Dream of a City of Ruin: Dreams of QaiMaj Book II

Chapter 14: Svardark: Larc

Larc was dragged for hours over the rough stones of the Outer Tunnels. She was barely aware of passing piles of debris cleared from the cave-in that had separated her from Casser months before, nor did she struggle while dangling dangerously from her chain as Lehava levitated up a long, narrow tunnel in a decaying Burial Shaft. She did not wonder at the faint smell of the corpses buried there, under the stronger smell of death that accompanied the Dhuciri.

The moment she passed from the shadowy depths of the shaft on to solid ground, Larc opened her eyes, and before the agony started, she saw a vast blue ceiling spread out above.

Then her eyes began to burn, and she screamed, clutching her face. It was as if a Flame were pushing a million red-hot shards of firestone into her eyeballs. Her skin cracked and peeled even under her websilk dress. Screams echoed hers.

As abruptly as it had begun, the pain stopped. Unable to believe it, Larc kept her eyes squeezed shut for moments more, but curiosity opened them, and she blinked heavily in the bright light. Her eyes were fully functional, and her skin was smooth and whole. The brilliant light had softened to the hazy purple glow of burial ice. For one moment, Larc could believe that she had been returned to Sholaen.

Lehava yelled by her ear. "Curse you, Sabron. You have to keep the iisk dome steady. I won't waste any more time healing them. The ones you kill will come out of your share."

Larc raised her head, trying to get her bearings. Lehava had tossed her leash carelessly on the rough, stony ground, but the metal was so tangled around her limbs that she could do little more than prop awkwardly up on an elbow.

She was on a rocky island about the size of the Council Hall, in the middle of the biggest cavern she'd ever seen in her life. A translucent purple dome surrounded the island, and beyond it was nothing. No walls, no ceiling, no tunnel entrances. Huge waves splashed a muddy shore, ten to twenty times the tiny wake kicked up by skiffs on Lake Lentok. The water stretched as far as she could see in all directions. Giant black beasts that glided through the air like flats in slow-fall also stood at the water's edge, hopping from huge, scaled foot to scaled foot.

Beside one of these stood a tall, muscular man with gleaming dark hair, wearing nothing but a loincloth. He was smiling, and although he stood below the slight slope where Larc and hundreds of other prisoners from Iskalon were waiting to know their fate, she had a sense that he was looking down on them.

"It's too much fun to watch them squirm," he said, and Larc shivered. She didn't understand what the two leaders of the invasion of Sholaen were talking about, but she could sense from his tone that he liked to cause pain. "It doesn't kill them if I leave the dome open for a few moments. Anyway, they don't need to be healthy to be turned."

More of the black-robed ones were climbing up out of the shaft, depositing more Iskaloners on the rocky island, and one of them flung a prisoner down beside Larc. It took Larc a moment to realize it was Hali. The slender girl looked more vulnerable and slight than ever, bound in steel manacles on her ankles and wrists.

Larc moved closer to comfort her, but Lehava's sharp eyes caught the movement, and she fixed Larc with a predatory gaze.

She snapped her fingers, and the slinky black rope that bound Larc slithered, tiny spikes prying out of her skin, and wriggled back toward Lehava's hand. For a fraction of a second, Larc could sense T'Jas in the cool air on her skin. Before she could do anything, she sank into a deep dream.

Larc sat on her dais before an empty council hall. Hali knelt before her, face on the lushly tiled floor.

"Rise," Larc said harshly.

"Forgive me, mistress," Hali gasped, lifting her head. "Please, you must forgive me."

"Forgive what, guildless?"

Hali quailed. Larc suppressed a shiver of sympathy. She was the ruler of Iskalon. It was her duty to dispense justice. She would do her duty.

Shadows whispered at her mind, trying to tell her something. She ignored them. Hali. Focus on Hali.

"I have betrayed you, mistress. I sold your secrets to the Catherone."

Shock lanced through Larc. She gripped the arms of the Ruler's Seat until her knuckles were white. "You what?"

"They said I'd never have to fear returning to the Tog again. That when they took power, the guildless who helped them would be rewarded."

Larc was furious. How dare Hali betray her trust? How many meetings had Hali sat in, how many times had Larc mused out loud in her presence? It could not be. But suddenly, almost against her own will, she was inside Hali's mind, searching her memory. And she saw the truth. Meetings in the dark with secret messengers from the Catherone. Plates passed under cover of a busy Market. Secrets whispered behind columns in the Council Hall.

"I kept you on," Larc said, too stunned to speak clearly. "I could have tossed you out, sent you to a labor Guild, or left you as a messenger with the scribes, but I trusted you. I kept you . . ."

She stood and stepped off the dais to loom over Hali. She reached toward her, anger flooding her heart.

Suddenly the Council Hall was full. Everyone was watching her. Wyfus—why Wyfus and not Capris?—stepped close. "I move that this betrayal be punished by death and dusting," he said.

"I second the motion," Cygnet stepped up, boxing her in.

"I give it a third," Mowat closed the box, and nearly shoved Larc on top of Hali.

"I bring the proposal to the Great Mistress," Wyfus whispered. "How will you rule?"

Larc reached for Hali. Placed a palm on her forehead above eyes squeezed shut. Somehow, she knew what to do. Knew that if she froze Hali's blood in her veins, the betrayer would die screaming, and from that death Larc would draw the sweetest, strongest T'Jas she had ever experienced. Knew that Hali would crumble to the ground in a pile of black dust.

It was her duty as Queen to dispense justice.

A shadow whispered in the back of her mind, and she caught a few of its words before it faded. "Not Queen . . . Regent."

The thought grew. Larc clung to it, her nails digging impressions into Hali's scalp. Not Queen. I'm not the Queen. I'm the Regent. And this is not justice. This is murder.

"No," Larc whispered. "I reject this proposal. Ancestors, give me strength."

Hali fainted and collapsed on the ground. The looks on Wyfus and the others' faces grew nasty. And suddenly Larc was floating in midair, surrounded by deep blue.

"Fool. I'll show you your Ancestors."

A mind surge nearly drove her mad. Larc saw the whole of this vast, blue cavern, saw the lies told long ago to keep the people of Iskalon buried underground. Saw that QaiMaj was larger than she could comprehend, and that there was no ceiling to it—the blue went on forever. The Ancestors were a lie. The dead had not protected Iskalon from the Svardark. The Ancestors . . .

Larc's eyes shot open. She lay on rocky ground again, on an island in the middle of the southern seas.

"See how you like Peace Street, then. I'll be waiting to break you when you're ready."