a blur. Something had drawn her to the coast, a pull she couldn’t explain or resist, and the vampires had followed. Then from out of the depths of the ocean the sea-creatures had risen, and she had known what to do.

Of course, her children did nothing as mundane as walking up a gangplank. Instead, they leapt from the shore onto the decks of the creature-vessels.

She herself had no such abilities yet, so Lycus grabbed her around the waist and they leapt together. She giggled and then burst out in laughter as they landed on the slick deck, almost falling together, more her fault than his.

It was hard to explain, but her emotions were a melding of euphoric rage, wonder, and immense sadness as though she’d lost something. The vampires stared at her, or at least, those nearest did. Perhaps they’d never heard laughter before. It wasn’t a sound anyone would make in their presence she supposed. Well, they’d have to get used to it. She had a lot to teach her children.

She knelt and placed a hand to the deck, and felt the life of the creature pulse beneath her. It let out a long echoing groan, and she pulled her hand away. It sensed and feared her.

On impulse she let her mind wander until she could feel the creature’s mind and ... pulled back in horror, giving a little cry. The sea creature was terrified and in immense pain. It was being tortured.

She glanced about, hoping none of her children had noticed. Her children? Since when had she began calling them that? What is happening to me? What am I becoming? What am I doing here?

Lycus had halted close by and was watching her. On instinct, she closed off her mind to those thoughts. If there was one thing Myral Azarm had always been good at, it was surviving.

But a tiny part of her remembered who she was, tucked away and hidden from the minds of the vampires.

A huge tentacle detached itself from the side of the so-called ship, and the creature lurched away from shore and out into deeper water. Scores of others followed suit. This was just the latest wave in a dark armada spreading across the world.

Myral tried to keep a low profile on board, her vampires a contradiction of both security and threat. The ship’s crew were another matter. Each one was a monstrous confliction of beings, as though some insane deity on a drunken binge had decided to get creative, but had mixed up his creations’ various parts. They lumbered about the deck, but there were no duties for them to perform as on a real ship.

No, there was only the waiting as the creature beneath their feet and claws ploughed through the waves towards a war, of which Myral had begun to realise she was on the wrong side. How had that happened? Her memory was fuzzy, her mind filled with their voices. Thinking straight proved difficult.

She’d come through difficult situations before, but this time, for her at least, she didn’t think there would be any escape.

‡

As they crept through the ruins of Magog’s numerous smouldering and gutted buildings trying to flee, Threadfin couldn’t help feeling sorry for himself. It was something he was particularly good at. Normally, his old friend would have snapped him out of it.

Fortunately, there was enough mayhem and death surrounding him to keep his mind somewhat occupied. Twice they fought revenants; several of them had been Rephaim, and thus much larger as such opponents went.

Between the three of them, however, they possessed enough magic to handle the creatures, Zane’s power proving as energetic as her renewed health. She managed to reduce one revenant to a pile of ash, leaving Threadfin a tad nervous when she glanced his way. After all, he’d nearly done the same to her once.

Nothing came easy for a viral mage; he had learned that lesson some time ago. It was why he even bothered trying, he couldn’t understand. In theory, he should’ve given up ages ago.

After what felt like hours of skulking, avoiding vicious revenants intent on slaughter, ferocious blasts of magic, and more skulking, they happened upon a group of familiar faces. In a square, surrounded by toppled columns and dead bodies, its centre occupied by a shattered stone fountain, stood a small clot of viral mages. Forge, Droop and Lip fought back-to-back, holding off an encirclement of enemies.

While Lip spat those needles of his, pin-cushioning his foes, Forge was attempting to set their assailants on fire with limited success. It’s not that they didn’t catch alight, it was that it made no difference. The same went for Lip’s needles it seemed. Threadfin realised Zane must have burned her opponents from the inside out, giving him a shudder at the thought.

It was Droop who surprised Threadfin, however. The viral appeared to melt, collapsing, and reforming behind the revenants. Enraged, most of them turned and went after him, but then he pulled the same trick again, leading them in another direction. The younger viral was trying to keep them from attacking the others, but it was a delaying tactic. He would eventually tire. It seemed Droop wasn’t much of a fighter.

Oracle, who had for the past hour let Zane and himself take on the burden of keeping them in one piece, now attacked the revenants. One exploded into dozens of pieces before she collapsed to her knees, completely spent.

Threadfin sent a weave of magic to ensnarl another, but his skills were insufficient to the task. He had still not fully recovered from losing the aura, not to mention the on-and-off battles they’d been fighting for the past couple of hours. The revenants turned and came straight for them, Droop and his companions forgotten.

Then as if from nowhere, a knot of Nephilim warriors, the non-revenant kind, rushed into the square. They attacked their dead kin from behind, giving the virals some respite. Unfortunately, more of the revenants also arrived and it descended into a vicious battle, with two of the living Nephilim falling to fatal wounds. Minutes later, they too rose as revenants to attack their former comrades.

Oracle, remaining on her knees, pressing at her temples as though trying to crush her skull.

Feeling the right moment, Threadfin threw in his own explosive mix, though he had little left to offer. Zane also flung her scorching power at the same time, and something odd happened. Their magics melded into one single attack.

Threadfin felt the unusual fabric of this new magic, a combination of viralic and spectralic power he’d not thought possible. With no time to dwell on it, he managed to focus it on their enemies, while avoiding friends and allies.

The result was a startled clot of viral mages and a group of surprised Nephilim warriors surrounded by pieces of flesh, shattered smouldering armour, smoke, and dust.

‘What just happened?’ he asked in wonder, but neither of the other two answered. Zane looked as perplexed as he felt, but Oracle seemed indifferent. She looked exhausted.

‘Well,’ snapped Lip, ‘it’s about bloody time, don’t you think? We’ve been trying to fend them off for an hour. Couldn’t you have gotten here, I don’t know, say a little earlier?’

It was then Threadfin learned the second reason the viral had earned his name.

‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,’ said Asher Tone, rushing up and grabbing Threadfin in a half hug, before turning and gesturing at a Nephilim to come forward.

Threadfin just groaned. Where had he come from?

Desool was among the Nephilim warriors, with wings folded neatly at his back, and not the usual Rephaim bat-like sort either. Then he noticed Oracle had approached the king as though old friends.

‘What are they talking about?’ he demanded feeling suspicious. Though part of him liked her, another part shouted a warning in the back of his skull. He’d long since learned not to ignore those instincts.

‘Likely,’ said the Atlantian, ‘they’re discussing how to get us out of here. I hope. Um,’ he added, leaning in close, ‘I’m not sure about her, you know. That friend of yours, I mean.

The warrior whom Asher had summoned, approached. Threadfin turned to him. Getting on one knee the Nephilim held out the Crystal Sword to a surprised Threadfin.

‘Oh yes, this is Volar,’ said Asher. ‘Ah, he has been my companion for a while, and saved my life more than once.’

‘Um, thanks,’ muttered Threadfin, taking the artefact. ‘Now, not to be awkward or ungrateful or anything, but how did Volar get this. I thought I gave it to Droop.’

‘Oh, you did,’ said Asher, ‘and Oracle then took it from him. He’s sore about that so I wouldn’t mention it. She had it last when we were in the water, and uh ...’

Immediately, Threadfin sensed there was something wrong. ‘Yes?’

The Atlantian shrugged. ‘What does it matter? You have it now, don’t you?’

Threadfin frowned, knowing he wasn’t being told everything.

‘You know,’ the Atlantian added, ‘I think I’m getting the hang of it.’

‘Of what?’

‘Being your Darken. It’s not so bad, once you get used to all the magic and weird creatures and what-not.’

Threadfin eyed him. ‘Really? I thought you’re supposed to save my scrawny butt. Not the other way around.’

Anger flashed in Asher’s eyes and Threadfin reckoned it an improvement. He needed a bit of backbone to be a good Darken.

‘You know,’ Asher responded, ‘it’s not my fault I wasn’t here, you stinkin’ dried-up...’ He looked flustered, waving his arms about. ‘Well, I could hardly fly after you when you turned into a ...’ He paused, glaring at the viral mage. ‘What was it exactly you turned in to?’

Threadfin slapped the breather on the shoulder. ‘You know, I think you might be getting it at last. We’ll need to work on your insults, though.’

‘Oh,’ said the breather, looking surprised. ‘Um, I guess I shouldn’t have said—’

‘Oh, no,’ Threadfin said. ‘You misunderstand. You need to make them more imaginative. Pod could hurl some of the best insults when he was in a mood. Don’t worry, you’ll catch on.’

Threadfin stared at the artefact in his hands. He had lost the Sword and gained the Stone, and now the reverse had happened. He began to think the Spectrum was having a good old laugh at this mage’s expense. Worse, he had begun to suspect Oracle was not who she claimed to be.

One way or another, he thought, the last laugh is going to be mine.

‡

The king of the Nephilim led them through a series of subterranean tunnels beneath the city of Magog. Apparently, there were dozens dating back centuries. No one spoke, all grouped together in the close confines. It was stifling hot, but it didn’t bother the virals much. It seemed Oracle and the king had worked out an escape route, and without including Threadfin, which made him more suspicious.

When they emerged into the night, they found themselves outside of an ancient necropolis. Threadfin recognised the design and layout, but it was all on a massive scale. Then it hit him.

‘Nephilim virals?’ he whispered, and Zane overheard. He shifted the Crystal Sword strapped to his back, no longer trusting anyone else to carry it. Then again, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself.

‘Yes,’ Zane whispered, ‘they were driven out of Raddhon a long time ago.’ Speaking louder wasn’t a good idea, not until they could be sure they wouldn’t be heard by roaming revenants. ‘Desool told me about them.’

The king and a second warrior Threadfin didn’t recognise put their shoulders to a large round stone and, inch by inch, rolled it back. Behind it was another tunnel. They gestured for everyone to get inside, and Threadfin didn’t mind saying he was among the first. He’d had enough of Magog city, and any place to rest and regroup was as welcome as water to a breather in a desert.

Within was a vast circular antechamber perhaps two hundred feet in diameter, with three more circular stone doors. Nephilim lit several mounted wall torches and then took up guard positions, weapons bared. All but one had a scarap blade, the others with the spear-like harogs.

Desool turned to them, face grim but determined, and Threadfin felt humbled before him. The Desool he’d first met was nothing compared to this giant. His wings were white as snow. His height was at least a foot taller than his companions and though his armour was dull and unremarkable, it made him look formidable.

‘One of these tunnels leads directly to my father’s acropolis in Bashan,’ the king said in a deep voice, speaking in Icarthian. ‘It’s an old tunnel long disused and forgotten. It’s my belief that no one will be watching it. My brothers are dead, and my sister’s mind is lost to the Darkness.’ He glanced at Threadfin, who felt a little naked under that gaze, far more so than Tezcat walking in on his bath.

‘Threadfin Todder, I believe you are our last chance at stopping this sorceress. I ask that you do all you can, should you encounter her, to spare my sister’s life. She does not know what she is doing. Nanel is as much a victim as those revenants.’

Threadfin’s awe was replaced by a nasty lurch in his gut. Worms most likely, but still. ‘Sounds like you’re not coming.’

‘Hey, wait a minute,’ interrupted Lip. ‘It’s hundreds of miles to Bashan? You mean to say we’re walking there, underground? What, all the way? It’ll take us forever. It’ll all be over by the time we get there.’

‘He’s got a point,’ said Droop. ‘We don’t have the time to spare if I’ve been following things right.’

Desool offered them a chilling smile, which had Threadfin worried. It was then he heard the snorts and snuffles behind him. From the tunnel they’d come through, a hideous creature emerged. It was three times the size of a sydarag in height and girth. It crawled into the space, pushing its front sharp claws along the floor. It had a long face and beady eyes. There was a second, larger one following behind.

On the second one sat a rider, wearing iron plate. One of Desool’s warriors. ‘Your method of transportation has arrived,’ the king announced. ‘These are called moles. We use them beneath the mountains where we mine for iron. Be careful, they sometimes bite. They move very fast underground, so you will need to keep low to their backs if you want to keep your heads.

‘I don’t know what you’ll find when you emerge on the other side. Don’t worry, I’ve every intention of following you but by a different route. The revenants need to be dealt with, and I need to gather survivors. Alone, I am of little use, but with an army I can perhaps make some difference.’

‘Just don’t be late,’ said Threadfin, and Desool acknowledged his words with a nod.

‘Are there other survivors?’ asked Droop, scratching at what must have been maggots under an armpit.

‘Oh yes,’ said Oracle, ‘they are hidden below ground or in secure buildings.’ When they all stared at her, she tapped her head.

Threadfin watched her, and she noticed his attention. What are you up to?

‘The undead girl has already given us what we needed,’ said Volar with a glance at Oracle.

Desool gave a curt nod, and then looked to the giant who had handed Threadfin the sword. ‘Volar, you will lead the mages through and the Atlantian too. You need to make this journey in a much quicker time, so half the rest periods for the beasts to four hours per day. They will suffer, but we have no choice.’

Volar appeared to be chewing something which tasted sour. He glanced down at the Atlantian. ‘This one won’t last two seconds where we’re headed.’

Threadfin felt a flush of anger and said, ‘My Darken goes where I go.’

For his part, Asher Tone appeared calm and unperturbed by the turn of conversation. ‘Actually, I’m not going.’ He paused, giving Threadfin a strange look. ‘I have something I need to do.’

Fists on hips, Threadfin stared him down with his most withering glare. ‘This is what I meant by not being around, you know.’

Asher threw up his hands. ‘I will be following on, I promise. I’ll admit this time it’s my fault. Last time was still yours, uh, you piece of dung-rot?’

‘Timing,’ said Threadfin.

‘What?’

‘It’s all about timing with the insults. We’ll work on it.’

‘Sure.’ Asher scratched his head, looking confused.

Volar shrugged, likely perplexed by the interaction, and motioned for two of the guards to open the tunnel.

Zane took Threadfin’s hand in hers. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I wish you all the luck in the world. Desool is right: you are truly our last hope. If you fail ...’

Threadfin winced, knowing exactly what she meant. With help from the giants, he clambered up onto the smaller mole, the others following suit. It was far from comfortable seated astride the animal, but at least it had a saddle adjusted for several human-sized riders making falling off harder.

They didn’t seem anywhere near as threatening as a warg, although they were uglier. They entered the tunnel, Volar taking the lead on his own mount with Oracle seated behind him.

Threadfin knew one thing if he knew anything, and that was the fate of an entire world and perhaps the Spectrum rested on his actions. On all their actions. He wasn’t alone in this, and it was a kind of comfort to know that. Catching the Nephilim king’s gaze Threadfin nodded in farewell. He knew in his withered heart however, that if he encountered Nanel he would kill her without hesitation.

After all, we are at war.