Dante glanced back at him. While what he'd just said might be true, Dante didn't quite think it was friendly advice. "I haven't decided yet."

  Xanalos once more held his composure. "Either way, you must swear not to kill me. Not when I brought you here instead of betraying you, as I could have with a single shout."

  "Sure. Now shut up."

  Dante turned back to the kegs and jars. They'd passed multiple gleaming chalices on their way to the wall, but there was no need to go back for one when he could just pull the bung from a keg and guzzle it straight from the source. The taste of it would be the sweetest of his life, and the relief from the pain—both the stabbing and twisting physical pain, and the burning madness in his brain that he was only just stopping from overrunning him—would be more intoxicating than the dalax itself.

  "I should take the cure," he said, out loud. "That's what I should do."

  "But you can't," Blays said. "This is where the gods fated us to wind up all along. It might have taken years to deliver ourselves here, going through some of the wildest struggles in all history—but that's why we've been given such a great reward for putting ourselves through all of it."

  "Maybe you're right. That would explain a great many things."

  "So why not open that keg there and partake of the blessing the gods have bestowed on us after all our hard labors?"

  Dante reached toward the keg stacked in front of him, then came to a stop. He had always thought that the great turn in his life had come when he was just a child, there outside the ruined church, where he'd found the true Cycle in a hidden chamber under the earth. Strange to think that all of that had been nothing more than a means of delivering them to Harasphont, where the true great turn in his life came not from a holy book, but from a simple drink. Eternal paradise awaited.

  His hand shook. For he could still remember, with perfect clarity, how it had felt to hold that book, the weight of it in his hands, the age of it, and know that he was about to become everything he'd ever dreamed of.

  He sighed, shuddering, and reached for the cure. When his hand made contact, he blinked. He had fully meant to pick up one of the little red bottles. But his fingers had closed around the bung of one of the kegs.

  He swallowed. Did the best he could to brush the wasps and nettles from his mind. Yet he couldn't lift his hand from the keg of dalax. His people were dying! The entity was still raging across Rale! They'd already lost precious days in this place, and who knew how few they still had left to them! He had to let go!

  He closed his eyes, preparing to blow the kegs up with the nether and remove all temptation, if that was what it took. But he knew he wouldn't be able to do that either.

  As a scream mounted in his brain, a vision flashed across his closed eyes. The same one Carvahal had shown him after the destruction of the Emerald Titan. The vision of the faceless woman with the little boy and girl, both of them with black hair and gray eyes.

  He wrenched his hand away from the dalax and grabbed hold of one of the red jars. Its stopper was so well-stopped up that he thought he'd have to smash the damn thing, but then it sprung free with an audible pop, spilling a little. Before he could have any first thoughts, let alone second ones, he tipped it to his mouth and poured.

  It tasted strongly of herbs. He had no idea what kind, as they were surely all Olastarian (or were they?), but it was one of the only things he'd been able to taste here other than his own food, and the shock of it was like being stung on the tongue. Was he being poisoned? He threw his mind into the nether in his stomach. No. He wasn't being poisoned.

  Just the opposite.

  He sank to the floor. Something inside him was wailing like an abandoned infant, despairing that he'd never know the dalax again. But the rest of him felt like he had just awakened from a nightmare that had been going on for so long he'd forgotten who he was when he was awake.

  "You took that stuff?" Blays grabbed the sides of his head. "You idiot!"

  "He did." Gladdic sounded surprised. He moved to the shelves. The effort made him lean forward like he was fighting against a wind strong enough to capsize ships, but he made it, and lifted a jar in his trembling hand. It took him a full minute of closed-eyed concentration before he was able to find the will to open it. Yet open it he did, and he drank it down, and soon found himself slumped on the floor next to Dante.

  Throughout all of their current endeavor, Kelen had been stumbling around like a zombie, saying almost nothing. It was half a wonder he'd even been able to follow them through the palace. He didn't look to understand what was going on, so he turned out to be the easiest: Dante just opened a third jar of the herbal stuff and told him to drink it, and he obeyed.

  "There was a cure," Kelen said once he'd thumped down next to Gladdic and gathered the wits to speak. "All of this time, and there's been a cure all along."

  He looked like he would have murdered Xanalos if his body and brain hadn't been as mixed-up as a midden heap. Keeping one eye on that situation, Dante got down a fourth bottle.

  "Here." He held it out to Blays.

  Blays snorted. "I don't want anything to do with that. Now you get out of the way of that keg before I have to show you how it's done again."

  Whatever Gladdic had done to him earlier with the ether back in their cell had made Blays slightly less insane, or else he would already have emptied one of the kegs down his throat. But it was his turn now, and the look in his eye made it clear that he would happily commit violence if Dante tried to stand between him and the dalax any longer.

  "But all the rest of us have cleansed ourselves of it," Dante said. "If you were to take it again, you'd be staying here by yourself."

  "I can't help that your brain is the size of a testicle. I'm not going to throw away the gift of the gods just because you decided to walk away from it."

  Even knowing how the dalax warped its subjects' mind, the words stung. "In a short while, there won't be any more dalax. There won't be any more here."

  Blays shrugged. "That's what you've been telling yourself. But we all know you're not going to defeat Nolost. We've just lost too much time here. Face the facts already, if you can stand to."

  "You don't know that. And you can't know that. Not until we try."

  "You go and do whatever you want. But we all get to make our own choice, and mine is with that keg there. Get out of my way before I have to embarrass you."

  Blays pulled back his shoulders. Dante hadn't really thought that reason would work on him, not in his current condition, but he'd hoped that the bond between them would be old enough and strong enough to break the hold the liquid had on Blays' mind.

  No such luck. So he would, as Blays had said, have to face facts.

  Blays bounced on the balls of his feet and charged at him. He'd already filled his hands with shadows, though, and used them to root Blays' feet to the ground. That made Blays fall awkwardly—and possibly break an ankle, but that couldn't be helped just then.

  "Let go of me!" Blays hollered. "Get your filthy shadows off me!"

  Dante did the exact opposite, using more of them to glue Blays' arms in place. With all four of his limbs disabled, Blays couldn't do more than wrench his torso around like a wounded worm.

  "I know you carry betrayal in your heart," Blays said. "You will always choose yourself, in the end. But I never thought you'd do that to me."

  Saying nothing, Dante worked loose the stopper on the jar and kneeled. As he tipped it toward Blays' mouth, Blays lashed his head about, and the liquid spilled worthlessly instead.

  "Drink it!" Dante said. "You drink it up, or else I'll pour it down the other end of you instead!"

  He was quite serious, but Blays kept thrashing around anyway, rolling his eyes and snapping at Dante's hand as he moved the jar in for another attempt. Dante grabbed him by the hair and slapped him with the shadows: not hard enough to meaningfully harm him, just enough to stun and disorient him. He pinched Blays' nose shut with his other hand and poured fluid into his mouth. Blays swallowed instinctively.

  "I'll never forgive you for this!" Blays spluttered. There was more, but he gargled as Dante tipped more of the herb-water down his throat.

  Maybe the cure was already working, or maybe Blays had exhausted his will to struggle. Either way, he stopped resisting then, taking swallow after swallow until the jar was empty.

  Dante stood and dropped the shadowy chains from Blays' arms and legs. Blays stayed on the floor, breathing heavily, staring up at nothing.

  "Dying gods," he said. "That was the worst best experience of my life. Or maybe the best worst experience." He popped to his feet. He was soaked in sweat and he was shaking but his eyes were clear. They landed on the king. "Time to die."

  "Hold now!" Xanalos lifted both palms, voice sharp with affront. "You swore not to take our lives! Are you oathbreakers now?"

  "I am whatever my enemy forces me to become. But you've just given me a better idea." Blays threw his empty jar in the air, spinning it end over end, and then snagged it. "Time for you to drink up and find out how the other side lives."

  "I don't think so. I made no such agreement."

  "I wasn't in my right mind when we made our deal," Blays said. "Now I am. And I find that my right mind is very, very angry." He moved toward the king.

  "Taradam! Go for help!"

  The king's aide glanced about himself in panic, then made a dash for the fortress-like door, lifting his knees high as he ran. Blays took one sideways step towards him. His sword appeared in his hand as if by magic. It then appeared halfway through Taradam's skull, producing a crunch that Dante had almost but would never quite get used to. Taradam's eyes rolled toward the steel now jammed between them, then he keeled over.

  Blays snapped his blade free before the falling corpse could yank it away from him. "Well, your majesty. Would you prefer a cup, or do you like it straight from the tap?"

  "Stay away from me." Xanalos pressed his back to the wall, sliding along it to his right. As Blays stepped toward him, he burst forward, making a break for the door.

  Blays punched the king in his nose, crunching it. Xanalos wailed. Blays grabbed the smaller man by the hair and dragged him across the room until he was under the keg. He jerked his chin at Dante, who pulled loose the bung.

  Dalax gushed from the keg. The king did his best to fight loose, but Blays was nearly twice his weight, and was a fighting man whereas the king had the build of a heron. Blays soon forced several gulps of dalax down the man's gullet.

  After that, the king drank his fill by himself, and was happy to do so.

  At last, Xanalos sighed and fell away from the keg, scooting about until he could rest his back against the wall. He turned his hand slowly back and forth before his eyes in rapture.

  "Those like Kelen have said that we are savagely cruel for what we do to the dalaxa," he said. "But the dalaxa are the luckiest people in all creation."

  "I'm happy to see you share their fate," Kelen said.

  "What's the point of this?" Dante said.

  Blays was watching with folded arms. "It's funny."

  "But they're just going to cure him. Even if you smash all the red jars, they'll just make more."

  "We're about to go destroy all of Olastar. He'll be dead soon enough anyway. Before his world ends, I want him to understand what it was really like."

  "Right. Well, your royal highness," Dante said, turning back to the king, "you just sit right here until someone finds you. In the meantime, you've got all the dalax you could ever want."

  "I'll do just that." Still bleeding from his broken nose, Xanalos reached up at them in farewell. "Thank you for what you've given me. When I feel the mysteries of the dalax, I can believe that the gods might be real after all, for only they could gift us with such wonder."

  It seemed likely he'd babble on about the dalax for as long as they'd let him, so they got out of there. Dante closed the door to the treasure room and gave it a light slap. "I'm surprised you didn't loot any of his stuff."

  "I thought about it," Blays said. "But I wouldn't want to carry it with me."

  Kelen met eyes with him and nodded.

  Dante sent his fly ahead of them. Almost at once, it ran into a half dozen soldiers who were marching about with a purpose. He could have killed them without any trouble yet, but the cure had wiped away the fury of a dalaxa kept away from his dalax, and he ducked into a side room instead.

  "The staircase is kind of far from here anyway," he said while they were waiting. "I'm going to see if I can find another one." He sent his fly out to do just that.

  Blays took a seat on an ornate chair. "I'm…sorry about that, by the way."

  "About what?"

  "Back there. I couldn't see any way out of it. I couldn't even imagine wanting to get out of it. It was like I was…consumed."

  "That's just what it's made to do to you," Kelen said.

  "Maybe so, but that didn't stop the three of you from fighting it off."

  "I didn't do anything. Except whatever I was told. It's like the king suggested, your bodies are different than ours."

  "That makes it worse," Blays said. "Even with that advantage, I still wasn't able to hold out."

  "You do have a fondness for such things," Dante said. "But that's why we travel together: to do for the others what they can't do for themselves." He slipped the fly under a doorway and clicked his tongue. "Speaking of, I've just found us a much closer staircase. I suggest we—"

  He was cut off mid-sentence by a bent-sounding horn. They all looked at each other, but nobody needed to say a word: they'd been found out.

  13

  "Way forward looks clear," Dante said. "Go."

  They fanned out into the hall, muffling their steps by sticking to the rug that striped its middle. After the placid drift of the dalax, which had felt like floating weightlessly on blood-warm water—if that water also permeated every fiber of your being, and made those fibers sing in time with the heavens and the stars—it felt almost as good to be back in command of their own minds, exerting their bodies in struggle.

  Though it felt rather less great when they turned a corner into a corridor that had been vacant just a moment before and found a host of Hypatians spilling into it.

  Dante had been hoping to get down to the gateway without having to massacre anyone else. Especially dalaxa. Which was a bit stupid, considering he intended to go kill every last one of them on earth as soon as he got through the gateway. But he didn't hesitate to sweep a barrage of nethereal darts down the hallway.

  Blue light shot from the hands of the defenders. Dante swore violently. He struck at the soma with flecks of nether that looked like a cloud of buzzing flies.

  "The staircase is right behind them," he called to the others. "They knew where we were going."

  "Xanalos knows exactly why we're here," Blays said. "He must have told his people where we'd be headed if the alarums started up."

  Kelen sprayed soma down the hallway in a defensive screen, deflecting most of the attacks. Plenty others made it past him, though, requiring both Dante and Gladdic to pour everything they had into chipping away at the foreign sorcery. Dante was so distracted with his duties he didn't notice what Blays was doing until he'd snapped out the Spear of Stars and charged.

  "Don't worry," he said. "This will only hurt for a moment."

  Shielding their eyes against the glare of the spear, the Hypatian sorcerers turned their assault on Blays. Dante ran behind him, pelting the soma with nether while lobbing some of it at the enemies to distract them. In past fights, the spear would have ended the skirmish in moments. This time, though, while it drew some of the soma toward its tip, where it was absorbed while the spear glowed even brighter, some of the blue bolts held course. Straight toward Blays.

  "Aid him!" Dante shouted, though he feared they wouldn't have time to unless they were already doing so.

  He drew forth a massive amount of nether and shot it down the corridor like a geyser. His vision grayed from the strain of it and he fought to stay in command of it as it streamed past Blays and flooded into the soma. A black flash shot down the hall. When it cleared, all the soma was gone—except for one last blue bolt, all but hidden by fluttering, dissolving ash. It whipped past the spear and into Blays.

  He yelled out, swinging the spear to the side for balance as he fell to one knee. Dante had almost caught up to him and the head of the spear slashed toward his head. He dropped into a slide. The blade of the spear whisked so close to Dante's head it clipped some of his hair. Coldness radiated from it like watching a snowstorm from behind thin glass, and as it passed by, he heard a chorus of angels singing in a language that not even the talisman of Carvahal could translate.

  Dante slapped nether across Blays' wounded hip, but he was already fighting to his feet on his own. Blue soma whined past them toward the enemy, trailed by ether.

  "What the hell just happened?" Blays shook the spear. "Don't tell me this thing is broken!"

  "There's something very wrong with this place." Dante pumped shadows at the Hypatians, driving them back on one flank, though he wasn't sure if he managed to wound any of them. "It's like nothing here can properly interact with anything from anywhere else. It all just kind of glances off each other."

  "And there's more of them throwing their stuff than there is of us throwing ours."

  Which was precisely why, despite Dante and Gladdic being clearly more skilled than any of the Hypatians, they were barely keeping up their defense despite Kelen helping with the soma.

  "We'll head to the other staircase," Dante said, jogging backwards toward the others. "Those guys are short. We can outrun them."

  He sent his fly buzzing down the hall to scout the way. Almost immediately, it ran into a second group of Hypatians. Many of these were common soldiers, but sorcerers trotted among them, too.

  "Reinforcements coming the other way," he said. "We're about to be cut off!"

  Gladdic grimaced as he fought off a flock of blue lights that had closed to within feet of him. The four of them edged back. Even with Blays swinging the spear about and scooping up as much soma as his weapon could absorb, there was no chance of advancing.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61