The Deathless. Peter Newman

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      Gritting her teeth, Pari hauled herself upwards. Three times, she heaved, placing one hand above the other, before she had enough slack to wind the rope around her right foot, taking some, but not nearly enough, of the strain from her shoulders.

      It was dizzying, the way the wind spun her, but she blocked it from her mind, narrowing her focus down to the silk, her hands, her feet, and the next stage of the climb.

      Soon, she had a rhythm, and her left foot was looped too, allowing her to progress swiftly back to the mouth of the chute.

      She leaned against the back of the chute, letting it and the silk share her weight. The fatigue threatening to overwhelm her, and again she pushed it away.

       I can’t climb any more. I can’t. I daren’t fall. If only I had my wings!

      In her mind she could picture her armour mounted on its stand. How she longed for its embrace, the feel of the crystal against her skin, protective, supporting. If she were wearing it now, it would be a simple matter to ride the essence currents to safety.

      How strange, she thought, that the great mass of Rochant’s castle could defy gravity, while she would fall as swiftly as a common stone.

      Her eyes were drawn to a cluster of sapphire poking from the rock. Over the years the crystals had grown, giving the castle greater stability and, to her mind, beauty. As the essence currents met the base of the castle, it made the crystals vibrate and sing, soft, like the murmurings of a sleeping giant.

       The crystal …

      By leaning out and trusting her weight to the silk she could just reach a long slender lance of sapphire that cut a diagonal slash across her view of the horizon.

       The crystal …

      She tapped along its length with her nails, attending to the way it chimed, until one of the notes sounded off. She tapped that place a second time to be sure. Again, the note was dull, flat. The crystal here was flawed.

      Pari pushed against it, so that she swung backwards on the silk rope. When the momentum drew her forward again, she leant with it, striking the crystal with the heel of her hand. There was a sharp crack and then a chunk broke away. Pari tried to snatch it from the sky but the crystal tumbled from her tired grasp, splintering into fragments, leaving her to watch, powerless, as it fell.

      But the fall was only momentary, the next updraught catching each splinter and making them tinkle, like rain on a rooftop, as they rose once more into her waiting arms.

      Once she was wedged into the chute again, Pari bound the sapphire pieces into her cloak, bundling them tight, binding the ends together, and tying each to her wrists.

      She worked the gland free of the wall, paused, and sighed.

       This is it.

      Too tired to jump, Pari simply released the tension in her legs, flopping out through the hole.

      As soon as the bundled crystals entered the current, they began to push upwards, taking the cloak with them and snapping Pari’s arms vertical. Not enough to hold her there, but enough to allow her a measured descent.

       Perfect.

      It was not the same as hunting. She had little control beyond being able to nudge slowly to the left or right. But she had spent many lifetimes in the air, and made the most of that skill to keep to the stronger currents, dropping in gasps and stutters.

      To the east she could make out the Bridge of Friends or Fools and, despite the early hour, a cart rumbling along it. Though it was flying no house flags, she was certain it was of Sapphire design, and moreover, that Rochant was tucked away inside it.

       They are taking you from me, my love. But where?

      She stared after it, straining her eyes until it was swept from view and she was forced to consider her own predicament again.

      Gradually, the crack in the earth below grew larger and darker, and she could make out individual wisps as they first emerged, a pluming flurry of purples, yellows and greens. Rather than be repulsed, she found herself drawn, a part of her wanting to give herself over to that place and be swallowed up. But it was a false part of her, and she repressed it with a shudder, forcing her eyes away from the hole and towards the rocky ridge that surrounded it.

      The further she moved away, the weaker the currents became, turning her landing into a barely controlled fall. She hit the ground at speed, falling naturally into what would have been a graceful roll had she not become tangled in her own cloak.

      Several tumbles and groans later, she came to a stop amid moss and stone. Pari allowed herself a victorious grimace before taking a tally of her injuries. No bones were broken but she had sprained muscles in her shoulders, thighs, and ankles. And the bruises! She managed to count three on her cheek and was just about to start on her arm when sleep embraced her.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      ‘Tell us the story!’ said a voice from one of the far tables.

      ‘Yes,’ chorused several others. ‘Tell us!’

      Vasin smiled easily, casting his gaze across the feast hall. ‘Again? Most of you have heard it already, several times.’ He sipped at his drink, then added, ‘I’d rather hear about how Mia led the other successful hunt.’

      All eyes went to Mia, and she was nudged swiftly off her cushions to the applause of the assembled. Before she started her story, she bowed low to Vasin, and he saw the admiration in her eyes, and the desire.

      To his surprise, he felt a flicker of lust. It had been a long time since he’d taken anyone to his bed. But then, it had been a long time since he had felt up to it. His victory over the Scuttling Corpseman had given pride back to House Sapphire, just as it had restored his own.

      Even though it was not his victory.

      Even though it was a lie. His mother had battled the Corpseman, the first person ever to wound it as far as anyone knew, and the second Sapphire Deathless to betray her house. What did that make him? The third?

      Mia began her own story of the day, starting with a generous account of how Vasin had stirred them all, and as she told it her eyes met his, sparkling, and his smile grew that little bit wider.

      He had allowed himself some Tack before the evening’s festivities. Not a full dose, he needed his wits about him still, but enough to ease the tension in his jaw and shoulders. He had to appear relaxed, the very image of the champion they considered him to be. When news of Rochant’s death reached the High Lord, there would be an investigation, and it was important he only draw the right kind of attention.

      And so, despite the stress, he sat back and listened to Mia’s voice, his thoughts made pleasantly fuzzy by the Tack.

      Then he saw a figure drift by the entrance to the room, pausing just long enough to catch his attention, and the smile fell from his face faster than a wingless hunter from the sky.

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