CHAPTER SIX

Palace of Aqhat, Isembaard

A fter that first, extraordinary day, Ishbel saw little of Isaiah for the next four. She spent the time with Axis and with Zeboath, and sometimes walking about the courtyard. She was escorted at all times by several of Isaiah’s spearmen who managed, remarkably, never to intimidate her or make her feel as if her every step was being scrutinized, and the soldier Madarin often accompanied her also, a reassuring presence in the background.

On one of her walks in the courtyard, Ishbel glimpsed Isaiah in a shaded arcade some thirty paces distant, talking with two men. They appeared to be either arguing, or on the verge of it—the two men had assumed such threatening stances that it astounded her.

She turned to Axis, who walked with her on this occasion, and asked him who the men were.

“They are two of his generals,” Axis said. “Kezial and Morfah. Very senior men.”

One of the generals raised a finger and stabbed it several times at Isaiah, making a point, and Ishbel and Axis could hear the aggression in his raised voice.

“I had not thought Isaiah would allow such disrespect from anyone,” Ishbel said. “But…he said something the other night, when we were alone, that makes me think Isaiah is vulnerable to his generals.”

“Indeed, and may I compliment you on squeezing information out of Isaiah faster than anyone else I know.”

Axis meant that as an invitation for Ishbel to speak further, for he was still curious about the underlying communication between them on the night they’d dined.

But Ishbel declined the invitation. “Tell me about the generals, Axis.”

“I told you that the Tyrant of Isembaard relies on conquest to keep his generals—his entire tyranny—in line?”

“Yes. You mentioned it to me one evening on our journey down the Lhyl.”

“There is always a general lurking in a tyrant’s shadow, waiting for that chance to strike. The less successful a tyrant is at conquest, the more likely it is one of his generals will move against him. That man talking now is Morfah, the second most senior of the generals.”

“And the other, Kezial, is the most senior?”

Axis shook his head. “No. Ezekiel is the senior general. Thus far he has been loyal to Isaiah, and that has helped to keep the younger generals in line. Isaiah needs a successful invasion of the north and he needs it badly. Ishbel, however you plead with Isaiah, he will not stop an invasion, not on your account.”

“He is a strange man,” Ishbel said softly.

Axis studied Ishbel carefully, wondering at her tone, and wondering again what had been going on between Isaiah and Ishbel.

“Yes,” he responded, “Isaiah is a strange man indeed.”

Later that day Zeboath spent some time with Ishbel. They chatted for a while, then Zeboath asked if he might examine her, to check the health of the baby. Ishbel did not mind, for she did not resent Zeboath as she had Garth Baxtor, and she had herself become increasingly worried about the child.

Zeboath spent some minutes feeling the child through the walls of Ishbel’s womb, and sat back, his face clouded.

“Zeboath,” Ishbel said, “what is wrong?”

“The baby…” Zeboath fiddled with his robe, buying time to think.

“What about the baby?” Ishbel said, too sharply.

“The child has not grown as much as I would have expected in the past two weeks, and responded only languidly to my probing. But perhaps that is just the heat, and perhaps the child will add more weight closer to the time of birth. Each pregnancy is different, and each child grows at a slightly different rate, and I do not want you to worry too much.”

That was a foolish statement, Ishbel thought. No woman wants a physician, his face all wrapped in anxiety, to say the baby is not growing as it should and then tell her not to fret. She could not pretend to herself that she wanted this baby, and that she did not resent its intrusion into her life and the changes it made to her body, but Ishbel did not wish the baby harm, particularly knowing how much Maximilian wanted the child. She could not fail him in this.

But then, everything associated with her and Maximilian seemed destined for failure, and so perhaps she should not be surprised if this baby, too, failed.

Even that thought did nothing to ease Ishbel’s concerns. When Zeboath had gone, she sat for hours by the window, her hand on her belly, trying to will her baby into life.

On the fourth morning after her arrival, Isaiah sent word that Ishbel should prepare herself for a short excursion.

My test, she thought, to see if I am fit to hear the legend of the Lord of Elcho Falling, and felt both nervousness at what Isaiah might have in store for her and a warm delight at the thought of spending some more time in his company. She didn’t know what to make of him, and she did not like his plans to invade the north, but the bond she’d felt when she’d looked into his eyes atop Serpent’s Nest was still there, and it was too strong to ignore.

Isaiah arrived to collect her himself, walking her down to the courtyard, where waited his horse and a litter for her. His easy manner calmed some of Ishbel’s nerves.

“Where do we go?” she asked as he aided her into the seat and bearers stepped forward to lift the litter to their shoulders.

“To a place called DarkGlass Mountain,” Isaiah replied, and turned away to mount his horse.

At that, all of Ishbel’s nerves returned. “Axis is not coming?” she said.

“No. I have sent him out with a patrol to the east. There are bandits menacing a village, and they need to be dealt with.”

They accomplished the journey to DarkGlass Mountain in silence. Isaiah led the way on his horse, Ishbel’s litter following and, after that, a squad of armed soldiers who fell into convoy as they left the courtyard. Ishbel’s bearers carried her across the river without dampening her with a single drop of water, then along the river road and the processional way approaching Dark-Glass Mountain, with smooth, well-practiced movements.

Ishbel should have been distracted from her worry about her baby, for the scenery was lovely, and the day warm rather than hot, cooled by a gentle, scented breeze. The closer her litter-bearers carried her to DarkGlass Mountain, however, the more apprehensive she became. She knew that Axis did not like the place, thinking it the source of the ancient evil to which the Serpent God had referred, but Ishbel had not yet had any cause to think too deeply on the pyramid.

There had been other things to occupy her mind.

But now, as they drew close, and even semireclined in the litter as she was—she had to crane her neck to gaze at the top of it—she felt a great sense of dread.

Images began to flash intermittently in her mind, of men being turned to stone, of spears of blue-green glass flying through the air to impale lovers, of loss so extreme that it became a reason for dying all in itself.

Of an entity, vile beyond comprehension, who lusted for life and warmth and revenge…revenge above anything else…

“Isaiah,” she whispered as they drew to within fifty paces of the pyramid. Remarkably, he heard her, and turned his horse back.

“This will not be pleasant,” he said, “but it will be good for you.”

Ishbel doubted that very, very much.

She found it difficult to command her legs to swing over the side of the litter so she could stand up. Isaiah held out his hand, hesitated momentarily, then reached into the litter and helped her out.

“Do this for me, Ishbel, please,” he murmured, and Ishbel gave a single, terse nod.

She wished she were anywhere else but here.

Isaiah led her to a small doorway set into the northern face of the pyramid. They stopped just outside, and Isaiah took her hand.

“Ishbel, listen to me. DarkGlass Mountain can do many things to you, but it cannot harm you. It cannot do that. It may wish to, quite desperately, but it cannot harm you. I am here with you, and I will protect you from any other dangers that may lurk.”

Ishbel stared into the doorway, seeing what appeared to be a tunnel made of fused black glass stretching away into darkness. “I’ve changed my mind, Isaiah. I don’t want to go in.”

His grip on her hand tightened—comfortingly, rather than in any effort to further persuade her. “Ishbel, there is something inside I need you to see. I think you might be able to understand it where I can’t. I—”

“If you are not strong enough, then how can I be?”

“Ishbel, you are so strong, and you have more understanding than I shall ever have.” He paused. “Ishbel, you say that whenever you think of the Lord of Elcho Falling you feel overwhelming sadness and loss.

What if I tell you that if you help me in this, then perhaps we can both avoid that sadness and loss.”

She almost hated him then. “You have no idea what I have been through already, as a child, when—”

“I know what happened to you when you were eight, Ishbel. I know exactly what happened to you, while you live wrapped in false memories that have warped your understanding and your very being.

Perhaps we will talk about this later. For now, Ishbel, I am begging you to come into this pyramid with me.”

Ishbel stared at him. He knew what had happened to her when she was eight?

“Very well,” she said, agreeing not so much because of anything Isaiah had said, but for the pleading in his eyes.

He smiled slightly, and nodded at her, then led her inside DarkGlass Mountain.

She could feel its hatred of her the moment she set foot to glass.

DarkGlass Mountain loathed her; she felt it running up her legs and her spine every time she moved forward a pace.

Isaiah kept a firm grip on her hand, and she kept very close to him, walking in the shadow of his warmth, and that gave her the fortitude to endure the visions that DarkGlass Mountain threw at her.

The visions she’d encountered on the way to the pyramid were as nothing compared to these.

She saw entire populations slaughtered, and other populations living in thrall to DarkGlass Mountain. She saw men and women and babies turned to stone, and then rise and walk, their souls weeping inside their shambling stone coffins.

She turned a corner, moving into another corridor within DarkGlass Mountain, and she saw her father, standing ten or twelve paces away, holding out his hand imploringly and calling her name as his flesh marbled into stone in a tide of death that swept up his legs and through his body.

Ishbel cried out, stumbling closer to Isaiah.

“That is not your father,” he murmured to her. “That was Tirzah’s father. Come now, not much farther.”

I can do that to everyone you love, Ishbel. Everyone.

Ishbel moaned.

“An idle threat for the moment, Ishbel,” Isaiah murmured. “He has not the strength for it. He relies on nightmares rather than actions. Come now, you are stronger than this. Be brave for me, Ishbel.”

She nodded, straightened her back, and walked on.

He brought her, eventually, to a chamber of exquisite beauty. The hatred here was muted, and Ishbel allowed herself to relax, just a fraction, but enough to feel as if she could breathe again.

Isaiah gave her a smile, and squeezed her hand.

“Thank you,” he said, and Ishbel was suddenly very glad she had managed to come this far.

“Was that the test?” she said, looking at the caged golden glass.

It seemed familiar, somehow.

“Mostly,” said Isaiah. “What do you think of this chamber?”

“It is very beautiful, but…oh, the sadness here.”

“This pyramid was once called Threshold, Ishbel—” He stopped as he saw her flinch.

So.

“This chamber was known as the Infinity Chamber,” Isaiah continued, “because the men who built Threshold used it to open a doorway into Infinity.”

Ishbel shuddered, and wrapped her arms about her shoulders. “It was a bad thing to do,” she said.

“Yes,” Isaiah said, “it was indeed. Ishbel…” He took one of her hands, and wrapped it in both of his.

“Ishbel, I want to take you on a journey with me, share with you some of my sight. Will you trust me?”

She gave a reluctant nod of her head.

He took a deep breath. “It will be for a moment only, and when I pull you out of it I am going to ask you what you saw, what you felt. Your impressions are as gold to me. Will you do that?”

Another nod.

“Very well. Ishbel, watch with me.”

Using his power, Isaiah opened up his senses to Ishbel, showing her what he saw.

Kanubai, far below them, his long, thin dark fingers inching ever upward, grasping hold of every crevice in the wall of the abyss that he could.

Ishbel gasped, and Isaiah increased the pressure about her hand, trying to reassure her.

Kanubai’s eyes, shining red, malevolent, all-seeing. Seeing them.

And the something else that hovered about Kanubai, the something that Isaiah could not quite discern.

Ishbel took in a breath that was almost a shriek, and Isaiah broke the connection.

“Ishbel—”

We need to get out of here now!

Isaiah was so astounded that Ishbel had used hitherto untouched power to communicate with him that for an instant he did not react.

That instant almost cost them their lives.

The golden glass surrounding them turned black, then translucent, and then, unbelievably, hundreds if not thousands of faces and hands appeared behind the glass.

Anger and agony consumed every face.

Suddenly the glass walls began to rush toward Ishbel and Isaiah, converging on them as if the weight of the faces and hands was too much for it to bear.

Then the glass exploded, and Ishbel and Isaiah felt a blast of heat from the suddenly freed flesh waiting behind it.

Isaiah reacted instantly. He dragged Ishbel toward the door, feeling as they went through a hand grab at Ishbel’s hair. He yanked at her with all his strength, pulling her through, and then they were running, running, running through the black tunnels, fingers and teeth snapping behind them at every step, until they tumbled forth into the sunlight beyond the pyramid, and peace once more returned to their world.

Satisfied that the danger was now past, Isaiah gathered Ishbel and held her until her shaking stopped.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I had no idea it was that powerful.”

Then, unable to help himself, he asked her what she had seen in the vision he’d shared with her.

“A being, darkness, crawling toward the surface,” Ishbel said, very low.

Isaiah nodded. Kanubai. “There was something else—”

She leaned in against him, almost burying her face in his chest so that he had to strain to hear her muffled words.

“He is being helped to the surface,” she said. “He does not rise on his own power alone.”

Isaiah went very cold.

“The pyramid is aiding him, Isaiah. The pyramid is angry. Consumed with hate. It wants revenge for some slight in its past. It…it has cast down to…”

“His name is Kanubai,” Isaiah said softly.

“The pyramid has cast down to Kanubai a rope of knotted souls, souls of the pyramid’s victims. That being below, Kanubai, rises partly under his own power, but he is aided far more powerfully by the pyramid. Isaiah, can we leave here now? Please.”