The Immortal Heights (3 page)

“I think it is safe to say our allies have quite a bit of experience with Atlantis,” he explained. “They knew Atlantis would not be taken by surprise a second time and would be ready for the bewitched spears.”

“So they send the bewitched spears in batches to see what kind of defense they would be dealing with?” said Kashkari.

“Exactly. I would not be surprised to learn that the clusters had
come exactly ninety degrees apart on the compass, to best pin the net to the ground with all the hunting ropes.”

Kashkari tapped a finger against his chin. “Should we expect to see spears and ropes coming in smaller clusters—twos and threes—to test that the net is well and truly pinned down?”

As if on cue, a pair of bewitched spears arrived. The Atlanteans shouted when they realized that their net could no longer spring up to catch the spears, but was squirming on the sand, held down by the hunting ropes.

They barely caught the spears, thanks to two particularly agile wyverns. The wyverns, spears in their claws, were being directed to head away from the bell jar dome. But the momentum of the spears was still strong, and the wyverns flapped their wings as if they were flying against a cyclone. “Tell your scouts with the keenest sight to look on the ground,” Titus said to Amara. “That is how I would send in the one bewitched spear that counts. And tell them to keep quiet when they have spotted it.”

“Understood.” She flew off.

“When we do spot the spear we are looking for, the one carrying the blood spell that would act as proxy for the human touch,” he said to Kashkari, “I will set Fairfax to safeguard its progress. Can you arrange for some additional distraction on the part of the rebels?”

Kashkari nodded. “Leave it to me.”

Titus took Fairfax's hand. “And you, you smite anything that
comes between the spear and the bell jar dome.”

“Your wish is my command, sire,” she said smartly.

He pulled her in for a quick kiss. “Good. Say that to everything I want.”

She laughed. Even in the midst of chaos, the sound still made his heart lift.

Amara returned. “One of our scouts spotted something approaching from the northeast.”

Titus immediately sent the war phoenix to the southwest of the bell jar dome, so that as little light as possible would fall on that “something.”

He and Fairfax rode into a cluster of rebels and came out the other end with their heads covered in keffiyehs. Behind them, Kashkari had set up a spectacle: a dozen carpets floated end to end in midair, and several rebels made tumbling passes across the length of this makeshift stage.

“I'm tempted to neglect my task and watch that instead,” said Fairfax. “And my life is on the line here.”

She and Titus took the place of the pair of scouts originally stationed at the northwestern point of the bell jar dome, and each applied an angle-view spell, so that despite their tilted-up faces, they were watching the desert floor.

Cresting a dune about a half mile away, a bewitched spear slithered toward the bell jar dome. It was not dawdling, precisely, but then neither was it moving at anything close to full speed. Titus
was fine with that relatively sedate pace until a scout called out, “More armored chariots on the way!”

But they had trouble from closer quarters too: several squads of wyvern riders swung by, their flight low, their gaze on the ground.

Titus swore. He raised his voice. “My esteemed friends from Atlantis, especially those of you who have met your Lord High Commander in person, have you ever wondered why he does not seem to age? Why, in fact, he sometimes seems to grow ten years younger overnight? Even by the most conservative of estimates, he should be a man well into his seventies. How does he not look a day over forty?”

The wyvern riders, forgetting their task, turned sharply toward the bell jar dome.

“It is because he is using a young man's body, one that bears a striking resemblance to his original body, before he threw himself down the hideous depths of sacrificial magic. That original body cannot ever be seen in public, as it is missing major limbs, perhaps the eyes and ears too; such is the cost of sacrificial magic.

“In all the long years of his reign, he has made it a point not to publicly disseminate his image. The official reason is that he never wishes to encourage a cult of personality. But conveniently enough, if the wider mage world does not know what he looks like, then it would not wonder why men who resembled him kept disappearing.

“Think about it next time you are asked to risk your life for him. Think about it now. Why does he want my friend the young
elemental mage? It is because powerful elemental mages make the most potent sacrifices and will best invigorate his life force. Is this what you want to do? Fight to the utmost of your ability so that he can commit acts despised by the Angels?”

Unfortunately, not every one of the wyvern riders was riveted by his speech. One screamed at the top of his voice to alert his colleagues that a bewitched spear was on the ground and only a quarter mile away from the bell jar dome.

Instead of attacking those who had spotted the bewitched spear and were now diving toward it, Fairfax set up a much more elegant defense. Drawing on her command of lightning, she constructed a moving tunnel of electricity through which the spear passed unmolested.

A furlong. One-sixteenth of a mile. A hundred fifty feet. The spear came ever closer.

Titus's heart lodged in his throat.

The tip of the spear struck the bell jar dome; the entire dome shuddered.

The nearest pair of scouts yelled in jubilation and shot forward, only to be stopped by a barrier that was very much still in place.

CHAPTER
3

“SHOULDN'T THE DOME HAVE DISINTEGRATED
?”
shouted Fairfax.

It should have, if Titus was right about blood magic having been applied to the spear.

Of course.

“Blood. I must put a drop of blood to the dome!” He fished for his pocketknife as he nudged his carpet forward.

She reached the dome the same time as he did and set her hand on it too. He felt a thrumming sensation in his palm, and then nothing but air.

Immediately he threw up a shield for her. She did the same for him—and not a moment too soon, as the wyvern riders aimed a barrage of spells at them.

“You should have been putting up shields for yourself,” he admonished her as they flew higher. “How many times have I
told you not to bother with me?”

“What? And assume the shields you've set up for me aren't strong enough? Besides”—she leaned over and rapped him on the head with her knuckles—“have you forgotten that there is no Chosen One? You are no less important than me in this—or anything else.”

“I have not forgotten that.” He took her wrist and kissed the back of her hand. “I speak not for the mission, but for myself.”

She sighed. “And what am I going to do without you?”

For a fraction of a second, his prophesied death hung between them, a shroud that marked the end of everything. The next moment, she swung around and let loose a wall of fire.

Ordinary fire could not harm dragons. The wyvern riders, however, still dodged instinctively. It was a good tactical move on her part, but a less sound one strategically: now the Atlanteans once again knew her exact location.

But if anything, the wyvern riders drew back farther, the memories of the lightning-wielder's prowess still too fresh.

“Let no one escape!” came the clarion-like voice of the woman brigadier. “Reinforcement is almost here!”

The latest squadrons of armored chariots were now visible to the naked eye.

Kashkari came to a silent halt beside them. “The armored chariots are too high—the height they usually take to dispense death rain.”

“Can our allies bring them down?” asked Fairfax. “I'll be happy
to provide lightning strikes again.”

Kashkari shook his head. “Amara already asked. They said one battery of armored chariots was the most they could sink in a short amount of time. We'd better retreat into the base.”

“We should be all right with our face masks, shouldn't we?” asked Fairfax as they made for the great escarpment to the east. The rebel camp had been carved out inside the escarpment, and the only access—that Titus knew of, at least—was a vertical fissure that ran down the front of the range.

“Face masks would suffice against first-generation death rain. But lately we've been hearing reports that far nastier versions have been developed.”

Fairfax glanced over her shoulder. “Look at the wyvern riders. Why are they not chasing us?”

As the rebels streamed toward the cliffs, the wyvern riders, who had reorganized into a semblance of order and formation, seemed content to merely observe.

“Why, indeed?” muttered Kashkari, frowning.

“Is it possible for us not to go so deep into the base?” Titus asked Kashkari. “Obviously we cannot flee in the open right now, but if we get in and are then surrounded, it might be difficult to get out again.”

Kashkari nodded. He once again subordinated their carpets to his. Inside the fissure, they did not go on twisting and turning through the narrow opening as they had their first time, but
instead took a side tunnel that Titus would have passed without seeing—the entire way was pitch dark—and flew up to what Kashkari called an observational post, entering through a trapdoor on the bottom.

As soon as they had alit from their carpets, Titus grabbed Fairfax for a hard embrace. She was still safe. They were all still safe. Every such moment must be savored, his fervent gratitude offered to the Angels. “You all right? Holding up?”

She stepped back and examined him. “I'm fine. You, on the other hand, are all ribs. Have you been eating anything at all?”

“Enough,” he said.

Most of the time he probably ate a little less than he ought to—food being one of those things that he resented for taking time away from everything else that he needed to do. It was tougher to judge when his entire diet consisted of food cubes that tasted like solidified air. How much of
that
was sufficient?

She sighed, shaking her head. Then she turned to Kashkari. “How about you, old chap?”

It dawned on Titus that Kashkari had been watching them, a wistful expression on his face. There was probably very little that Kashkari would not give to be in their position, to love openly and without complication.

Titus could not imagine the kind of quandary Kashkari found himself in, being in love with a woman all his life, and meeting her much, much too late, when she was already his brother's fiancée.

“I'm all right,” said Kashkari, turning away. “Let me show you how to open the view ports.”

They pressed close to the long, rectangular view ports as the armored chariots, dark and silent, streaked past overhead. The wyvern riders raised their hands in salute. Titus squinted, but could not see whether anything had been dispensed.

“That's it?” asked Fairfax, after a minute or so of silence.

“That was all they needed to do,” said Titus. “From what I remember, death rain is highly concentrated. It is harmless while in liquid form, but once it reaches the ground and evaporates . . .”

“Why didn't the wyvern riders evacuate?”

“Wyverns themselves are not susceptible to death rain. And Atlanteans are usually given antidotes before they go into battle.”

Fairfax turned to Kashkari. “Is this observational post airtight?”

“The entire base is, once all the entrances have been sealed.”

“How do we know when it will be safe enough to venture out again?”

“My colleagues in other observational posts will be taking air samples every half hour to test for toxicity.”

“So we might be here awhile.”

“We might.”

“Then why don't the two of you take some rest? You are probably short on sleep, to have traveled so fast so far. And you”—her hand settled for just a moment on Titus's elbow—“I know you've hardly slept at all since we landed in the desert.”

Titus did not want to sleep—he would go to his eternal rest all too soon, and he did not want to waste any minute he had remaining in a state of unconsciousness. He would much rather spend his hours and days with his arms around her, wide awake, accumulating memories for the Beyond.

Would that it were an option.

“I've been sleeping for days and woke up not very long before you came upon us, Kashkari. So let me take the first watch. In fact, let me also summon some water. You both look parched—finish what's left in your waterskins and I'll refill them.”

While a sphere of water spun and grew in the middle of the observation post, she cleaned and rebandaged Titus's back, which had been wounded when they had passed through the Crucible the last time. It was getting better—but she was generous with the topical analgesic and he equally unsparing with the pain-relieving pilules.

She tsked as she worked, murmuring mild criticism on how little he took care of himself. Her touch was efficient, almost impersonal, as she took care of the wound. But when she was done, she rested her hand against his upper arm.

And he really, really wished they were alone. Kashkari was safeguarding them against known and unknown dangers, but he would give the man his castle in the Labyrinthine Mountains if he would go elsewhere in the base for fifteen minutes.

If he would stay away for half an hour, Titus would throw open the Crown Vault and Kashkari could have any of the treasures therein.

As if he heard Titus's thoughts, Kashkari, who had already stretched out on his carpet, got up again to look out of a view port, his back to Titus and Fairfax. Almost immediately her fingers climbed up his arm to his shoulders. There her hand splayed open, as if she wanted to touch as much of him as possible.

His breaths came in quicker.

With her other hand she traced his spine upward, vertebra by vertebra. His fingers sank into the deep pile of the carpet, trying to hold on to something. And then she shifted—a muffled sound upon the carpet—and kissed him at the base of his neck.

If she had struck him with one of her bolts of lightning, the sensation could not have been more electric. He barely managed to swallow a gasp. And surely she must have felt the tremor beneath his skin.

Do it again. Please do it again.

“I don't know what's going on,” said Kashkari. “But you two had better come take a look.”

Were Titus capable of commanding lightning, he would smite every single Atlantean in a hundred-mile radius that very moment. And the Bane he would gladly throttle with his own hands, for his stupid underlings never knew when to leave Titus alone.

She had to pull him to one side so he did not walk smack into the sphere of water. He half glowered at her, for the laughter in her eyes, for not physically suffering from desire the way he did.

She flung one arm about his shoulders and kissed him on his
cheek. He sighed, his frustration crowded out by sweetness and the simple pleasure of her company.

It was with much reluctance that he took his gaze off her to look out a view port. Immediately the levity in his heart dissipated. The wyverns were flying drunkenly, nearly crashing into one another. The riders, who a minute ago had been upright and alert in their high-backed saddles, were now slumped over.

Fairfax glanced at Kashkari. “Did your mages do this?”

Kashkari shook his head. “Our mages would have been too busy sealing the entrances and taking up defensive positions.”

Fairfax turned to Titus. “Our allies?”

Titus could only shrug. He had no idea what was going on.

Kashkari took out his two-way notebook and scratched a few words with his pen. He looked up after a wait of several seconds. “Amara says no—she already asked them.”

“Fortune shield me,” cried Fairfax. “Do you see what I see?”

Titus pressed his face to the view port again and sucked in a breath. The wyverns were plucking off the riders and dropping them to the desert below.

Bits of dragon lore, read long ago and practically forgotten, surfaced in his mind. “The riders are dead. Wyverns cannot abide cadavers—that is why they are helping one another get rid of the riders.”

The trapdoor burst open. They all jumped. But it was only Amara, her eyes wide, her hand clutched hard around her wand. “Would
somebody please tell me what's going on?”

The question was for all three of them, but her eyes were on the lightning-wielder, she of the miraculous powers.

“I think I can venture a guess,” said the lightning-wielder, her voice low and tired, the laughter in her eyes gone.

The moment she spoke, Titus understood the conclusion she had arrived at—and it chilled him from head to toe. Kashkari put a hand against the wall, as if he too were feeling unsteady.

“The Bane did this,” came Fairfax's inexorable explanation.

Amara recoiled. “Why? Why would he kill his own loyal troops?”

“Because they heard His Highness accuse him of sacrificial magic. I don't know what kind of reputation the prince has among the Atlanteans, but he is still the Master of the Domain, and he made that accusation to the Bane's face, so to speak.”

Amara's other hand clenched too. “But an experienced wyvern rider is very valuable—to train one takes years.”

“Have you heard that the Bane can resurrect?” Fairfax asked.

“There have long been rumors.”

“The Atlantean woman in my residence house had never heard of it—and she had lived outside Atlantis for a number of years. Granted, she probably always had to take care not to mix with the wrong people and lose her assignment, but doesn't that tell you something about the kind of information control the Bane wields over his own people?

“And it isn't necessary that they believe the prince completely. A
sensational claim like that was bound to be repeated, however surreptitiously, to family, friends, colleagues in other regiments, and perhaps to strangers when one's had a bit too much to drink. Now multiply that dissemination by the hundreds.

“And notice that it is only the wyvern riders who have been eliminated—they heard what the prince said. The pilots inside the small armored chariots herding the lindworms would have been wearing special helmets that only let them hear instruction from their battle commanders—they were recalled and spared.”

Amara rubbed a hand across her face. “If what you deduce is true . . . I've been a part of the resistance since I was a child, and this is the first time I've ever been afraid.”