The Tower of the Forgotten (11 page)

"Lord
of Fire," Radinka corrected.

"Whatever," Portia said. "Do you think you two can
scout a little for me?"

Imogen
frowned. "I am not afraid for myself."

"And
you shouldn’t be afraid for me, so
that just leaves Radinka."

"Very
well. I’ll get her out of harm’s way."

"Keep
in touch." Portia touched her fingertip to her
forehead, then gently caressed Imogen’s lips. "I won’t be far behind you. I
just need to get a look at what we’re dealing with."

They nodded and continued up. Portia waited
until they were to the next landing, then she gently pushed open the
smoke-wreathed door.

—
8
—

A SHORT ENTRY HALL OPENED onto a room that had once been
some sort of library or study. Whatever it had been, Alaric had converted it
into his personal base of operations. Elegantly paneled walls had been covered
with pages torn from books, brittle scrolls, and colorful maps all tacked up in
a frenzied manner that reminded Portia of the bedrooms of the younger students
at Penemue. He paced the windowless room, obviously agitated, occasionally
throwing glances at the ceiling as if by his will alone he could pierce the
stonework and see what went on above.

The stench of sulphur and smoke permeated
the room, rising from a figure standing at its center, cloaked in formless
black clouds that flickered with lightning the color of blood.

The
King of Fire, Kitty had said. Indeed, there was no better descriptor of the
thing that stood there like the living embodiment of an inferno.

"He’ll have no more of me?" Alaric barked. "Those were his precise words?"

The
answer came in a low rumble. "Precise enough. The
message was clear. You are not wanted."

"How
interesting!" Alaric rolled something
from one hand to the other as he paced, something small and glowing, like a
pearl. "Did you hear that, my dear?" The little shimmering sphere did not reply.

"This
gamble, the stakes grow higher each day. Allies become enemies. You are
unpopular; you will be betrayed by your fellows."

"Spouting
prophesy, Adramelech, or is this just more of your pessimistic bellyaching?"

"Listen
to me!" The room blazed with flickering
firelight, and Portia covered her face with the tip of one wing, trying not to
choke on the fumes. "I pledged myself to you,
Alaric Regalii. You had such promises, then. And what have I to show for it? I
killed an angel’s daughter. Belial is
dead and I do not serve in her place. Zepar is confined to a mighty weapon, yet
I do not hold it in my hands." The floor shuddered as
the demon moved, coming around an end table to loom over Alaric.

A
ghastly thing, it seemed to be putting on a show for Alaric, with its flesh as
black as tar and smoking with oily blue vapors. Flames leapt at its fingertips
and down its spine. Its wings, tattered flesh the color of clotted blood,
glowed like embers and cast crazed shadows around the room. Portia marveled at
the demon. Where Belial had cast herself as a beautiful queen, this creature
seemed to revel in its own hideousness.

"Your
little witchling grows restive, Alaric. Analise’s
creations do not serve you. Not the witch nor the undying golden one." The demon’s massive head tilted
for a moment as if it was listening for something, but it continued. "Your dark prince betrays you; he wants the power for his
own. He rules the tower, he controls the machine. The oaths he swore mean
nothing to him. He has nothing to lose and so he risks all."

"They
will serve me!" Alaric slammed his fist
into a nearby desktop, the glowing pearl vanishing into his trembling grip. "I have set upon Nigel a geas the like of which controls you.
He shall bend to my will — there is no other
choice! Those oaths shall bind him, and Portia’s
heart will betray her. She is the easiest of all to manipulate, fed so long on
the sweet poisons of honor and true love. She will kneel before me and she will
be grateful to carry out my wishes!"

Alaric
sounded neither convincing nor convinced.

Adramelech
growled. "I was a fool to listen to you."

"You’re all fools, every last one of you. From Lucifer on down.
Every time someone promises you absolute power, you all take leave of your
senses and try whatever scheme is presented to you. It is a weakness I exploit.
And I take great joy in it."

The
demon rumbled again but did not disagree.

Alaric
opened his palm to toy with the sphere once more. "She is Nigel’s echo, his reflection.
We can trap him using her." He smiled, smugly.

Adramelech crouched, resting his thickly
muscled buttocks on his heels. "Simple, maybe." He turned his head again,
glancing at the door. Portia froze. Once could be a coincidence, but
twice
?
He knew she hid there; he must sense her. "But you have opposition. The Gyony
girl, you underestimate her."

"That, my pet, is where you are wrong. I
know a secret about Portia. One that will make it quite simple for you to
defeat her when the time comes."

The
demon muttered something, and Alaric laughed.

"You
are correct. She is much stronger now, and it will be more difficult than
before. But when I render her as weak and docile as a newborn pup, you will
find her as easy to dispatch as her ginger-haired lover. Who is back among the
living, did I tell you?"

"I noticed."

"And a fine specimen for study, if I
do say so myself. One of the convent’s original brood. Back before we knew
anything about them. She was born in the days of the first great queen. I have
longed to study her, but Analise thought it best to send her off to Penemue.
There’ll
be time when all this is finished.
" His voice rose in pitch and
he mocked Analise’s drawling accent. "And where did we end up? With the
ginger-haired girl cut in two, her soul remaining with Portia and her body in a
display case. She was supposed to
die
!" He threw up his hands. "She
never ended up being any use to me! But now, now I have her
and
Portia
and all the time in the world, except Nigel decides now is the time to act the
spoiled brat!" Down came the fist again.

The demon rested his forearms on his knees.
"This is a truly fascinating tale."

Alaric
took a long, slow breath, controlling his temper. "You’ll mind your tongue with
me. We have a long night of preparations ahead of us." He stood and jounced the pearl of light from one palm to
the other. "Between this girl and
the mechanic, we’ll have Nigel broken by
tea time tomorrow. Come along."

He
pushed aside a faded tapestry and slipped through an arched opening. Adramelech
followed, leaving smoldering footsteps in his wake. He stepped into the
passage, but not before leveling a steely gaze directly at Portia. He said
nothing, only shut the chamber’s door behind him.

Portia
waited, but neither of them returned. She backed out of Alaric’s study and ran soundlessly up the stairs, hoping to catch
up with Imogen and Radinka before they encountered Nigel.

She
found Radinka in the large salon on the main floor, peering out into the hazy
lavender clouds drifting across the inky sea below them. A small scab of land
clung to the edges of the tower, like soil crusted around the shaft of a carrot
recently pulled from the ground.

"Where’s Imogen?"

"She
went up." Radinka pointed at the spiral staircase.
"She told me to stay and keep watch."

Portia
nodded, shoving her panic behind a resolute mask. "Very good," was all she said before
heading up the staircase, taking care not to run until she was out of Radinka’s sight.

Up
and up and up, she spiraled higher within the opalescent walls until she came
upon the topmost floor. The stairs familiarly opened up onto the large central
room, but this time Portia had no backup. She also had not quite the danger
facing her, or at least she hoped not. The room stood as empty as it had
before, with only a few lingering veils and the stain of blood on the pale
floor.

"Nigel!"

He
strolled in from the balcony, a bemused smile on his face. "I knew you’d be along, directly. So
the gang’s all here, everyone working on their own
thread in this particular tapestry. You know, you all might have gotten
somewhere had you worked together."

She
bit back the urge to slice him in half right then and there and be done with
it. He was still too useful. For the present. "You
speak as if it is already over. It hasn’t even begun."

"Shows
what you know. This machine has all the fuel it needs and the circle has been
cast. When the moon rises, all will be ready. It’s
as good as done, don’t you see? Nothing can
stop it now."

"What
will you do then?"

Nigel
glanced at her and smiled. "Rule."

"Easy
for you to say. But how will you accomplish that? Alaric is not the only one
who will stand in your way."

He
shrugged. "When an avalanche comes, you might be
able to save a family, even a village, but you cannot stop the onslaught, you
can only hope to redirect it. Once something like this begins, all you can do
is enjoy the ride or get out of the way. And trust me, sister, the avalanche
has already begun. Not even you can stop it."

"Not
even if it was the very reason I was born?"

Nigel laughed. "Portia, you weren’t born to
stop this. You were born to
cause
it. And you have. Magnificently, at
that. None of this would be happening had it not been for you."

"You seem awfully sure of yourself."

"Aren’t you worried about Imogen?"

"Should
I be? Have you harmed her? Again?"

He touched his chin in mocking disbelief.
"How can you say that? I preserved her, soul
and
body, and this is the
treatment I get?"

Portia shook her head and turned away from
him, noticing the door to the other chamber was closed. Imogen had once waited
for her there.

Nigel
caught her arm. "Wait."

There
was a timbre in his voice she had never heard before. It almost sounded like
fear.

"Yes?"

"This
game runs deep. Deeper than even I knew. Take care whom you trust, including
her."

Portia
laughed, harshly. "So says the man who
engenders so much trustworthiness."

He
chewed his lip. "We aren’t so different, really. You know that, don’t you? We’re both the model of our
father." He nodded at the axe. "Bold, ambitious, foolhardy."

"I’m not buying it."

"I
don’t want to hurt you, Portia. It’s Alaric I’m after. And you want to
stop him too, I know. We both want the same thing!"

"In
a small way. You still want to destroy humanity, Alaric or no Alaric."

"Not
destroy it, what good would that do me? I’d have no one to rule!"

Portia
stepped away from him and went to the door.

"Wait," he said, again.

"Now
I know you’re just trying to distract me. Knock it
off."

What
waited within chilled her.

Imogen
had unbuttoned her blouse and was in the process of covering her chest and arms
in sigils. She did not turn when Portia approached, but she did stop her
painting.

"Damn
Nigel, he can’t be counted on for
anything, can he?" Imogen did not look up.

"Whatever
you are planning," Portia said, "you can just put a stop to it right now."

Imogen
folded her hands in her lap. Her right index finger welled up blood from the
spot where she had pricked it, and it dripped onto her skirt. "Portia—"

"No."

"You
don’t even know what I’m
doing."

"Yes,
I do. I can hear your thoughts too clearly, even though you’re trying to keep them from me." She ran her fingertips along Imogen’s collarbone. "I know what these are
supposed to do. They are supposed to destroy the machine and seal the veil."

"And
I can feel the faith you have in Kitty, but she can’t stop what has already begun."

"And
why is Nigel helping you?"

"I’d hardly say he was helping me. He just thinks to get his
way by dividing us."

"Well,
he is right on one count. I cannot allow you to do this."

"So,
only you can ponder noble self sacrifice?"

"That
isn’t what I meant."

"Portia." She looked up then, her multicolored irises glinting in the
dim light. "The chance of any of us
getting out of this alive is so very slight. We might as well use our deaths to
save everyone else, don’t you think?"

"It
doesn’t have to be like that! We can find a way to
solve this and get everyone out of here."

Imogen
grasped her hand and brought Portia near enough to kiss. "My idealistic sweetheart, how I do so love you."

"Together,
then. Whatever we plan, we both live or we both die."

"The
world still needs you, Portia."

"And
I need you."

Imogen
sighed. "All right."

"Promise?"

"I’ll do what I can."

Portia
nearly laughed. "You sound like me now."

"What
did you find out?"

Portia
crouched beside her. "They are all at
cross-purposes. Even the demon grows restive. Each seems to think that they can
outsmart the others in this scheme."

"We
should include ourselves in that—the thinking we can
outsmart everyone else aspect, anyway."

"Yes,
but we are all on the same page, mostly." She eyed Imogen’s bloody markings. "Have you done enough of
that for now? We should not leave Nigel to his own doings out there for long."

Imogen
nodded and buttoned her blouse again, smearing almost-dried blood across the
fabric. In the main room, Nigel had once more disappeared from view. They found
him on the floor below, gazing out a window.

What
they saw had once been a garden, hidden safe and beautiful in the center of
Salus, one of the cities of the dead. But before them stretched out a landscape
made of interlocking cogs and wheels, some metal, some stone, and some looking
frightfully like bone. The rhythmic grinding sounded like both heartbeat and
respiration, and they could see the faint glow racing up the tower’s walls above them like a pulse.