“Oh, great,” Coilla grumbled. “Another soaking.”
It was difficult to see what kind of place they were in through the downpour. Wherever it was, it was awash, with flowing water ankle deep. The ground seemed to be bedrock, in all probability any topsoil and vegetation having been washed away.
A chunk of tree and a couple of dead fish floated past.
Stryke wondered if it always rained here. As if in reply, the furious black sky opened up and dumped even more rain on them.
He got the band to search the immediate area for shelter, but there was nothing, so they huddled together miserably for a while, uncertain what to do next and getting wetter.
Then they became aware of a purplish glow in the deluge. It grew stronger, until they saw that it was Jennesta, dry inside a bubble of ethereal energy. A protection she hadn’t extended to her soaked retinue, including the comatose Thirzarr. It was an act of casual meanness that enraged Stryke almost more than anything else the sorceress had done. Even though he knew it was futile, he snatched a bow from one of the grunts and sent an arrow Jennesta’s way. The force field vaporised it.
As he thrust the bow back into the grunt’s hand, she and her followers vanished.
The Wolverines followed.
They were somewhere high. Dizzyingly high.
It was the top of a building that seemed to be impossibly tall, and the view it afforded was startling. As far as they could see in all directions the landscape was completely urbanised. There were other towers just as tall, and a number even taller than the one they stood on. Looking down, they saw nothing but buildings, jam-packed together, of every conceivable shape and design, and many with an appearance they couldn’t have imagined.
Highways sliced through the gigantic metropolis, and wove over and under each other, like strands of ribbon dropped at random by a wayward giant. The roads were host to numerous vehicles of a kind they couldn’t identify, and they seemed to move without the aid of horses or oxen. The whole place was in motion and resembled nothing less than a gigantic ants’ nest. Even from their great height the band could hear the distant, discordant sounds of it all.
More astonishing were the things that inhabited the sky. They weren’t dragons, griffins, hippogryphs or any of the other airborne creatures a sensible being might expect. Some didn’t even have wings, and they reflected glints of sunlight as they flew, as though, unfeasibly, they were made of metal or glass.
“This must be the billet of mighty wizards,” Wheam reckoned, awestruck.
“If it is they’ve built themselves a hellish place,” Stryke said, expressing the sentiment of them all. “Who’d want to live so cut off from natural things? Where are the trees, the rivers, the blades of grass?”
“And where’s Jennesta?” Coilla pitched in.
“I think she’d feel right at home in a hive like this. It’s vileness would appeal to her.”
“But not enough, apparently,” Dynahla announced. “She’s left.”
“I won’t be sorry to follow her this time.”
The place they turned up in would normally have struck them as either lacklustre or potentially hostile. Compared to where they had just been it felt welcoming.
It was a desert. Sand from horizon to horizon, broken only by occasional dunes. It was hot, but not unbearable, and there was even a gentle breath of wind. There didn’t appear to be anything immediate that might threaten them.
“Everybody all right?” Stryke asked.
“I feel sick,” Wheam said.
“You would,” Haskeer came back.
Standeven didn’t look too bright either, but he knew better than to complain.
Although they didn’t know how fleeting their stay would be, the band took the chance to rest, and most sat or lay down on the fine sand. Stryke was content to let them.
Coilla found herself beside Dynahla, both of them a little apart from the others. It was an opportunity to ask him something she had been pondering.
“Tell me, does carrying the stars have any kind of effect on you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they certainly did something to Stryke’s mind once, and to Haskeer when he was close to them for a while.”
“Objects as powerful as these can have an influence on those exposed to them, particularly for long periods. They’re not playthings, you know.”
“What kind of… influence?”
“Good or bad, depending on the nature and preparedness of the individual. I’m guessing that with Stryke and Haskeer it wasn’t good.”
“Maybe strange would be a better word.”
“Each set of instrumentalities has its own signature. And because every set is unique, its effect will differ. But whoever possesses them will feel it strongly nevertheless.”
“But not you?”
“I’m trained to resist their negative power and to utilise the positive. And remember that Serapheim created this set.” He patted the pocket containing them. “What better teacher can there be than their maker?”
“So they’d affect Jennesta too?”
“Oh yes. That’s one of the reasons why her having a set is so dangerous. She would certainly prosper from their negative emanations. Although she has an ersatz set, of course, copied from these. I don’t know if that would make a difference. It’s almost unprecedented.”
“Thanks for telling me that. Though I can’t say I understood it all.”
Dynahla smiled. “The greatest adepts have never got to the bottom of all the instrumentalities’ secrets, even Serapheim, and I certainly haven’t.” He paused, and briefly closed his eyes. “She’s on the move again.”
“It amazes me that you can tell.”
“As I said, I’ve been trained.” He turned and called out, “Stryke! Time to go!”
Stryke came over. “Already?”
“Yes. I think things are going to take a slightly different turn now.”
“How would you know that?” he replied suspiciously.
“I’ll explain later. Meanwhile-”
“Trust you. Yeah.”
He shouted an order and the band gathered round.
The crossing was the longest and most disquieting they had yet experienced.
They opened their eyes to a place like no other.
They were on an enormous, totally flat plain, devoid of any features. Above them, the sky was unvaryingly scarlet, with no clue as to where the light that bathed the scene came from. The ground they stood on was a uniform grey and of some unnatural substance. It was spongy underfoot. The only landmark was a distant, pure- white, box-shaped structure. It was hard to judge the scale of things, but the building looked vast. A tangy, sulphurous odour perfumed the air.
There was no one else in sight, least of all Jennesta and her minions.
“Where the hell are we?” Coilla whispered.
“What do you know about this, Dynahla?” Stryke demanded.
“Only that there was a good chance we’d end up here.”
“You knew? And you didn’t think to tell us?”
“Only a chance, I said. It was by no means certain and-”
Stryke grabbed the shape-changer by the throat and thrust his face close. “You’d better start telling us what you know about this place.”
“I can tell you that not everything here is real, but all of it can harm. And that nothing you’ve faced up to now compares with what you’re about to be confronted with.”
