The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(139)

“Try not to fight too hard,” Sandy whispered, and closed his eyes.

“No…”

Mal pulled his brother close, cradling his head against his shoulder. He mumbled something, he knew not what, and heard the whisper of Sandy’s dying reply.

“Amayi’o anosennowe… I will never give up…”



Ned and Gabriel stood side by side at the foot of the great stair. The sorcerers advanced slowly at first, as if unable to believe that two mortals would dare to try to stop them. The foremost stepped forward, rising up until he was seven, eight feet tall, broad in the beam and muscular, his face horribly familiar. Armitage? But this was not the man Ned had killed; the shapeshifter made Suffolk’s retainer look like a runt.

The Armitage-giant launched himself at Ned, swinging his massive fists. Ned dodged; it wasn’t hard to get under the blows. Bending over he headbutted the giant in the groin, and it roared and brought down its fist. Ned narrowly dodged it but the other fist came down, catching him a glancing blow on the left shoulder. Something made a horrible crunching noise and pain exploded inside Ned’s skull. He looked up and to his horror the giant was falling on him, trying to crush him out of existence. Ned held up his right arm in a desperate attempt to fend him off, but as the creature smashed into the steel-studded palm it shrank once more into a slight youth of no more than seventeen, pale-faced and disoriented. Still, his weight was enough to push Ned backwards, and they sprawled on the steps together. The shapeshifter started getting to his feet, growing as he did so, but with an almighty effort Ned swiped him round the head. His opponent grunted and slumped to the ground, out cold. A trickle of blood ran from his temple. He wasn’t getting up any time soon.

Ned staggered to his feet and looked around, just in time to see Gabriel locked in combat with something hardly less horrific than the devourers they had fought in Venice. Lean and pale as an ox carcass on a butcher’s hook it was, with burning red eyes and clawed hands. It lunged for Gabriel’s throat and bit down, blood gouting over its pink-and-white skin. Ned screamed and went for it, battering it around the head, but by ill chance the metal hand had snapped back into a fist and only the brass knuckles were connecting with the monster’s flesh. He swore and worked the lever, but before he could hit the creature again it dropped Gabriel and went still, as did the others. They all stared up at the keep, then as one they began to move towards the entrance, shifting back into their human forms and scrambling over the fallen.



A slow drumbeat, getting slower. It was dark here, darker than the dreamlands had ever been before, as if leaden clouds had blotted out even the faint smear of light that illuminated the void. He was dying, and his only hope was that battered fragment of a soul tied to flesh as familiar as his own. He reached out an insubstantial hand, groping in the dark for what he knew must be there, but feared it would not. No. He had to believe, or it would truly disappear. Never give up. I will always find you. I will always come for you. Amayi. Brother. Soul of my soul.

There. Such a fragile thing, like a cobweb, and yet strong as steel. He groped his way along the bond, feeling it grow thick and corded beneath his fingers like an umbilicus, the shared flesh of their birth. Pouring his essence into its fibres he swam through the darkness, towards the source, hearing the heartbeat grow louder and louder once more. The bond twisted, trembling under his touch, but he pushed on. We cannot fail now.

All at once he was falling from a great height and he screamed, expecting to smash against the stony earth of the dreamlands any moment. A light flared, so bright he could not see it, could not open his eyes and yet it was there, searing through him, limning his veins and sinews and the tip of every hair on his skin–

Erishen.

He screamed his name, and opened his eyes to the darkness of an abandoned chapel.



“Hendricks?”

It was Mal’s voice, or more likely Sandy’s; it was hard to tell the difference through the heavy oak door. Coby turned the key and drew back the bolts. Mal stood there, swaying on his feet, his shirt gleaming dark and wet in the candlelight to match his hose.

“What happened?” she cried. “Oh, sweet Jesu, you’re covered…”

She peered around him, but there was no one on the stair.

“I don’t think they’ve broken in yet.” He placed his bloody hands on her shoulders. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“We need to finish what Jathekkil started.”

He glanced back at their captive, then down at the floor. She followed his gaze. The cellars, full of gunpowder.

“You will have to be careful, on the way down–”

“No. I can’t leave you here,” she said. “Mal, please–”

He put a finger to her lips.

“I am Erishen. I must finish this.”

“No.” She backed away from him and went to put her arm around Kit, but he ran over to his father and flung his arms about his knees.

“Amayi.”

Mal ruffled the boy’s hair, just the way she had seen her brother-in-law do so many times.

“Where’s Sandy?” When he did not reply, she went to the door. “Where is he?”

“Gone,” Mal said. “I told you, I am Erishen now. And you must go. Take Kiiren. Quickly!”

She took Kit’s hand and was about to lead him away when her nerve broke. She ran back to her husband – if he still was her husband – and kissed him on the cheek, then turned her back and walked out with Kit in tow. After a while, however, it was Kit who led the way, since she could see nothing for the tears in her eyes.