The White Song (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 5)

  The

  WHITE

  SONG

  Book 5 of the

  CHRONICLES OF THE BLACK GATE

  PHIL TUCKER

  THE WHITE SONG

  Phil Tucker

  © Phil Tucker 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  THE WHITE SONG is a work of fiction.

  May not be copied and redistributed by any means,

  electronic or otherwise.

  First Edition. First printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

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  CHAPTER 1

  Iskra

  Starkadr impacted. The vast Portal chamber shattered. Iskra was slammed with punishing force down the few inches she had hovered above the obsidian floor. The sound was such a cataclysmic roar that the volume alone near drove her unconscious. The ground shook, heaved, and her vision blacked out. The world went away, then came thundering back.

  She tasted blood, hot and metallic, across her tongue. She should be dead. Lifting her head, dazed, she saw through the Ascendant’s golden glow that the chamber was still heaving, huge shards of black gleaming rock sliding down, thrusting up, all of it surrounded by plumes of acrid dust. The desiccated bodies that had lain on the ground for centuries slid and fell alongside the men and women who had been in the refugee camp, all of them tumbled and thrown. Chasms yawned. Walls parted. The huge Portal pillars themselves shivered apart, some toppling, others fragmenting where they stood, falling into themselves.

  Sections of the huge chamber collapsed utterly, closing like malefic jaws, while others opened up, exposing jagged shafts that ascended into gloom. The area on which she was lying, bathed by the light of the Ascendant’s aureate sphere, had thrust up into the air like a pedestal, its surface now flat and no longer treacherous.

  A hand gripped her beneath the arm and helped her rise. Tóki. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her throat had closed with horror. She staggered forward till she reached the limit of the golden sphere and peered into the chaos beyond. How many hundreds of Agerastians and Aletheians had just perished? Piteous cries wafted up to her from the jumbled depths, and she saw by the light of the green, ubiquitous mist that was manifesting once more a bedlam of torn tents, piles of camp goods that had tumbled into cracks, the broken figures of the newly dead, and the desperate struggles of those seeking to find purchase, to climb, to rescue each other.

  “By the White Gate,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. “We have to help them.” Empty words. But her heart went out to those she could see: the survivors, the wounded, the broken who yet had voice.

  “Look,” said Tóki, pointing. A demon was flitting down from the heights, wings outstretched as it glided down to land amidst a knot of Aletheians. Their screams grew as more demons lowered like bats from above, dozens, then hundreds descending upon the wreckage of the camp.

  Iskra wheeled and stared at the Ascendant, her demand dying on her lips. The youth was still hovering in mid-air, his legs crossed, his eyes closed. She could barely make out the waves of gold that emanated from him and washed over the few swaybacked tents that yet stood on their pedestal and the two dozen men who had survived the fall.

  “Your Holiness?” She stepped forward. He didn’t answer. Tears filled her eyes. The screams from the darkness beyond continued, shot through with high-pitched, inhuman laughter. Iskra had never felt so helpless. She studied the Ascendant’s face. Should she touch his arm, seek to awake him? Could he help those who were being slaughtered all around them?

  Orishin was standing to one side, holding his wounded arm carefully across his chest. Audsley was holding his firecat with just as much care. Patash and some five remaining members of the Agerastian Hundred Serpents moved to her side, and two surviving Hrethings stepped up as well, weapons drawn. The five Cerulean Guards who had been posted at the Ascendant’s tent were helping each other up — all told, some fifteen or so men. All of them were pale, shaken to their cores, yet all of them gazed up on the Ascendant with awe.

  Except Audsley. His eyes betrayed a wounded agony as his gaze skittered away from her own, and his lips curled into something akin to a sneer. Aedelbert looked up and licked the magister’s chin, letting out a soft chrrrip.

  “There, there,” said Audsley, stroking the firecat’s head. “I won’t let — I won’t let anything happen to you, dear friend. I swear it.”

  “Magister,” said Iskra, fighting for a commanding tone, shoving her own fear and horror to the back of her mind. “Can you help? Fly down and rescue anyone? Bring them back?”

  Audsley ducked his head. “No. The demons are gone from me. I am nothing more than what you see, and perhaps even less than that.”

  Her last hope for a weapon to use against the demons died with his words. Damn.

  “My lady?” Tóki’s gruff voice.

  “I’m fine.” A lie, but a necessary one. What tools, what resources were yet available to them? The Ascendant’s tent, the large companion tent that had housed the wounded Asho… With a soft cry, she ran forward to the tent and peered inside. Empty.

  “Asho?” She turned to the others. “Where is he?”

  Orishin looked pointedly at Audsley. “The magister saw him last.”

  “I… Yes. That’s true.” Audsley bobbed his head again and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “Ah, he should be in Ennoia. Where — where –” A realization seemed to hit him, and his eyes widened. “Oh, no. No no no.”

  “Audsley?” Iskra took a deliberate step toward him. “What’s going on? What aren’t you telling us?”

  “Down!” Tóki grabbed her shoulder and pushed her into a crouch as he raised his ax overhead as if to ward off a blow. Iskra let out a cry and covered her head with her arms, and the other soldiers all fell into crouches, but nothing happened.

  Looking up, she saw a large figure swoop away, having veered aside at the last moment to avoid the golden sphere. There were more of them, she saw. Dozens of demons were flying just outside the Ascendant’s protection, their wings flapping erratically, their eyes gleaming, their bodies flitting amongst the shadows. Dozens? No, many more than that.

  Iskra felt horror creep through her veins like ice water.

  “By the Ascendant,” whispered one of the Cerulean Guards. “There’s hundreds of them.”

  “Like moths to a flame,” said Audsley, h
is voice rife with misery.

  Iskra rose to her feet once more, ignoring her throbbing knee. Wherever she looked, she saw the enemy. Waiting. Wheeling. Watching them with hunger and hatred in their eyes.

  “We can’t fight off that many,” Tóki said angrily.

  Orishin bowed to the floating form of the Ascendant. “We will not have to, it seems. Your Ascendant is proving his might. Never have I seen such a thing.”

  “Of course you’ve never seen such a thing,” said Tóki. “Nobody’s ever been inside a fallen stonecloud filled with demons.”

  “It was meant as a courtesy,” said Orishin.

  “Enough,” said Iskra. “We need to stay focused. There was but the one exit from this chamber, correct, Audsley?”

  “Yes,” the magister said nervously. “The hexagonal tunnel that led out into the central airshaft. But — looking around — I can’t pinpoint its location. And what are the odds that the tunnel maintained its structural integrity with all the damage that’s been done? And even if we were to reach the air shaft, what then? It descended hundreds of yards to where the demons were imprisoned.” He laughed, just shy of hysterical. “I advise us not to go there!”

  “Audsley.” Iskra stepped up before him. The man was sweating profusely, his eyes wild as he avoided her gaze, his arms tight around Aedelbert. “What happened?”

  A shower of golden sparks cascaded down upon them as a shriek sounded from above, heinous and wounded. Iskra saw a demon awkwardly flying away, its wing badly mangled. Its fellows set upon it, and in moments it was torn apart.

  “That’ll teach them!” said one of the Cerulean Guards, his voice tight with false cheer. “Don’t touch the gold, or the Ascendant’ll burn your demonic arse!”

  Iskra watched the wheeling shapes, then flinched as a second dove down and impacted the golden sphere. Again, a shower of sparks rained down upon them, and again the demon shrieked as it fought desperately to avert its course, only to fall through the sphere’s outer surface and crash to the ground at their feet, a smoking, charred wreck.

  “They will learn fast,” said Orishin. “And then leave us alone.”

  “You underestimate their perversity,” whispered Audsley.

  A third struck a glancing blow across the apex of the sphere, and then they began to attack from all sides. Golden motes the size of coins fell everywhere, sparked by countless contacts. Shrieks of pain and gibbering laughter echoed all around them, and the stench of burning leather and burnt hair filled the air.

  Tóki and Patash crowded in around Iskra, both gazing up and outward. The Cerulean Guards raised their monstrous spears, setting their butts on the ground in readiness for a charge.

  Iskra looked to the Ascendant. A faint frown marred his face, and a single, short vertical line had appeared between his brows.

  “Do you think he can hold?” whispered Orishin by her side.

  “He’s the Ascendant,” Iskra said, nearly laughing with a hysteria all her own. “If anybody in this world can, it’s him.”

  The assault continued unabated. Demon corpses began to fall upon them, cadaverous and charred, some still stirring feebly even as they were immolated by the Ascendant’s golden aura. Over and over again, they hit the sphere, such that the rain of golden motes became a deluge, a magical cascade of holiness that rained down upon their upturned faces and shoulders.

  “Steady,” Iskra heard herself say, and she was surprised by the calm authority in her voice. “Don’t protect me. Move to defend the Ascendant. If he falls, we all die.”

  “But —” began Tóki.

  “Encircle him. Now. All of you!”

  The Cerulean Guards took up positions around him, huge spears pointing obliquely up. Tóki and his Hrethings mingled with the Hundred Serpents in a tight circle. Orishin, Audsley, and Iskra moved to stand right beside the floating Ascendant, nearly touching his knees and thighs as they gathered in close.

  “Is the sphere shrinking?” Orishin asked nervously.

  Iskra bit her lower lip. She couldn’t be sure. It was hard to tell in the constant falling of golden light. A score of demon corpses lay about them now, but more kept coming. She glanced up the Ascendant once again. A bead of sweat was rolling down his temple, and his eyes were scrunched closed.

  “We need a plan,” she said. “We can’t just sit here. We have to escape, somehow.”

  “And move the Ascendant?” asked Orishin. “Might that not dispel his protective magic?”

  “It’s not magic,” snapped one of the Cerulean guards. “It’s faith.”

  “Whatever,” said Orishin. “Dare we move him?”

  “And the alternative?” asked Iskra. “Wait till he collapses from exhaustion?”

  The assault ended. Iskra saw the demons draw back, still flying in complex patterns overhead but no longer dive-bombing the sphere.

  One of the Hundred Serpents muttered something in Agerastian: a question, to which Patash shrugged.

  “They done given up?” asked one of the Cerulean Guards.

  “That is not their nature,” said Audsley.

  “How do you know so much?” asked Tóki. He was lashing out, Iskra realized. The longer he was forced to stand there feeling helpless, the more volatile he’d become.

  Audsley’s smile was terrible to behold. “Let’s just say I’ve become something of an unwilling expert.”

  She had to remain in control. “Let’s use this opportunity to plan something out. Patash, send two men there and there to look beyond. Tóki, do the same over there. See if anybody can make out a way down, or better yet, a chasm or tear we can try to escape through.”

  Patash gave the command in Agerastian, and four of the Hundred Serpents darted forth, showing no fear for the demons flying just overhead. The Hrethings moved to the other side, and all peered forth, craning their necks as they examined the gloom beyond.

  “Back!” one of the Hrethings yelled suddenly. “Back!”

  The Agerastians might not have understood the word, but they got his tone clearly enough; all quickly converged on the Ascendant, facing the direction the Hrething had been examining.

  “What is it?” demanded Tóki. “What did you see?”

  The Hrething was pale and shaking. “Coming this way,” he whispered hoarsely. “Big. Really big.” He fumbled the sign of the triangle even as he held his ax.

  “Steady,” said Iskra again. “Nobody move. Place your faith in the Ascendant. Stand steady!”

  A great shape was floating forth out of the darkness. Darkness roiled behind it as if its passage was stirring up a tornado of black smoke, an absence of light so profound that it was blacker even than Starkadr’s ruined gloom. The demon was massive, easily ten yards tall, roped in muscle and with a horrendous head that was exceedingly foul to gaze upon; its visage was twisted, part bull, part boar, and its eyes burned with a fell crimson light. Bull horns emerged from its temples to curl forward.

  Not black smoke, Iskra realized mutely. Black fire. It was flying on wings of jet flame.

  Someone behind her tried to talk but only managed a croak.

  Tóki spat, hefted his ax, lifted it overhead with both hands, then took a half-dozen stuttering steps forward and hurled it with a coarse shout.

  The ax spun through the air, punched out of the golden light into the dark, and hit the demon square in the chest, only to bounce away with a clang as if it had struck a granite wall.

  The demon didn’t so much as flinch.

  Tóki gaped, hunched over, arms still extended forward, and then he staggered back, shaking his head in horror.

  “What can we do?” asked Patash.

  “Nothing,” said Audsley. “That’s a ysil-athamagr. We are, I’m afraid, quite genuinely fucked.”

  Aedelbert let out a second worried chirp and climbed out of Audsley’s arms and around his shoulders, shaking out his iridescent wings and then pulling them in close.

  Iskra’s mouth was completely dry. She stared up at the great demon as it c
ame to a stop before the golden sphere. Its bestial features were softly lit by the yellow glow, and its piggish eyes glimmered as it studied them. It extended a taloned hand out to the left, and in its grip manifested a burning scimitar made of black flame.

  “That’s not good,” whispered one of the Cerulean Guards.

  The demon raised its blade overhead and then brought it down on the sphere. Golden fire cascaded down where the blade had struck, an endless torrent whose motes danced across the floor as the demon brought its weight to bear, forcing the blade deeper into the sphere.

  “It’s cutting through!” someone yelled.

  And it was. The black flame blade was inching deeper into the sphere. The point of contact was so bright, was burning so white-hot, that Iskra had to shield her eyes to even gaze upon the assault.

  The demon let out a grinding roar, and its huge wings beat powerfully as it drove the blade ever deeper.

  “Nax,” moaned one of the Hundred Serpents. “Nax.”

  Iskra’s hands were shaking so badly, she could barely control her fingers. But she raised them before her and forced them to take on the shape of the triangle. Raised it high. Did she believe? What was real? What was true? She didn’t know, but in that moment, all her faith and hope lay in the youth hovering by her side, and for that she was willing to believe anything.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

  The black blade inched deeper. Waves of black light were racing over the surface of the sphere now, and then with a cry the smaller demons renewed their attacks, swooping down and colliding with the light. Dozens at a time, attacking from every side.

  The Cerulean spears were shaking in the guards’ grips. Tóki stood empty-handed before her, his back straight, gazing up with horror and wonder on his face. One of the Hundred Guards burst forward and slashed at the air, letting loose a howl of empty defiance.

  And still the demon brought its blade down, cutting ever deeper. The whole of the black flame sword was now within the sphere, and it was cutting with the part just above the hilt, driving it down with both huge hands, cutting a huge gash open in the wall.

  The Ascendant opened his eyes, and Iskra saw that they burned a pure and utter white, completely absent of iris and pupil. His face contorted into a sharp frown, and he lowered one leg until the ball of his slippered foot touched the ground, followed by the second.