David Drake - Mistress of the Catacombs

“ Phokensepseu ,” said the wizard, “ erektathous phokentatou! ”

The first flare was beginning to die down. The powder in a deep-dug symbol on the other side of Tilphosa blazed in turn, throbbing in the same rhythm.

“ Ptolema ptolemes origins… ” Metra said.

Water spouted high enough that Cashel could see the column above the walls surrounding him. An Archa, or perhaps only the head and torso of an Archa, was caught in it. The screaming roar of some great reptile choked off in blood, though the swamp continued to quiver.

The creature hadn’t been powerful enough to penetrate the circle of the city’s defenders. Cashel had no reason to trust the Intercessor and his allies, but right at the moment he’d have been willing to give the fellow a try.

He twisted against the ropes. Tilphosa was straining also. It was worth a try….

A third word of power burst into flame as the wizard chanted. The first had sunk to spluttering embers, and the second was a pale ghost of its full glory.

The facets of Tilphosa’s ring flashed brighter than reflections should have been in full daylight. They threw a pattern onto the air itself: at first like gnats circling, then more fiercely and spreading into an oval.

Metra was forming a door into another place. Cashel didn’t see any way to stop her, but he was pretty sure that somebody’d better do that—and he was closer than other people.

The powder in a fourth word ignited, this time on the side closest Cashel. He braced himself to roll over the flames. An Archa tugged him back with the same brutal efficiency as before; he hadn’t even had a chance to move.

“ Thiatcha thotho achaipho! ” Metra screamed. She staggered with the effort of climaxing her spell. The powder in the three remaining words roared up simultaneously.

Unexpectedly, the Archai holding Tilphosa released the girl. She fell into Cashel when the grip she’d been struggling against no longer held her.

“It’s done,” Metra said in a wondering voice. She looked at Cashel and Tilphosa. “I didn’t even need your blood, stranger. I thought that was why the Mistress had sent you here, but that wasn’t the reason after all.”

“Nobody sent me here,” Cashel said tightly. “Tilphosa, take my knife out and cut me loose.”

Metra blinked and rubbed her eyes. She seemed none the worse for looking into the sun, but the power that had ridden her during the past hour had now released her.

“It doesn’t matter what you do,” Metra said calmly. The wizard’s emotions seemed to have burned to ash along with the powder she’d poured into the words drawn in the silt. “Your ring can only close the portal from the other side, Tilphosa; and there the Mistress waits to enter Her kingdom.”

Tilphosa tugged Cashel’s knife from its sheath of wood battens wrapped and tensioned with rawhide. She sawed the cord tying his hands to his feet, deliberately ignoring Metra and the lens of light forming in the air behind her. Cashel straightened thankfully, then held still for the girl to hack through the bonds holding his wrists.

The Archai didn’t interfere. The whole vast crowd of them was staring at the portal as it slowly clarified.

Metra began to laugh. Cashel thought she was having another attack of hysterics; and perhaps it was, but the laughter turned suddenly to tears.

“She is Queen of the World!” the wizard cried. “Her time is come again! Nothing can change Her will!”

The cords broke. Cashel swung his arms forward and flexed them; his wrists were slick with blood.

“Give me the knife!” he said in a husky voice. He’d waited patiently while he had to; now that he could move again, the emotions pumping through his blood threatened to take him over. “I’ll get my ankles.”

Metra’s portal was an oval of solid light above the words of power. Vague shapes moved on the other side. Though it was noonday in the risen city, it was brighter still in the world Tilphosa’s ring had opened.

Cashel’s knife was a rural blacksmith’s product, not a piece of fine cutlery. The iron blade sharpened easily and took a keen edge, but this rope’s tough fibers had dulled it. Cashel set his knife carefully, then pulled until he’d severed the tight bonds.

For a moment he thought the blade would snap instead. He’d already frayed the cord, so he’d have finished breaking free by main strength if he’d had to.

Cashel stood, taking deep breaths as he looked for his quarterstaff. He was dizzy from straining against the ropes for so long. The tags of cord still dangled from his bloody wrists and ankles, but they wouldn’t get in his way.

“Cashel, look at this,” Tilphosa said, her voice rising. She knelt in the soft dirt and stared at the hole opening in the fabric of this world. “Look!”

Cashel hadn’t been paying much attention to the portal. He glanced at it, slitting his eyes against the glare. A barrier remained between the worlds, though it was becoming thinner, like a puddle in the sun. On the other side were three figures, reptilian though seemingly boneless.

They were slender but very tall. One held a girl in its tentacle; she looked like a poppet in a child’s hand. That creature and its companions had pierced her with their spiked tongues and were rasping out the victim’s juices like woodpeckers sharing a grub.

“Is that your Mistress, wizard?” Cashel asked.

He picked up his staff, rolling it through the skirt of his tunic to clean off the dirt. The hickory was smoothed by years of his palms’ touch and polished with his body oils. Its touch made him feel at home again.

The assembled Archai keened like the winter wind across chimney pots. Those on top of the wall vanished suddenly, leaping down to scramble through the maze of streets leading away.

The Archai inside the courtyard turned as one and struggled in chittering fury to flee. Warriors jammed the many doorways, hacking at one another in their desperation to escape. The courtyard cleared suddenly; two twitching bodies and a severed forelimb remained on the trampled silt.

Tilphosa rose to her feet. “Metra, what are they?” she said.

Metra stared at the portal; it was clearing as it expanded. Her mouth drooped open, and she seemed to be trying to point with her left hand, but she couldn’t get words out.

Tilphosa slapped her hard. “What are they?” she shouted.

“The Pack are loose,” Metra said. “The way between the Mistress and this world is open, but the Pack are loose!”

Metra sat down hard, as though her legs could no longer support her. She began to laugh hysterically.

“Loose!” she shrieked. “All life, everywhere in the cosmos, doomed ! We took the Pack from their cell, but now they’re loose!”

The portal continued to expand. Cashel wondered how big it would finally become. Big enough to let the Pack through, he guessed.

Cashel spun his staff out at his right side, then overhead. He started with simple circles, then drew figure eights. He didn’t feel the fatigue and stiffness of being tied anymore, and the itching pain where his skin had rubbed off was only a faint memory.

“Metra,” Cashel said hoarsely, “how do we close this hole you made?”

The wizard held her sides as she laughed, rocking back and forth. Tilphosa bent and cocked her hand for another slap.

Metra’s face cleared. Perfectly lucid and in a tone of cold malevolence, she said, “Shine your ring on the portal from the other side, girl. That’s all. It will shrink and close as it’s expanding now. Except that the Pack will suck you dry before they devour all the rest of us!”

Tilphosa straightened and looked at Cashel. “Will you guard me?” she said simply.