The Halls of Midnight by Kevan Dale

Author:Kevan Dale [Dale, Kevan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780983688754
Publisher: Kevan Dale Fiction

14

Straight Into the Fiery Maw

Over the harbor, the shape loomed—a crack of some kind, spanning the sky from one side of the harbor to the other, bent and twisted, a quarter of a mile high. All along its length, a queer glow peeked through. The light within pulsed and shifted, spreading out, veining further along the length of it.

“It's moving,” Grayson said.

“Then I'd suggest we hurry,” Doctor Rush said, leaning on my shoulder.

We left the water’s edge, passing alongside a stable and on to the next street. Just two streets over, flames and smoke filled the air. Voices called out. We moved quickly, sticking closely to the backsides of the homes and businesses along the way. Up across one street, and then across the dark yard of a sawmill. A company of soldiers came around the corner, heading right for us.

Rush stepped to the doorway of the nearest building. The door was locked. He held his hands out before it. “Ferrum audire, ferrum torquent, ferrum adspiret. Liberare ignem penetralibus.” The black metal of the latch and lock flared and shook. With a hiss, they went from black to deep red, setting the wood in the door to smolder. As he spoke the final words, the metal shattered, dropping in red hunks to the threshold. I pushed the door in and kicked the glowing shards inside before me. Rush and Grayson hurried inside. I shut the door behind us.

We stood in the kitchen of a bakery, the floorboards scuffed with streaks of flour. Stacks of cordwood lined one wall, and above them hung bundles of drying herbs. I grabbed one chunk of wood and placed it next to the door, to keep it from opening without the latch. As the soldiers neared, we ducked down out of sight, listening as they passed by the bakery. When they moved out of earshot, I stood, looking around.

Only the ghost of heat from the fires of the morning remained over the gray ashes in the ovens. Stacks of platters, metal tines, and wooden peels leaned up on the wall next to three long oak tables where dough was kneaded. It reminded me how strange and otherworldly my life had become—where were the corpses, the magicked metals and other ingredients, the glamours? I shook my head and peered into the bakery’s front room. All was still. Empty shelves, baskets, more platters. I went no farther, for the windows in the front gave no cover from being seen by the passing soldiers who swarmed the streets leading to the harbor, along with half the city’s residents, by the looks of it.

Back in the kitchen, Grayson knocked a loaf against the edge of the table. “Stale. Dismal selection. Still.” He leaned his weight on it, and the hard crust crushed and broke. He tore it into thirds and handed the pieces out. “And a fire might be nice. Can’t stop shivering.”

“We can’t afford to be seen,” Rush said.

Grayson gnawed at a piece of bread. “A fire that burns unseen, then.

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