The Immortal Heights (16 page)

There was nowhere to go now but Atlantis.

CHAPTER
13

PALACE AVENUE, THE BIGGEST THOROUGHFARE
in Delamer, passed before all five mage-made peninsulas that constituted the Right Hand of Titus. It was not the liveliest place at night, as most of the grand edifices on either side housed the various agencies and departments that ran the business of the realm—the House of Elberon had always understood that the trick to surviving a few incompetent rulers was a strong bureaucracy capable of seeing to the day-to-day operations of the Domain even if an idiot sat on the throne.

But usually one could expect to see some flow of traffic and pedestrians, attending a concert in the public parks or going down to the beach for a moonlight stroll. Tonight the avenue was utterly empty and the reasons, scores of them, hovered motionlessly overhead, each metallic bird shining a harsh light upon the capital city, which together mashed into an overbright ceiling that shut out the stars.

Armored chariots.

There were none directly above the Citadel, but the nearest one was at most a mile away. And for five miles around the Citadel, it was a no-vaulting zone.

Titus whispered a prayer and leaped onto his carpet. He shot out of the shadows of a grove of blue linden, crossed Palace Avenue, and sped up Citadel Boulevard. There were guards along Citadel Boulevard, but as he passed overhead, instead of challenging him, they saluted: the underside of the flying carpet glowed with the image of a phoenix and a wyvern guarding a shield that bore seven crowns, his personal standard.

The gate of the Citadel opened. He hurtled past, not slowing down until the walls of the palace itself blocked his way. Wrenching the carpet to a sudden stop, he jumped off onto the grand balcony.

What he was about to do offered neither strategic nor tactical advantage. In fact, it was a colossally inconvenient feat to attempt, for which he would have to sacrifice the last copy of the Crucible still in the House of Elberon's possession. But some things could not be helped. He was the sovereign of these lands, and on the eve of war, he must address his people.

He strode to a podium near the balustrade, placed both hands on its smooth, cool marble top, and recited the password and the countersign.

There came the sound of a small bell being struck, a soft reverberation that did not seem as if it would carry far. Yet it would be
heard inside every home, classroom, and place of employment in the Domain, as would his voice.

Already, lights from the armored chariots were swinging toward the Citadel.

He inhaled deeply. “To the mages of this great city and this great realm, I speak to you as a crisis approaches. For months you have heard the rumors, of unrest far and near. But now Atlantis has declared hostilities upon us, upon all who will no longer tolerate its oppression. Protect yourselves, safeguard the ones you cherish, and shield those who cannot shield themselves. Better yet, fight for them.

“I cannot defend every one of you, but I will defend this realm to my last breath.” Which would be drawn elsewhere, for he would never see his own country again. “Remember always: Fortune favors the brave.”

The armored chariots careened toward him. And was it his imagination, or did he hear a faint but rising chorus of “and the brave make their own fortune”?

There was no time to listen more closely. He placed the Crucible on the podium. “I am the heir of the House of Elberon, and I am in mortal danger.”

As the last syllable left his lips, a hand closed around his arm.

Titus flung the hand away, his wand drawn and pointed, his heart pounding. But the person who landed in the tall grass with a cry
was not an Atlantean soldier. Her eyes round, her hands held out in a gesture of supplication, she cried, “Please don't hurt me, Titus!”

Aramia, Lady Callista's daughter.

Behind her, Sleeping Beauty's castle loomed in the distance, its turrets illuminated by light from torches and cressets far below. The dragons that guarded its entrance roared, a bit too loudly for the minor disturbance of their arrival on the meadow.

Instantly he was on alert, scanning the sky above.

“I wanted to tell you to get out,” said Aramia, getting to her feet. “Uncle Alectus has already informed Atlantis of your presence at the Cit—”

Titus yanked her behind himself.
“Praesidium maximum!”

The strongest shield he could summon was barely enough to defend them against a shower of swords and maces. He swore. Bewitched weapons of this quantity—provided someone had not been editing the stories—could only belong to the Enchantress of Skytower, who should be busy besieging Risgar's Redoubt.

Yet the massive silhouette outlined against the hills west of the meadows was none other than that of Skytower itself, a bulbous-looking stronghold set atop a huge rock formation roughly in the shape of a cone.

What the hell? Risgar's Redoubt was a good hundred miles away. And Skytower, for all its other impregnable virtues, did not travel terribly fast. To keep Kashkari and Amara safe, he had stowed them inside the Crucible before he approached the Citadel, no more than
fifteen minutes ago. How had Skytower managed to cover so much distance in so little time?

And where were those two?

“. . . me come with you.”

He turned sharply toward Aramia. “What?”

She swallowed. “My mother will now always be known as the one who betrayed you and your elemental mage. I need to redeem her, to undo some of the damage she has unwittingly caused.”

But he had already stopped listening. Kashkari and Amara zoomed toward him, pulling up into a vertical climb to check their breakneck speeds. Their carpets circled back and hovered ten feet overhead.

“Get off the ground!” shouted Amara. “Now!”

Belatedly Titus remembered that once the Enchantress's weapons dropped down, they only became more dangerous. He shook open his carpet, pushed Aramia onto it, and jumped on himself, gaining just enough altitude to avoid being hacked to pieces by a line of rampaging swords.

“That's the woman who crashed the party,” said Aramia.

Titus ignored her and spoke to Kashkari. “When did Skytower get here?”

“An eternity ago,” said Kashkari. “Or five minutes. You weren't kidding when you said it was dangerous inside the Crucible.”

He had warned them in no uncertain terms to expect the worst when they got inside. But
he
had not expected this much trouble. As
far as he could tell, the Crucible became more dangerous the longer it was kept open as a portal. When he had reentered the Crucible from the library of the Citadel to find the wyvern he had used for his steed lying in pieces on the meadow, the Crucible had been in use nearly an hour, if not more. But this time the Crucible had been open all of fifteen minutes.

“Praesidium maximum!”
he cried, as another swarm of bewitched blades hurtled toward them, razor-edged and sibilant. He turned to Aramia. “Say ‘And they lived happily ever after.'”

“No. I'm coming with you.”

“You are not. Get out.”

“You have to make me.”

Under normal circumstances, he only had to take her by the arm, say the exit password, incapacitate her while they were outside, and then come back in again. But he could not possibly leave the Crucible right now, not when it must be surrounded by Atlantean soldiers on the grand balcony.

Nor could he push Aramia off the carpet and leave her to fend for herself until she came to her senses, not with the forest of hacking broadswords underneath them. And he did not have time to reason with her—Atlantean soldiers would follow them into the Crucible any moment now. But if she left the meadow, she would no longer be able to leave the Crucible at will, no matter how many times she shouted, “And they lived happily after!”

Not while the Crucible was being used as a portal.

“This is your chance to live.”

She shook her head, her face set.

He swore and spoke to Kashkari and Amara instead. “North-northeast. Fast as you can.”

He would just have to get rid of Aramia later.

“Who is she?” asked Kashkari as they sped in the direction Titus had specified.

“Lady Callista's daughter. She grabbed on to me when I got in.”

“How can we trust her?” demanded Amara.

“If I go back out, the Atlanteans will interrogate me under truth serum,” Aramia pleaded. “And they'll put me in the Inquisitory and keep me there, because they'll know that I wanted to come and help you.”

“The Inquisitory is the better option for you,” Titus said impatiently. “Where we are going, everyone will die.”

“And it's that much worse than spending the remainder of my life in a windowless cell in the Inquisitory, never to see the sky again?”

His answer was unequivocal. “Yes.”

Aramia fell quiet.

They flew at blistering speeds. Already they had passed over the market town from “Lilia, the Clever Thief.” Dread Lake, in the distance, was visible by its waters, which glowed an eerie red. And beyond that . . .

“Where is she?” asked Aramia, shouting to be heard above the rush of air. “Where is the one who is my mother's real child?”

“She will not be coming with us.”

Aramia's voice rose. “Why not? Isn't that why you have protected her all this while?”

He said nothing, but glanced behind. Dozens of wyverns were in pursuit, far enough away that they would not catch up in time.

He turned to Kashkari and Amara. “Remember, when we are escorted into the great hall, make absolutely sure you do not look at the lady.”

“You already warned us against that before we entered the Crucible,” said Amara.

Titus's grip tightened on the edge of the carpet. “Have I warned you that she looks exactly like Fairfax?”

Several portals had been set up in the Crucible. To go from the monastery's copy of the Crucible to the copy now in the grand library at Royalis, they must pass through a portal deep inside Black Bastion, the stronghold of Helgira the lightning-wielder and one of the most dangerous places in the Crucible. “My mother once saw Fairfax in a vision, standing atop Black Bastion. Afterward she changed the illustration for Helgira in all the copies of the Crucible to which she had access.”

Kashkari and Amara exchanged a look.

“So I can see what she actually looks like, Iolanthe Seabourne?” murmured Aramia. “Is she as beautiful as Mother?”

“Other than the Inquisitor, every woman I know is more beautiful than Lady Callista.”

His words did not sit well with Aramia. “Mother has never harmed you.”

“Maybe not, but no one who is that selfish is ever truly beautiful. Kashkari, Durga Devi, start decelerating.”

Black Bastion loomed ahead, massive and forbidding. The last time he had approached it had been when Fairfax saved him from a phantom-behemoth-riding Bane. He had trembled with gratitude as he had landed on the upper terrace and slid off his steed. And once he had realized that the young woman who stood waiting for him was not Helgira, but his faithful friend . . .

This time it would only be Helgira, ruthless and unforgiving.

Soldiers surrounded them the moment they landed on the rampart of Black Bastion. “We've been attacked!” Titus cried. “The Mad Wizard of Hollowcombe promised the peasants land and riches in exchange for our lives.”

It was more or less the same ruse he had used the previous time he had passed through—except with the necessary changes to accommodate his three companions. The ruse worked more or less as well as it had earlier in getting the suspicious captain to summon his soldiers and escort them down the rampart into the fortress.

The great hall was merry and crowded. There was music and dancing. Helgira, clad all in white, her long black hair cascading, sat at the center of a long table upon a great dais, drinking from a chalice of gold.

He ought to know better. He did know better, and yet he stopped dead. Four spears pressed into his back—and already he could feel a dull throb where Helgira had sliced his arm open. Still he could not move a single step.

Behind him the captain chuckled, “Gets 'em bumpkins every time, she does.”

The déjà vu was so strong he was dizzy.

Helgira raised her hand. The musicians halted. The dancers retreated to either side of the hall, clearing a path in the middle.

Titus was shoved forward. Slowly Helgira stood up. Already he felt her rage at his insolence. Watching her rise to her full height inspired the same dread and awe as seeing Fairfax's bolt of lightning, the one that surged up from the desert floor to take down half a dozen wyverns at once.

The captain smacked him on the side of his head and yelled at him for disrespect. He sank to his knees, but he did not lower his gaze as he repeated his tale. Let her knife slice through him again. What was a little blood and agony when he was already headed for his end?

She walked off the dais and slowly approached him. Had he finished telling his story? He had not the slightest idea. He only knew that he dared not say another word before the fury that emanated from her.