Greatshadow (38 page)

“But... but... but...” said Tower, his voice trailing away.

“I should have told you this earlier, but Aurora thought you might have the Jagged Heart and I played along to find out if it was true. Now that she’s gone, there’s really no need to humor you.”

Tower set his jaw as his eyes hardened into an angry stare. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and trembling. “Yes, my princess, there is a need for you to humor me. You’re still a fugitive, accused of crimes beyond imagining. I’m your sole path to forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness is a vastly overrated commodity,” she said. “Also, are you really trying to win me over with blackmail?”

Tower said nothing as he put his helmet back on.

“So, what, we fight now?” asked Infidel.

“Yes,” said Tower. There was something strange about his voice. I poked part of my face into his helmet for a look. He was crying. “Yes, we fight now. But not each other. Not yet. My first mission is to slay the dragon. Then... then I will return to my sacred duty of smiting infidels.” His shoulders sagged. “Flee if you wish. I won’t pursue you.”

“Flee?” Infidel cracked her knuckles. “There’s more proof you don’t have a clue who I am.”

Flashing a grin, she jumped down the shaft.

D
OWN BELOW, THE
Truthspeaker had carved out a hundred-foot circle of calm stone amid the chaotic false matter. The cavity seemed even larger than it had before, as if the false matter of the walls was retreating from the holy man. The heat was as horrible as ever; Father Ver’s armpits were stained with dark circles of sweat. The second Menagerie spider monkey had rejoined the group; the two tiny primates were fanning one another with triangular wedges of shoulder bones to keep cool.

Infidel dropped from the shaft, landing on the stone island. She looked around, her eyes wide. I floated toward her, wondering if the veil between the spirit world and the material world was as thin as Zetetic claimed. I placed my lips by her ear and whispered, “Your favorite color is black, even though that isn’t really a color. I could have answered the monkey question in my sleep. Tower might know your family tree back a dozen generations; I know ten thousand things that make you smile. And when you smile, I smile.”

She didn’t smile. She didn’t respond at all, other than to look toward the shaft just as Lord Tower flew through the opening. He shot off sideways at blinding speed, slamming face first into a wall, sending out a rainbow spray of undulating false-matter gravel. He rose on hands and knees, perpendicular to the others, and said, “By the sacred quill! What madness is this?”

A huge stalagmite grew beside him; he placed his hand upon it to try to rise. The stone fell away just as quickly revealing Zetetic, his hands behind his back, looking amused.

“You’ll find it difficult to fly. If you’re not in contact with a surface, up and down don’t really exist. The Gloryhammer has no objective gravity to resist.”

The steel spikes in Tower’s boots sprung out and dug into the rock. He rose to his full height, using the Gloryhammer as an impromptu cane. He sounded nervous as he asked, “This cursed landscape is where we fight the dragon?”

“Not exactly,” said Zetetic. “This is where I send the Truthspeaker into the spirit world, and open a tunnel for you to launch a sneak attack.”

“When?” asked Tower.

“I can cast the spells at any time, but I assume you wish to pray or meditate or drink some holy water. Whatever it is the righteous do to prepare themselves for battle.”

Tower looked toward Infidel. With his faceplate down, there was no way to tell what he was thinking. After a gaze that lingered long enough to make everyone uncomfortable, the knight said, “I’m as righteous at this moment as I will ever be. Let’s do this.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Zetetic crossed his arms. “Is there some reason to rush? Maybe you feel ready to fight, but the rest of us are hot, tired, and hungry. Let’s set up camp, rest a little, get some food in our bellies.”

“Let’s not talk about food right now,” said Menagerie.

“Agreed,” said Tower. “This is no fit place to make camp. The less time we linger, the better. Open the portal.”

Zetetic grumbled something beneath his breath, then reached out to grab Tower’s gauntlet. He turned toward the calm stone island where the Father Ver stood and towed the knight over the shifting stone to join the others.

“Maybe I’m not hungry,” said Menagerie, “but I wouldn’t mind a little rest before we face the dragon. What’s the hurry?”

“Zetetic is no doubt gambling that more of you will die if we delay our mission,” said Father Ver.

Zetetic pursed his lips tightly together.

Father Ver continued, “His powers draw on the beliefs of others. Tower and I offer him no fuel for his corrupt arts. If only the three of us had made it this far, he’d be powerless, since the Deceiver doesn’t truly believe his own lies. And, if he were powerless, we’d be unable to open the doorways to the dragon. He imagines this would save his life.”

“That’s a pretty elaborate theory,” said Zetetic.

“We both know it’s the truth,” said Father Ver.

“Whatever,” said Zetetic, with a dismissive wave. He faced the monkeys and No-Face. “I want the two of you to give me your full attention.”

The mercenaries turned their heads toward him with weary stares.

“I have... I have the power to open gateways that lead from this chamber to anywhere I wish, even other dimensions.”

The monkeys nodded simultaneously. No-Face, in his expressionless stare, also seemed convinced.

The only one who looked doubtful was Zetetic. He studied the ground at his feet, taking a deep breath, before stepping up to Tower. His face was mirrored in the knight’s gleaming faceplate as he said, “I’m going to send you to Greatshadow’s lair. So far, my mental shields haven’t detected any of his telepathic probes. He won’t know you’re coming, but you only get one shot. Make it count. If you merely wound the dragon, you might condemn the entire world to burn.”

Tower nodded. “I’ve prepared for this moment my whole life. Though some among us may doubt the purity of my intentions, I will not shirk from my duty... or my destiny!”

Tower opened the compartment on his hip and pulled out his magic book, swapping the Gloryhammer for the Jagged Heart. The searing heat of the chamber instantly cooled from hellish to merely unbearable.

“Ready?” Zetetic asked again.

“Do it,” said Tower.

Zetetic grabbed the knight by his biceps and suddenly jerked him from his feet, holding him overhead. He looked like he was getting ready to throw the knight, and, as it turned out, that was exactly the plan. With a grunt he hurled Lord Tower at the nearest wall. The stone swirled as Tower approached, forming a vortex, like the cone of air that forms when water drains from a tub. Tower shot down this ever-lengthening vortex, until he became little more than a speck, flying toward a pinpoint of bright white light.

“Your turn,” said Zetetic, grabbing Father Ver by the arms. Their gazes met. The Deceiver’s voice was little more than a whisper as he said, “You heard the speech. For the sake of mankind,
do not fuck this up!”

He snatched the holy man from his feet, holding him overhead for a few seconds as his eyes studied the swirling stone, searching for the exact spot where the barrier between dimensions was at its weakest. Suddenly, his eyes brightened. He could see it. I could as well. At the edge of the platform, at a ninety-degree angle from the direction he’d tossed Lord Tower, a vortex of brilliant white light began to spin. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the radiance, but no one else on the platform save for the Deceiver seemed aware of the light show. The vortex quickly grew, becoming a hole in the air several yards across. From the other side of the hole, I could hear the wail of a terrible wind, a sound that sent shudders through my soul, though, again, the others remained oblivious.

With all his muscles straining, Zetetic tossed the holy man toward the spirit door.

The Truthspeaker never reached the portal. Instead, in mid-flight, he was struck by a flying body that shot out from the vortex Tower had flown down. Father Ver landed on the stone platform face first, then flopped to his back unconscious, revealing a huge gash along his left eyebrow. His twitching legs kicked Zetetic in the ankle and the Deceiver went down as well, cursing as he landed on his butt.

At the far end of the platform, Lord Tower, or something that looked a lot like him, slid to a halt near Infidel’s feet. She jumped back, landing on the shifting false matter, spreading her arms to keep her balance. The figure before Infidel wasn’t Tower, but instead a statue of the knight carved from dull gray stone. The Jagged Heart was nowhere to be seen. Infidel stared at the statue with a confusion that rivaled my own as the fluid stone beneath her carried her away. She jumped to return to the island, but wound up even further away, thwarted by the room’s meandering geometry.

Meanwhile, I heard the rattle of No-Face’s chain, the familiar sound that always rang out when he readied himself for a fight. The twin monkeys were suddenly replaced by a pair of snarling wolverines. I looked to the stone vortex, squinting to make out the shadowy figure approaching.

The thing that stalked toward us was human in form, mostly. It was transparent, but not invisible, more like murky water than air, so that anything beyond appeared distorted. The fluid it was composed of had a slight brownish hue, like sewer water. It was carrying the Jagged Heart, but showed no signs of freezing.

As it walked toward us, it shouted, “O stone! Be not so!” It then shrieked with laughter, a high-pitched, slurred barking that reminded me of the forced, empty cackle of a drunken whore who hadn’t truly understood her client’s joke.

The unpleasant sounds of the liquid man before us were matched by a shrieking behind us. It was the Deceiver, looking at the approaching figure, crying out with terror until his lungs were emptied of the last drop of air.

Just as the Deceiver’s voice faded out, the liquid man stepped from the vortex and placed his feet on the stable stone island. Now that he was closer, I recognized he was formed not of water, but of booze — whiskey judging from the smell. He was an impressive figure, as tall and muscular as Aurora had been.

“If you’ve got a straw handy, I can tackle this,” I said to Relic.

He didn’t find it funny.

This is the old god I spoke of!
he thought back.
Nowowon, the god of destruction!

“He sounds fun,” I said.

Nowowon turned his liquid eyes toward me and said, in a solemn seriousness, “I lived, evil I.”

This will not be fun for anyone. Nowowon had no match for cruelty among the old gods. He delighted in tormenting the dead as well as the living.

“Party pooper,” I said.

“Party boobytrap!” said Nowowon, licking his liquid lips. “Are we not drawn onward to new era?”

Behind us, Zetetic finished filling his lungs with air, and screamed again.

CHAPTER TWENTY

RAW WAR

F
OR A SUPPOSED
god, Nowowon didn’t impress me. Except for Zetetic freaking out, no one else showed any obvious panic. That may have been because not everyone was paying attention. Father Ver was unconscious from his face-plant and Infidel had her back to the action as her repeated leaps over the false matter kept carrying her random directions and distances. Relic was just staring at Nowowon with the same detached calmness he showed toward most events.

Menagerie in his wolverine bodies and No-Face with his swinging chain didn’t look worried as they slowly circled the old god. I wondered what they were seeing? It made sense, in a completely senseless, magical way, that a god of destruction would appear to me as walking whiskey. Self-destruction no doubt had a special place in his heart. He was appearing to me as my greatest weakness. Maybe Menagerie was currently looking at a ten-foot-tall guy made entirely of money. Whatever he was made of, he’d taken the Jagged Heart from Tower, so he wasn’t going to be a pushover.

No-Face was first to strike, leaping forward with a noise half war cry, half grunt: “HRUNN!” The iron ball sliced through the air and came down dead center of Nowowon’s face, bouncing off without so much as leaving a scratch, at least from my point of view.

Nowowon met the blow with a thrust of the Jagged Heart, moving at blinding speed. No-Face didn’t stand a chance; the harpoon impaled his rib cage, driving down into the stone beneath him until the icy blade was completely embedded, leaving only the shaft exposed. Blood bubbled around the wound, then froze, as the ball and chain slipped from his fingers. No-Face sank to his knees, pinned by the shaft, unable to fall completely. No ghost appeared; as horrific as the wound was, he wasn’t dead yet.

The wolverines let loose angry howls as they launched themselves at the god, sinking their teeth into his throat. Nowowon grabbed them, then tossed them away, shouting, “Ooze zoo!”

As the beasts spun through the air, they began to break apart into dozens, if not hundreds of animals. Instead of two wolverines hitting the ground, the floor was suddenly covered with countless pint-sized creatures, no larger than they’d been depicted on the original tattoos. There were kitten-sized lions, wolves smaller than mice, and sharks no bigger than goldfish flopping on the floor.