Chapter 25

Bilo-serai, the Shining Lands

The camp was on edge as the Glass Sailors brought their ships in to moor alongside the others. The crew of the Xogat dropped three heavy, spiked anchors that drove deep into the glass, then pulled the ropes taut, fixing the boat in place as others brought down the sails. Shedara and Nakhil led the way down the gangplank into the serai, looking around for some sign of the gnomes of Bilo. There were people everywhere, most of them other sailors, masked and robed, staring south like strange, silent totems. The rope of white fire still soared behind the columns, pouring flames into the sky. The sailors clapped their hands at it, trying to ward off its evil.

They’re going to need something more powerful than applause, Shedara thought.

She glanced over her shoulder. Hult still stood aboard, holding up Azar. Azar had passed out again after the Chaldar appeared, and he was just coming around. There would be questions later—many, many questions—but for the moment, they left him alone.

“He is the key to all this,” Nakhil said. “However this plays out, Azar will be at the center of it. He must be protected at all costs.”

“No kidding,” Shedara replied. “Of course, it also seems incredibly stupid to be bringing the rest of Maladar’s soul straight to him, doesn’t it? But kurvakh as-shamba thenak min charkath, as they say in the League.”

Nakhil frowned at her, not understanding.

“You must risk losing the world to gain it.”

“Ah,” the centaur said. “Yes, that sounds like something minotaurs might believe. Do you see any minoi?”

Shedara shook her head. There had to be two hundred sailors in the grotto, but no one small enough to be a gnome. “I saw some tents near the back of the serai that looked the right size.”

“That makes sense,” Nakhil replied. “The minoi would stay close to the columns.”

Shedara pushed her way through the crowds. Another image flashed through her head, looking at the sailors all gaping at the Chaldar: a field of nightflowers, all turned to face the silver moon. Any urge to laugh at the notion died, however, as her gaze followed theirs to the tower of fire. Her heart sank anew. Its appearance could only mean that Maladar’s strength was growing. How much longer would it be before the vision Essana had atop Akh-tazi came true, and the ruins of Aurim began to rise from the Cauldron’s depths? Could they ever hope to stop Maladar? Wasn’t he too powerful already?

Nakhil nudged her. “Are you all right?”

She blinked, turning away from the Chaldar. “Huh?”

“I’ve been talking to you, but you were somewhere else,” Nakhil said. He glanced at the flaming tower. “There?”

Shedara nodded, and the centaur gave her a look that told her he understood everything that was in her mind. He’d probably had the same thoughts, especially since Roshambur died. The pain of the dwarf’s death was still in his eyes, an open wound.

“What were you saying?” she asked.

“Gnomes.” He pointed. “There.”

She looked, and there they were. A group of tents clustered like mushrooms in the stony nook where the two sheltering arms that surrounded the serai met. They were brightly dyed, though beneath the dark clouds that spilled north out of the Cauldron, all colors were muted. Some were green, others gold, but most were sky blue. Standing near them, also staring up at the Chaldar, was a cluster of small, cloaked figures, maybe three feet high, with long brown noses and bushy white beards sticking out of their hoods. They gabbled among themselves, waving their hands at the same time; the minoi communicated with gestures as much as with words, maybe more.

Shedara smiled, offering a quick thought of thanks to Solis, or Astar, or Reorx… whoever had made sure the gnomes would be there. It was up to her and Nakhil to win their favor… and their help.

The minoi were one of the oddest peoples in all of Taladas—born tinkerers, with minds bent toward making new things, undreamt of by man and elf and minotaur. Many of the greatest feats of engineering in the world, from the simple windmill to the fire-throwing siege engines of the Imperial League, had originally sprung from the gnomes. Others they kept to themselves, either because no one wanted them or because the minoi didn’t trust anyone else with them. Their underground cities, dug deep beneath the Bilo Columns, were said to be places of wonder, with machinery everywhere, doing every task one could imagine. Their strange devices were what allowed them to survive where others could not, right on the edge of Hith’s Cauldron.

They had even built metal boats that could ply the lava seas. Shedara wasn’t sure how that was possible, but every account of the gnomes agreed that they sailed upon the Cauldron, harvesting the strange minerals they found on its islands and warring with the pitiless creatures who lurked among the flames.

There the minoi were, staring at the Chaldar, bewildered. They alone had seen the flaming tower when it first rose four hundred years ago, in the days following the First Destruction. They had watched it fall after the Second; some said they had played a role in its collapse. At the moment they stood stunned, aghast to see that it had returned.

“Greetings,” said Nakhil, bowing as he and Shedara drew near.

The gnomes gave no answer, nor did they turn to glance at the centaur. Raising his eyebrows, Nakhil went on.

“We are travelers in dire need. We seek the help of your august people.”

Again the minoi didn’t respond. They just gaped at the tower.

“Hey!” Shedara yelled.

The minoi jumped, glancing at her. She saw their eyes—alarmingly intelligent, the sparkling blue of glacial lakes—look her and Nakhil up and down. Heavy brows furrowed. Gnarled, brown hands tugged on beards.

One of the gnomes came forward. He was smaller than the others, the top of his head barely rising to Shedara’s waist, his beard dangling down to his knees, where he’d tied it in a knot so it didn’t trip him. He leaned on a staff of black iron, tipped with an amethyst pyramid inside which glints of light flickered. When he gazed up at her, his eyes glittered, so pale they were almost white. His face was a maze of wrinkles. He was clearly their elder, and the oldest gnome Shedara had ever seen.

He licked his lips. “Well met, travelers. I am Malkistarandimnordishtankiro,” he said, “first emissary of the Great Colony of Ilmachrutandabrunthabram.”

The gnomes were a straightforward people, and their language was the same way. They only had a few hundred root words; everything else, including their names, was made by linking inordinately long series of those words together. The name the old gnome had given was probably less than a percent of his true name. It was said the names of the minoi could fill entire books.

“Well met, Malkis,” she said. “I am Shedara of Armach, and this is Nakhil of the Rainward Isles. We have crossed the Shining Lands in search of your people. We wish to join you on your return to Ilmach, so we may speak with your ruler.”

“Mmmm,” the gnome said, only slightly annoyed that she had shortened his name so barbarically. He tugged his beard, then his eyes narrowed. He looked from one to the other. “Yes, yes, of course. All are welcome in Ilmachrutandabrunthabram. We will be leaving on the morrow. You may come with us. All know that Armach and the Rainwards are friends to the minoi… even if the elves shun our inventions. But one question, first.”

Nakhil leaned forward. “You need only ask.”

Malkis nodded and tugged his beard again. Then he raised his arm, his finger jabbing southward, toward the Chaldar.

“Did you do that?”

The centaur reared back, snorting a guffaw. Shedara fought to keep herself under control, but couldn’t manage it, and began to laugh as well. She was tired and punchy. When the mirth subsided, Malkis looked more than a little bothered.

“No,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “We didn’t. But we know who did.”

The elder gnome studied her, curiosity eclipsing his irritation at having been the butt of a joke. “Oh?” he asked. “Do you now? Well, then, you’d best come tell us your tale.”

The sailors and gnomes stayed awake all that night, watching the skies south of the serai. The Chaldar continued to blaze there, a brilliant ribbon in the black, throwing off tongues of fire that billowed and burst like the seed pods of some ghastly marsh grass. The tower made no sound at all, which only made it more eerie: there was only the distant mutter of thunder from the storm clouds that swirled around it, flashing red in the gloom.

Shedara found Hult staring at the tower atop a jutting outcrop of glass, sitting with his talga unsheathed across his folded legs. He started when she crept up beside him, but did not raise the sword. Instead, he gazed out at the Chaldar again, his brow furrowed.

“He’s in there,” he said. “Forlo.”

Shedara sighed. “Yes.”

Hult sucked on his teeth, then his mouth hardened. “I spared his life, back at the Run. I didn’t know why at the time; something just told me to. And now look where we are.”

“If you hadn’t,” she replied, “we never would have stopped Maladar at Akh-tazi. We probably wouldn’t have come close, without his help. It would be Azar out there now, Maladar would be whole, and no one would even know yet. Things would have been a lot worse.”

“I know,” Hult said. “I have thought of that. Perhaps it’s why I let him live. Maybe I sensed he was important. Maybe Jijin was speaking to me, and I didn’t recognize his voice.”

“Or maybe you had a whim, and it was lucky.”

He shrugged. His eyes drifted down to his sword, and he ran his hand down its curved length. “I will not let him live again, Shedara. If the chance comes, I will kill him.”

Shedara shivered. All the warmth seemed to have seeped out of the air. There it was, out in the open: the thing they’d both been afraid to speak. She let it hang there, in the stillness, the Chaldar’s distant light flickering in her eyes.

“I will too,” she whispered. “But I don’t think the chance will come. Not for me.”

He glanced at her, a dark line appearing between his brows. He looked much older than his years. There was gray in his hair, just a light frosting at the temples; lines of care and worry had begun to etch his face.

“What do you mean, not for you?” he asked.

Her eyes darted away, afraid of the pain that flashed in his. She blinked a few times, blowing out a long, slow breath between her lips. “Just a feeling,” she said, and though she tried to stop it, her voice cracked. “Hult, I don’t think I’m going to come back from this.”

She was in his arms then, or he was in hers—a bit of both. They clung to each other as if clutching at the last piece of flotsam after a wreck. Shedara’s stomach clenched, and she had to fight back a sob. She wouldn’t lose control, not there. Not…

He kissed her, and she started to cry. His mouth was soon salty with her tears.

“It may be nothing,” he whispered when their lips unlocked. “You could be wrong.”

She nodded. “I want to be. More than anything. But… gods, I’ve never admitted this to anyone.…”

“You’re afraid.”

Shedara drew back. “It’s that obvious?”

“To me, yes,” Hult said. “You have good reason, Shedara.”

“I thought the Uigan knew no fear. So the legends say.”

He raised her hand, took hold of her chin, made her meet his gaze. “The legends are wrong.”

And she saw it, lurking far at the back of his eyes. Terror shone there, like a flaw in a glittering sapphire.

“Only madmen are brave all the time,” Hult said.

She stared into his eyes, caught, transfixed. It wasn’t like with Eldako. The merkitsa had been a kindred spirit, a partner. She wanted to protect Hult, to keep him safe from harm, to make sure he didn’t have to look like that ever again. And, even stranger, she wanted him to protect her too.

Astar’s arrows, she thought. I’m in love again.

He kissed her again, gently. She let him.

“There’s a place,” she said. “Not far from here, where no one from the serai will see.”

He flushed, blinking suddenly, looking away. He’d trained as a tenach since childhood, and that meant a vow of chastity, to remove distractions from protecting his master. All that time, he’d kept to his oath: he had never known a woman. But Chovuk was dead, the Uigan slain and scattered, his homeland lost to him forever. Death awaited them, inside the burning tower, across the sea of fire. He swallowed, then carefully slid his talga back into its scabbard.

“Show me,” he said.

They were late rising the next morning. The sun was already cresting the basalt columns, casting long shadows across the Shining Lands. Far away, the Chaldar still burned. A chill wind blew down from the north, rattling the rigging of the glass boats. The sailors worked aboard their ships, silent as ever. The gnomes, meanwhile, were taking down their tents, breaking camp.

Malkis greeted them, leaning on his staff while his people packed their belongings. Azar and Nakhil were with him. The centaur gave Shedara and Hult a knowing smile.

“We looked for you last night,” he said. “But not too hard.”

Hult scowled at that, turning away. Malkis chuckled. Azar had no reaction at all. He knew nothing about that sort of a thing; the Brethren hadn’t taught him about it. Shedara gave Nakhil a wink, then studied Azar. “You seem yourself today.”

The boy shifted from one foot to the other. He didn’t remember anything about the Chaldar’s rise.

“Can you sense him?” she asked. “Your father?”

Azar shook his head. “No more than before.”

She let it go at that, for the moment, and looked around, eyeing the gnomes. “I don’t see any carts,” she said. “Or pack animals. How are we traveling to Ilmach?”

Nakhil coughed, baring his teeth. Beside him, Malkis raised his eyebrows.

“No, you weren’t there, were you?” the minoi asked. “Of course not. I showed the others last night, but you were… occupied.”

Hult made a strangled sound and strode away.

“It was his first time, wasn’t it?” Nakhil asked, watching him go. His grin grew broader and slightly evil.

Shedara glared at him. “Leave him alone. Showed the others what, Malkis?”

The gnome’s grin widened, his eyes agleam, and Shedara shuddered. There was something unsettling about that smile, as if he had too many teeth.

“Come,” Malkis said and hobbled away, leaning on his staff.

They followed him to the back of the camp, through a gap between two tall, hexagonal pillars. The stone columns were close enough that she could lean against one while reaching out to touch the other. Above, the sky narrowed to a crack of blue. At the chasm’s far end, small figures moved around something she couldn’t make out. Shedara glanced at Nakhil and Azar, but neither gave her any hint as to what lay ahead.

Before long the gap widened again, into a clearing among the columns, where one of the pillars had sunk into the ground, forming a smooth stone floor. There, in the clearing’s midst, stood five large wicker baskets. For some reason, they were all attached to the ground with ropes and pitons. Above them, suspended by metal frames, were large braziers, burning with bright blue flames. And above those were billowing sacks of canvas, each painted with an image of a fist holding a tinkerer’s hammer, black on gold. As she watched, the sacks grew taut, filling with hot air from the braziers. Then, one by one, they lifted off the ground, stopped only by their anchoring ropes.

“Gods’ blood,” she breathed, the color draining from her face.

“We use no carts, my dear,” said Malkis. “When we’re not sailing the Burning Sea, we minoi ride the winds!”

Shedara stared at the contraptions, feeling ill. Already the gnomes were loading them with sacks and barrels, climbing dangling rope ladders to get into the baskets. They were going to fly to Ilmach on those… those… whatever they were.

“They are called Zarlakanquistorphentilgormushandoloi,” Malkis said. His voice swelled with pride. “It means, carriages of the clouds that are lifted by bladders of air heated with burning vapor.”

Nakhil leaned down, close to Shedara’s ear. “Just so it’s known,” he whispered, “I don’t like the idea either.”

Shedara swallowed, still staring. Then, out of nowhere, she began to laugh.

“Why not?” she asked. “We’ve already walked on the ocean and sailed on glass. How much worse can this be?”

But the first thing she did when they returned from the clearing was to open her spellbook. Licking her fingers, she flipped pages until she found the one she wanted. Then she began to read, her eyes quickly scanning down the script, committing the incantation and gestures of the feather-falling spell to memory… just in case.