Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) (27 page)

‘Finally, there are hallucinogenic drugs,’ Corinea continued, ‘to stimulate an emotional and sensual palate to make sense of the experience. Without them you would sink into darkness and never return, even if your heart does manage to restart. These drugs allow your imagination to guide you back to consciousness. For myself, I recall falling through clouds and then becoming a bird. It was a struggle, as I’ve always been afraid of heights. I’ve heard of others speak of overcoming similar fears to survive.’

Alaron tried to think of something he wasn’t afraid of, on some level. ‘Okay.’

‘It is the hallucinogens that are specifically brewed for you: the sort of person you are means that different parts of the brain need to be stimulated to enable you to fight your way back.’ Her voice was eager, as if she couldn’t wait for him to drink. This was her re-admittance to the world’s stage, Alaron realised. He tried not to resent her for it.

Puravai put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Stay calm, Brother Longlegs. Be focused, as you were when you re-learned the gnosis. You succeeded then, and you will in this also.’

Alaron looked at Corinea worriedly. ‘What are the odds? Fifty-fifty?’

‘No, much better. When Baramitius made the first batch of ambrosia, he had four different doses, based on gender and eye colour. It was monstrously imprecise, and that’s what killed so many. He refined it since then, and my understanding is that few have failed more recently.’ He was about to sigh in relief when she added, ‘But then, who really knows? The empire doesn’t publicise its failures.’

Thanks for that.

‘But you have Arcanum training, and a unique array of gnostic skills,’ she concluded. ‘I believe you will prevail.’

That helped. He took a deep breath and decided he was probably ready as he would ever be.

‘Could Al’Rhon and I have a moment alone?’ Ramita asked quietly.

Corinea looked at Puravai impatiently, but the old Zain master stood up and ushered her out. Ramita sat beside him. ‘Al’Rhon, I won’t say you don’t have to do this, because you do. Even if it wasn’t to help find Nasatya or stop that Inquisitor, you would do this: to prove yourself.’

‘I don’t know—’ he began to deny, but she cut him off.

‘You know you would. But Al’Rhon, you don’t have to prove anything: you are already the truest man I know.’

‘But I’m not
him
 . . . Antonin Meiros, I mean.’

‘Al’Rhon, of course you are not! But I’m not comparing you. He occupies a different chamber in my heart.’

He coloured. ‘But I’m not like your Kazim, either.’

‘Thank all the gods!’ She clasped his hand in both hers. ‘You are utterly unalike. Where you are steadfast, he was flighty. Where you treat me as an equal, he treated me as a lesser: a valued lesser, but in his mind he was always master. He wanted to put me on a pedestal in a kitchen. You want me as I am.’

‘You’ve told me how romantic and handsome he was . . .’

‘Oh, he certainly was. But those are the things that spark love, not what sustain it. The last time I saw him he had my husband’s blood on his hands. Believe me, you don’t suffer by comparison.’

‘But—’

‘If you think you aren’t handsome enough: find a mirror. If you don’t think you are worthy of Lady Meiros, forget her. She doesn’t exist. My name is Ramita Ankesharan, market-girl of Baranasi, and I am in love with you.’

He caught his breath. ‘I love you too.’

She kissed him slowly, until his mouth softened and the tension in him subsided. When he opened his eyes again, he was smiling, and ready to risk his life.

The Valley of Tombs, Gatioch, on the continent of Antiopia

Zulqeda (Noveleve) 929

17
^th
month of the Moontide

Malevorn Andevarion stared at the wriggling beetle pinched between his fingers. It had an iridescent green-blue carapace with yellow-brown highlights and was almost two inches long: a Death Scarab, or kheper in the Gatti language, so Huriya told him.

He knew the theory: you formed a link to the creature and bonded with it, and it bonded with you as it nestled in the top of the mouth, adjacent to the brain-stem. In time it became symbiotic with you, and if your body happened to perish, you lived on through the beetle until you found a new host-body.

Revolting.

Yet he knew he faced dangers: among the pack, certainly. From Hessaz, definitely. And even from Huriya, despite their burgeoning physical desire. In their private chamber they performed as if there was an audience, seeking emotional weakness in the other even as they strove physically. Some nights he thought she might be succumbing to him emotionally, but he still feared treachery.

But to spend eternity contained by a dung beetle . . . No, that is beneath me.

He crushed the scarab beneath his foot.

*

The next morning, they began. He poured the first batch of ambrosia into a golden goblet they’d retrieved from a previously unplundered tomb and showed Huriya the dirty-looking fluid. She sniffed it dubiously. ‘Is that it?’

‘It is.’ He looked her up and down. She was clad in embroidered evening robes that had once belonged to Xymoch’s dead wife, dressed as if for a celebration.

If this is successful, then that is what there will be . . .

The other observer on this night of nights was bound to a pillar in the corner, too weak to stand. Adamus Crozier’s body was restored but his spirit was entirely broken. Malevorn wanted him there, both for his experience, and to witness the consequences of any failure.

‘Shall we begin?’ he asked Huriya, as if her permission were needed.

‘Why not?’

They turned to Toljin.

The Vereloni warrior was on the floor, chained to metal rings set in the floor. He lay within a summoning circle that crackled with force, all focused inwards. Malevorn had drawn them, and Huriya would empower them when the time came. The objective was to test the potion on Toljin . . . then kill him afterwards.

Malevorn raised the cup in his hands and bent over the Souldrinker, who struggled futilely against his bindings. He was the last male of Zaqri of Metia’s old pack, and he wouldn’t survive the night.
History won’t remember him at all: only me.

Malevorn had begun to envisage the path ahead: the ambrosia would remove the Souldrinker affliction and he’d leave the East, returning to Pallas to give the ambrosia to his family and kin, rekindle old alliances, make promises . . . then he’d smash the Sacrecours and everyone else who’d pulled down his father.
I will be Malevorn, first of the Andevarion Emperors . . .

He stepped inside the circle, careful to leave one foot anchored outside, because he wouldn’t have put it past Huriya to try and seal him inside too, then caught Toljin’s chin in one fist. ‘Keep still,’ he snarled, letting his full menace show. He’d always known how to scare weaker men, and Toljin was certainly that. He quailed, and though he clearly wished to spit it out, he took the small mouthful of potion meekly and swallowed.

‘It will begin to take effect inside two hours,’ Malevorn reminded him. ‘After that, it’s up to you. You must stay conscious, no matter what. Fight to stay alive. This is your test, Toljin. Succeed, and you will be with us when we conquer the world. Fail, and, well . . .’

Toljin nodded mutely.

Malevorn stepped out of the circle and Huriya raised her hands. A web of light arose from the etched circle, becoming a hemisphere that quickly faded to invisibility. Within the circle Toljin groaned with fear, looking about him wildly as Malevorn and Huriya retreated to either side of the chamber. There was a flask of wine on a low table, but neither wanted to be impaired in any way when the moment came. They settled down to wait, and even Adamus Crozier’s eyes grew attentive: this was something he’d surely longed to see – the actual transformation of a man to an Ascendant.

The first hour passed slowly, with only Toljin’s increasing discomfort to mark it. He flushed a deep red as his blood began to race, his face turning almost purple, and his breathing became increasingly ragged. Then as the second hour began, he began to babble, first begging Huriya to free him, shrieking that he loved her, that only he loved her, that everyone else meant her ill. Huriya listened with blank contempt.

Then Toljin turned on Malevorn, spewing hatred. As his vitriol peaked, he thrashed violently, the poisons beginning to take effect. Then his breathing slowed, and this frenzied energy drained away. They saw the dregs of his gnosis engage – they’d deliberately not allowed him to replenish his powers, in case he might find ways to delay the onset of the potion. They saw him burn away his reserves in seconds, and still the potion gripped him and he went on dying.

Then it happened: he coughed violently, his chest thudded as if breaking open from inside, he thrashed for a few seconds . . . and then fell motionless.

Malevorn found he was holding his breath. The air was cloying, and he heard faint whispers with his gnostic senses, the voices of aetheric spirits, envious of life. He kindled Necromantic wards and drove them away. Seconds crawled past. Toljin needed to show signs of recovery within a couple of minutes or he was lost, but still he lay unmoving.

Then he coughed.

Huriya squealed delightedly, and Adamus swore. Malevorn clenched a fist triumphantly, and opened his inner eye wide. Toljin’s head fell sideways, and his whole body jerked once, then again. His eyes flew open. Then he vented a scream that shook the dust from the stones.

Malevorn seized his periapt, because he could sense some kind of impending
arrival
, like giant wings beating and a shadow descending, while his gnostic senses cried a warning. He kindled fresh wards, specific ones he remembered from his Arcanum training, because he’d felt this sensation before. Toljin was breathing fast now, muttering incoherently. His eyes refocused and found Malevorn, and he looked at him with pleading in his eyes. Then something struck the penned man and he fell to the stone.

Malevorn sent cautiously.

There was no response, but he caught the sense of a presence, powerful but disorientated. He quickly withdrew his mental probe.

‘What happened?’ Huriya asked sharply. ‘I felt something.’

Gnosis use created a sensation, something like the feel of wind and the sound of distant thunder, that other magi could sense. If the spell was of a specific Study, it was easiest to discern by those who also used that Study.

We’re all Wizards in this room . . .

He moved too late.

One moment, Toljin was lying contorted on the stone, still pinned in place by the chains.

The next he was upright, his chains broken and dangling from his wrist like flails. His eyes flashed indigo and his mouth opened, filled with darkness like a void as it stretched and stretched. He stepped through the protective circle and shattered it while Malevorn was still reacting, then the chains flashed and wrapped around the throat of the nearest person: Adamus Crozier.

He wrenched the clergyman to him and snapped his neck, almost pulling his head off as he kissed away his soul. Gnosis-energy kindled bright scarlet and coursed through Toljin’s veins, then he threw the limp body away and stalked toward Malevorn, grinning fiendishly.

‘Huriya, get out!’ he shouted, terrified she’d be slain and trigger his own heart’s demise. He conjured wizardry-gnosis, pulling a bolt of midnight-blue light into his hands and blasting it at Toljin. The Dokken staggered, shrieking in alarm, a sound amplified as if he had a hundred throats all howling in unison. He countered with a kinesis-infused mage bolt that threw Malevorn backwards into the wall.

Combat reflexes took over. Malevorn propelled himself upright as his blade leapt into his fist. Chains lashed; he swayed away from them and began to circle. From the corner of his eye he saw Huriya run for the door, but Toljin gestured and the door shimmered with light.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Toljin rasped at her. ‘I’m going to gut this pus-ball of an Inquisitor, then I’m going to finally do to you what you deserve.’

Huriya shrank against the wall, eyes huge and face pale. Malevorn tried to get between her and Toljin and nearly lost his legs as the chains flashed out. He danced out of reach and gathered himself for another try.

‘I’m going to turn my cock into a serrated horn,’ Toljin told Huriya while sending a torrent of sordid images at her to freeze her in her place. ‘I’ll tear you apart with it.’

Huriya resisted firmly, surprising Malevorn as he charged again, but Toljin’s arm-chains flashed out, entangling his sword-arm. As Toljin closed in, Malevorn pulled his dagger and slashed – and the Dokken’s left hand flopped wetly to the ground. He yowled as blood fountained from the stump, but it lasted only a second before a fresh hand, taloned and leathery, burst from the stump and raked at Malevorn. Beside the door, Huriya tried to blast through the seal, but Toljin reinforced it, making Huriya gasp and back away. Toljin had matched her strength.

Because he’s now an Ascendant.

But he’s not Toljin any more.

Mandira Khojana, Lokistan, on the continent of Antiopia

Zulqeda (Noveleve) 929

17
^th
month of the Moontide

The ambrosia tasted bitter, and spread through Alaron like ice-water in his veins, slowing everything but his heart, which began to labour. Every sense was dimming, the concerned faces about the cot fading away. Corinea was twitchy and apprehensive; Master Puravai grave and analytical. But he really only saw Ramita, drinking in her face as if it was the last thing he would ever see. When she too faded into the throbbing silence he tried to tell her that he loved her one last time, but couldn’t say if he’d managed to speak.

Then there was just himself, falling through space in slow circles as the darkness closed in. It might have been hours but maybe it was seconds. Corinea’s warnings echoed in his head. ‘
First the poison slows your body, but your heart will try to keep pumping. It may hurt.
’