COBALT 7.7: THAT HIDEOUS GRIN
“But how can you tell? If you are wrought awry, may not the instruments of self-measurement also tend toward disarray? How can you hope to see yourself clear when it is your very blindness you look to find? Perhaps there is no such thing as the well-wrought soul. And if this is the case, what does it mean to think of yourself as deficient?”
– from ‘The Book of Lithiguil’, 13:180-185
The tower room had bare-brick walls and it was tiny – there was a desk and a bed and a glass window but all of them were narrow and grimy, scarcely adequate even by a Sticktowner’s standards. It was not a chamber made for hosting guests, yet I was tucked away in here with five ladies. I stayed in the corner near the door, while Kani and the twin sorceresses sat on the bed with their backs against the wall. Netherhame was perched on the desk, one leg dangling, the other tucked up to her chest with her arms wrapped around it; a pure purple nethermist seeped softly from her robe. Shallowlie was by the window, looking out at the fading sunlight glancing off Hightown’s multicoloured domes and roofs.
I felt more nervous as each second passed. Getting here had been bad enough – the Tower of the Seven-Star Swords commanded a clear view of Gilderow Avenue, the Lower Tivertain road on which it was located. The Tower rose high above the three golden arches that formed sky-ways between the spires on either side of the street. Shallowlie had advised me that giving everyone wraith-form wasn’t on the cards, so we had to make do with a five-fold blanket of enchanter’s invisibility… something I was certain the eolastyr could see through. However, according to the others observing over the link, we had successfully entered this particular room without causing Mistress Arithos any visible disturbance: Sunspring and Wanderfox were in bug-form on her balcony, relaying their findings. At one point the enchanters showed us the room through their senses, translated as best as they could manage for those of us with less insectile perceptions.
Netherhame had shown me how to bestow a long-lasting shield-perception, involving a complex spiral pattern performed as the force-line is moved from the sorcerer’s third eye to the recipient’s. Now the druids had our boons effective upon them – they would be able to warn us if the eolastyr raised barriers, or if ours went too far, becoming visible in her chamber atop the highest spire. Our arch-enchanters weren’t only keeping us all in the loop – they were also keeping the otherwise-observant sorcerers in the lower sections of the tower from noticing what was going on, from interfering in the operation.
Everything was going smoothly… so far.
I tried to distract myself from the interminable wait by talking to Netherhame about undoing infinity runes and unravelling the spells bound into ensorcelled items, but she was trying to distract herself from me, it seemed, by staring at Arxine and Orieg. The girls’ shields were still active, at a fixed distance, and the others agreed with me that their strength was unbelievable, unprecedented.
The two foreigners were sitting on either side of Kani, another foreigner, holding hands across her lap. The cleric had apparently taken to her charges, as anyone who even met her once would expect; the redhead had her arms protectively about the both of them, glaring back at Netherhame. The unknown elder sorceresses weren’t getting the same warm treatment from the priestess of Wythyldwyn as the youngsters, despite my reassurances. Not that the veteran champions exactly helped: when I’d exhorted their virtues Ly had just snorted and continued staring, while Min obviously had nothing to say on the matter.
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I’d given Tanra my estimates on the girls’ shields, and with even this meagre smattering of information she was able to put together the perfect location. If we brought the twin sorceresses out of the room and travelled five yards along the curving landing, their shields would penetrate Arithos’s chamber high above us, covering a section of it in their defences.
They would protect Ciraya as she confronted the arch-demon, provided she stayed in her half of the room.
“The magister’s going up,” Glancefall commented, “past your post in three, two, one…”
Even without the augmented senses of vampire or fairy, I caught the tramp of her boots echoing along the landing. As Ciraya went up the next flight of stairs and the sound of her footfalls slowly dissipated, the tension got real. She just had to cross the span to the central spire, and she’d nearly be there… just a few more minutes…
Timesnatcher’s words, about people dying because of my actions, suddenly started to seem horribly portentous.
What if I get the twins killed? I thought. What if Ciraya dies? – she isn’t even an archmage, and we’re sending her in there…
But there was no other way. We had to do it together. It was the sense of heroism, taking it all on yourself, that got you and others killed. When you reached out, you were stronger. You could do things people never thought possible.
“Remember, Ciraya,” I thought. “Four feet from the desk.”
“I know!” she growled.
“Sorry – just wasn’t sure I told you already.”
Some strained chuckles came back over the link in response. (I’d reminded her at least three times.)
“Say it again,” Ciraya purred, “and if we make it through this I’ll tattoo it across your forehead.”
“And I’ll hold him down,” Em piped up. “Let her focus, Feychilde.”
“Hold down, and tattoo, a wraith? I’d like to see you try!”
“I can ensorcel something,” Ciraya bit back. “You can’t wraith out of bindlaces.”
Can’t I? I wondered. How curious.
“O-okay, kids, enough of that, now,” Sunspring’s trembling voice came through.
“Quite,” Zakimel thought, encapsulating all his derision into one taut little syllable.
“Okay, okay,” Killstop cut in, “just so long as Ciraya’s aware she needs to be forty-eight inches from the desk.”
“Good call, Killstop,” Spirit said in a dry tone.
I heard Fang and Brokenskull laughing this time, and a couple of the older champions – Dimdweller, Doomspeaker, Voicenoise – loosing sighs.
“Timesnatcher!” one of the others enchanters, Dancefire, blurted suddenly.
Irimar’s smooth, deep voice came in over the link. “Evening, ladies and gentlemen.”
Just in time to be the hero, I thought wryly. Indeed, I heard a very different kind of collective sigh pass through the telepathic space, sighing that carried a single message:
Relief.
I may or may not have joined in myself, somewhat.
“Good to have you back, boss,” I said, without any trace of sarcasm intended, doing my best to extend the hand of friendship.
“Good to be back. I had some things to deal with –“
“Enough,” Zakimel interrupted. “Let me fill you in.”
A few people were murmuring, none of the conversations interesting-enough to catch my attention, until –
“I’m near the door,” Ciraya said. “Man, I don’t – I don’t feel well…”
“You can do this,” Em said, managing to sound pretty convincing actually. “It’s just an ordinary conversation. She doesn’t know anything.”
“We’re ready to back you up,” I joined in.
“It’s the best plan I’ve come up with all day,” Tanra insisted.
“Okay. Drop on the lot of you. I’m going in.”
Everyone fell silent without needing to be told, and into the stillness Glancefall whispered: “She’s in.”
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