They lowered themselves down open canted floors where a great crack ran through the edifice. It overlooked the silvery grey curtain barrier and they were making their way down to the littered base far below where the gap disappeared into the strange glittering wall, beyond which nothing could be seen.
The baying drew nearer, echoing now from the surrounding walls, ceilings and floors. ‘Shift us now,’ Dancer called.
‘No time,’ Kellanved answered, panting and short of breath. Then he skidded to a halt amid a great collected heap of sand and dust, pointing. ‘That again!’
Dancer reflexively snapped a hand to a blade, but unnecessarily, as far across the great gap a familiar squarish, canted object was rising into the empty air.
Kellanved pointed, ‘Ah, our old friend from before – taking off to leave us to our fate again!’
Dancer urged the mage onward. ‘Never mind that little reptile. We can’t stop.’
The mage awkwardly shuffled and half leapt down a heap of fallen rock. ‘This must be its base,’ he offered.
‘Just keep going. We can’t…’ Dancer trailed off as it became clear there was something wrong with the flying fragment’s trajectory as it skidded low across the ruins, heading directly for the tall soaring main section of the fortress. The smaller piece wobbled, perhaps as the creature within struggled to adjust its course, but to no great effect.
‘It’s going to…’ Kellanved began, only to trail off as well.
The fragment crashed into a wall, shattering into bricks and shards, and Dancer thought he caught a glimpse of the lizard-like beast as it fell. An alien gurgled wail sounded across the great gap.
‘Damn,’ Kellanved said. ‘I’ve wanted to examine that flying thing ever since we first came to Shadow.’
Dancer decided that this was not the time to comment on the man’s lack of sympathy, opting instead to push him onward, down towards the base of the greyish, silvery curtain.
Another ear-punishing howl sounded and Dancer flinched; two of them. He launched himself past Kellanved, rushing pell-mell down the slope of loose broken rock and gravel. ‘I will scout ahead!’
He was almost at the barrier – which remained utterly opaque, even at this close distance – when something hit him in the back. He spun, blades whipping out. Kellanved’s walking stick lay at his feet. The mage himself came puffing and gasping after, waving his arms, his mouth moving soundlessly as he fought to say something.
‘We have no time!’ Dancer snarled, and turned for the barrier.
‘Stop!’ Kellanved exploded, panting, bent over, hands on his knees. ‘Stop!’
‘I’ll just take a look.’
The mage waved his hands in a wild negative. ‘No … mustn’t.’
‘What? What is it?’
Kellanved reached him and took hold of his shoulder – perhaps to support himself more than to hold him back. ‘Grey,’ he panted. ‘Glitterings. Not barrier … edge.’
‘Yes. To another Realm.’
The mage shook his half-bald, wrinkled head. ‘No. Nothing. Chaos.’
A long eager hunting howl snapped Dancer’s gaze to the north. They have our fresh scent. He shook Kellanved. ‘What do you mean? Can we go or not?’
‘There is nowhere to go to,’ the mage answered, gaining a snarl of impatience from Dancer. ‘This shard of Emurlahn is being consumed by Chaos. Eaten. Eroded.’ He pointed to the shimmering, slowly wavering curtain. ‘That is the edge of the nothingness between Realms.’
Dancer threw his arms up. ‘Shift us away then. Quickly.’
The wizened fellow pressed a finger to his lips, squinting. ‘There may be interference this close to the edge of Chaos. It may not be safe.’
‘Fine!’ Dancer thrust the man’s walking stick into his arms, took him by the collar and began marching him off across the rubble. ‘Start now.’
Kellanved wriggled, struggling to free himself. ‘This is not conducive to the high arts of thaumaturgy, I’ll have you know!’
‘Neither is sliding down the gullet of a hound.’
The fellow’s tiny ferret eyes shifted left and right. ‘Well … you have a point. I will begin.’
‘Do so!’ And if we ever get out of this it will be a miracle. Dancer realized this was probably the third or fourth time he’d told himself this.
* * *
Lars Jindrift had always thought his lot in life unjust; he’d never had the breaks and everyone had always been against him. It wasn’t his fault that that damned girl had struggled out the ground and come staggering into town to denounce him! How was he to know she’d still been alive? He was certain he’d throttled her thoroughly enough.
And of course no one believed his side of the story. It was all so damned unfair.
But that was before.
Now he knew that his life to date had been nothing but a dance through lilacs and butterflies. ‘Butterflies,’ he whispered aloud, deep within the empty guts of the Tempest, then giggled, and clamped a hand over his mouth.
Glancing about at the empty hold he raised his treasure in his hands. He brushed away the swarming roaches and weevils, took a nibble of what was left of the hardtack, then thrust it back into its filthy cloth wrapping and tucked it away in its hiding spot behind crates of rotted mouldy cloth.
He straightened from his knees and nearly toppled as a wave of darkness took him; he steadied himself at a timber. Not eating well of late, he thought, and giggled again. He made for the deck.
What new expanse of empty sea awaits!
He emerged beneath a clear, star-studded night-time sky when he climbed to the mid-deck. Peering about – squinting, as his vision was not what it used to be either – he found their tormentor near the bows. The daemon in man form, Kallor, stood with hands clasped behind his back, armoured as always, peering up at the stars. A faint wind brushed his wispy iron-grey hair and beard.
A mad urge to rush the man and thrust him over the side took hold of Lars, but he wept instead as he no longer had the strength even to throttle a child. Instead, he sidled up beside the monster and asked, ‘Why read the stars, m’lord?’
The creature shot him a glance of disgust before returning to examining the night sky. ‘Just dredging up an old memory, in truth.’
‘Memory?’
‘Yes.’ Kallor turned to the stern, calling, ‘A point north, steersman!’
Lars and he waited in silence for a time, until there came from the darkness a weak ‘Aye’.
‘Memory, m’lord?’ Lars prompted, blinking, and though the sea was uncannily calm this night he steadied himself with a hand at the railing. How long had it been since he’d eaten real food? Not counting the blood he drank from that wounded fellow he’d found below …
The monster in human form nodded, smiling faintly, as if at an old memory. ‘Yes. I came this way once before … long ago.’
Lars blinked again, peered uncomprehending at the great vastness of rolling waves surrounding them and the empty heavens coursing above, and could not contain the hilarity that came bubbling up from within. He laughed openly, giggling and guffawing. He swept an arm to the broad sea, sneering in open scorn. ‘You came this way? In the trackless ocean? Are you a fool?’
Kallor glanced to him in revulsion, then raised an arm and swung it backhanded.
Stars exploded in Lars’ vision. Stars that floated, dimming, like butterflies, until they faded and darkness took him.
* * *
He awoke to glaring sunshine and the thump of feet on the decking. Something crusted his mouth. He groaned, fumbled at the railing above him, and drew himself up. One of the last of their sailors came limping past, his head hanging, and Lars called to him, ‘What is it? What’s going on?’
The sailor pointed ahead. ‘Land.’