David Drake - Master of the Cauldron

She halted to take in her surroundings. The crown was beautiful, a word she'd never thought she'd use to describe stone. She didn'tlike it, but Ilna gave everything its due; anything less would be a lie.

Chalcus frowned, disoriented by the highlights and distortions of the crystal walls. The crown was a series of coiled tubes, laid within and above one another. There were openings within the walls from tube to tube, but the whole was knotted in a system as complex as Ilna's finest work. She followed the pattern in her mind, untroubled by the confusion that the scattering light made for her eyes.

Chalcus started forward, feeling his way with the toes of his boots. Ilna could've taken the lead, but she didn't see any reason to. They didn't have a destination, just a purpose, and the sailor's cautious progress was as likely to bring them to that purpose as Ilna could by striding quickly through these crystal tunnels.

Shehated stone. The beauty of the structure around her didn't make her like it any better.

"There's a new sound, dear one," Chalcus said, his voice barely a whisper. He waited, standing on the balls of his feet with his blades out to either side. His head darted quickly from side to side, covering all directions but unable to really see in any of them.

Ilna listened also. Because of Chalcus' warning, she noticed the sound-a rapid ticking like pebbles washing down a stone millrace. She couldn't judge distance or even direction with certainty, though it seemed "I think it's above us," she whispered. Could the King hear the way humans did? "This crystal is many tunnels, all connected."

Chalcus flashed her a smile. It was false, and the beads of sweat on his forehead were real. He resumed his tense, shuffling advance.

The ticking diminished and perhaps vanished, though Ilna's mind continued to tell her that it remained just beneath the threshold of hearing. Had the creature passed through the tunnel above and continued on in a sloping path that would bring it face to face with them? The material from which the tunnels were made was as clear as sunlit air, but its angles and surfaces sliced images into so many pieces that not even Ilna's mind could recreate them from a passing glance.

Well, they'd learn soon enough.

There was something ahead, a darkness that the scattering light distorted but couldn't hide. Chalcus stepped more quickly, almost running. Ilna followed, her mind as blank and clear as a sheet of ice.

Chalcus reached it, the statue of a girl in black basalt. The stone was too coarse to have recognizable features in this rainbow light, but there was no doubt in Ilna's mind that they'd found Merota: found her the way they'd known from the first they'd find her, a victim of the New King like so many others in this land.

Chalcus sheathed his dagger. He ran his fingertips over the girl's stone cheek and gave a terrible cry.

The ticking was growing louder, very rapidly. Ilna let the structure's pattern fill her mind. There was an opening, a doorway, between the tube they were in and the next one to the left. The crystal's shimmers and reflections concealed it from sight, but Ilna stretched out her hand and confirmed its presence.

"Chalcus!" she said. "Follow me! We have to get out of this tunnel quickly!"

"Fight aman for a change, monster!" Chalcus shouted. He leaped forward, sword and dagger gleaming with the all-colored light of the crystal. For an instant he was around the curve of the tunnel from Ilna.

A flash filled the crown and Ilna's world. Where Chalcus had stood was a smear of blackness in the mirrored perfection.

Ilna stepped into the adjacent passage and moved quickly along it. She knew why Davus had brought her to this place now. She would accomplish the task that he and the universe had set her.

And for all the rest of her life, however long that was, she'd wish that she'd never been born.

There was a lull in the battle beneath the cloud's false twilight. Garric drew a deep breath and went down on one knee. A Blood Eagle lay beside him, dead from a blow to the face by the spike of a bronze axe. Garric gripped the sleeve of the man's tunic and jerked it off at the seam.

The dead man was named Soutilas, a common trooper. He'd saved Garric's life twice before losing his own; if he'd survived he'd have been promoted to file closer.

But Soutilas didn't survive, and Garric needed to get the blood and bone chips off his blade. He wiped the cloth along the patterned steel, careful not to slice the web of his hand as he did so. It was easy to make a mistake when you were tired, and making a mistake with weapons was a very good way to get hurt.

Attaper stood with his hand braced on a trooper's shoulder while Liane bandaged the cut in his forearm. The wound wasn't deep, but it was bleeding badly enough to be dangerous in the longer run if it weren't closed. They had to plan for the longer run, because Garric couldn't see any quick way to end this eruption of Hell-creatures into the waking world.

In all truth, Garric couldn't see any way at all to end it unless the Underworld ran out of monsters before he and those standing with him all died. Eventually he'd learn which was the case… but if the wizard behind this attack had been building his forces for a thousand years, the odds weren't on the side of humanity.

Several hundred infantrymen were double-timing up the street from the docks. Garric saw three separate standards, but there were probably more units than those represented.

Admiral Zettin was carrying out his orders to get troops across as quickly as possible. That meant they were appearing in half-organized or disorganized lumps, but they wouldn't need to make complicated maneuvers today. All the soldiers had to do-all they could do-was to form a cordon around the Earl's palace and slaughter monsters till they themselves were slaughtered in turn.

"The Sister and Her demons, here they come again," a soldier said. He didn't sound angry and he certainly wasn't frightened, just resigned.

Over a hundred slug-white monsters ran and hopped and slithered from the palace entrance. In the course of the afternoon they'd come in seemingly random sequence from every door and window of the building, never less than a score at a time. Once nearly a thousand had spilled from the east wing. Garric had seen the attack, but it was beyond the ability of the troops around him to support those on whom it fell.

Besides, he didn't dare strip any point in the cordon to reinforce another. A further onslaught might spurt toward the newly-emptied portion at any instant.

Garric straightened, lifting the shield he'd taken from a man who no longer needed it. In his mind his ancient ancestor waited, judging the situation with the eyes of long experience. This attack wouldn't break through, though no individual in the line could be surehe would survive.

Attaper flexed his arm to make sure the bandage held, then drew his sword again. A soldier threw his javelin. It wobbled because the tip had twisted when he pulled the missile from its previous target, but the creatures were tightly grouped. The cast may have missed its intended victim, but it thudded into the chest of a monster with three heads and a cleaver in either hand, knocking it backward. Then the monsters squelched into the thin line of humans.

A creature with a spear charged Garric. The weapon was all bronze, head and shaft cast together. Garric caught the point on his shield boss and thrust into the monster's single eye. He put his boot on the chest of the thrashing creature and kicked as he jerked hard on his sword hilt, withdrawing the blade from the bone gripping both edges. He slashed right, then left, more by instinct than plan. Two more creatures dropped, one twitching till Attaper broke its neck with his shield