Chapter 33

Risen Aurim, Hith’s Cauldron

I don’t like this,” Shedara said.

The Varya slid past another obsidian island, one of a long chain jutting like spears and clenched fists out of the molten rock. The fireship’s reflection rippled on the rock’s glassy surface. Hult caught a glimpse of himself, standing at the rail with sword in hand. He barely recognized his own image: the strange leather armor, the thick black hair hanging to his shoulders, the new scars on his face. And he had a stooped, haggard look, a pallor that made his skin look gray. He wondered how long it had been since he’d last seen the sun… or the moons and stars… or a tree.

He couldn’t think when.

“It’s too easy,” Shedara grumbled. “We’re getting close, and still no kurshakur. I know he sent most of them to Ilmach, but… well, there should be guards. Patrols. Something.”

She and Hult both glanced up, staring at the spike of blue flame that towered before them. The Chaldar was close—a league away, more or less. It filled the sky, from sea to sooty storm clouds. Hult could already see the tower hidden inside it: ghostly and wavering within its fiery shell but somehow as real as the boat beneath his feet. There were turrets, windows, balconies, stretching to a height far greater than any he’d ever seen.

The Varya pulled past the island, its paddlewheel churning through the magma. Another massive rock lay before them, and another beyond that. Nosk and his crew guided the little boat around them with a sure hand but worried eyes.

“These weren’t here before,” the captain muttered, glaring at the islands as if they’d risen out of the Cauldron to insult him personally.

“It’s Maladar,” Azar said. “He raised them. He’ll bring all of Aurim up from the depths, in due time. But for now he’s stopped.”

“Why?” Nakhil asked.

Hult answered before Azar could, his voice sounding flat and grim even to his own ears. “Because he knows we’re coming.” He glanced at Shedara. “He’s gathering his strength. It’s why there aren’t any kurshakur either.”

“He wants us to reach the Chaldar,” she said. “He wants Azar.”

Nakhil tossed his head, his tail twitching. “That’s preposterous. Azar’s the key to defeating him.”

“And his key to victory,” Shedara replied. “If he’s to come into full power—”

“Ho!” shouted Yorgam from the prow. “Land ahead! Past the rocks! It’s… it’s a city!”

“What are you talking about, lad?” Nosk barked, his silver teeth flashing. “There isn’t a city anywhere… near… the… mother of Reorx.”

Hult looked, and there it was: Aurim, the dead city, heart of a lost empire. He’d heard about it only in songs chanted by the elders when he was a boy, and more recently in tales Shedara told. It had been a place of surpassing beauty, all crystal towers and shining arches and domes of lapis and onyx. Malton and Kristophan and Suluk had amazed him, but all the stories agreed that they were but pale shadows of the City of Songs. He’d dreamed of it sometimes, when his sleep was untroubled enough. It was hard to picture a place as vast, as lovely as Aurim.

What lay before him was nothing like that. It was a nightmare. The crystal towers were dark and clouded volcanic glass, the arches black iron, the domes pumice caked with ash. They stood piled on the hills, their windows dark and empty, staring like the remains of dead men. Everything was gray and black, lit infernal red by the Burning Sea. Wisps of sickly brown haze wreathed the city, moving like ghosts along its laneways. And up there, at the tallest height—where, by all the tales he’d heard, a grand palace should have sprawled—was the flickering, buttressed foot of the Chaldar.

Hult shuddered as the Varya passed the last island and began to cross an expanse of open lava, the last half mile to the city. He glanced at the others, seeing despair in their eyes. Death waited ahead, they knew; they wouldn’t all leave Aurim alive. Perhaps none of them would.

“Find a place to moor,” Shedara told Nosk. “You can cast off again once we’re ashore.”

“Aye,” he said. “We’ll find a spot that’s out of view of that tower. How long will you be?”

She shook her head. “Who knows? I have a feeling you’ll realize when we’ve done what we’ve come to do. If it’s more than a day, though, get out of here. As fast as you can.”

“And leave you behind?” the gnome asked.

“If we’re gone that long, there won’t be anyone to leave behind,” Nakhil said.

Nosk nodded, his face dark. He leaned on the tiller, turning the Varya in a wide arc. “All right, then. Lads, get to! Ready on the mooring lines, and bring down the furnace! Move quick, or—”

And those were his last words. As he was shouting, a great fire blazed up behind him, a wall of white-hot flame that bloomed and curled fifty feet above the fireship. A dozen kurshakur leaped out of the fire’s heart, landing on the deck. Blazing swords flashed, and both Nosk and the gnome at the furnace fell, cut in two, their bodies igniting as they hit the deck.

The other gnomes yelled and dashed about, trying to get the Varya back under control. It straightened in midturn, heading full-out toward the city. Hult glanced at the looming shore and winced: they would hit it at an angle, but they would hit it. In his head, he saw the fireship smashing to pieces against the rocks, the magma burning them all to nothing.

“Stop them!” Shedara yelled, brandishing her frostblades. “Where are those crossbows?”

But the crossbows were at the stern, where Nosk had been. They were already burning as the kurshakur hacked at them with their flaming swords. Bits of smoldering wood flew. Another gnome went down with a cry, his body erupting in sheets of fire as the minions cut him apart.

Hult leaped at them, his frostblade held high. The heat that came off the minions seared his skin and made tears run down his cheeks. The stink of brimstone hung thick about them, not quite strong enough to mask the sweet reek of burning flesh. They turned to face him, their green eyes flashing.

“Get to the tiller!” he bellowed. He wasn’t even sure the others were behind him, but there was no time to check. “We’ll crash if we don’t finish the turn!”

Then he was in their midst, sword flashing as their glowing blades scorched the air around him. He ducked and twisted, felt a blaze of pain in his shoulder as one fiery weapon came close enough to graze his armor, then surged upward with his blade extended. He pressed the jeweled stud on the sword’s hilt as it buried itself in a kurshak’s gut. Dragon bile ran down the blade’s fuller, and the kurshak howled in agony. There was a flash and a whoosh of cold air that nearly blew Hult off his feet; then the creature was gone, a lone curl of smoke hanging in the air where it had been.

A roar like a stoked forge sounded to his right, and he ducked as another sword came at him, whistling above his head, the stench of singeing hair stinging his nostrils. He pressed the stud again, hacking at the kurshak’s ankles, and it vanished too.

He couldn’t see anything but fire, but through it he heard familiar grunts and shouting: Shedara and Nakhil had joined the fight. But the kurshakur were too many. He laid about him on all sides, felt blisters rise from his skin, saw a gash open on his leg, its edges blackened and smoking. He couldn’t parry, for the minions’ weapons were not solid, but he could dodge and spin and leap, and so he did, bellowing one Uigan war cry after another, summoning all his rage to hammer left and right and up and down with the sword. He pressed the jewel again and again. Kurshakur shrieked. One by one, the flames flickered and died.

All at once, he was through: no more minions stood between him and the Varya’s tiller. Choking on smoke, he glanced over his shoulder. Nakhil and Shedara were fighting on, pushing the kurshakur to either side, holding their own. Drops of dragon bile flew through the air, blue and glistening. Beyond the fireship’s prow, the rocks of Aurim loomed closer, only moments away.

Hult grabbed the tiller. It burned his good hand, shooting pain straight up his arm and into his spine, but he refused to let go. Screaming, he shoved on it with all his strength, and the Varya groaned as it turned… turned… and crashed its side into the rocks anyway.

The sound was horrific. Sparks flew. Metal tore. Gnomes cried out, one falling over the rail as the fireship listed hard. Some part of him told him it was Yorgam, the young lookout. The unfortunate minoi landed in the lava and disappeared in a splash of fire. The screech he made as he died was one of the most horrible sounds Hult had ever heard.

The Varya nearly broke as it grazed along Aurim’s shore. Hult let go of the tiller. He fell to his knees, clutching a hand that was black and curled and terrible. But the boat was finally slowing, shuddering against the rocks. The paddlewheel halted, bent and hanging askew. The furnace lay still and silent.

They’d made it. Shedara and Nakhil had slain the last of the kurshakur, and were hurrying to his side. The elf gasped when she saw what Hult had done to his hand.

“Don’t… worry about it… now,” he gasped. The pain was getting worse, though. The skin was peeling back, the flesh beneath the char swelling horribly. A sour taste flooded his mouth, and he vomited on the Varya’s deck.

I’ll never wield a sword again, he thought. I’ll probably lose my hand and half the arm as well. Three fingers left, out of ten. If I’m lucky. If I live.

The gnomes were all shouting, their voices strained, just shy of panic. Hult couldn’t make out all of what they said—agitated and afraid, they spoke even faster than normal—but thanks to his jade amulet, he made out some of the words, enough to get an idea.

Foundering. Breached. Never hold together.

“She’s sinking,” he grunted. “We’ve got to… get ashore, or we’ll… all die.”

As if to emphasize what he’d said, the Varya gave a groan and tilted away from the city. Lava bubbled beyond its starboard rail, bursting and spattering the deck with flecks of red-hot rock that quickly cooled to black. The smell of hot metal grew. Two more gnomes died howling.

The pain was fading, Hult’s body fighting it back, refusing to give in. His head felt light. He knew that wasn’t a good sign; he had seen men injured in riding falls or in battle settle into a painless daze for a few hours before dying. He couldn’t move his sword arm, but his legs were responding, as was his other hand. Gritting his teeth, he shoved himself to his feet, Shedara helping him up.

“Your hand…” Azar said, coming forward.

“Not now!” Hult snapped. “You want to use your magic for something? Get us on dry land!”

Shedara took Hult’s uninjured arm. “Calm down, Hult. We can get off without magic. Come on.”

He wanted to argue, tell her he was fine, he didn’t need help, but the truth was he badly did. His head was swimming, and he stumbled and would have fallen if not for her. She bore him up, looped his arm around her shoulders, and followed Nakhil to the boat’s rail. The centaur broke into a trot just before reaching the edge and sprang, clearing the gap to the rocky shore. He skidded a little when he landed, sending a shower of black gravel sliding into the lava, then got his purchase and turned to face them.

“Come on!” he called. “I’ll catch you.”

Hult jumped, though he had no idea how. He never could have made it without Shedara pushing him away from the boat or Nakhil waiting to grab him on shore. The centaur’s arms wrapped around him, jostling his ruined arm and sending fresh agony lancing through him, but it was better than falling into the molten rock. Nakhil shoved him aside, and he sat down hard on sharp stones. He looked on as Azar sprang from the sinking fireship. Nakhil caught hold of him, then turned to offer a hand to Shedara.

She didn’t need one; she was a moon-thief and made the leap herself without any trouble, landing in a crouch. Behind her, the Varya groaned and wheezed and broke apart in a hiss of steam and smoke. Hult heard gnomes screaming piteously, then falling into unpleasant silence. How many had gotten to shore safely? Had any of them made it off the ship? He had no idea. He was losing focus in his haze of pain.

“Now let him help you,” Shedara said, kneeling on his left side.

On his right came Azar, reaching out for the gnarled thing that had been Hult’s hand. When they touched, Hult felt as if someone had hit him in the head with a rock; the world shook, and he seemed to drift outside his body. He heard a thin, strained wail, which he belatedly recognized as his own voice. Black spider webs crept in at the edges of his vision.

“It’s all right,” Azar said. “I can fix this.”

Fix it? Hult wondered plaintively. How?

“Be still,” Shedara said. “Quit struggling and let him try this.”

“You’d better hurry up,” said Nakhil.

“What?” Shedara asked. “Why would—oh, gods, no. Not now.”

The tightness in her voice made Hult open his eyes. He looked ahead, into the city, and his pain-blurred eyesight cleared enough to see.

A long, broad street swept up from where they stood, running from the shore to the city’s heart, where the Chaldar stood. Tall buildings loomed, dark and empty, to either side, their colonnades like jutting teeth. The stubs of trees, leafless and charcoal black, ran the length of the boulevard. Statues lined the roads: even at a glance, he could tell they were all images of Barreth Forlo—or rather, of Maladar.

And there, in a long line across the street, a dozen wide and three deep, were the Ghelim. They stood stock-still, their gleaming red eyes fixed on him and his friends. They gripped swords and spears and maces, all of the same dark gray stone.

“I have… to fight…” he grunted, starting to push himself up.

“Not on your life,” Shedara said. She grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down. “You’re no good to us like this, Hult. You’re worse than no good. I’d be too worried about you to keep my mind on them. Now stay still and let Azar help you, damn it!”

Hult wanted to struggle, wanted to argue, but he was losing clarity. His head filled with fog. Everything seemed to be tilting. The black webs crawled toward the center of his vision. He turned his head, looking at Azar. It was eerie, really, how much the son resembled his father.

“Do it,” Hult grunted. “Do it now.”

Nodding, Azar laid his hand on Hult’s blackened claw. Hult saw, but dimly. He could hear Shedara and Nakhil talking but couldn’t make out any of their words. They sounded as if they were miles away, anyway, so the Ghelim had to be even farther. What did it matter?

Azar shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Hult felt the magic in the air, flowing thick around them both, pouring into the other man’s body. It rose and rose, from a stream to a torrent. Then, with a sigh, Azar pushed it out…

Into Hult’s hand.

Hult cried out, and the blackness took him.