Ishtar was gone. Her pack, her swords, her bedroll, all gone. I looked for her on the horizon, all the horizons, but she was gone. That hurt. I wondered if I could have said something to make her stay. But it was probably for the best. I didn't need her to fight. I didn't need her at all. Oh, the lies we tell ourselves.
"She left," Imiko said when she noticed me looking. "Said what you were doing was madness and we'd all be wise to follow her."
"But you stayed," I said numbly. I loved her for that.
Hardt dumped a bowl of cold stew in front of me without a word, but his glare spoke volumes. I wished he would talk to me again, but I was too proud to break the silence that had grown bitter between us. Too proud to apologise for the rift I had caused. Just like I had been with Josef.
I tried to hide it, but Ishtar's leaving hurt. I'd told her to go, all but called her a fool, but I didn't think she'd actually leave. It reminded me of Yorin, storming off the moment we escaped the Pit, telling me there was something wrong with me. They both said it. They both saw it.
We didn't need him and we don't need her.
"Which way did she go?" I asked.
It doesn't matter. We have more minions to summon.
Imiko shook her head. "She said not to tell you." There was sadness in her eyes. My fault. Imiko had been happy before she had met me.
After the stew, I went back out into the night, and Ssserakis and I continued to raise our army.
There is a list of creatures from Sevoari that have been banned. After all, there must be rules even in warfare. Orran adhered to the rules, as does Terrelan, and as far as I am aware so too does Polasia. Even the non-terran kingdoms have agreed to the banning of summoning certain monsters. There is a reason for every one of them. Some, like the Abomination, will not be controlled. They break whatever hold the Sourcerer has over them and wreak devastation upon our world. Others are too intelligent to be allowed in our world. The lords of Sevoari are on the banned list for just such a reason. But there are other creatures that are banned because they are just too destructive to use in warfare. The Yurthammer is one such creature.
I was sick of playing by other people's rules.
Yurthammers are monstrous creatures of large enough size that they could crush a house and barely notice. They have stout back legs, thick with muscle, but not very agile. Their front legs, in contrast, are much thinner and longer. Their bodies are bulbous, covered in green scales, their bulk threatening to overwhelm their legs. There are thick spines running all the way down their backs and to the tip of their reptilian tales, that glow with a warm inner light that pulses through a variety of colours. Despite all of this, their heads are the most repulsive thing about the Yurthammer. Dozens of eyes hang on prehensile fleshy tendrils that move back and forth, twisting upon each other like a tangle of eels, or hair blown in the wind. They do not blink but focus with an unnerving intensity. Their mouths are huge, as wide as their bodies, and open up to show row upon row of curved, backward facing teeth that open out to engulf their prey when they feed, dragging creatures into the gaping maw. They are slow moving beasts. Even a lame child could outrun one of them, so you might wonder why they are banned. What use could such a thing have in the field of war? Well, it certainly helps that they can belch pockets of clumped poison gas that is so corrosive it eats through metal and causes skin to boil on the bone. Whichever long dead terran dreamed up Yurthammers had a strange imagination. The Rand are even odder for believing it would make a good inhabitant of the Djinn's fledgling world.
I had never before brought a Yurthammer across and had no idea of what to expect beyond the certainty of pain. They are transferred across with a belch as repugnant as their own. I have eaten a variety of foods in my life, including cave fungi, and a garn delicacy called urun, which I later discovered was actually the egg sacks of garn that had not been fertilised. If that does not convince you of the strangeness of their people, I do not know what will. My point is this, the belch of bringing across a Yurthammer is by far the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted, and it burns like liquid fire on the way up too. The revolting gas then quickly expands and coalesces into a creature that smells just as bad. I sometimes wonder if that is the true reason for the monsters being banned, not the devastation they can wreak, but the smell of them.
I brought five Yurthammers across that night. Ssserakis pushed for more, having taken me to a place in Sevoari where a pack of thirty of the beasts lounged, but I could stand neither the effort, nor the smell or taste for one more moment. For the second morning in a row, I stumbled back to our little camp and collapsed into my bedroll. At least on that second day none of my friends abandoned me.
Chapter 21
How many people had Josef been made to kill before he seized upon his chance to escape? Too many. We all like to think we are only what we make of ourselves, but the truth is we are often what others make of us. Josef was made into a murderer, and only the hope of escape kept his sanity, tattered as it was, together. He wanted to escape, to flee the Iron Legion and his machinations. Josef wanted to find me. Even estranged as we were, he never lost that desire. I think, perhaps, it was because he recognised that only together could we hope to stand against Loran Orran.
This is one of Josef's memories.
Another failure. Another Source shattered. Another two hundred and sixteen deaths, their live force stolen and channelled into the Source. These ones had mostly been terrans, but not all; the Iron Legion had found pahht and even some tahren to sacrifice on his altar of madness. Josef tries to care. He wants to care. He reaches for the guilt he knows should be there. But it isn't. He has just murdered two hundred and sixteen people, and he doesn't care. Every life he takes steals a bit of himself with it. He is becoming something else, something monstrous.
Loran is not angry; he does not get angry. But he is disappointed and that is worse. He stares at Josef, eyes icy with resentment. Josef knows what he's thinking. Loran is beginning to wonder if he had been wrong, if Josef isn't the chosen one at all. What will he do if decides Josef is useless? Will he kill him? Would that be so bad?
There are always bodies. After each failed attempt at resurrecting a Rand, the lives of two hundred and sixteen people have been snuffed out, but their corpses remain. The cells below the laboratory need to be emptied to stop those bodies rotting and spreading disease to the rest of the prisoners. And new prisoners are needed, always more prisoners needed. This is it! Josef has thought it through, planned it all out. This is his only chance to escape.
A group of terrans will soon arrive, soldiers or mercenaries. Loran hires them to take the corpses away and bring in new prisoners. It's the only time the laboratory is open to the outside world. He tried to walk out once, while the soldiers were down on the prison levels, but there are golems guarding the passageway and threw him back.
Josef sneaks away from the Iron Legion. Loran cares little where he goes when there is not an experiment to be attempted. There is no light down to the prison. No torches or lanterns. No need for them. But Josef knows the way. Years in the Pit taught him a thing or two about coping in darkness. He's memorised it, every step and wall, every door and ramp. He feels his way down, one hand trailing against the cold stone of the wall, following the contours.