Storm and Steel (50 page)

The tunnel split again. This time Alyra chose the right-hand passage, and Horace started to wonder if she was choosing at random. He didn't ask, though. He was anxious enough without the thought of wandering lost in
these catacombs until they succumbed to thirst and starvation.
We'll probably roast to death before that happens
.

Alyra stopped in the middle of the tunnel. “Did you h—?”

Horace stumbled back as she shoved him. “What are you doing?”

A spinning piece of metal flew past his head, almost making him jump. He turned to see four figures in long gray robes rushing in from behind them. Disentangling himself from Alyra, Horace put himself between her and the attackers. The magic coursed through his body like rivers of fire and ice. He sought to tear a few pieces of rock from the wall and launch them at the Gray Robes, but instead the entire wall and half the ceiling came down in an avalanche, covering the men under a pile of rubble. Shocked by what he'd done, and even more shocked that the power continued to rush from him, ripping out more and more of the bedrock surrounding the passageway, Horace clamped down on the
zoana
. With some resistance, the power ceased.

Horace coughed and blinked against the particles of flying dust as Alyra pulled him away.

“You've got to be more careful,” she said as they moved around the bend. “You could have collapsed the entire passage with us in it.”

He shook his head between bouts of coughing. When he could finally speak, he told her, “I didn't mean for that to happen. The power…it got away from me somehow.”

She paused to let him catch his breath. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Sometimes, but not like this. I couldn't stop it, like someone else was controlling the magic. It's all….” He put a hand to his chest, unable to describe the thrilling terror that had come over him. The power felt raw and untamed pouring out of him. Almost as if it had been…
reflecting my anger. That's what I felt when I unleashed it on those men. Rage. I wanted them dead and I didn't care how. What had Mulcibar said about the power? That it could affect our actions? Take control?

Once the thought got into his head, he couldn't dislodge it. What if he became a slave to the power? He needed it. There was no chance he could do what had to be done without it. Yet, it terrified him at the same time.

Alyra must have sensed some of what he was thinking because she placed a hand on his arm. “You can do this, Horace. I'm here with you.”

Taking hold of her hand again, he pointed down the tunnel, the only way they could go now.

Twenty minutes later an orange glow emerged from down the tunnel, which had continued to descend into the earth as they walked for what seemed like miles. One look at Alyra revealed that she felt the same way he did. They were both exhausted. Their clothes were drenched in sweat, their hair hung limp. The air had become more acrid and foul with every step they took. The tunnel walls, whenever one of them made the mistake of brushing against them, were as hot as a griddle over an open flame.

As they followed the passage around the latest bend, Alyra quickened her pace, and he speeded up to stay with her. When they reached the tunnel's end, they both stopped.

Intense heat blasted from the opening, making the air shimmer and twist. The tunnel mouth opened into a massive cavern. A network of metal scaffolding climbed the walls. The floor was a lake of molten rock, glowing cherry-red and giving off clouds of steam. An island of stone rose from the center, crowned by a strange lattice of metal beams that reminded him of the interior frame of a tower, but the girders jutted out at odd angles and came back together in ways that made no sense. Green sparks showered from the upper portion of the machine with hissing crackles.

Power hummed in the chamber, causing a vibration that ran through the stone walls and floor. Horace glanced up to find the ceiling, but it was lost in a curtain of smoke and shadows. He saw something else, however, that rooted him to the spot. Seven colossal statues carved from the living rock of the cavern's walls. Their stern visages filled him with dread.

He recalled something from his reading and knew what these must be. “Seven are the lords of Absu….”

“What did you say?” Alyra asked.

“It's something I read in a book that Mulcibar was studying before he disappeared. It talked about the seven lords of Absu. That's what the Akeshians call their underworld, right? Then there was something about chaos and the gates of death. Do you think Lord Astaptah worships these things?”

Alyra shook her head. “I've heard rumors—whispers, really—of a secret
cult in the city, but I never gave them much credence. Until now. Horace, if you're right and Lord Astaptah is in league with such dark powers, then he's even more dangerous than I imagined. We have to get out of here.”

“Not until we finish what we came for.” He took a step toward the rock island. “Is that it over there?”

“Yes. The queen called it a storm engine.”

“Perhaps we can cripple it somehow, and then the court can depose Astaptah.”

“Perhaps…”

“All right. Let's get it over with.”

The stream swirled around their feet as they approached the bridge. Horace pulled at the collar of his robe. His throat was on fire from breathing the scalding-hot air. The heat of the floor penetrated his shoes, like walking on burning sand. He paused at the foot of the bridge, unsure if he could trust it. A faint vibration ran through the stone underfoot, and a low buzzing noise emanated from the other side.

“Stay back,” he said. “I'm going to try from here.”

Alyra squeezed his hand before stepping behind him. Horace took a deep breath and regretted it as his lungs cried out. Coughing into his sleeve, he studied the machine towering before him. He didn't have a clue how to attack the thing, so he went with his first instinct. This machine was made of metal, so the dominion of earth and stone seemed appropriate. He called upon the Kishargal dominion and sent it down into the floor. Concentrating on the machine, he wasn't prepared when the
zoana
recoiled.

Horace's legs gave out as his power rushed back through him. All his thoughts vanished in a gray haze. His vision dimmed. He felt himself hit the ground, but only faintly, as if he were remembering an old fall. Then something was pulling on him, dragging him across the rough stone. Dull pain jarred his nerves, but it didn't come alive until someone slapped him. Blinking, he opened his eyes.

Alyra held his head in her lap. The skin on the backs of his calves and feet was on fire, almost literally. He looked down to see his sandals were blackened at the heels.

“What happened?” she asked. “I almost didn't get you before you slid into the magma.”

He put the discomfort aside like he'd done on Lord Astaptah's table and focused. “I don't know. It has some kind of protection. Help me up.”

He tried not to groan as Alyra pulled him to his feet. He felt tattered and worn-out like an old shop rag. Eyeing the machine, he reconsidered his strategy. Obviously, the ground around the island was warded, but what about the air?

Horace summoned the Imuvar dominion. The scents and textures of sweat and burnt leather and molten stone filled his head. Drawing upon the power, he crafted a cudgel out of hardened air. He packed it together, layer upon layer. Although he couldn't see it, in his mind's eye it grew to the size of small tree. When it held as much power as he could summon, he drove the giant-sized club toward the machine like a battering ram.

The power recoiled back on him again as his attack was halted ten feet from the machine as if it had run into the side of a mountain. He gritted his teeth and held on as the pain erupted in his chest and radiated outward like fingers of fire under his skin. His air-cudgel shattered into a thousand gusty fragments that spun around the cavern, whipping at his robe and hair before they vanished.

The room spun in swift circles while Alyra propped him up. Swallowing the nausea that tried to creep up his throat, Horace took deep breaths through his mouth. How was he going to destroy something that repelled magic?

“Horace,” Alyra whispered, her grip tightening around his upper arm.

He squinted through the steam and the dim glow of the magma. Shadows moved at the base of the machine. A chill ran through him as a dark figure stepped out into the light.

Alyra hated herself for it, but she couldn't help letting go of Horace and taking a step back as Lord Astaptah appeared. From the shadows surrounding the storm engine he emerged like a serpent from its lair. This was her worst
nightmare. Her mission—her
true
objective—lay right before her, but it may as well have been on the other side of the world.

“I am quite impressed.” Lord Astaptah stepped toward the bridge spanning the magma moat. “You are quite resourceful, Horace.”

Alyra retreated another step. With numb, sweat-slicked fingers she reached for her hidden dagger, fumbling with the hilt that felt suddenly unfamiliar. Her hands shook as fear overwhelmed her, filling her with its venom, stealing away her will to act. She wanted to turn and run, but only the knowledge that it was a futile gesture kept her from giving in to the urge. There was no place to hide now.

Lord Astaptah lifted a hand, his sleeve falling away to reveal slender fingers as he threw something. It was too small for Alyra to see. A round stone perhaps. A heartbeat later, a firestorm rose from the pool of molten stone. Flames flashed around her, their greedy tongues searing her skin. She covered her face as she sunk to her knees, trying to draw herself into a ball against the awful heat. She couldn't hear anything over the roar of the fires. Through slitted lids she watched.

Her heart went out to Horace as he bent before the fiery onslaught. This had never been his fight, yet he'd taken it up. Because of her. A twinge of guilt unraveled inside her. Had she used him?
No, he made his choice freely. And I have to honor that. Somehow
.

Horace made a chopping gesture with both hands, and the firestorm flew upward, up to the ceiling where it banished the shadows dwelling there. For a couple seconds she could make out the details in the faces of the seven statues. The features carved into that black stone were misshapen, as if the artist had been trying to convey something pushing through the flesh of his subjects. Then the fires vanished, plunging the upper half of the cavern into darkness once more.

Horace and Lord Astaptah faced each other from opposite ends of the bridge. Horace shot multiple blasts of icy water at the vizier, who deflected them with a sweep of his arm and unleashed some kind of counterattack. She couldn't see it, but Horace reacted like he'd been slammed in the face with a shovel. He sent something invisible back. It didn't seem to bother Lord Astaptah, but a long furrow was ripped along the length of the stone bridge.

Back and forth the battle with unseen energies waged. Shielded by Horace, Alyra wasn't targeted by any of the attacks.
What can I do to help? If I get too close to Lord Astaptah, he'll fry me to a crisp. And I don't have anything that can reach him from here. So what's left?

A piece of rock fell from the ceiling. It crashed into the pool of magma, sending burning droplets flying in all directions. In the momentary illumination caused by the splash, she spotted something she hadn't noticed her last time down here. A second bridge on the other side of the island, directly behind the machine.
Don't think about it! Just move!

Swallowing her fear, she hurried along the causeway running around the edge of the chamber. The footing was treacherous, but she tried not to think about what would happen if she made a wrong step. More chunks of rock fell from above. Lucky for her, none of them hit close enough to splash her, but she noticed with no little unease that the entire magma pond was roiling from the disturbances. If its surface rose just a couple feet, it would roast them all.

When she reached the foot of the far bridge, she started across, heedless now of the danger. She had no idea whether Horace could win against Lord Astaptah. And though she didn't want to contemplate the consequences of his losing, she had to press on as if that was the foregone conclusion. Whatever happened to her, or them, the mission needed to be completed. Otherwise, all this was for nothing.

On the other side of the bridge were scattered several long metal boxes, each connected to the machine by thick copper cables. Alyra didn't have any idea what they were for, but they emitted a droning buzz, so she kept clear as she snuck toward the metal construction. The girders at the base of the machine were sunk into the living stone. Up close, she noticed that a few of them were slightly blackened with soot from some older fire. The structure appeared sound, though.
Too sound. What in the name of heaven am I going to do to this thing?

After sneaking a glance at the vizier's back, and seeing him fully engaged with Horace, Alyra slipped around to the front of the machine. More metal boxes were here, but these had panels on the front with dials and switches. One was covered in glass-faced gauges. Alyra looked over the controls, trying to
figure out which ones would shut the machine down, hopefully for good. But nothing was labeled and none of it made any sense. She reached for a switch at random and hissed as a painful jolt of electricity ran up her fingers. Shaking her injured hand, she held out the other. Slowly. Her fingertips started to tingle a couple inches from the board. It was warded with sorcery.