
SHADER Book Two
D.P. Prior
Copyright D.P. Prior 2011
Second Edition, License Notes
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Second Edition, 2012
ISBN: 978-1-61364-723-3
Copyright © D.P. Prior 2011
All rights reserved The right of D.P. Prior to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters in this book are fictional and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not be, by way of trade or otherwise, lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser.
Table of Contents
OCEAN'S EYE
A TRICKY VENGEANCE
MAMBA
ARABOTH
GODS OF THE DREAMERS
TAJEN
IN THE SERVICE OF THE ARCHON
THE WAY BACK
THE LACUNAE
THE RESURRECTION OF DEACON SHADER
PLANS AND PREPARATIONS
SERVILITY AND COMMAND
IN TOO DEEP
THE LION'S DEN
FENRIR FOREST
SEER'S WEB
THE DOME
THE PRISONER OF ARNBROOK HOUSE
THE FATE OF THE GHOST
THE BATTLE OF SARUM
SEKTIS GANDAW'S SHAMAN
THE VILLAGE
THE MESSAGE
A CONTRACT WITH THE ARCHON
THE FALL
IKRYS
A HARMONICA IN THE NIGHT
THE TEMPLUM FLEET
THE GREAT WORK
THE COMING CONFLICT
THE EMPEROR'S RULE
A RETURN TO UNDEATH
THE SLAUGHTER OF INNOCENTS
NOUS IS NOT NOUS
DOOM OF THE SICARII
NEMESIS
BREAKOUT
BROTHER OF MINE
THE COMMON FOE
ROGUE'S LAST STAND
THE BATTLE OF THE HOMESTEAD
SHADER NEWS AND UPDATES ARE AVAILABLE FROM
THE FANTASY WORKS OF D. P. PRIOR
Chronicles of the Nameless Dwarf
The Shader Series
The Memoirs of Harry Chesterton
REVIEWS OF THE Chronicles of the Nameless Dwarf
EXCERPT: THE CHRONICLES OF THE NAMELESS DWARF
Praise for The Shader Series
"Rich and varied, touching, maddening, and addicting. Elegant, polished, and believable characters in an amazing world."
--Archelle Baker, eBook Alchemy
"Ever-widening in its scope - fearless in its telling. I cannot help but be reminded of Stephen King's The Dark Tower series, not just in the interweaving of time epochs and worlds but also in the author's sheer fearlessness. From earth to heaven to alternate worlds, the story is unrelenting in its incredible vision."
--David Dalglish, best-selling author of The Half-Orcs series
"Complex and intriguing; intelligent and engaging; descriptive enough to invoke all senses. The style is a nice mix---fast-paced and contemporary, yet with classical prose and imagery to satisfy those of us who love the old masters."
--C.S. Marks, best-selling author of Elfhunter
"...the most perfect introductory novel to a series I've ever read... Cadman's Gambit is a work of pure intellect, taking the best facets of fantasy, science fiction, and philosophy, and mixing it all together into a genus all its own...I couldn't put it down, though I took my time with it, wanting to bathe myself in every word, every turn of a phrase... My Year's Best list just had a new book jump to the top. D.P. Prior's book is that good. He has a lot to say, and one hell of a story to tell. In my opinion, you should take him up on that journey. Now."
Five Stars
--Robert J. Duperre, Journal of Always
"This is a well written tale with an intriguing plot that prevails through to the very end...has a nice sense of pace and timing. There is an intriguing mix of horror, fantasy and Sci-Fi space adventure...If you liked Abercrombie's trilogy I think you'll like this."
Five Stars
--Ray Nicholson, Top 1000 Reviewer Amazon.com
"This book is highly recommended for people who enjoy complete characters, complex worlds, and intriguing plot lines. In other words, if you like fantasy give the book a shot"
Four Stars
"Prior is a talented writer and great story teller...he has the skill to both describe the surroundings and details of this interesting world and at the same time develop several intriguing characters that have real depth."
Four and a Half Stars
--Ray Nicholson, Top 1000 Reviewer Amazon.com
A big thanks to all the people who've taken the time to review the first book in the series, Cadman's Gambit, and those who've reviewed The Ant-Man of Malfen, which keeps going from strength to strength.
Finally, a huge thank you to Anton Kokarev for his stunning cover art, to Mike Nash for the map of The Nousian Theocracy, and Theo Prior for the map of Sahul.
CADMAN'S GAMBIT
Dr Ernst Cadman has led a quiet life, but that's how he's wanted it all these hundreds of years. With a secret like his, anonymity and caution are the best friends a man can have. Nothing could tempt him from the safety of his parasitic existence at the heart of the city of Sarum---at least nothing this side of the Abyss.Cadman stakes everything on obtaining the artefact that once destroyed an entire civilization, but in so doing he draws the gaze of a sinister presence from beyond the stars.Meanwhile, Deacon Shader, veteran of the war against the undead armies of the Liche Lord, has one last fight in him. This time it's just a tournament, with the prize a sword steeped in myth. Win or lose, Shader intends to defy his Templum master and retire to the Abbey of Pardes.When a horror from the past wrecks Shader's monastic dream and leads him to plague torn Sarum, he finds an ancient power unleashed that imperils more than he could possibly imagine---a power now in the hands of Dr Cadman.Gods tremble, and worlds will fall unless Shader can conquer his personal demons and accept the fate he's been prepared for since birth.
OCEAN'S EYE
AETHIR: THE TIME OF THE RECKONING
Maldark held firm to the mast of his boat, eyes narrowed against the spray and the squall. The yawl reared and plunged, wind punching the sail. A fierce gust whipped hair in his face, the boat lurching as wave after wave broke across the bow. There was a moment's calm, a gentle bobbing, and then stillness.
He held his breath, eyes fixed to the reflections of the twin suns rippling on the surface.
Mouthing a prayer, he wrung the moisture from his beard, tasted its saltiness. He flopped onto the bench, ran cold fingers through limp hair, and listened.
Nothing. He was almost disappointed.
Lying back, he stared up at the bloated clouds, blood pounding in his ears. He started to hum the tune always gnawing at the back of his mind: the lament of his fellow dwarves in the Abyss. A lament or an accusation, for had he not betrayed them, along with the hybrids and all the races of Aethir?
The oaken hull began to creak, quietly at first, and then with increasing strain. There was a scrape and a crash as his war-hammer slid across the deck to lodge beneath a bench. His hand snaked out catching his helmet by a horn as it rattled in pursuit. Jamming it on his head, Maldark scurried around the ship looking over the side. The keel was warping and buckling under tremendous force, the sea sucking greedily as violent eddies and swirls formed up ahead.
There was a sudden blast of wind, the ship heaving dangerously as it was wrenched against the swell. Ocean walls rose on either side, a frothing corridor of roaring water. Maldark clung to the mast as the boat sped along the channel towards a spinning black maelstrom.
'Lord?' he cried, eyes riveted to the whirling darkness up ahead. 'Is it finally Thee?'
He prayed that it was; prayed for an end to the years of drifting on the seas, seeking atonement, but knowing there was none; hoping for a way to make things right, to put an end to Sektis Gandaw---still untouchable in his black mountain, still warping the creatures of Aethir and dreaming of the unweaving of all creation. How could Maldark have believed his lies?
The skin of his face was stretched taut, his back crushed against the mast. Shutting his eyes and fixing his mind on God's hallowed name, Maldark shrieked a plea for forgiveness as the ship fell into the dark and merciless eye of the vortex.
Oblivion did not come.
The bobbing of the boat told him that. His eyes opened upon mist rising from a slick black river that bubbled through a gorge of steaming rock.
Gehenna, he realized. The underworld connecting Aethir to the Abyss. He'd been here once before, when he'd removed the black axe, Pax Nanorum, from the world above lest his people fell for the deception. Power is the bait used by the Demiurgos, he'd explained at the time, and most of the dwarves had accepted his wisdom. Most, but not all. The safest solution had been to send it back from whence it came. But its curse had stayed with him, in spite of the precautions he'd taken, the briefness of the contact. He'd not aged a day since, and now he'd forgotten just how old he was. Impossibly old---even for a dwarf.
Vast stalactites dripped from the ceiling like an inverted forest, globs of oily liquid clinging to their tips, heavy and threatening to drop like poison from one of Sektis Gandaw's pipettes. Poison that altered rather than killed, forcing life along pre-determined routes, twisting, changing. Metamorphosis, Sektis Gandaw had called it. Forced evolution. The terms had meant little to Maldark, but the effects of the process had been clear. New creatures, dark creatures; creatures moulded to suit every purpose of their creator. Creatures to be discarded like soiled rags once their usefulness was at an end. Creatures like Maldark and the rest of his deluded race.
Muffled cries penetrated the fog, fading from the walls of the gorge and falling upon the oozing stream with the silence of death. Sulphurous fumes burned his nostrils, made him hack and rattle deep in his chest.
The boat was snatched by an invisible current and lurched towards the middle of the river. Maldark straightened the prow with the merest of thoughts, steering a course towards the cries. Funny how so natural an action could still make him think of the dwarves who'd made the boat, who'd made so many of the wonders of Aethir. His heart was heavy with the thought that he'd never see them again. He didn't deserve to.
A pitiful wail came from the shore, sending ice through his veins. The gloom was darker further back along the bank: empty spaces or shadows roiling in the mist, whispering to him, beseeching him, accusing him. One stocky wraith detached itself from the throng and drifted out over the black flow. Maldark's breath caught in his throat, and his heart thumped against his chest. He knew what it was even before the face emerged from the smog: a face etched with pain, eyes like the Void, and a beard matted with blood.
Maldark opened his arms, the tremors in his legs threatening to pitch him over the side. The dwarf came to his embrace, the chill of its touch driving all warmth from him. It was a communion of death, a condemnation, and a plea all in one. The air about the wraith shimmered, its eyes turning from black to grey, its beard transfigured into the white of virgin wool. It passed through the mast, wafting silently down the river and fading from view.
The boat continued on its way, going wherever the black river would take it. Maldark's ears were full of the calls of the dead walking over the acrid surface towards him. Arms wide like a father's for a child, he bade them come.
\*\*\*
If time passed, he did not know how much, but he was sure he'd crossed over into the Abyss. It only seemed right. Perhaps God had finally given him what he deserved.
The boat drifted past scenes of fire and blood, and grotesque figures groaned or screamed from the banks. He lost count of how many wraiths he embraced---the ghosts of the dwarves he had led to their doom. Their pain seemed more pitiable the further he travelled, the deeper he went into the realm of the Demiurgos. Did his touch truly help them, free them from this hellish limbo, or had he been deceived?
They ceased to come as the gorge forked, the lefthand stream frothing with black foam as it coursed downwards into the dark. The waters to the right rushed towards a whirlpool shimmering with greenish light. With only an instant to make his choice, Maldark willed the rudder to take him to the right. He held onto the mast as the boat was caught in the maelstrom's grip and sent into a dizzying spiral. He shut his eyes and fought back the urge to vomit. There was a brief surge of pressure, a loud pop, and a blast of warm air.
The watery portal spat forth the little ship, spluttered momentarily, and then retracted through an infinitesimal point. The boat landed heavily on stone and Maldark was jolted against the mast.
The first thing he noticed was the colour of the sky: gone was the familiar cobalt of Aethir to be replaced by a hazy azure, cloudless and shimmering with the intensity of a single alien sun. Maldark surveyed the damage to the keel and saw that it was minimal. Peering over the stern he looked upon this new and arid land from a great and vertiginous height. The horizon stretched out to infinity, the intervening terrain a ruddy desert spotted here and there with hardy shrubs and the occasional jutting monolith. The boat had come to rest atop a sprawling tabletop mountain.
Grabbing his war-hammer and clambering over the side of the ship, Maldark alighted on hard reddish rock and let his eyes run across its surface. A hundred yards to his right something glinted in the sun. He set off towards the light and saw that it came from a small crevice in the summit. Reaching into the gap, he pulled forth a slender shard of glowing amber, half an inch long, one end curving slightly towards a vicious point.
Maldark could hear the blood pumping in his ears. Recognition filled him with elation and dread. What was a piece of the Statue of Eingana doing here? A fang? Why had the statue been sundered? What trick of fate had merged his destiny with that of the supernal being he had betrayed?
Something about the fang's radiance spoke to him of distress. Empathically, the amber reached out and guided his next actions. Placing the shard upon the rocky surface, he raised the mighty war-hammer and brought it down with full force. There was a massive burst of light and a clap like thunder. Maldark was blasted from his feet, his hands clutching the hammer as if melted onto the haft. Rising shakily he looked to where the shard had been and saw only a blackened patch on the red rock. Raising the hammerhead to eye level, he saw that it exuded a soft amber glow for a few moments before fading back to grey.
How could one so unworthy be entrusted with so crucial an artefact? Was this some trick of the capricious Creator? Maldark looked up at the unfamiliar sun and wondered at the penance God had worked out for him now. Would he ever be rid of the stain of sin, of the atrocities he had committed? Never, he concluded, for how could one such as he ever be forgiven?
Gazing once more at the endless horizon, Maldark the Fallen resolved to pull the little ship by ropes across this vast and hostile landscape as if it were the physical counterpart of the sins that all the oceans of Aethir could never wash away.
908 YEARS LATER
Shadrak leapt the last few steps and tumbled over the ledge clinging on by the tips of his fingers.
I know, I know, he told Kadee's face as it loomed in his mind and gave him a very disapproving look. But what was I s'posed to do? My life or his, and that's a no-brainer, I reckon. The poxy knight, Shader, was as dead as shog. Weren't no point fretting 'bout it now. Sometimes Kadee's presence could be a right pain in the arse.
He felt an unnatural coldness blow over his fingers and tensed, ready to drop if necessary. After waiting a moment, he pulled his chin above the edge and risked a look. The wraith reached a dead end, pushed its hand through the wall and looked like it was going to disappear into the rock, but then it stopped, its great-helmed head swivelling, coal-fire eyes burning into Shadrak's. The spectral knight shot towards him like a sail catching the wind and Shadrak let go.
He landed with a clang on the metal floor of the Maze and reached for one of the glass globes in his pouch, but hands grabbed him from behind.
'Got you,' said a blond-haired youth in an outfit similar to the one Shader had been wearing when Shadrak stabbed him. The lad had a strong grip on his arm.
A sandy-haired knight had a lock on his other wrist. Shadrak knew his face from that night at the Griffin when the bard had sung the tale of the Reckoning.
Careless, Shadrak. Very careless! But what could you expect in the situation?
A circle of armoured youths sprang up around him, some of whom he also recognized from the Griffin. The blond one, though, hadn't been there. Shadrak was sure of that; but there was something familiar about his face.
'Don't I know you?' the sandy-haired knight said, his face creased with the effort of holding Shadrak still and wracking his brain for an answer to his own question. 'You were in the pub when Elias performed his epic. What I want to know is...'
A shadow fell over the group as the wraith floated towards them.
The sandy-haired knight's eyes widened. 'In the name of Nous!'
'Callixus,' the blond one said. 'Stay out of this. He's mine.' He twisted Shadrak's arm behind his back and pressed his mouth close to his ear. 'I know what you did, you stunted little bastard. And I have a little surprise for you. Remember the preach---'
'He has something that Dr Cadman needs,' hissed the wraith. 'Give it to me and none of you will be harmed.'
A grizzled warrior, not much taller than Shadrak, pushed through the cordon of knights, sparks crackling around the head of a war-hammer.
'Be gone, demon,' the dwarf snarled, 'or I'll give thee a taste of my hammer.'
Callixus drew a black sword, the blade a shifting length of smoke as immaterial as his body. As he drifted closer to the dwarf, Callixus and his sword grew more solid, the blade hardening into obsidian wreathed in black light. The dwarf raised his hammer to strike, but an old woman in a white robe stepped to his side. Her head was shaven, her face broad and stern. She held a small black book in her hands and proceeded to chant the words she read there.
'Non timebo mala quoniam tu mecum es.'
The wraith faltered and glanced at the book, the fire in his eyes dimming.
'Aeternam. It's been a long time since I heard it spoken.'
The woman looked up from her reading. 'It is still the language of the servants of Nous. His spirit can never be driven from you, brother, even in death. Go in peace. I will pray for you.'
Callixus looked from her to Shadrak before ramming his sword back into its scabbard.
'Mater, I have...I have done...'
'I know,' the woman said. 'It was you who attacked the Grey Abbot, wasn't it?'
The wraith lowered his head.
'And you led the forces that attacked the templum.' The woman closed her book and looked at the wraith with the sort of look Kadee would no doubt have given Shadrak, had she been alive: a look both sorrowful and compassionate. 'You have been lost, brother, but Ain will find you. Don't despair. He will not forsake you. Now go to your master and tell him you found nothing down here. I know it's a lie, but Ain will forgive it.'
Callixus wavered a moment more then rose into the air.
'I will do as you ask, Mater, but know this.' He fixed Shadrak with a smouldering glare. 'I will come for you, assassin. You are not as unseen as you like to think.'
The wraith turned in midair and merged with the shadows.
The blond knight's grip slackened slightly. Shadrak glanced out of the corner of his eye. The lad was trembling. He looked up, hatred flaring from damp eyes, and at the same time Shadrak remembered where he'd seen the face before. Not the exact same face: the one he recalled was older, but the cheek bones, the chin and the nose, there was no mistaking where they'd come from.
'Like I was saying,' the lad said through gritted teeth. 'I've got a little surprise for you. I know who you are. Face like yours ain't exactly hard to spot.' He released his grip so that he could draw his sword.'
It was all Shadrak needed. He twisted his hips and spun round, crashing his fist into the sandy-haired knight's nose. The lad fell backwards in a spray of blood. Shadrak barged through the ring of knights and sprinted down the tunnel, tripped and catapulted himself straight on top of a groaning, sweat-soaked woman lying on the floor. The corridor was littered with coughing and moaning people; there was no way past except by clambering over them. He glanced back and saw the knights with their swords drawn blocking his retreat. Up front he could see a fat priest and three priestesses who'd been tending the sick. One of the women made a path for him, weaving in and out of the bodies on the floor. He recognized her from the Griffin too---she'd been the drunkard who'd left early. Her black hair was tied back in a long ponytail, her face pale, the eyes set in dark circles. Blood stained her white robe around the shoulder, which was noticeably padded---no doubt bandaged overzealously by an amateur.
'Stop him!' the blond lad yelled, pushing his way to the front of the knights.
The woman with the dark hair folded her arms across her chest and frowned at Shadrak. 'Who the shog are you?'
An elderly priestess put a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. 'Rhiannon! Language!'
'Don't let him past,' the blond lad said. 'He's Shadrak the Unseen, the assassin who killed my dad.'
Bovis shogging Rayn. Spineless Nousian bastard. Squealed like a pig when I shot him. Wonder if his son will do the same.
'Well, well, well,' Shadrak said, drawing two knives from his baldric and flicking his cloak back from his shoulders. 'Bovis Rayn had a son, and there's me thinking he was just some dried up Nousian turd.'
The lad took a step forward, eyes narrowing, knuckles whitening from gripping the sword too tight.
Good, thought Shadrak. Nice 'n' easy.
'You got a name, boy?' Shadrak said, dropping into a crouch. 'Or should I call you Squealer after your dad.'
'You and me,' the lad spat the words. 'One on one.'
Even better.
'OK, you've got me. Ready when you are.'
'Gaston,' said the sandy-haired youth from the pub. 'Don't be a clacker. There's enough of us to bring him down without anyone getting hurt.'
'Shut it, Barek,' Gaston said. 'This is between me and him.'
'Gaston, you're being an arse,' The black-haired woman said---the old girl had called her Rhiannon. 'Listen to Barek.'
Gaston licked his lips and took a careful step forwards. 'Don't think I can take him? I might not be as good as Shader, but at least I'm not the one lying dead in the templum with this shogger's knife in my back.'
The old priestess appeared behind Gaston and put a restraining hand on his shoulder. 'Gaston,' she said. 'This is not our way.'
'Maybe not,' Gaston said. 'But it sure is mine.'
The knight's attack was so fast that Shadrak had to sway backwards to avoid being skewered. His heel touched something that caused him to stumble and Gaston took full advantage, lunging for his chest. Shadrak turned the blade with his lefthand dagger and made a feint with the right. Gaston's head snapped back out of reach and Shadrak shot a quick glance at the obstructions behind. There was a narrow path between the patients, which he instantly committed to memory. As Gaston came at him with a combination of thrusts and slices, Shadrak danced away backwards on the balls of his feet.
Gaston pressed forward like a man walking a tightrope, one arm outstretched for balance, the other tracking Shadrak with the tip of his sword. Shadrak threw a dagger, which Gaston batted aside to clatter against the metal walls. The second knife grazed Gaston's cheek as Shadrak continued to retreat, one step, two steps, and then back-flipped past the remaining bodies. The fat priest and the priestesses scurried out of the way.
Shadrak came to his feet at a crossroads which afforded him more room to move. Gaston stepped past the last of the bodies and charged before he could draw another dagger. Shadrak ducked beneath a slash, spun on his heel and kicked Gaston in the shin. The sword arced down, but clanged from the floor as Shadrak rolled away, springing to his feet with a sword-breaker in his right hand and a push-dagger in the left.
Gaston circled him warily now, reaching down to feel his shin with his free hand. Shadrak dropped his shoulders allowing his cloak to fall forward. The lad took the opportunity and stabbed towards his head, but the sword-breaker came up, catching Gaston's blade in its comb-like slots and holding it firm. Shadrak immediately stepped in and punched the push-dagger between Gaston's ribs. Could have finished the cunt there, but Kadee distracted him and Shadrak pulled back.
Gaston clutched his side, blood dripping through his fingers. He glared at Shadrak and snarled, taking a two-handed grip on his sword and coming on with huge clubbing blows. Shadrak threw himself out of the way and rammed the push-dagger into Gaston's kidney. The lad screamed and backslashed with the sword, but Shadrak jumped clear. Ignoring Kadee's pleading face, he was about to step in for the killing blow when Rhiannon came hurtling into him from out of nowhere. Shadrak's head cracked against the wall and he dropped his blades. Her fists were a hazy blur as she pounded his face and for a moment he couldn't react. Instinct took over and he sagged to the floor, rolling out of the way of a vicious kick. His hand slipped inside a pouch and took hold of a glass vial, which he shattered against the floor. There was a flash, and black smoke filled the corridor. Without wasting a single look back, Shadrak pelted down the lefthand tunnel, one hand patting his pocket to make sure he still had the Statue of Eingana.
It was dark inside. Darker even than home when Mummy and Daddy turned off the lanterns and blew out the candles. Back then Sammy had cried himself to sleep. Sometimes Rhiannon had crept into bed beside him and snuggled him up. He missed the warmth of her body pressed against his back almost as much as he missed Mummy and Daddy. The world had grown much darker the day they'd been taken from him, but not as dark as it was beneath the Homestead.
He could hear Huntsman's breathing from somewhere behind, but he knew he'd get no comfort there. This was the place of testing, the place where Huntsman had found his power. The place where Sammy would find his, if he was worthy.
Something crunched beneath his feet, causing him to jump backwards and whimper. With the next step, his foot came down on a hard object that rolled away. Sammy lost his balance and tumbled to a carpet of twigs, or shells, or something else. He felt the tears coming and started to sniff, but he refused to cry out. Huntsman had done it and so would he. If there was magic to be found under the tabletop mountain then Sammy was going to find it, no matter what.
'Ssssssssss.'
Sammy clamped a hand over his mouth and tried not to breathe. The sound had come from somewhere to his left, a hissing whisper that set his spine tingling. His eyes strained against the darkness, but he could see nothing. He waved his other hand in front of his face, but still there was only black. He listened, trying to screen out the pounding of his heart, hoping to hear Huntsman's breath, feel his presence.
Nothing.
Silence.
Darkness.
Sammy turned around, looking for the chink of light from the entrance, but even that had vanished around the bends in the tunnel that opened onto the cave. He started to panic. How could he get out? He had no idea which way he faced. He could spend forever scratching around in the blackness and still never retrace his steps.
'Sssamuel.'
Two yellow pinpricks flared like twin suns in an otherwise starless night. They swayed and grew larger, slits of black cutting through their centres.
'Sssahul ssspoke of you. The boy who talksss with antsss. Huntsssman isss here with you?'
Sammy shielded his eyes as fire sprang up illuminating the Dreamer's face.
'I am,' Huntsman said, a small blaze crackling on the palm of his hand. He held it out to the speaker, who stepped into the glow.
A scaly head took shape around the yellow eyes, and a long forked tongue tasted the air. At first Sammy thought it was a giant snake, but then he realized the long wavy neck was sprouting from the body of a man---a huge black man, thickly muscled and naked but for a cloth covering his loins. Sammy scrabbled backwards across a sea of bones, seeking the safety of the dark.
The snakeman raised a bulging arm, his palm facing Sammy.
'Ssstay little one. No need to be afraid. I am Mamba.'
Huntsman gave a slight bow and held out a hand to Sammy, who used it to pull himself to his feet and then hid behind the Dreamer.
'Mamba is friend, Sammy,' Huntsman said. 'A god of Barraiya People.'
'Not a god,' Mamba chuckled deep in the coils of his throat. 'Sssimply an elder. You have a mother, Sssammy? A father?'
Sammy shook his head, a lump forming in his throat. He squeezed Huntsman's hand tighter, and the Dreamer stroked his hair.
Mamba rolled his head and blinked. 'Ssso sssorry,' he crouched down and peered at Sammy through the crook of Huntsman's arm. 'But you have grandparentsss, yesss?'
Sammy nodded. He'd not seen Grandpa Piet and Nana Josie since they'd moved down south when he was four, and Grandad Tom and Granny Anwen weren't talking to Mum and Dad again. Sammy wondered if they even knew what had happened; if they cared.
Huntsman stood aside as the snake head pressed close to Sammy's face, its long tongue darting out and licking him on the nose.
'Ssso you know what it'sss like being a grandchild. My people are not godsss really. But we are the grandchildren of Eingana, and many people think her a goddesss.'
Huntsman's brows knitted together and his lips curled back. He opened his mouth to speak, but then shook his head.
Sammy flinched as Mamba's tongue flicked out again, moistening the end of his nose. He tried to give a stern look, but instead a laugh slipped out. Mamba's tongue dabbed him on the ear and then an eyelid, and Sammy spluttered and gurgled before bursting into great peals of laughter.
Mamba laughed with him, poking at Sammy's ribs with his big black fingers. Huntsman was grinning from ear to ear and then roared with mirth as Sammy gave a big slobbering lick to the snakeman's face.
Mamba hoisted him into the air and twirled him around, Sammy squealing with joy. The snakeman let him go in mid-air, Sammy screamed, and then Mamba caught him and tucked him under a massive arm, patting him on the head.
'Ssseemsss all right for a white fellah.' Mamba did a pretty good impression of Huntsman.
'He isss not bad,' Huntsman jibed back. 'Thisss here isss a very ssspecial boy.'
Mamba put Sammy down and looked closely at him. Sammy lowered his eyes and snuggled in beside the snakeman, taking hold of his hand.
'We ssshould take him to sssee the othersss,' Mamba said. 'No other whitesss have come to the cavesss asss friendsss.'
'Nor spoken with ants,' Huntsman said.
Mamba gave Sammy's hand a gentle squeeze. 'Want to meet my family?'
Sammy liked the big snakeman. He was friendly and funny. Maybe his family would be too. 'OK,' he said.
Mamba crouched down and offered Sammy his back. 'Jump up little Sssammy. Old Uncle Mamba will carry you.'
Sammy wrapped his arms around the scaly neck and clung on with his legs as Mamba straightened up.
'Down we go,' the snakeman sang as he trudged into the dark. 'Down, down, deep down.'
'Down, down, deep down,' Sammy joined in.
'Into spider's lair,' Huntsman added, and then gave Sammy a big grin that said it was going to be all right.
A warm breeze caressed him as he stepped lightly over a carpet of silken rose petals beneath a sapphire sky. He ate up the leagues with easy, effortless, strides, the fallen petals giving way to polychrome sands flanked by glistening silver pinnacles; a majestic shimmering city born from the very earth itself.
He paused for an age amidst the glint of the silver monoliths, savouring the crispness of the air and rejoicing in his independence from its life giving gases. Something beat within him, but it was no heart of flesh. No, it was a harmonious note, binding him together in unity with all that he gazed upon and much more.
He would have sat there forever, so content was he, but something called him onwards like the whispering of a familiar lover. He learnt quickly. He now no longer strode the glorious landscape, but merely surveyed its horizon and found himself present at his chosen destination with the speed of thought. And yet there were no thoughts as such, merely an unselfconscious harmony that bore him gently onwards as carefree as a sleeping babe.
A glade appeared in the distance, and in an instant he stood beneath its trees. These were no ordinary trees. Instead, they rose to impossible heights and shone with the light of stars. Ripe and succulent fruit hung from laden branches and he savoured the sight of their beauty, but did not eat of them: there was no need.
An old man with a white beard and sparkling eyes sat cross-legged beneath a tree. He wore a simple brown habit pulled in at the waist by a dark leather belt. His feet were shod in plain sandals and a begging bowl rested in his lap.
As the wanderer approached, the old man's form shimmered and transformed, the years falling away. His now naked body grew toned and muscular, his eyes sharp and as blue as the sky. A dazzling luminosity shone forth from his flesh causing the wanderer to shade his eyes until they adjusted to the brightness.
'Welcome, Frater.' The man smiled. 'I was called Jarmin, and I see no reason to dispense with that name.'
'Jarmin?'
'Jarmin the Anchorite. I dwelt in the city of Gladelvi.'
'And now?'
'And now,' Jarmin chuckled a little at some secret joke, 'I just dwell.'
'What is this place?'
'This is the waiting room for the End of All Things; the forecourt of the Garden of Eternity.'
'And I am?'
'You were called Deacon Shader, Frater.' Jarmin's smile was radiant, full of compassion. 'And if you like you shall remain Deacon Shader.'
'It is a name as good as any. May I sit here a while.'
'But of course,' beamed Jarmin. 'You may sit for all eternity if you wish.'
As he settled himself beneath the tree, Shader became aware of his own nakedness and the perfect form and function of his body, which also glowed, although not with the intensity of Jarmin's.
'I am dead then?'
'Slain by a knife in the back and a demon.'
Shader frowned as thoughts began to form and disappear, like dolphins arcing their way through choppy seas. There was a captain, a lad with a sextant, a big black cook. The smell of grilled cheese wafted into recollection and was gone. 'I don't remember.'
'I don't recall the manner of my own passing, although Tajen tells me it was horrific.'
'Tajen?'
'The Luminary. You will meet him soon enough.'
'Am I in Araboth?'
Jarmin knitted his brows before he answered. 'You are, as are all who are redeemed, but you are not yet as well.'
Shader shook his head. It seemed as though a cloud had settled over his memories, smothered his thoughts.
'What you call Araboth lies at the end of time. By its nature we are all already there and yet, for those still connected to the temporal world, this presents a rather difficult paradox. When you die your next recollection is of the end of time, and yet to those who mourn you time continues on its journey through the aeons. You cannot be both out of time and a decaying memory to those who still inhabit it.'
'And so?'
'And so you are here---and there. At the end of time you will pass there, but the end of time is no time and so you are there already; and not.'
'And Ain?'
'Ah, there is the current dilemma. We are told that in death we shall see Him face to face, but, wondrously harmonious as things are here, faith is not yet redundant. Tajen is the best one to talk to about such things. He calls this place the garden of Ain, which is but one step closer to our eternal home. Perhaps we could visit Tajen together. I know he will be intrigued by your presence here.'
'Why is that?'
'Besides myself, you are the only person in countless generations to reach Araboth. Apparently all is not as it should be in the temporal realm.'
'What is wrong?'
'Tajen believes that Ain has been separated from the Earth.'
'How can that be? Surely for Ain to be Ain He must be all powerful.'
'Whatever the truth of the matter, Ain's Spirit no longer infuses all life on Earth and has not done so for a very long time. There is a shadow across the Void that connects us to the Supernal Realm. It is something of a mystery, even here. And to think, the Luminaries believed they had earned their rewards and would never again walk in the darkness! Which of course they don't, at the end of time, but do here.'
With an impish grin Jarmin leapt to his feet, clapped Shader on the back and took him, in the blink of an eye, to see the Luminary.
Mamba carried Sammy down the last of the rough stone steps that wound deep into the earth below the Homestead. Shapes waited for them in the shadows of an enormous cavern, black outlines beneath a gigantic natural arch: one squat and dwarfish; one tall and hulking; the third a sprawl of legs sticking from a massive bloated body.
The snakeman reached over his head and grasped Sammy under the arms, heaving him to the floor with an exaggerated grunt. Sammy would have laughed normally, if he'd not been so scared. He'd felt the strength in those hands; knew Mamba found him as light as a feather; could crush him as easily as snapping a twig. He seemed friendly enough, but what if that all changed now they were down here? The boys back home always acted differently once they got with their friends.
'So this is the ant-child?' the squat figure croaked.
Sammy winced at the firm grip of Huntsman's hands on his shoulders.
'He is called Samuel,' the Dreamer said as the three shapes shifted from the shadows into the greenish glow coming from the walls of the cave.
Sammy swallowed and looked to Mamba for reassurance. The snakeman's mouth opened, baring his fangs. He may have been trying to smile. 'Sssammy, this is Thindamura.'
A hunched man only a little taller than Sammy flicked out an even longer tongue than Mamba's. Bulbous eyes rolled atop his toad-like head. 'Thisss isss Baru,' Mamba indicated the hulking muscular man who had the elongated snout and mottled amber eyes of a crocodile.
Baru opened his jaws and nodded, all the while watching Sammy hungrily. Sammy pushed back against Huntsman, but the Dreamer patted him softly on the shoulder. The jaws snapped together, rows of dagger-like teeth protruding like a warning.
'And thisss isss Murgah Muggui.'
The mass with the many legs lurched forward and dragged itself into view. The body was grey and smooth, the head studded with glinting red eyes above clacking mandibles. The legs---there were eight of them--- were twisted forward like a crab's.
'Welcome, Samuel,' Murgah Muggui said in a soft, high voice that reminded Sammy of his mother's. 'Sahul has spoken through your suffering and you are blessed to have heard her. You are the first of your kind to have done so. Why have you brought him here, Kadji?'
Huntsman approached the great spider and planted a kiss on its head. 'Ants told him mawgs were beneath Sarum. He is favoured by Sahul. I will teach him.'
Huntsman seated himself beneath the body of Murgah Muggui, who wrapped her front legs around him and brushed the top of his head with her mandibles.
'So you thought to test him in the dark?' she said. 'No pale-skin has come here and lived.'
Sammy followed Huntsman's gaze to the ceiling high above where thick webs clung to the skeletal remains of humans. He pressed up close against Mamba.
'He wasss ssstrong in the dark,' Mamba said. 'He did not sssuccumb to madnesss.'
Baru loomed closer to Sammy and glared at him, his jaws clacking as he spoke. 'And Eingana? Does she call him too?'
'He has not felt her power,' Huntsman said. 'But his movements are touched by her. He is known to music man and to Deacon Shader.'
'He wanted to marry my sister,' Sammy blurted out, 'but she's gonna be a priestess.'
Thindamura hopped behind Sammy and began to circle him, his tongue whipping out to snare a fly.
Huntsman closed his eyes and settled back in the spider's embrace. Murgah Muggui's eyes burned into Sammy.
'Your sister is a Nousian?'
'Uh huh,' Sammy grunted whilst watching the toad-headed Thindamura stalking him.
'And you still want to train him, Huntsman?'
'I must,' Huntsman said blearily. 'I owe it to his sister. She sent Shader away at my bidding.'
Mamba folded his bulging arms across his chest. 'Yoursss or the philosssopher'sss?'
Sammy frowned, trying to work out what they were saying. Huntsman knew Rhiannon? He'd told her to send Shader away? So he was the one who'd made her unhappy. 'What's a philosopher?' he asked.
Huntsman opened his eyes, but ignored Sammy's question. 'Aristodeus's plan fails. All this sacrifice is for nothing. Eingana's power has been misused and Sektis Gandaw has noticed.'
'We too have sensed his eyes,' Murgah Muggui said. 'Everything is happening as it did before.'
Thindamura leapt to a rock and perched there. 'But this time we have Shader,' he croaked.
'Plucked from his true time,' Baru said. 'But how will it change the outcome? Aristodeus said---'
'It is not for him to say.' Murgah Muggui's legs unfurled from Huntsman and she reared up. 'Nothing like this has been tried before. In its way, what he's done is as unnatural as what Sektis Gandaw plans to do.'
'It'sss the lesser of two evilsss,' Mamba said. 'Tinkering with time or sssubmitting to the unravelling of the universsse. What choice does he have?'
The great spider's eight red eyes turned back to Sammy, making him feel like a piece of meat at the market. 'We must offer the boy to the Archon.'
Mamba gripped Sammy's shoulders and held him tight.
'But I have taken him for Sahul,' Huntsman said. 'I will teach him about Eingana. This Archon is nothing to us. He is a white-man's god.'
'He is Eingana's brother, Huntsman,' Murgah Muggui said. 'He aided her birthing of the Cynocephalus and made possible the Dreaming. He is the law opposing the deceptions of the Demiurgos. There is too much at stake, old friend. If Aristodeus is failing for the second time, we must appeal to a higher power.'
A spray of webbing shot from the body of the spider and smothered Sammy's face. He tried to raise his arm, but Mamba held him firm. The web smelled of something sweet and sickly. His head grew suddenly heavy and dizziness overcame him. He felt himself falling, supported only by Mamba's arms, and as he drifted into blackness he heard Murgah Muggui's voice like a distant echo. 'If Sammy has a part in all this, the Archon will know. The boy must go to him.'
'Don't be deceived, Deacon Shader. This is not Araboth.' Tajen was a stocky man with a ruddy face. His wiry black hair had been cropped unevenly short, and his dark brown eyes brooded beneath thick brows. He was dressed in a grubby tunic of beige linen and sandals so caked in dried mud that they appeared fossilised. The other six Luminaries gathered around Shader were naked, clearly at ease with their finely proportioned physiques. They each exuded a soft glow in varying shades of white, rose, and gold.
A tall man, bronzed and bearded, clapped Shader on the shoulder. 'Do not heed Tajen, Frater. He has ever been the pessimist.'
Shader studied him for a moment, noting the tears in his flesh, holes that seemed to suppurate bright light. He knew that this must be Milo, who had been flayed alive in the forests of Verusia by his own prior, the notorious Otto Blightey.
Jarmin, now clothed in a brown habit, his body bent and wizened, sat stiffly in the shade of a silver monolith.
One of the Luminaries, a beautiful youth with a golden radiance, shook his head and smiled benevolently. 'You still resist the truth, Frater Jarmin.'
'I rather suspect, Frater Narcus, that the truth is not dissimilar to a mirror in this land of limbo,' Jarmin said.
'Tajen, Tajen,' Milo said, raising his hands in mock dismay. 'How quickly you have sullied the soul of our new brother. Where is your trust? How can we best help you?'
There was genuine concern in the big man's words and no hint of any concession that Tajen might be right. Indeed, Shader could see nothing but absolute, unquestioning harmony in all those assembled, with the exception of Tajen and Jarmin. Perhaps they were simply not ready yet. Maybe Araboth had its layers, different degrees of peace and luminosity, just as some of the Paters had speculated.
Milo turned his attention back to Shader. 'Besides Frater Jarmin, you are the first to enter Araboth for centuries.'
'No one else has come here? Then why us?' Shader asked.
Milo spread his hands and let out a great sigh. 'Humans never learn. They cannot easily let go their inner darkness. They are closed to Ain's gift of life. The longer human society endures the more evil it seems to become. Jarmin and you are rare exceptions of holiness.'
'Poppycock!' Jarmin growled from beneath his rock.
Milo merely smiled benignly.
'But my father...' The memory of Jarl bobbed to the surface of Shader's mind, an island in an empty sea. 'Was he rejected because he had no faith? What about all the priests? The Ipsissimi? Why are they not---?'
'Will you walk with me, Deacon Shader?' Tajen asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
Shader eyed him for a moment and then nodded. Something felt very wrong. If this was Araboth, why did he feel an old familiar knotting in his stomach? Whatever brief harmony he had first felt was already being dashed apart by waves of discord. It made no sense. What was he doing here when far better people had not made it?
'Be wary of the tempter,' Milo said as the two set off. 'Frater Tajen has fallen at the final hurdle, I think. If he does not drag you down, then perhaps you can help us bring him back to Ain.'
Shader and Tajen walked in silence for an age. The sun never once shifted its position in the sky, which was alive with the majestic movement of brightly coloured birds and butterflies. Tajen kept his eyes on the ground; his presence was dull and leaden in comparison with the tranquil beauty that surrounded them.
'Would you stay here for all eternity?' Tajen finally asked, seating himself on a verdant hillock.
Shader sighed and lowered himself to the ground, running his hands through the grass and savouring its sweet scent. 'It's certainly peaceful.'
Tajen watched him closely until Shader felt compelled to speak again. 'If not for you, and Jarmin,' he said carefully, 'my contentment would be complete.'
Tajen did not look offended. He nodded thoughtfully before dropping his gaze and idly drawing in the earth with his finger. 'Have you no thought for those you so recently left behind?'
Lightning ripped through Shader's mind, dispersing the fog. He gasped for air as if he were waking from being buried alive. He had completely forgotten Rhiannon, Maldark, the priests, and the White Order knights. Were they still trapped in the crypt beneath the templum? What if the Dweller had---?
'Ah, good!' Tajen clapped his hands and, for a moment, actually looked lively. 'You feel some guilt.'
'That's a good thing?'
'Milo and the others believe we need no longer be concerned with the world. The only thing that matters to them is eternal peace.'
'Perhaps they are right,' Shader said.
'If Ain is concerned for Creation,' Tajen said, 'for human life on Earth, then should not we be?'
It wasn't just Shader's memories that had returned. The jagged edge of his cynicism reasserted itself like a rusty blade. 'How do we know that is what Ain is like?'
'Nous! That is how we know! That is why we are Nousians, is it not?' Tajen seemed more exasperated than angry. He had evidently had this conversation many times before. 'These fools,' Tajen spoke more softly, his arm sweeping out to indicate the Luminaries who were no longer visible, 'are witless ecstatics, little better than the smokers of opium. If sensual pleasure could be prolonged for eternity, they would take their rest and call it Araboth.'
'But how do you know that isn't what Araboth is?'
'I don't know,' Tajen sighed, 'but I feel strongly the lack of concern for others, for the millions of humans still struggling, for the heaving and groaning of Creation. Ain cares; I have to believe that. I care, and I am not prepared to rest on my laurels until every last atom of Creation has been brought into Ain's loving embrace.'
Shader stared at his fingers clenching around a tuft of grass. He pulled out a fistful of rose-scented sod and held it before his face. Heaviness settled throughout his new form, his heavenly body. He felt suddenly weary, like he'd returned to the fight after he'd thought the battle won.
'Here we are in such harmony,' he said, letting the soil crumble between his fingers. 'Our bodies are perfect. We can move anywhere at will, and in an instant. We cannot die. Perhaps if we can cultivate this concern for others that you mention we will have good cause to feel content.' He didn't believe a word of it. The illusion had already passed like the innocence of childhood.
'Union with Ain should make us more real, Deacon Shader. There is no depth of reality here. I once thought as the others do, but then I began to have the nagging feeling that something was missing. What I have said to you is as much as I am able to grasp. I feel disconnected from life here, marginalized from existence. If we remain here then we may lie outside the world's salvation. Your arrival, and Jarmin's, has only made matters seem more urgent. Where are the others going after death? Why did you come here? What does this mean for the rest of us?'
'Then what must we do?'
'I wish I knew!' Tajen cried with a mixture of frustration and despair. 'But there is something about you and Jarmin that reminds me of what we have lost. You must think, Deacon Shader, try to remember the circumstances of your life, and, more importantly, your death. Therein lies the way out of this limbo, I suspect.'
IN THE SERVICE OF THE ARCHON
Sammy stood upon an impossibly tall pillar amidst a whirlwind of shifting colours and deafening roars. He teetered dangerously and should have fallen, but his body remained taut, his feet rooted to the summit as if they grew from it. He chanced a look downwards, but could see only a yawning hole of blackness, a clinging mist covering its mouth like a cobweb.
There was a tremendous crash and then searing jags of lightning blasted apart his thoughts. He was dead, he knew it. He wanted to cry out, but didn't know how. There was nothing; nothing but a churning in his stomach and fire behind the eyes. Something bubbled up from deep inside him---a jumble of white-hot letters that formed into words and shattered, formed and shattered. Somehow, he knew he was being asked a question. He couldn't hear it; couldn't read it in the dizzying patterns of letters, but he felt it pulsing in his veins, squeezing through his innards, and rippling beneath his skin. His answer, though he had no idea why, was an unspoken yes.
All was still.
Sammy felt the softness of a cushion beneath him. He was sitting in an armchair before an open fire. A thickly woven rug formed a rectangle atop polished wooden floorboards. Soft sunlight filtered through latticed windows flanked by velvet curtains. It was like a storybook room. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he'd dozed off while Mummy was reading to him. Maybe she'd be there if only he could wake up. But the heat from the fire felt far too real; the fabric of the chair was rough and sent up little puffs of dust when he patted it. He sneezed and then sniffed, wiping away a tear.
The room was a perfect square with white walls and dark-stained beams crossing the ceiling. There were no doors. He stood and went to the window so that he could peer outside. Twin suns hovered in infinite darkness, a tiny dot circling each. A third light appeared between the suns, a ball of flame streaking a long tail behind, its surface shimmering and changing until it became a face made of fire. There was a blinding flash of light. Sammy raised his hand to protect his eyes, staggered backwards and fell into the chair. He rapidly blinked away the stars behind his eyelids and lowered his arm. The curtains were being drawn by a man in a brown hooded robe.
'Two suns light the heavens above the Void,' the man said in a voice that crackled like paper being scrunched up. 'An unusual sight for an Earth-boy, and even more so for a white one.'
Sammy sank back into the chair and shut his eyes tight. If he tried hard enough he might find himself back at home.
'You are not dreaming, boy.'
Sammy heard the man shuffling towards him and began to shake. Heat fell on his face, feeling like the time he'd got too close to the fire at the Winter Fest pig roast so he could watch the fat dripping and fizzing. Rhiannon had pulled him away by his ear; told him he'd be roasting on a spit if he did it again. He opened his eyes a crack and peeked at a face of golden flame. He blinked against the glare, but couldn't look away. The blazing eyes made him keep looking, silently promising him a secret that seemed as necessary as breathing. Tears blurred his vision as the heat burned his skin and stung behind his eyes. Sammy began to whimper, his head rocking from side to side. Sweat soaked his clothes and streamed from his forehead. He shook so hard the chair began to clatter against the floor, scraping and twisting, jumping on the rug. His breathing grew quicker, high up in his chest. He felt his heart thumping, the blood rushing in his ears. His eyes widened, fixed upon the burning face, and he opened his mouth to scream; but the scream turned to a gasp as something unseen stabbed his heart. White-hot flames ripped through his innards, singeing, melting, blistering. A burning coal lodged in his throat, choking him. Steam seared his nostrils, and the tears streaming down his face sizzled and boiled.
The hooded man turned away and the pain stopped. Sammy sagged in the chair. He was panting like a dog after water. He lifted his arms and saw no blisters. The skin was unharmed. His hands patted his chest. Nothing. No hole, no blade. He looked to make doubly sure. He was drenched in sweat and the skin of his chest rippled like a beaten drum, but there was no blood---not like there had been with his dad.
'I am the Archon,' the cowled figure said. He parted the curtains slightly so he could look out. 'Come.'
Sammy forced himself out of the chair and stood at the window. One of the suns appeared larger, as if it had drawn nearer. The dot circling it was now a ball of greyish-blue.
'Aethir,' the Archon said. 'The world of the Dreaming. Watch as it turns.'
The Archon waved his fingers and time seemed to speed up in response. The suns shifted across the dark, the planet turned on its axis, and blackness crept over its surface.
'Two sides to the Dreaming, boy. Light and darkness. You are now looking at Qlippoth, the dark side of Aethir. These are the nightmares of the Cynocephalus.' Light spilled from the Archon's hood as he spoke. Sammy had no idea what he was talking about.
'Huntsman's people have a connection with Aethir. They worship the offspring of its creator, but the lord of Aethir is a pitiable creature, frightened of his own shadow.' The Archon bowed his head as if remembering. When he looked up he pointed to the smaller of the two suns, its own orbiting planet a black speck.
'This other world,' he took hold of Sammy's shoulders to grant him a better view, 'is known to its inhabitants as Thanatos.'
Sammy felt the tug of the dark world. It drew his eyes, called to him. He felt himself reaching toward it.
'It does not belong here.' The Archon's hands felt oddly cold as he pressed Sammy's head downwards to look upon the inky black hole beneath, its emptiness covered by the misty web he'd seen from the top of the pillar.
'And neither does the Abyss. My brother is the great deceiver. Where I brought with me the laws of our father, he brought nothing but despite and disorder. Even when I cast him back into the Void, he found a way to survive.' The Archon's voice spat and popped like a bushfire. Wisps of smoke escaped from beneath his hood, and his fingers dug into Sammy's shoulders, spreading their peculiar chill. 'Tell me, child, would you go there?' The Archon released his grip and lowered his voice. 'Would you enter the Abyss if the fate of worlds depended on it?'
Sammy stared at the mist covering the Void and felt it pulling at him. He knew he should be scared, but he felt only calm. He started to imagine a tunnel through space connecting him with the Abyss and gawped as a spiralling green cone began to form in front of him.
The Archon touched his hand to it and it disappeared. 'Good,' he said. 'Now listen to what I expect of you. I have granted you powers to rival even the greatest of the Dreamers. You will make the journey to the Abyss soon. Someone is trapped there.' The Archon's hood rustled as he shook his head. 'Without him, we may not be able to stop the coming crisis.'
Something felt wrong. Sammy didn't like the way the Archon was telling him what to do. It wasn't as if he was his dad. 'I'm with Huntsman,' he said, hoping that would make things clear.
'Huntsman serves the children of the Cynocephalus,' the Archon said.
Sammy stuck his bottom lip out, not understanding.
'Murgah Muggui, Baru and their kind. Children of the Cynocephalus and grandchildren of my sister, Eingana. They have pledged themselves to me so that together we may thwart the Unweaving.'
'But...But what---?'
'Did Huntsman ever tell you about the Reckoning?'
Sammy shrugged. He'd mentioned it, but most of what Sammy knew came from listening to Elias. They'd taught about it at school, too: stuff about dragons and demons pouring from the sky and destroying the world of the Ancients.
'Huntsman saved your world from Sektis Gandaw, a scientist of the worst kind who saw the creation of the cosmos as imperfect and believed he could make a better one. His long and murky history began centuries ago when he was first contacted by the Liche Lord, Otto Blightey.'
'The bogey man?' Sammy said, remembering stories Elias used to tell the kids about Jaspar Paris and Renna Cordelia, and an evil skull that drank souls.
'Sektis Gandaw's dark science developed out of Blightey's magic,' the Archon said. 'Both bear the mark of the Abyss.'
Sammy was completely lost now. He screwed his face up into a frown. Rhiannon would have called it his "old man" look.
'The Unweaving is like seeing someone else's picture in the sand and raking over it in order to start your own,' the Archon said. 'Everything would end. In effect, it would never have started. Do you understand what that means?'
Sammy thought he did. 'Sounds like a selfish clacker. Least that's what my sister would say.'
The Archon chuckled. 'A little more than selfish, I think, but that will do. He has been stopped twice before, but he is determined. There is so much you don't know: the relationship of the Supernal Realm to the Earth; the changes brought by the Abyss and Aethir; the closing of the Void; the mechanics of the Unweaving...'
Sammy's head hurt. He wanted the Archon to stop. Needed him to stop. He bunched his hands into fists and struck himself on the temples.
The Archon turned towards him, flame erupting from beneath his cowl. 'Too much for a child to comprehend,' he said. 'All you need to know is that Huntsman serves his so-called gods and they serve me. You are his apprentice and I have a task for you.'
Sammy looked away from the Archon and back down at the wispy mesh of the Abyss. 'I don't want to go there,' he said in a weak voice, whilst an altogether different part of him wondered what it would be like, what secrets it held.
'What is happening now has happened before,' the Archon said, coming to gaze at the darkness with Sammy. 'Last time we failed. I trusted a philosopher named Aristodeus to bring down Sektis Gandaw, but he was not equal to the task. He succumbed to the deceptions of the Abyss, and it is there he now languishes.'
'You want me to bring him back?' Sammy asked, feeling suddenly rather brave.
'No.' The light spilling from the Archon's hood flared. 'He has sunk too deep into the mire of the Abyss. Yet he has a new plan to avert the catastrophe. He has cheated time, changed things in the past to influence the future. Players have been assembled and the game has commenced, but now our greatest hope has fallen at the first hurdle.' The Archon rested a hand atop Sammy's head. 'Events are moving inexorably towards the Unweaving. Aristodeus's hubris may have led him deeper into deception.'
'Then what do you want me to do?' Sammy asked.
The Archon began to break up into tongues of fire that swirled around Sammy's head. 'Deacon Shader,' a voice like a storm sounded from the flaming vortex. 'The man who loves your sister.'
Sammy stared into the fire, knowing he had only moments left and so much still to learn. 'Deacon? What's he got to do with any of this?'
'Everything,' said the voice of the Archon. 'He was slain before his time and does not know the perils his soul now faces. I will go ahead of you. I cannot remain long in the Abyss, but I will leave a beacon there for you, something to guide you. Find him, child. Bring him back.'
\*\*\*
'The Archon hasss accepted him.' Mamba's yellow eyes bored into Sammy's skull as he came to in the cavern beneath the Homestead.
A shadow alerted Sammy to the looming presence of Murgah Muggui. 'What did he say to you?' she said, mandibles clacking with every syllable.
Sammy sat up and rubbed his pounding head. Ignoring the great spider, he sought out Huntsman.
'Who is Deacon Shader really?' he asked, staring into Huntsman's eyes as if he could read the truth there.
'I do not understand,' Huntsman said.
Sammy nodded. Huntsman wasn't lying. No matter. He knew who Shader was to Rhiannon and that was more important to Sammy than all the confusing things he'd heard from the Archon. 'He's lost,' Sammy said, pushing himself to his feet.
The hybrids formed a circle around him: Murgah Muggui as massive and as solid as the Homestead itself; Baru glaring like he meant to bite, but with his arms folded across his chest and great head nodding; Thindamura crouched, bulbous eyes rolling and tongue flicking. Mamba's snake-head bobbed upon its long neck, the opening and closing of his mouth suggesting concern.
'His piece of statue?' Huntsman took a step towards Sammy and abruptly stopped.
Sammy smiled to let him know everything was OK, but then noticed how quiet the others had gone. They were rooted to the spot, staring at him like they'd seen a ghost.
Golden light danced on the tips of his fingers. He lifted a hand and watched the colour change from gold to blue, then red and green. With a thought, the light faded and he thrust his hands behind his back.
'I don't know about the statue,' Sammy said. 'But I know what I need to do.'
He raised his hands and let brilliant green light burst from his fingertips. He turned his wrists, tugging the light into circles that pulsed before him, growing, deepening, swirling into a shimmering tunnel in the air.
'Hold me,' he moaned, feeling his body give way.
Mamba's arms closed around him and lowered him to the floor beneath the mouth of the tunnel of light. Sammy let his eyes close and heard a sharp click as he drifted into the air. With a last look at his body lying on the floor of the cave, he allowed himself to be drawn into the tunnel.
Shader sat beneath a gnarled oak in the forest of his youth. Soft sunlight edged the overhanging canopy of leaves with gold and filled him, body and soul, with warmth. He was clothed once more in a white tunic bearing the red Monas of the Elect; he wore sandals rather than boots, and he sported no weapons.
Luminary Tajen sat opposite him in the shade of a gigantic yew, his expression a mixture of dour brooding, frustration, and excitement. 'See how Araboth reflects our innermost needs and desires,' Tajen said, indicating the trees.
'It's a pleasant change from Sahul,' Shader said. 'I'd forgotten how comforting the sun could be. In Sahul we avoid it at all costs. I once saw a man brought to the abbey after being found in the bush without shade or water. Skin was a mass of weeping blisters that burst at the slightest touch. Flesh practically dripped off the bone. The Grey Abbot did what he could, but the fellow was dead within hours, all dried up and shrivelled like a mummy.'
'The same sun,' Tajen said, 'only from a different perspective. Here in Araboth you see the one you love the most. I often found myself on hills like those of my homeland, or beside a great and tranquil river such as I had known in Aeterna.'
'Ah, the Tiber,' Shader said. 'I imagine the view has changed a good deal since your time.' The banks of the great river were flanked by vast buildings with intricate domes, sprawling colonnades and high arches, inspired by the draw ings of the pre-Ancient civilisation that had flourished by its banks. Tajen would have known only the ruins of the Ancients' own city, functional and uniform, towering structures that kissed the sky and declared the triumph of humankind.
'It is my doom,' Tajen's voice was low, tinged with sorrow, 'that I cannot bask in the reflections of my soul like the others can. This is the Araboth Milo expected, but it is nothing like I ever imagined. It's pleasant enough, I admit, but it has the quality of a dream.'
'How can we know which version is real?' Shader asked, suppressing the feeling that the earth was about to open up and swallow him.
'I am not a man who trusts the fulfilment of his own desires. Nous is my life and my master. I am content to follow where he leads.'
'But how can you tell this isn't what he wants?'
For the first time since he'd settled in Oakendale---since he'd been with Rhiannon---Shader was almost at peace. So what if Araboth wasn't the promised land; it was good enough for him and he was tired of trying to guess what Nous did and didn't want.
'Because I have never felt so removed from life,' Tajen said, 'so disconnected from the world and its people. I feel safe here, but with that safety comes complacency. In one such as myself that is the recipe for despair. I'm not saying that Milo and the others are entirely wrong about this place. It may well be a taste of Araboth, but it is too closely allied to our expectations. Our journey is not yet complete and I have a suspicion we have tarried here too long. It seems the more time passes, the deeper we grow enmeshed in delusion.'
'You think something has gone wrong? Ain's salvation is thwarted?'
'Perhaps.' Tajen studied Shader's eyes. 'Although it makes no theological sense. How can an omnipotent god be thwarted? It may be that I am mistaken, that we are still on the path to salvation and my own failings are limiting my experience of Ain.'
'You don't sound convinced.' Shader felt the heaviness of tension returning, settling upon his shoulders like a sodden coat. A chill breeze rustled the leaves of the forest and cloud smothered the light of the sun. Shader felt an icy prickling at the nape of his neck.
'Something terrible has happened,' Tajen said, cocking his head and shutting his eyes.
'What...?' Shader began, but was arrested by Tajen's silencing hand.
The colour drained from the Luminary's face as the enormity of what he'd perceived dawned on him. 'Death.' His eyes snapped open, the pupils like two gaping holes onto the Void.
Almost immediately the sky blackened with thick clouds and a shrill wind began to gust about the clearing. Screams sounded in the distance.
'Come,' Tajen said, winking out of existence.
Shader followed, instinctively knowing the Luminary's destination. They appeared in the darkness of an immense cavern. Stalactites glistened with droplets of a reddish liquid and spread an eerie haze throughout the interior. There was a dim glow coming from something on the ground, a dark and bloated shape looming over it. The other Luminaries began to materialize, visibly shaken and gasping at the sight that greeted them. The lifeless body of Jarmin the Anchorite lay sprawled upon the rocky floor, his luminescence fading as the thing straddling him sucked and slurped at his mouth.
Jarmin's assailant was a pitch-black avalanche of blubber with squat arms and legs; a grotesque parody of a man jiggling with rolls of fat, its swollen face dripping cheeks that melted into the torso.
Shader took a step towards the monster, but froze as it raised its head and let out an anticipatory sigh, shifting its bulk to get a better look at him.
'So,' it gurgled, 'you followed me, little man. You realize you are mine. An agreement was reached.'
'Agreement? What agreement?'
'Oh, of course, you weren't present. Nevertheless, a deal's a deal. If you have a grievance, address it to Dr Cadman.'
'Cadman?'
'What's up, honey, don't you recognize me? Don't you remember my touch?'
Shader stiffened at the memory of the demon's noxious belches, its tentacles cutting into his flesh, its undulating bulk smothering him.
'The Dweller.' His voice quavered, and the demon closed in like a shark scenting blood. Shader scrabbled about for time. 'Cadman sent you?'
'My lips are sealed.' The Dweller gave a sickly grin. 'You were promised to me, and believe me, it's better all round if you come quietly. By the way, how do you like my new look?' It lifted up the apron of flab covering its loins and wobbled it about. 'Come on, my darling. Give us a hug.'
The Luminaries backed away and Shader felt hands tugging at him, but he shrugged them off. Ice formed in his veins as he watched the Dweller in fascinated horror. His guts churned in revulsion. He wanted so desperately to scream, to turn and run, but he was rooted to the spot as the creature lumbered towards him. The Dweller's tongue ran across its lips, thick ropes of drool oozing down its cheeks. It belched and held its belly, lifted the flab to reveal a flaccid maggot between its legs. With one hand, it began to rub there until the maggot starting to swell at an alarming rate.
The air shimmered and a cowled figure appeared between Shader and the Dweller. It held out a shortsword with intricate letters etched into the blade. Shader recognized it instantly, as if it had cut through the fog of his amnesia.
'Archon,' the Dweller snarled. 'My master will trap you here.'
Ignoring it, the cowled figure lifted its head towards Shader, bright light effusing from the hood and dazzling him.
'Take back my sword, Deacon Shader,' the Archon said in a voice like the wind. 'It learns from experience. It will prove stronger this time. Aid is on its way, drawn to the gladius. I cannot stay. This place is poison to...'
The gladius started to fall as the figure faded from view.
Snatching the hilt, Shader thrust the tip towards the Dweller and golden light flared around the blade. The demon howled and dropped to its knees, frantically burrowing into the cave floor. Its fat backside wobbled and strained, and then squeezed into the hole with a plop. Earth and rock fell back behind it, covering its escape. Sounds of its underground digging thumped up through the cave floor for a few moments and then all was quiet.
Milo, Tajen, and Narcus crept forward and stood over the crumpled husk of Jarmin's body.
'How can this be?' Milo asked.
Tajen placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes distant, frown-lines like gouges between his eyebrows. 'Now do you see?' he said. 'We have not arrived. We are still running the race.'
The glow from Narcus's skin was noticeably dimmer. Fine tremors rippled through his limbs as he reached for Tajen's hand and pulled him close. 'What is happening, Tajen? Where are we?'
'Besides Jarmin and Shader,' Tajen said, 'no soul has entered this so-called Araboth for centuries. As for that thing, that Dweller...'
Shader relaxed his grip on the sword and its light died. 'I faced it on Earth, just before I came here,' he said. 'I suspect this is its natural abode.'
'But why should it appear now?' asked Milo, his bronze tan dissolving in the sweat beading his skin.
Shader shrugged. 'I remember it smothering me. There was a flash and then I was here with no idea of who I was. Something happened at the moment of my death.'
Tajen knelt beside Jarmin's body. 'What is it about you two,' he said, 'that attracted the beast?'
Shader struggled to think as the Luminary closed Jarmin's eyes. 'It sensed something in me. Presumably the same thing that drew it to Jarmin.'
Take back my sword, the cowled man had said. The Dweller had referred to him as the Archon. More than ever, Shader was convinced he was dreaming, trapped in a nightmare of his own imaginings. The inklings of an explanation were starting to form in his mind. 'I had a piece of an ancient artefact,' he said to Tajen. 'Is it possible Jarmin once possessed another?'
'What artefact?' demanded Tajen, turning from the corpse and standing. 'Describe it to me.'
Shader bent down and traced the outline of the serpent statue on the dust of the cave floor.
Tajen nodded. 'Eingana, one of the three beings who fell from the Void. She who is forever pursued by her brother, the Demiurgos. Maybe that's what drew you here. Jarmin too. You'd both touched her power. It is like a scent, drawing the attention of the Demiurgos. But the demon...'
'I think it may have been wounded when it tried to consume me back in the templum,' Shader said. 'Perhaps the power of the sword and statue combined...' Shader tailed off. Tajen's mouth was hanging open as if he'd realized what he was saying. And then the penny dropped. Eingana, the Archon, and their brother, the Demiurgos. Shader had learnt something of the old myths from Aristodeus. Picture language, he'd called it. Metaphysics. If the Demiurgos existed, and if he'd drawn them here, then this could only be...
Shader met Tajen's eyes. The Luminary stared blankly back at him, his mouth working, but no words coming out.
'What must we do?' Milo asked.
As if in answer, an aperture of green light appeared in the cave wall and a young boy stepped out, freckled face streaked with grime, mousy hair matted and plastered to his scalp.
'Sammy!' Shader cried in disbelief.
'Quickly,' the boy said. 'Follow me.'
Shader glanced at Tajen, who managed a shrug and a nod. 'There is no other action open to us,' the Luminary said. 'Act in faith and perhaps we shall all yet be saved.'
The Luminaries huddled together, their eyes flitting from Tajen to Shader and the boy. Shader didn't think it seemed right leaving them here, but Sammy continued to tug at him.
The cave began to tremble, a sound like an earthquake coming from the depths. Cracks ran across the floor, spewing forth rock-dust and acrid fumes. Distant laughter rumbled and a voice echoed from the depths.
'I have your scent now. Run as fast as you can and despair.'
The glow fell from the bodies of the Luminaries. They looked to Shader more like the damned than the saved: hunched and twisted, flesh rough and grey like over-cooked meat. Tajen's eyes were wide and brimming with tears. He looked like a man who'd been proven right and wished he hadn't been.
'Go now, while you still can. We are not in Araboth.' He took in his fellow Luminaries who were babbling incoherently, their skin blistering and hanging from them in strips. 'We are in the Abyss, the realm of the Demiurgos. We have all been deceived.'
Reaching out a hand towards Tajen, Shader allowed Sammy to drag him away as the Luminary's body erupted with buboes and pustules. Laughter reverberated around his skull. Nothing was real---maybe not even the Luminaries, he realized with terrible clarity. Perhaps they'd been present because that's what he'd expected to see in Araboth. But how could he be sure? There was no point to any of this. No hope.
He lurched sideways, almost fell, but Sammy continued to pull him towards the aperture. Body limp, mind blank with despair, Shader stum bled and tripped, green light closing around him. The cackling ceased as if a door had been closed on it, leaving only silence in its wake.
Huntsman's spirit hovered over the Void, feeling its pull and at the same time repelled by the ghostly web covering its mouth. He was reminded of the trapdoor spiders of Sahul lurking beneath their covers of soil and vegetation, trip lines set to warn of approaching prey. He felt the revulsion of the gods far away beneath the Homestead, their bodies pressed close to his in order to lend their strength to his spirit. He was gazing upon the abode of the dark god who had ravished Eingana and sired their father, the Cynocephalus. Huntsman shuddered, and a ripple passed through the light that formed his spirit-body. One touch of the misty strands and he would be trapped for ever, and yet Sammy had been granted the power to enter the Abyss. The thought of the boy ensnared for eternity by the Demiurgos had led to his attempt to follow, but now he was close he knew there was little he could do other than watch and hope.
A tunnel of green light opened on the edge of the web, but a tendril of dark stuff lashed out and struck it, sending green sparks into the mist where they were devoured. Two figures tumbled out and started to drift back towards the Abyss. Huntsman sped as close as he dared, the mist suddenly warm and inviting, promising to catch him and spare his spirit from oblivion. He could see Sammy now, hand in hand with Shader, struggling away from the Void like swimmers against the tide.
The Abyss bulged and shook, and for an instant Huntsman could see the enormous face of a bald man with a white beard, eyes dark-ringed, lips curled into a grimace.
Aristodeus.
The Abyss sagged and the philosopher's face was dragged back into its darkness, but not before he mouthed a silent word. The sword in Shader's hand blazed with the light of a thousand stars.
Sammy and Shader sped towards a rupture in the blackness before them.
'No,' Huntsman called. 'This way. You will be lost.'
Sammy saw him and then looked past Huntsman to the Void, where splotches of inky blackness were hurled into space by the tendrils at the edge of the Abyss. The boy and the knight gaped with horror and then passed into the rupture.
The patches of Void stuff poured after them, holes in the darkness of space, pools of nothingness. Huntsman was about to follow when Aristodeus's voice sounded in his head. It was wracked with strain and torment.
'Fly, my friend. You can do nothing to help them. They are pursued by Lacunae---the empty spaces. The Demiurgos is grasping the power of the Void.'
'But what about you?' Huntsman said.
The voice grew fainter, as if walls had suddenly been thrown up around it. 'I have done what I can---a word that should not be uttered. Would that it were enough. Do not concern yourself with me. I will prevail. It is Shader who needs you. Help him.'
Silence fell and Huntsman felt suddenly like a creator god surveying the bare matter of the cosmos and considering what he could make to drive back the darkness. His head began to hurt with the magnitude of the emptiness before him. Infinite blackness in every direction, the Void yawning even blacker below, and above there was just the glimmer of two distant stars, not the usual spray of lights that he could see from Sahul.
For an instant, golden light surged from the tear Sammy and Shader had passed into, but then even that died as the split closed like a healed wound. Huntsman offered a prayer to Sahul in the hope that she would draw them home, and then returned with a heavy heart to his body in the caves beneath the Homestead.
\*\*\*
Shader could see Sammy was ailing fast. Every step took them into a new realm, each jarringly different and disorienting. They stood at a junction overlooking kaleidoscopic vistas that never settled long enough for the eyes to focus. They shouldn't have made it. The Abyss had them in its pull, but then came that word, soundless yet with the force of thunder, and the sword had responded. Shader both knew the word and didn't. It was familiar, but not yet. A memory waiting to be retrieved, or a glimpse of something to come. Somehow it was beyond speech, beyond his ability to decipher.
'Sammy, fix your gaze on me,' Shader found himself shouting, and then realized that all was silent.
When the boy dragged his eyes away from the shifting landscapes Shader saw only fear and uncertainty; the sort of fear you'd expect from a child, and yet he could sense something different about Sammy, the unveiling of depths he'd hitherto not suspected.
'I'm sorry, Deacon,' Sammy said, eyes flooding with tears. 'I don't know the way.'
Shader pulled the boy into a hug and Sammy nestled his head into his chest, trembling as he sobbed.
'No one could know the way in this,' Shader said. 'It took someone special to find me at all, and for that you will always have my thanks.'
Sammy looked up, rubbing the tears away with the back of his hand. 'I did OK?'
'More than OK,' Shader lifted Sammy's chin and looked deep into his eyes. 'It's good to have friends I can rely on.'
Sammy smiled at that, but there was still the hint of a frown tugging at his face.
'Don't worry about your sister, Sammy. She's safe; she made it to the templum.'
'Are you OK with her?' Sammy pulled away.
'Always,' Shader said. It was more the case of was she OK with him? 'Come. You got me out of the Abyss; the least I can do is get you home, right?'
'Right.'
As they resumed their passage through the planes, Shader turned his attention to the fleeting skies of gold, purple, black, and crimson. He shivered at a blast of icy air that immediately gave way to searing heat and then muggy humidity. They were assailed by sleet and rain on the one step, lightning, snow, or calm on the next. Shader had just grown used to travelling without delay to wherever he imagined, but in this jumble of worlds he had no idea where to go, and try as he might to visualize a destination back home, nothing happened. Perhaps the ability to travel instantaneously had been just another deception of the Demiurgos, no more real than Araboth.
The sword's light was the only constant in the chaos of worlds, and Shader held firmly to its hilt, following its pull like a diviner looking for water.
'We can rest a while, if you like,' Shader said, placing a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder.
Sammy slapped it away and sucked in his top lip. 'We mustn't stop. The Archon says monsters are coming.'
'The Archon?'
Sammy waved him to silence and led him into yet another world, this time atop a scorched volcano, the air thick with noxious fumes. One step more and they were submerged in viscous golden fluid; yet another and they stood in green fields beneath a mauve sky.
Suddenly the air was rent with black holes, chaotic shapes of emptiness that appeared from nowhere and swarmed towards them. Shader dragged Sammy backwards into a realm of metal bathed in silver light. The patches of nothingness swooped after them, closing in on Shader like flies drawn to sugar. He swiped at one with the gladius, but the sword refused to strike. Shader pushed Sammy behind him and swayed out of the way of a cluster of empty blobs.
'Don't let them touch you,' Sammy cried. 'The Archon says they are Lacunae, the stuff of the Void.'
Shader could imagine what that meant.
The Lacunae quivered as one and then split, each shape becoming two holes in the fabric of the worlds. They raced towards Shader in a pincer movement, causing him to flee into another world, shoving Sammy before him.
They stood upon a narrow ledge over an infinite drop. Above them fire filled the sky and a fierce wind was gusting. Sammy teetered on the edge, but Shader grabbed him and helped him to shuffle sideways into a forest made of tar. Cobalt skies broke through the oily foliage and dark mist swirled from a staff that had been thrust into the earth---centuries ago judging by the creepers and vines that wound about it.
The Lacunae blinked into view one at a time and continued their relentless stalking of Shader. This time it was Sammy who pulled them into another world and Shader immediately realized their doom. They were backed up against a sheer cliff face with only the narrowest of passes before them. The Lacunae slipped through the gaps between the worlds and began to merge together, forming an impassable wall of emptiness. As they floated towards the pair, Shader stepped in front of Sammy determined to at least charge the Lacunae in the hope that his destruction would put an end to their pursuit. Before he could take a step, the gladius purred in his hand and white fire flared along the blade, streaking into the sky. The trail of flame bent and twisted as if searching for something and then arced behind Shader and struck the cliff. A green glow sprang up in answer, spiralling upon the rock until it formed an opening. A huge man emerged, black-skinned and with the head of a serpent. Shader raised the sword to strike, but Sammy pulled at his shoulder.
'No, don't. It's Mamba.'
'Quick, Sssammy,' the snakeman opened his arms and the boy leapt into his embrace. The green portal was already starting to close. 'Ssso sssorry.' He gave Shader a pitying look as he stepped back inside the aperture with the boy. 'No time for a sssecond trip.'
Shader nodded as the opening vanished. Steeling himself for the touch of oblivion, he turned to face the advancing wall of blackness.
'Focus, Shader,' said a voice in his head that reminded him of the crunch of brown autumn leaves beneath the feet. 'You'll get only one chance. This is the best I can do.'
An image formed behind his eyes---a body lying in a pool of its own blood.
'Focus. Shut your eyes and concentrate on my sword with your whole being.'
The wall of emptiness was so close now Shader could feel his skin crawling, the dread of annihilation twisting a knot in his stomach.
Gripping the sword with both hands, he raised it before his face and, taking a deep breath that was likely to be his last, closed his eyes. He felt the gladius throbbing, attuned himself to it, and let his awareness of all else fall beneath an obscuring cloud of darkness.
The roar of a million stars exploding tore him apart.
In an instant it was over, and Shader was shocked to find he still held the sword. Even with his eyes closed, the blade's incandescence was blinding. He gasped for breath and blinked until his vision returned.
The dead body came into sharp focus at the end of a tunnel through the cliff face. It was armoured beneath a black coat and a white tabard with the red Nousian Monas. Blue fingers clutched a longsword in one hand, and a broad-brimmed hat lay crumpled beside the head. Black hair framed the gaunt face like a dark halo; the eyes were white and vacant. The body faded away and the cliff grew once more solid and impassable. Shader glanced over his shoulder. The wall of nothingness was still there, a hair's breadth away.
Something yanked at his umbilicus, spinning him from the path of the Lacunae. He felt the emptiness rushing towards his back, but then his spine arched violently and he was catapulted face first towards the cliff. He tensed before he struck, but there was no impact, only blackness as featureless as the Void itself. The terrible realization struck him that he'd missed his chance and the Lacunae had struck him from existence.
Holding the sword.
Still thinking.
I am.
Grey walls of mortared stone emerged from the darkness. Rows of pews stretched away from Shader down a long nave to the shattered wooden doors of the Templum of the Knot. He was suspended above the altar, the gladius still held firmly in both hands, but its light now spent. He craned his neck to see what was holding him in the air, but there was nothing.
And then he saw the body and the pool of viscous blood in which it lay. The skin was ashen, the black hair slick with gore, and the once white tunic stained crimson. In that instant, as he gazed with cold dread upon his own corpse, he knew that Tajen had been right: he'd not been dreaming---the gladius was proof of that; and he'd not been in Araboth, the realm of the dead, either. The doppelgänger sprawled on the templum floor was testimony that he'd been in two places at once. His flesh had bled out on Earth, whilst his soul was trapped on the brink of oblivion in the demesne of the Demiurgos.
Time stood still as Shader contemplated his spirit body. The flesh felt real enough, and yet it now levitated above the ground. It seemed possessed of boundless energy, its organs harmonized and orientated beyond the usual petty desires and instincts with which he was accustomed. It was a good feeling, exhilarating; but it no longer seemed real. The corpse below him was his anchor to reality, the bedrock of his humanity. It was so clear now; his struggle was not a war between the flesh and the spirit, it was a search for authenticity. For the first time he knew what the Grey Abbot had meant when he'd quoted one of the ancient Paters: The glory of Ain is a human fully alive. Rhiannon had been wrong. No, Huntsman had been wrong. Aristodeus had been wrong. Shader felt his muscles tighten, even in the spirit. Rhiannon was no threat to his purity. If anything she was as essential to his being as the beating of his heart.
Fully alive: not one thing or the other, knight or monk. Just a man.
Nothing stirred beyond the wreckage of the doors. The templum was empty, leaving Shader to wonder at the outcome of the battle with the undead and the Dweller. He turned his attention back to the body on the floor and was about to check its pockets for the serpent statue when a cowled figure materialized in the air above the chancel.
'It has gone, Deacon Shader. Already taken.'
Shader lowered his eyes. 'I heard your voice in my head when I fled from the Abyss.'
'My voice is often in your head, only you never cease your internal chatter long enough to hear it. So, you believe in me now, do you?'
The Archon? Shader had assumed he was just a Templum myth propagated to bolster the supernatural elements of the faith. 'Well, I have your sword,' he said, twirling the gladius in his hand, 'and that seems real enough.'
The Archon laughed---a sibilant rustling sound like a breeze through dried leaves. 'You find it easier to accept magic than the existence of angels?'
'Is that what you are?'
'No,' the Archon said. 'But that is what I have been called for centuries. Tell me, what does it feel like to be a being of pure spirit?'
Shader looked from his spirit hands to the body of flesh lying on the floor like a wax effigy. 'Incomplete,' he said.
'Good. A man who finally knows his place.' The Archon drifted down to stand before Shader and placed a hand on his head. The gladius quivered slightly and seemed to sigh.
'You must be whole again, Shader,' the Archon said. 'The Ipsissimus is coming for the final battle and he will need you.'
Shader pulled away, drifting further back into the sanctuary. 'I'm out of favour in Aeterna. The Ipsissimus sent the Judiciary after me. He'd rather I was dead than dissenting.'
The Archon turned, sparing Shader the blaze from his face. 'I'm afraid your friend Aristodeus was insistent on you leaving with the sword. Things are desperate; more desperate than you could ever know. I've entrusted him with this move, despite his previous failure. If we lose again, I'm not sure fate would be so forgiving a second time.'
'What...?'
The Archon held up a hand that appeared to be made from porcelain. 'I go too far. I have already said too much. Forgive me, Deacon Shader, and grant me one thing.' Light spilled from the edge of the hood as the Archon tilted his head to look at Shader. 'Your faith.'
Shader frowned. 'That's something I have in short supply.'
'Understandably,' the Archon said. 'These are the times of deception. My brother must be very pleased with his progress. Even the Templum is divided, and it is no small task to keep it on the path of light. Theodore is a good man, but he will not be Ipsissimus forever.'
Shader nodded his understanding. Everyone knew that Exemptus Silvanus was his most likely successor. The Prefect of the Judiciary was a rigid traditionalist, a hard-liner. Shader had fallen under his influence during his formation in the Elect. The Discipline, they'd called him on account of the punishments he'd inflict for even the slightest deviation from his particular brand of orthodoxy.
'Tell me,' the Archon interrupted his train of thought. 'Do you believe in resurrection?'
Shader was taken aback by the question and scrabbled about for an answer. 'It's mentioned in the Liber.'
'Not as much as it once was,' the Archon said, white fire flaring from his cowl. 'The Liber has been altered, but there is still gold to be found there if you know where to look.'
'But...'
'Another time. Resurrection. What is it? A new life? The same life restored? The raising of a spiritual body?' The Archon flashed a look at Shader. 'Or is it something altogether more subtle, intangible? What would happen, I wonder, if you were to touch your own flesh? Come, try it.'
Shader floated down to his double and knelt. The sword shifted restlessly in his grip. He bent over the body and reached out a hand. As he made contact he felt a sickening thud and found himself staring up at the ceiling. Something damp and sticky clung to his head. Reaching up he felt it was a lock of his own hair slick with congealed blood.
'How do you feel?' the Archon asked, looming over Shader. 'Resurrected? Or something else?'
'Heavy. My back hurts like the Abyss.'
'Excellent. So there is no difference between how you were at the moment of your death and how you are now. You are still fully human.'
Shader forced himself into a sitting position. The wound in his back began to seep more blood. He felt queasy and started to swoon. The Archon leaned in close and pressed down on it with his hand. Immediately, the flesh knitted together, the pain faded, and warmth flooded back into his once dead body. Sparing a quick glance at the oddly purring gladius, Shader hurriedly sheathed it and rose to his feet.
'What am I?' he asked. 'Another animated corpse like those that serve Cadman?'
The Archon dipped his head for a moment before making his reply. 'You are the same man risen, Shader, but you have seen things no one should see. I am not convinced that Aristodeus is right about you. You are the desperate plan of a desperate man, but it is the best we have. You may not have found your faith, but I will make you the gift of mine. Find your friends---they have fled this place; take counsel, and do not be swayed by power for that is the chief weapon of the Deceiver. Fulfil your task, Deacon Shader. It is a long road you must take. If it is the wrong one, then the error is Aristodeus's, but the guilt is mine for permitting it.'
'But why me? Why can't you...?'
White fire consumed the Archon, coalescing into a ball of flame and winking out of existence. Shader was left staring at his boots, feeling leaden and exhausted. It took all his will to lift his eyes and scan the emptiness surrounding him, the wreckage of the doors through which the Dweller had forced its entrance.
Tajen's contorted face came unbidden to his mind, flesh peeling from his skull, the blank look of despair filling his eyes. Shader shook his head and the image dispersed like mist in the breeze. Clenching his jaw, he drew back his shoulders and set off down the nave. All he could think of was the urgent need to gain some distance from the desolation of the templum.
Shader made his way through the deserted streets of Sarum. Occasionally he would glimpse a face peering at him through gaps in shutters, and once or twice he spotted dark clad vagabonds rifling the bodies of the dead. None approached him; he felt like a lion among hyenas.
He made for Arnbrook House with the intention of enquiring about the fate of his friends. Passing the stone Arch of Welcome that had stood as long as Sarum's ancient spires, he pressed himself flat against a wall as he was confronted with a gruesome sight that turned his stomach. Cadman's deathly troops had apparently found new recruits amongst the plague victims. A vast undead army now filled the square before the council offices, spilling into the adjoining streets. To the rear of the horde he could see the horsemen of the Lost. In all there must have been a thousand rotting and animated corpses assembled, all waiting with the patience and stillness of the grave. Muttering a curse, he retraced his steps. If the others had survived, if they weren't among the numbers of the walking dead, they'd have found somewhere to hole up in the city. The priests would stick out like diamonds in dung. Somebody must have seen them.
In spite of the rule of undeath, the city had started to come back to some semblance of life now that the plague appeared to have relaxed its grip. Sarum's drawn and haggard populace began to creep forth from their dwellings, still wary at first of contact with one another, still frightened and grieving. Here and there a market stall was erected where those with the foresight to store and preserve their wares now profited from the desperate hunger of their fellows. It was from such a stall that Shader learned that the priests were hiding in a dilapidated townhouse in Edgebriar. Apparently a fat man in a white robe had come this morning to purchase rations.
Cadris screamed when he opened the door to Shader and then started blubbering about Nous and resurrection. Soror Agna almost genuflected, but opted instead for an open-mouthed look of astonishment. Ioana, when at last she came downstairs, looked for the wound in his back, noted its disappearance, and simply sniffed.
Once the initial shock of his arrival had passed, Shader was bustled up three flights of stairs and a flimsy ladder to the attic.
Gaston was sitting with his back against a joist. Soror Velda was stooped over him adjusting the bloodstained bandages that were wound about his torso. Her spectacles kept slipping down her nose, causing her to tut and shove them back up. Shader felt his mouth curling into a tired smile---it was like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the hill only to have it roll back down again. The smile turned to a frown as he remembered it was Aristodeus who had told him the story. The philosopher claimed it came from his homeland of Graecia millennia before the Reckoning.
Maldark mooched beneath the eaves, his chin resting on the stone head of his war-hammer. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of Shader and he almost smiled.
Rhiannon had an open Liber in her lap, her lips moving silently to the words of a prayer. Shader thought how drab the white clerical vestments made her look, and for a moment entertained the image of tearing the garments from her and unleashing her great raven tousles. The image startled him. It was the first indication that all was not pure and uncomplicated since his return to life. Rhiannon looked up abruptly, as if she'd read his thoughts. The colour fled her face and her mouth hung open.
'You're dead,' she said. 'Gaston saw...'
Shader shook his head and moved to make way for the priests coming up the ladder behind him.
Gaston waved Velda away and pulled on his surcoat, leaving his armour heaped on the floor.
'I-I-I wasn't lying.' He shot a look at Rhiannon before rising and to examine Shader. 'It was Shadrak---the assassin who m-m-murdered my dad.'
'The lad speaks sooth,' Maldark said. 'He pushed past me on the stairway to the crypt. Brave or foolish, ¼tis hard to say, but in any case, he was too late.'
'The little shogger s-s-stabbed you,' Gaston said. 'Right...here.'
Shader batted his hand away. 'I know. I felt it, and then the demon rolled over me.'
'Aye,' Maldark said, ''Twas then I grabbed Gaston and fled, though I see it is to my shame.'
'My spirit was parted from my body,' Shader said. He couldn't blame any of them. They'd already shown more courage than he could imagine staying as long as they did. 'I thought I was in Araboth, walking amongst the Luminaries.'
Ioana folded her arms and cocked her head. 'You were dreaming?'
Shader sat on a beam and pulled his hat off, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. He flicked a look at Rhiannon. Her lips were working, her eyes moist, her fingers clenching and unclenching. He couldn't tell if she was relived, confused, or angry. It was easier just to look away and answer Ioana. 'I wish I had been.'
There was a hushed expectancy, as if nothing could surprise them anymore. Shader was starting to feel that his was the only world view to be turned on its head.
'The Statue of Eingana and the Sword of the Archon combined to drive off the creature. When it was cast back into the Abyss I fell with it.'
He took a deep breath and hurried on, not wishing to dwell on the images of the Luminaries warping and melting, twisting into creatures of nightmare.
Maldark was watching him through narrowed eyes. 'I have passed through the Abyss,' the dwarf said. 'There are few who come out again. How didst thou manage it?'
'I had help,' Shader said. 'The Archon bought me some time...'
Ioana touched her forehead. 'The Archon? But he's...'
'Real,' Shader said. 'As are so many of the myths. The sword really is his gift to Aeterna. I'd always thought it a fraud. He couldn't free me, though. The Abyss seems inimical to him.'
Ioana nodded, her focus far away. 'It is the abode of his brother. The two are like oil and water, it is said. Light and darkness.'
Shader became aware of the tightening of his stomach. He doubled over on his perch and grimaced. 'Do you have any food? It feels like I've not eaten for days.'
Cadris scurried about the attic as the others seated themselves in a semicircle about Shader like children awaiting a ghost-story.
Shader looked up and fixed his eyes on Rhiannon. 'Sammy came for me,' he said. 'He brought me out of the Abyss.'
She shook her head, her brow creased with strain. 'Sammy? He's OK? How...?'
Cadris passed Shader a crust of stale bread and a cup of dirty water. Shader nodded his thanks, but kept his eyes locked to Rhiannon's.
'Huntsman still has him. I think he's changing the boy. He has new powers.'
'Shog that!' Rhiannon stood, hands on her hips. The Liber fell to the floor in a heap of creased pages.
Velda pushed her spectacles back on the bridge of her nose and dropped to her knees. She scooped up the book as if it were a sickly child and clutched it to her breast. Ioana touched a hand to her shoulder and offered a weak smile.
'He also speaks with the Archon,' Shader said. 'The boy is special.'
'I already know that,' Rhiannon said. 'But if you think I'm gonna let that bloody witch doctor take my Sammy...'
'What do you want to do about it?' Shader stormed, bread crumbs spraying from his mouth. 'We've all suffered, and there's bound to be a whole lot more suffering before this is over.'
Rhiannon raised a fist, the knuckles scabby and raw.
Shader frowned. 'What happened to you?' He took another bite of bread and did his best to ignore her rising anger.
'S-S-Shadrak's face,' Gaston said. 'She beat the living c-c-crap out of him.'
'Now why doesn't that surprise me?' Shader said. 'You don't want to mess with a Kwane.'
Gaston laughed. 'Shog, no. Those udder-pumping arms s-s-sure pack a wallop.'
Rhiannon sniggered, her eyes glinting. Shader smiled, and for an instant the three were as they'd always been, utterly familiar and happy in each other's company. But then Rhiannon turned away, her arms wrapped tightly about her chest. Gaston lowered his head and moved to the back of the attic where he accepted some bread from Cadris.
'Where are the others?' Shader asked no one in particular. 'Frater Hugues? Pater Limus?'
'Limus fell behind in the tunnels,' Maldark said. 'We tarried a while to look for him, but there was no sign. Hugues fled when the Dweller appeared. Ain knows where he is. Mayhap he is still at the templum.'
'I saw no one when I left,' Shader said, fearing the worst. 'What about the White Order?'
Gaston looked up from the gloom at the rear of the attic, but said nothing.
'Barek led them to look for help,' Rhiannon said over her shoulder. 'There weren't enough of them to fight back, and they'd only have drawn attention to the rest of us. If they're lucky, they'll link up with the militia.'
'Or the Imperial troops outside the city,' Gaston said.
Shader glared at him, but Gaston was looking at the floor, his shoulders bunched up about his ears. 'They'll find no help there,' Shader said. 'Your attack won't have been forgotten. One other thing,' he scanned the group. 'The serpent statue given to me by Huntsman has been taken.'
'Must've been Shadrak,' Gaston said.
Rhiannon turned back to face Shader. 'He came up from the crypt. We thought he'd come to help, though shog knows why. Guess we were too flaming scared to care at the time.'
Shader's hand went to his back. The wound had healed, but he still felt the pain. 'I'll find him.' He narrowed his eyes and sucked in a long breath through his teeth. 'But first things first. We have to get word to Barek and see if we can drum up some more support. We can't let the city fall to Cadman.'
The sun dipped below the distant towers of the city centre, leaving streaks of pink and crimson across the darkening sky. Barek spat into a rag and rubbed at the basinet in his lap. He couldn't really see what he was doing, but that wasn't the point. He needed to keep busy.
The rest of the White Order knights were sitting around fires dotted about the hilltop at the centre of Lesmallen, Sarum's easternmost suburb. It was a play area, judging by the wooden climbing frames and the knotted ropes hanging from the branches of trees encircling the camp. Further down the hill he could see the orange glow from the windows of the locals' cabins. Most had their own smallholdings and allotments; they were doing their best to live apart from the bustle of the city. Probably reckoned themselves amongst the lucky few now.
No one had approached the knights in the two days they'd been in Lesmallen. At best they'd drawn suspicious glances, but mostly they'd been greeted by closed shutters and sullen silence. Lesmallen appeared to have escaped the worst of the plague, but clearly its residents were taking no chances. It was Barek's guess that the locals thought the White Order was in the vanguard of trouble spreading out from Sarum's centre like a cancer. Maybe they were right, he thought, but what choice had they had? They'd already lost four more men to the hordes of walking dead as they'd ridden clear of the chaos, and if they fled beyond the city walls, they'd have to answer for the attack on the Imperial troops.
'That's my job, milord,' Dave the Slave said, snatching the basinet from Barek.
The old hunchback had followed them up from Calphon where they'd passed him squatting in the gutter, clearing dead leaves from the drains. Barek shook his head and felt his face tightening in a wry smile as he realized he'd used the nickname the lads had given the bloke on account of his insistence that he do all the menial chores around camp. At first they'd tried to send him away, but when he hung around they'd offered to pay him. Dave would accept nothing. He just kept groaning about penance and touching his brow in the Nousian manner.
'Sit yourself down, Dave,' Barek said. 'You've been on the go all day.'
Dave stooped over him and twisted his neck to see better. He was mostly bald, but long strands of hair hung like twine over his shoulders. His forehead was a craggy overhang, the eyes beneath glinting with a feverous intelligence. His face reminded Barek of a horse's---long chin, flat nose, and lips that were thick and drooping, opening like a clam to reveal the stumps of yellow teeth. He was dressed in a sack-cloth tunic and woollen trousers that stank like the furred-up pig shit Barek's dad used as compost.
'The Demiurgos loves an idler,' Dave muttered, giving the basinet a polish with the hem of his tunic. 'Ora et labora, I always says. It's hard work that paves the mountain path to Araboth. I'll bring your helmet back in the morning, polished clear as glass. Anything else I can do for you? Nice sizzling sausage? Hunk of crusty bread? How about I groom your horse and pick the grit from her shoes?'
Barek raised a hand and forced a smile. 'You've done more than enough, Dave. Get some rest. You'll need your strength in the morning.'
Dave's eyes narrowed and his lips drew back in a snarl. He thrust the basinet under one arm, turned away from Barek and limped towards the camp.
'Can't please some people, eh, sir,' Solomon said, stepping from the gloom like a ghost.
Barek suppressed a pang of irritation. The boy---Solomon had just turned sixteen---had shadowed him ever since the flight from the templum.
'I was about to grab some kip,' Barek said, pointedly rolling out his blanket.
Solomon crouched down, eyes fixed on the thin strip of red that was fading from the horizon.
'Me too, sir. Just thought I'd see if there's anything you wanted me to do.'
What was it about people wanting to do things for him? Barek gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax.
'Just get some sleep, Sol. There'll be plenty to do in the morning.'
Solomon nodded, rocking on his haunches. 'Sir,' he drew in a big gulp of air. 'Back there at the templum...'
'You did good, Sol. We all did.'
The lad pushed down on his thighs and stood. 'I was scared, sir. I should've helped him---Master Shader.'
Barek had been feeling the same way, but he knew there was nothing they could have done. No matter what ideals of bravery they held, they were only human after all. He shuddered at the recollection of the terror emanating from the demon.
'It takes more than swords to stand against some foes. Better to retreat and fight another day.'
'That's what the others say, but Elgin, sir---excuse me for saying it--- Elgin says if he was in charge he'd have made us stay.'
Barek dropped his head. He'd been expecting this. What right did he have to lead the Order, just because Shader had left and Gaston was out of the way? Justin was the natural choice, but he'd last been seen out cold on the ground in front of the templum. Barek had assumed command because no one else had, but the challenge was bound to come sooner or later.
'Elgin has a right to speak his mind,' Barek said. 'Maybe in the morning we should elect a new master.'
Solomon sucked in his lips. He opened his mouth to say something, but was arrested by a cry from one of the sentries.
'Someone's coming up.'
Barek grabbed his sword and scabbard and ran towards the sound, Solomon close on his heels. He placed a hand on the sentry's shoulder--- Gord Pelham from Broken Bridge.
'Who is it, Gord?'
'There, sir.' Gord pointed into the darkness as a figure emerged from the tree-line. 'Blow me for a...I mean, bless my soul, it's Justin.'
Barek's heart jumped and his mouth felt suddenly dry. 'Justin,' he called out. 'You're OK.'
Shadows flickered across Justin as he stopped to warm his hands above the outermost campfire.
'Shit would be a better way to describe how I feel.' He turned to indicate the bloody tangle of hair at the back of his head. 'Thanks for your help. Much appreciated.'
Barek lowered his eyes and picked at his teeth with his thumbnail. 'Justin, I'm sorry. Shader...' Barek tensed as Justin came towards him around the fire.
'Shader was right,' Justin said, 'and Gaston screwed up. Reckon I deserved it.'
Barek looked up, mouth dropping open and no words coming out.
'I might be a hard bastard,' Justin slapped a hand on Barek's shoulder, 'but I'm not a total fuckwit. OK, maybe I hoped we could take the good from Cadman and pass on the bad.' He patted the pommel of his sword and rubbed the front of his chainmail hauberk. 'And we already know I'm not your typical Nousian; but that business at the templum was too much. Fuck, man, I got caught up in it at the time, but once the fighting died down I nearly crapped myself at what we'd done. How many we got left?'
'Thirty-five, including you,' Barek said, scanning the camp.
Justin sniffed. 'Got any food? I'm starving.'
Dave hobbled over with a plate of sausages and a huge doorstop of bread. It gave Barek the creeps. Seemed like the hunchback knew exactly what was needed before anyone even realized there was a need. If Justin was concerned, he didn't show it. He snatched the food and began to wolf it down, speaking through mouthfuls.
'Thanks. And you are?'
Dave bowed so low his forehead nearly grazed the ground. 'Dave, Master. Your humble servant.'
Justin raised an eyebrow at Barek, who just shrugged. 'Followed us from Calphon. He's been a great help.'
Dave wrinkled his nose at that, spat, and shuffled off towards the next fire, collecting plates and mumbling something over and over in a low monotone.
'Cool,' Justin said. 'So, tell me, Barek, what's it like being boss now?' Justin wrapped an arm around Barek's neck and gave a big squeeze, leading him to the centre of the circle of fires. The other knights stood, many of them drawing swords. Barek felt his chin quivering and couldn't keep the fear from his voice when he spoke.
'You're the leader, Justin. Always were, after Gaston, and Ain knows where he is now.'
Justin released him and stood up tall, hands on hips. 'The leader should be the strongest? Is that what you're saying?'
Barek grimaced. 'Well, yes.'
Justin drew his sword and held it high. 'The strength of a man is measured by his sword, eh?' He spun round to take in the assembled knights, who must have seen something on his face as they began to laugh and put their weapons away.
Barek forced himself to look into Justin's eyes, which reflected the glow of the campfires, but may also have had a twinkle of their own.
'Come on, Barek. Why so serious? You're the boss now. The lads trust you, and just look at what you've already done.'
Barek turned his palms up. 'What?'
Justin raised his voice to make sure everyone could hear. 'You brought the Order to safety. You made the big decision, man, and it was the right one.'
'Bollocks!' Elgin said, stepping into the circle, his broad shoulders swallowing up his neck. He towered above Barek and Justin, his barrel chest making him seem almost as wide as he was tall.
'You're the boss, Justin, and that's final. Besides Gaston, no one else comes close with a sword. Don't get me wrong. Barek's a nice enough bloke, but he ain't got the balls to lead.'
A few of the knights grumbled their agreement.
Justin's eyes were locked to Barek's, apparently awaiting his next move. Barek was about to say that he agreed with Elgin when Sol appeared at his side.
'I say Barek should lead. He's the one that got us out of the city. What we need now is a level head in charge.'
Elgin snarled at him. 'I'll level your fucking head if you don't shut it, wimp.'
Sol stood his ground, despite the fact that his hands were shaking. 'In the absence of the appointed master,' Sol was quoting Shader's rule verbatim, 'a successor shall be elected by no fewer than a majority of seventy percent.'
'Yeah? Well I reckon I got about seventy percent right here,' Elgin said, raising a club-like fist and stepping towards Sol. Without thinking, Barek got in between them, hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes narrowing.
'Back down, big man.'
Elgin faltered, looked from Justin to Barek, and then bared his teeth. 'You shogging little runt!' Elgin reached for his sword, but Justin's foot snapped out and caught him in the groin. Elgin deflated like an empty wineskin, clutched his balls and sank to his knees. Justin lunged forward and cracked him on the chin with an uppercut that sent Elgin sprawling to the dirt.
'You got my vote, Barek,' Justin said. 'Don't let me down.'
'Mine too,' Sol said, standing to attention and lifting his chin.
A chorus of agreement sounded from the watching knights, with the only dissent a feeble moan from Elgin. Barek caught sight of Dave the Slave looking up from the scrubbing of a pan, bottom lip sticking out, head cocked to one side and nodding slightly.
'That's settled then,' Justin said. 'Barek's the new Master.'
Barek drew in a deep breath and rolled his shoulders to ease a bit of the tension. 'What if Gaston comes back? Or Shader?'
'Shog them,' Justin said. 'Reckon they made their choices. Ain't that right, lads?'
A great shout of 'yeah' went up, and then, one by one, the knights knelt and bowed their heads.
A lump formed in Barek's throat and his eyes welled up. He waved his acknowledgement and then raised his voice.
'Dave,' he called to the hunchback, who was standing just beyond the circle of knights. 'Don't suppose you have any wine?'
Dave scurried forwards still wiping at a pan. 'I could ask about, Master.' He nodded down the hill towards the houses. 'I'd love it if you'd let me prepare a feast. Don't worry, Master, I'll do the clearing up.'
'Did someone mention wine?' Gord hollered from his post. 'What're you waiting for?'
As Dave hurried from the camp, Barek offered his hand to Justin. 'I'll need you by my side, Justin.'
'I know. So, what's the plan for the morning?'
Barek sighed. They didn't have enough men to retake the city, and yet they couldn't abandon the people.
'Don't see we have much choice,' he said. 'We are Nousians, after all.'
Justin's mouth curled into a grim smile as he seated himself by a fire, gesturing for Barek to join him.
'Don't think I'm gonna like this,' he said. 'Maybe you'd better tell me once the wine starts flowing.'
Something's wrong.
Cadman chewed anxiously at the tips of his chubby fingers. He peeked through the slats of the shutters onto the lamp-lit street outside Arnbrook House. A cordon of corpses faced the building, red eyes glaring like Jack-o'-lanterns. The broad plaza beyond was packed with rows of undead drawn up in a gigantic phalanx. The corpses were in varying states of decay and shrouded in soiled rags. They clutched an assortment of weapons---some martial, others janitorial. Nothing to be feared there. Outside, all was still. No one had dared approach his army and the cadavers could do nothing unless Cadman commanded it: they were totally subservient to his will.
Cadman felt bone weary and would have yawned, only he'd forgotten how. He'd never raised so many corpses before, and yet he'd still only required a fraction of the statue's power. Maybe it was worth the risk, coming out of hiding to take centre stage when the rewards were so high. The ever-present chill in his bones had turned to ice. He might have believed that had it not been for the memory of the look his driver had given him, the echoes of the mocking laughter. Oh, there'd been no repeat performance, not yet at any rate, but he'd seen enough to rue the day he ignored his own advice.
Didn't Mama say never speak with strangers? I can't really see what else you'd call a mysterious man in black walking into the surgery demanding treatment for the rotting carcass of a cat. You're an oaf, Cadman, an imbecile.
Never draw attention, never act, and never, ever trust a psychopathic dead-cat fetishist.
He fastened the buttons of his jacket over the mountain of his belly and thrust his hands into the pockets, where warmth still radiated from the eye and the fang.
Just tired, perhaps.
Cadman turned to the globe drinks cabinet he'd had brought up from Councillor Arkin's office the night before. He'd sold it to the councillor years ago and used the money to set up his surgery. Arkin had no further need of it. The old soak was out there in the phalanx, probably wielding a bottle of Scotch as a club. Cadman spun the globe around on its castors so he didn't have to look at Verusia then flipped up the top hemisphere and selected a Gallic brandy. He wished he could say it was good stuff---undoubtedly it was if Arkin's reputation was anything to go by---but it all tasted the same to him.
Someone screamed in the corridor outside. Cadman poured himself a double.
It was hard to tell if it was a woman or a man until the fellow started to plead. Cadman took a sip and swilled the tasteless fluid around his mouth. Councillor Willem, by the sound of it. Good show for the devious old scoundrel to hold out so long. No doubt caught on his way to the latrines. Poor chap had probably been holding it in for hours. No mean feat with a prostate the size of a melon. Bravo, old chap. Bravo.
As Willem's gurgling cries died away, Cadman flopped into his chair and glanced over the medical papers awaiting his attention. He picked up the first and read the patient's name.
'Dead.' He scrunched it into a ball and dropped it on the floor.
'Dead.' He did the same with the next. 'Dead, dead, dead.'
Tiring of the effort, he swept the entire stack into the bin and gave himself a refill.
'Shader still lives,' said the whispering wind.
Cadman sprayed brandy all over the desk and leapt to his feet.
'Up here.'
The ceiling bulged and sagged as a glob of blackness swelled into being. Cadman squinted and backed against the wall. A belly button popped out, followed by an avalanche of flab as the stomach dropped to the floor and quivered in a pool of lard. The black stuff parted and a face emerged, its features sliding about beneath the skin, swapping places so that eyes became ears, the chin a nose, and the cheeks great meaty lips. The continuous warping forced Cadman to look away out of fear for his sanity.
'You didn't say anything about the Sword of the Archon, coupled with which he had the body of the statue upon his person.' The voice was sickly sweet, an innocent child who'd been led astray.
Sword of the Archon? What the deuce is that?
'How was I to know?' Cadman said, sidling back to the desk and pouring another drink with shaking hands. Most of the brandy splashed to the tabletop, but the rest he downed in one.
'Tut, tut, Doctor.' The face took on a sterner aspect, older and drawn, the nose long and aquiline, grey hair slicked back and stained with yellow. Cadman dropped his glass and scrambled away, frantically trying to get to the door.
Blightey! For pity's sake, no!
'Just kidding,' the Dweller said, its head morphing into that of a severe looking woman with a blue rinse.
Mama?
'Do you really think your old friend Blightey still looks like that? It's been how long since you left Verusia?'
Years. Centuries even. 'What is it you want?'
'Payment,' the Dweller said. The black mass twisted into a column and sprouted limbs until it stood before Cadman sleek and androgynous, its face as featureless as the Void.
'I don't pay for failure.' Cadman sounded braver than he felt. His fingers curled around the pieces of the Statue of Eingana in his pockets. The Dweller cocked its head, fingers twitching, wisps of dark smoke spilling from their tips.
'You'll pay Cadman. Everyone pays, sooner or later.'
Cadman relaxed his hold on the eye and the fang. Poker face, Cadman. Poker face. Best not to show my hand yet. 'What will you accept?'
The Dweller stalked towards him until its blank face was pressed close to Cadman's.
'Bring me Shader without his sword. Failing that, find me someone bound to him in love.'
'And if I can't?' Cadman felt his illusion wavering; bones were starting to show through the translucent flesh of his fingers.
'Then I shall take your soul.' The Dweller jabbed a black talon against Cadman's chest. 'Three days, Cadman, and then I'll return.'
The Dweller collapsed into a liquefied mush that seeped through the carpet, leaving a stain like an oily footprint.
Cadman reached into his breast pocket with tremulous fingers that were more bone than flesh. He plucked out his metal case, but fumbled it, spilling cigarettes to the floor.
'Butter fingers, butter fingers, butter fingers!' The chant rose to a wail as he dropped to his knees to gather them up. 'Callixus!' He reached out with his mind and felt the sullen presence of the wraith. 'Where the deuce are you? Do you have it yet?'
Flipping a cigarette into his mouth, Cadman patted his pockets in search of his lighter and at the same time attuned to Callixus' sight. He gazed through the wraith's eyes upon a murky interior---a warehouse by the look of it---lit by a single lantern. There were ropes and hooks hanging from wooden walls. A couple of bluff looking men were gathered around a barrel playing cards. One of them looked up as Callixus approached, dropped his cards and gawped.
'I'm still making my enquiries,' the wraith answered Cadman's question with a thought, 'but I'm sure these gentlemen will prove most instructive.' The last was spoken aloud as the gawping man's face came into close-up.
'Now we don't want no trouble,' he spluttered.
The second man tried to make a run for it, but Callixus spun and Cadman saw his black blade slash down. The wraith turned back to the first man who was licking his lips, eyes darting left and right.
'I'm looking for a midget,' Callixus hissed. 'About this tall, and with skin as white as yours is now.'
'Came by earlier,' the man said so quickly the words were all jumbled together. 'Looking for passage to the Anglesh Isles. Told him to go see Diaz, captain of the Dolphin. Reckon it'll take a lot of persuading to get anyone to go there, though.'
'The Dolphin?'
Callixus' spectral hand came into view.
'That's it,' the man said, his eyes locked to the fingers reaching for his chest.
'Thank you,' the wraith said. 'You've been very helpful.'
The man went rigid and froth seeped from the edges of his mouth.
Cadman refocused his eyes on the office and lit his cigarette. 'Don't take too long, Callixus. You might be needed back here.' In three days, most likely.
The wraith's voice sounded like an echo from a drain as Cadman terminated their communication.
'I will find him. Abelard can deputise in my absence. He can be trusted.'
Only because he has no choice, like the rest of you automatons. Which reminds me...
'Abelard!'
The door creaked open and the death-knight entered, jaw hanging slack, and an eyeball swinging like a pendulum across his cheekbone.
'Time for another patrol,' Cadman said, leading the way out into the corridor. 'You can never be too careful.'
This would be the seventh time they'd toured Arnbrook House, checking the locks on the windows and the bolts on the doors. Every possible way in was scrutinized for weaknesses, and Cadman never tired of familiarizing himself with all the escape routes. And then there was the matter of his prisoners. It would never do to leave them unattended for too long---they could get up to all sorts of mischief.
Abelard's hulking corpse scuffed along behind him without complaint. That was one good thing you could say about Callixus' second, Cadman thought: he had the patience of the dead.
THE LION'S DEN
Early next morning Shader found himself a stray horse a few streets from the Templum of the Knot and rode through the barracks grounds that had recently housed the White Order. Finding nothing but a handful of sick knights who were starting to show signs of recovery, he sped south towards the river and then followed its banks eastwards seeking word of the Order.
By midmorning he crested the hills of Lesmallen and was greeted by the smell of sausages and bacon. A lone sentry looked out over the city centre, a thick cloak wrapped about his slender frame. Shader dismounted and shook his head, unable to keep the smile from his lips.
'Solomon Jonas. Still standing. Always said you had it in you.'
Solomon didn't seem to know whether to draw his sword or prostrate himself. He opened his mouth to say something, but the blood drained from his face and he started to tremble.
'What's going on?' someone called as heavy footfalls drew near. 'Elgin,' Shader said. 'So you made it, too. Now that doesn't surprise me at all.'
'Well shog me for a shogging shogger!' Elgin swore. He looked Shader up and down for a moment and then crushed him in an enormous bear hug. Elgin's breath reeked of stale wine, causing Shader to turn his head away.
'Where the Abyss you been?' Elgin asked. 'We thought you were dead.'
'Interesting choice of words,' Shader said, wondering how much he should say. 'But thank Ain I've found you. Is Barek in command?'
'Rode out earlier. Justin's his second,' Solomon said, finally finding his voice.
'Justin?' Shader said. 'Wonders never cease.'
Elgin guided Shader through the camp where most of the knights were just waking, rubbing their heads and groaning as an old hunchback hurried about with plates of food.
'Dave the Slave,' Elgin said. 'He's like the camp mascot. Says he saw a vision of a Nousian knight and when we rode by he took it as a sign from Ain. Complete nutter, but a bloody good cook. Polishes a mean boot too, and if you ever need wine, Dave's your man.'
Dave stopped his scurrying and turned to face them. His twisted neck cracked and popped as he lifted his head to view Shader. He froze for a moment and then dropped to both knees.
'Holy Nous! Ineffable Ain! Blessed Archon!'
Elgin gave Shader a sideways look. Shader was both fascinated and disgusted as the hunchback started to crawl towards him, face in the dirt.
'Thank you, Ain, thank you,' Dave cried as his fingers ran over Shader's boots. He lifted his eyes, mouth hanging slack and drool trickling down his chin. 'I am your servant. I will do anything you ask. Anything. Thank you for coming. Thank you.'
Justin sauntered over, wiping his greasy fingers on his surcoat and chewing a crust of bread.
'You're already pledged, Dave. A thousand times at least,' he said. 'Oh, my shogging...' Crumbs dropped from his mouth as he saw Shader. 'I mean, Ain's bal...Holy Nous!'
Shader went down on one knee and bowed his head.
'It's a long story,' he said, 'and there's no time to tell it. Cadman holds the city. There are pockets of militia dotted around. We need to join up with them, and soon.'
Justin crouched down and helped Shader to his feet.
'What are you doing?' he whispered. 'You're our founder. I should be kneeling to you.'
Shader looked him in the eye. 'Not any more, Justin. I made my choice and I'll stick to it. You outrank me now.'
'But I've done...I mean...'
Shader leaned in close so no one else could hear. 'I know what you are, Justin. I'm doing this for the others.'
Justin frowned and then nodded. His eyes flicked every which way, but never settled on Shader's. 'Barek's already gone for help,' he said. 'I told him he was mad, but he's the boss.'
'Where...?' But Shader knew the answer before he'd finished the question.
'There's a big camp of Imperial troops a mile north of the city,' Justin said. 'More are pouring in each day. Once they know what's happened here, they'll listen to reason.'
Shader turned and strode back towards his horse, Justin close on his heels. 'Let's hope so, but after what Gaston did I doubt they'll be in a listening mood.' Shader swung into the saddle and cast a look over the camp. 'Get the lads ready, Justin. War is coming and the time for hiding is past.'
Dave the Slave hobbled up and took hold of Shader's boot. 'Take me with you! Please!'
Shader dug his heels into the horse's flanks and galloped from the camp with the hunchback's cries in his ears.
'I must atone. I must atone!'
\*\*\*
The pavilions of the Imperial camp were visible from the suburbs, banners unfurling in the breeze and reminding Shader of the horrific battles he'd fought on the borders of Verusia. No one tried to stop him as he rode from the city. The troops had left their posts and Cadman's undead hadn't moved from the vicinity of Arnbrook House. He was waiting for something, but what it was Shader could only guess at.
He entered the camp with his hands raised, the horse slowing to a plod. A troop brandishing halberds immediately ran to intercept him. Someone grabbed his coat sleeve and dragged him from the saddle. He tried to speak, but his face was rammed into the ground. Rough hands took hold of his wrists and bent his arms behind his back. A knee pressed down hard on his spine and he heard the rasp of his swords being removed from their scabbards. Someone cursed and the Sword of the Archon dropped to the ground beside Shader's head.
'The city has been taken,' he spluttered through a mouthful of dirt. 'I need to see your commander.'
A boot slammed into his teeth and Shader tasted blood. His hands were trussed up behind him before he was hoisted upright and shoved in amongst the pavilions. A rough-hewn cross had been erected in the centre of the camp. Nailed to it was the bloody body of Barek Thomas, his surcoat soiled and in tatters.
Shader gasped and whispered the youth's name under his breath. Barek struggled to pull himself upright upon lacerated arms and weakly raised his head. He stared at Shader with despairing eyes and then sagged, suspended only by loops of rope and the nails tearing across the skin of his palms.
The soldiers allowed Shader to pause long enough for the effect to sink in and then he was ushered to a large pavilion outside of which stood the Imperial standard and a ring of armoured guards. With a soldier on either side firmly gripping his shoulders, Shader was forced through the awning and brought to stand before a translucent veil. Giant shadows moved across its surface, and raised voices came from the other side. There were two guards with halberds crossed in front of the veil, each heavily armoured and cloaked in black. They snapped to attention, stepped to the sides, and then parted the veil to reveal the interior of the tent.
Half a dozen hanging lanterns shed their warm and dappled glow around the pavilion. There were four men inside, standing around a map table, engaged in fierce debate. Three were clearly high ranking officers, judging by their polished armour and heavy velvet cloaks. The shortest--- and the fattest---was tapping a baton against the map, red-faced and flustered. He had bushy whiskers and a drooping moustache of the kind that had been fashionable in Britannia when Shader was a child. Peering over his shoulder was a bluff looking soldier with a gaunt face and receding grey hair. The man opposite was ramrod straight, arms folded across his barrel chest. His eyes flitted from the map to the others as if he were assessing everyone in the tent. He was flanked by a lean man with red hair and a clipped goatee who kept frowning and licking his lips.
The fourth figure was dressed in a black silk shirt, leather breeches, and buckskin boots. A simple band of gold held his great mane of grey-flecked dark hair in place. The face was angular, softened slightly by a close-cropped beard; the nose long and severe. Brilliant green eyes roved restlessly in deep-set sockets, and every so often the man would moisten his thin lips with a darting tongue.
'Unacceptable, General Starn. Utterly preposterous!' he roared at the fat man. 'Are you a soldier or a milksop?'
The other two sniggered, but stopped when the man in black glared at them.
'If your courage was as great as your appetite, Starn, you'd stop whining and start fighting. Reputation, Starn, that's what this is about. Someone gives you a bloody nose and you damn well give them one back. If Templum knights want one of my cities they're going to get more than they bargained for.'
Shader was forced to his knees in front of the group.
'Another one!' snapped the man in black. 'If this continues we'll have defeated the lot of them without so much as a skirmish.'
The others dutifully laughed and the man in black peered closer at Shader. 'Name?' he demanded.
'Deacon Shader.'
'Rings a bell. General Starn?'
'The liberator of Oakendale, my Lord Emperor,' the fat man said, fiddling with his breastplate and scratching the armpit beneath.
Shader groaned inwardly. The Emperor Hagalle was notoriously intolerant of Nousians. He was reputed to be a cowering paranoiac, too frightened of his own shadow to set foot outside of Jorakum.
'The ringleader!' Hagalle said, and then stooped to stare Shader in the face. 'You remind me of someone else.' He leaned in closer, tilting his head from side to side. 'Never mind,' he said, straightening up. 'Do we have another cross?'
'I was not involved,' Shader said, feeling a pang of guilt, even though it was the truth.
'But you're with the Templum Elect, are you not?' asked the gaunt man with a smug grin.
'Not anymore,' Shader said. 'I've left the service of the Ipsissimus.'
'Ha,' Hagalle said. 'You make it sound voluntary.'
Shader met his gaze and winced as Hagalle raised his hand. The Emperor's eyes narrowed and the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. After an uncomfortable pause, he merely sniffed and wrinkled his brow.
'It's not the Templum you should be worrying about,' Shader said. 'The city has been taken from within.'
'So the last one said,' the barrel-chested man sneered, looking at his companions as if he'd resolved the issue and just wanted to get back to the previous discussion.
'Barek Thomas, the man you've crucified, is not your enemy.'
Hagalle slammed a fist into his palm. 'He damn well is. Broke my quarantine, assaulted my troops. Blast it, they even singled him out as one of the leaders.'
Shader took a deep breath and fought to keep his voice calm. 'He was following orders. You're right, Emperor, obedience in the Templum is not voluntary. They were under the command of a youth named Gaston Rayn. He was never elected, but used his strength and the uncertainty of the others to assume control.'
Shader's face tightened with the effort of keeping focused on the outcome. It would do no good to point out that his own abandonment of the Order had led to Gaston's ascension. 'Barek Thomas has been making efforts to put things right.'
'Which is what he's doing,' Hagalle said, laughing at his own joke. 'Self-sacrifice is the Nousian path of atonement, is it not?'
Shader threw off the hands of his guards and surged to his feet. He smashed an elbow into one man's face and hit the other with a right hook. Both went down hard. General Starn's sword appeared in his hand so quickly that it seemed he'd used magic. Hagalle gently pushed it away and crossed his arms.
'That's better,' he said, eyeing Shader. 'I like a man to be direct. Can't stand pussyfooting around. Let's keep this honest, shall we? You think I'm an intolerant idiot and I despise your putrid sect.'
The guards stood and dusted themselves down. One was holding his nose and cussing under his breath, the other rubbed at his chin and glowered.
'This isn't about religion,' Shader said.
'It never was.' Hagalle's voice was a low growl. 'It's about empire building.'
Shader bit his tongue before carrying on. 'Have you heard of an artefact known as the Statue of Eingana?'
The man with the barrel chest guffawed, but was silenced by a glare from Hagalle.
'Go on,' the Emperor said.
'After the Reckoning, the Dreamer Huntsman split the statue into five pieces and entrusted each to a guardian. One was in the keeping of the Grey Abbot of Pardes.'
Hagalle made a fist, but remained attentive.
'Soon after my return from Aeterna, the abbey was attacked and the Grey Abbot's Monas symbol taken. It concealed a piece of the statue.'
Hagalle turned to General Starn. 'I ordered no such attack.'
Starn shrugged. 'Could it have been the Sicarii, Emperor?'
Hagalle sighed as if he couldn't believe how stupid his General was being.
'It was an army of corpses,' Shader said.
'Oh, please!' the gaunt man protested to the accompaniment of a loud tut from barrel chest.
'That's enough!' stormed Hagalle. 'Riken, Dalglish, out of my sight!'
The two bowed and backed out of the tent. Hagalle was chewing his lip, his face purple, eyes glinting dangerously.
Shader waited a moment before continuing. 'The man responsible works for Governor Gen. He's some sort of medical advisor. Goes by the name of Cadman. He's the one now in control of your city.'
Hagalle's eyes narrowed at the mention of the Governor. 'I knew it. Backstabbing ponce. What did I tell you, Starn? Gen's been nothing but trouble, just like his arse-licking ancestors.'
'I don't think the Governor's involved,' Shader said. 'This Cadman's not all he seems. He has power over the dead and he possesses two pieces of the Statue of Eingana. He nearly got hold of a third.' Shader's skin crawled as he once more felt the cold touch of the Dweller. 'With the statue fully assembled he'll have the power of the Reckoning at his fingertips. My Lord Emperor, set aside your quarrel with Nousians. Let us help you.'
'Fantastical nonsense,' Hagalle said. 'I would have heard, if this were true. I have eyes and ears everywhere. Everywhere!'
'The plague, my Lord Emperor,' Starn said. 'We have been effectively blinded to events in Sarum.'
'And what of the plague now?' Hagalle asked.
'It's been dying down,' Shader said. 'It's my belief that the plague and Cadman are linked, but I can't understand why it should retreat as his power increases.'
'Because the statue has now attuned to his necromancy,' said a new voice, causing everyone to turn in astonishment.
'Please excuse my interruption,' Aristodeus said, appearing out of nowhere, 'but there is more at stake here than you can imagine. The time has come for you to play your part, Hagalle.'
'Who are you to tell me what to do?' Hagalle took a step towards the philosopher.
Aristodeus raised a finger, his eyes locked on Hagalle's, icy and unwavering. 'I'm the one who kept your pathetic empire together when you were too frightened to take a shit in case there were assassins down the latrine.'
Hagalle's jaw dropped and Starn put his hands to his ears.
'If it weren't for me,' the philosopher continued like a schoolmaster reprimanding an errant child, 'the Eastern Lords would have crushed your so-called dynasty the day your father died; and even all his successes came from my hand. I don't have time to flatter Imperial egos, Hagalle. I've watched over you since you were a boy and you're still a boy now as far as I'm concerned.'
Shader watched his old mentor with the feeling that he'd never really known the man. All these years he'd been moulding Hagalle, preparing him for whatever was unravelling. What did that say about Shader's own childhood, the years of lessons he'd had from Aristodeus? And more to the point, how had the philosopher been on opposite sides of the world at the same time?
'As Shader says, put aside your quarrel with Aeterna. You must join with her if we are to survive the coming storm. All of us,' and here Aristodeus turned his eyes on Shader, 'have our parts to play. The outcome is balanced on a knife's edge. Do not fail me now, Hagalle.'
'I will never ally with Aeterna,' Hagalle said. 'But as for the matter of a ghoulish army in one of my cities, rest assured, it won't be there long.'
'And Deacon Shader?' Aristodeus asked. 'Don't forget I need him.'
Shader looked at the philosopher, but saw nothing other than cold calculation in his grey-blue eyes.
'He will be kept here until I decide what action to take,' Hagalle said.
Aristodeus nodded, seemingly satisfied.
'And Aristodeus,' Hagalle said, his jaw set firm. 'Next time I see you, I'll cut that bald head from your shoulders. Is that understood?'
A flash of anger crossed Aristodeus's face, but then the air around him shimmered and he was gone.
Hagalle bunched his shoulders and stared at his feet. After what seemed an eternity he spoke.
'Ready the troops, General.'
Starn saluted and hurried from the pavilion, tripping on the flap as he went.
'So,' Hagalle said, studying Shader, 'you know the bald bastard, too. Funny that, because he's the one you remind me of. Something about the eyes. You related?'
Shader shook his head. A cold knotting had started in his stomach. Childhood memories drifted into mind and dispersed, drifted and dispersed. His mother and father; the Brinwood friars...and then blackness. Where were all the others? The other children? His extended family? Just Jarl, Gralia, Frater Kelvin, and Aristodeus. Always Aristodeus...
'Got any Graecian in you?
Shader swallowed and shifted his focus back to the interior of the tent. 'Britannish, through and through.'
'So, what's your role in all this?'
'No idea,' Shader said, 'but I'm getting the impression it's not going to be good.'
Hagalle pursed his lips. The next instant he clapped his hands and nodded to the guards flanking Shader. They each seized an arm and bent them up high on Shader's back.
'What about Barek Thomas?' Shader asked.
Hagalle looked blank for a moment, scratched his beard and then said to one of the guards, 'Cut him down and chain him up with this one until I return from Sarum.'
The Emperor glared at the map he'd been studying when Shader arrived. Without warning he smashed his fist into it, picked it up and started ripping it to shreds. The guards hovered uncertainly for a moment and then bundled Shader out of the pavilion.
Shader was dumped amongst a clump of grasstrees. His wrists and ankles were shackled with iron that pinched, cutting off the blood and numbing his fingers and toes. He felt a mixture of relief that Hagalle was going to investigate Sarum and hopelessness at his own situation. This Shadrak had taken the serpent statue, and he felt naked without it.
He felt even more vulnerable without the gladius. It had spared him from the Dweller and magically healed his body, but there was bound to be a price to pay. If anything, his cheating of death had somehow rendered life more precious. He'd always thought himself ready to meet his maker, but now he wasn't quite so certain. He allowed himself a sardonic smile. Hardly the self-surrender required of a Nousian.
Barek Thomas's broken and bloodied body was dragged beside him with no need for chains.
'Don't be cross,' said one of the soldiers, a gap-toothed man with greying black hair swept back in a ponytail.
His balding companion punched him on the arm and groaned. 'That's terrible, Pete.'
Pete reached down and took hold of Shader's shackles. 'Well, Anthony, I suggest you take your complaint up the chain of command.'
'You stupid sod,' Anthony said as they headed towards the tarpaulin shades on the edge of the grasstrees. 'Hey, what d'you s'pose their favourite armour is?'
'Very good, Anthony, very good. Guess if we put them on work detail they'd be in the...'
Barek was pale from loss of blood. His hands were red and swollen where the nails had pierced him. He whimpered and mumbled something through dry and cracked lips.
'Try to rest Barek,' Shader said, looking around for something the youth could drink. They'd been left no food or water, and little shelter from the sweltering sun. He called over to the guards, but they merely raised their canteens and drank appreciatively.
Shader felt his anger rising---it was directed more at himself than the soldiers. His rashness had put Barek's life at risk. The last thing you do with a lunatic like Hagalle is come to him with open arms. More Nousian idealism leading to yet another disaster. Shader shook his head. Maybe he was just chasing castles in the sky like his father used to say. Right now he knew what Jarl would have done, and for once Shader was starting to agree with him.
Propping his back against the trunk of a grasstree, he scanned the area once more and saw the glint of something metallic reflecting the light of the sun. He squinted at it---a shining object skirting in and out of the stunted trees. As it drew closer he gasped, recognizing the Sword of the Archon racing through the air towards him. The gladius came to a halt in front of his face, a couple of feet above the ground. The blade shifted to Shader's wrists and touched the manacles. There was a flash of light and the chains fell away. The sword did the same with the bindings around his ankles before settling itself snugly into his right hand, pulsing and purring to itself.
Shader looked to the guards' position some twenty yards away. They didn't seem to have noticed the sword's movement and continued their idle banter. The city of tents petered out to the west, the layout affording a straight avenue all the way to the edge of Fenrir Forest. The road from the north skirted the forest, bypassing its foreboding gloom.
The trees were clearly not indigenous, their leaves perennial and dark green. Fenrir sprawled all the way to the Western Ocean and for untold miles to the north. It was most likely the creation of the Ancients, with their penchant for introducing their own native flora and fauna into the barren soil of Sahul.
Their best option would be to head through the forest and make for the sea. Hagalle would find and confront Cadman, freeing Shader to go after Shadrak. He just hoped Rhiannon and the priests would be all right, and that Justin didn't go and do something stupid. Not that Shader could talk.
Barek groaned, his body going taut and then starting to spasm. Shader crawled to his side as the gladius began to glow. Casting a glance at the guards, he returned the blade to its scabbard. Heat passed into his thigh, rising along his spine and flowing to his arms and hands. Without thinking, Shader reached for Barek and gasped as light streamed from his fingers into the youth's flesh. Barek's tremors stilled and he shone like a Luminary. The wounds made by the nails started to close and the light dispersed. Barek's chest rose and fell like a bellows, his face ruddy and full of vigour.
'Master Shader,' he said. We thought you were...'
Shader fell back, limp and spent, but the sword surged again, its heat passing through the scabbard to fill him with strength and euphoria.
One of the guards moved off, presumably to relieve himself, and the other was busy shoving food into his face.
Barek sat upright and tried to stand, but Shader put a restraining hand on his arm. The lad looked ready to burst with energy. He nodded and followed Shader's gaze towards the forest. They waited until the other guard returned, lacing his breeches. As soon as the soldiers recommenced their banter, Shader tapped Barek on the shoulder and they scampered for the cover of the nearest tent. Checking to make sure they'd not been seen, they sprinted to the next one and then onto the bitumen avenue running down the centre of the camp and leading to the forest.
A shout went up, but neither looked back. Shader ran with inhuman speed and Barek kept up with him, a look of joy and wonder on his face.
Once within the forest's dark shelter, Shader looked behind. Scores of soldiers were hurrying from their tents and starting in pursuit.
Barek led the way deeper into the trees where no sunlight penetrated. Shader drew the gladius, letting its radiance light their way. The sudden brightness in the gloom was greeted by an angry sibilance.
They hurried on through thick foliage until the unnatural vitality left them. Once or twice muffled screams sounded from somewhere behind, followed by the rustling of leaves. Eventually their pursuers gave up the chase and Shader beckoned for Barek to rest a while in a small clearing where a narrow shaft of sunlight broke through.
'Place gives me the creeps.' Barek's voice was almost a whisper. 'I came here once for a dare.'
Shader raised an eyebrow.
'I was just a kid at the time. I skirted about on the edge of the woods for a bit and made out I'd gone inside.'
Shader smiled. He'd done similar things back home, although the trees of Friston had always been more of a comfort than a fear. This place made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It reminded him more of Verusia, where the great firs loomed oppressively, and the feeling of being watched had proven devastatingly true.
'How'd you know where to find me?' Barek looked down at his perfectly healed hands.
'Justin told me what you were up to. I thought Gaston was the crazy one, but you're starting to come a close second.'
Barek chuckled. 'Hadn't bargained on the Emperor being there. Even so, I thought he might've at least listened to reason.'
'Probably did,' Shader said. 'But the reason of lunatics tends to run in tight circles.'
They sat in stillness for a while, occasionally starting at the cracking of twigs or the sudden gusts of wind that ripped through the leaves. Finally, Barek broke the silence.
'What happened to you back at the templum?'
Shader thought about how best to answer. 'A taste of death, I suppose.' He stood and leaned against a gnarled trunk beneath branches thick with leaves that seemed to writhe in the darkness. 'More than a taste. I can still feel the cold steel in my back, the acid touch of the demon.' Shader suppressed a wave of nausea as the Dweller's stench once more filled his nostrils. It was like its presence had seeped into his skin and now he'd never be rid of it.
'Even as it rolled over me I knew I should already be dead. I was stabbed by an expert who was very precise with his aim. Part of me wishes this Shadrak had killed me before the Dweller...'
'Do you remember what happened next?' Barek asked.
'There was a burst of light and then I recall walking through a desert beneath an alien sky. I thought I was in Araboth with the Luminaries.' He gave a derisive laugh, which Barek seemed to miss.
'Araboth truly exists?'
'I never took you for a doubter, Barek.'
The youth looked uncomfortable. 'I'm not. It's just that faith is...'
'Difficult?' Shader said. 'Tell me about it.'
What the Archon had said about the Liber had been niggling away at the back of his mind. If he couldn't even trust the scriptures, then what could he trust? Was it all just smoke and mirrors?
'How do we even know if we're on the right path?' Barek said.
'I'm not the man to ask,' Shader said more harshly than he intended. 'Experience hasn't married well with my learning. You know, I used to look down on our priests. I sneered at their homilies, and yet when I follow my own path...' His thoughts drifted to Rhiannon---that day he'd carried her bloodied and half-naked to her home in Oakendale. His faith had been indestructible until that moment, and then he'd suddenly been pitted against an enemy he had no experience fighting. She'd tried to kiss him once, but he'd pushed her away, citing his vow of celibacy. When he'd finally worked out what to do, how to live a truly human life in the love of Ain, she'd done the same to him. It didn't matter that she'd been manipulated---that they both had. The moment had gone and he was left with no choice but to follow blindly wherever Ain led him.
'Perhaps that was my mistake with the White Order,' he said. 'Maybe I overcompensated and grew too literal. Just look at the consequences for the Order, for you, for Gaston.' He wanted to add Rhiannon, but couldn't quite say her name.
Barek's look showed he knew. Mercifully, he let it drop.
'Come on, Barek.' Shader clapped the lad on the shoulder. 'Let's put a bit more distance between us and the camp.'
'Sounds like a plan,' Barek said, standing and brushing himself down before giving Shader a hand up. 'Which way?'
'Forward,' Shader said with a shrug, and they headed deeper into the darkness of Fenrir.
SEER'S WEB
Hagalle drew rein atop Carys Bridge above the shimmering waters of the Soulsong River and patted the neck of his grey gelding. He was regretting wearing his black doublet of stiffened leather for the heat was sweltering. He tightened the silk kerchief covering his mouth and nose. Shader might have been right about the plague's abatement, but you could never trust a Nousian.
Duke Farian rode up alongside, mopping the sweat from his brow. His usually immaculate beard was lank and matted. Hagalle suppressed a smile as he heard the galloping of horses behind.
'Majesty,' puffed Farian, 'there are hidden dangers everywhere. Let the scouts take the lead for we can't predict the flight of an assassin's arrow, or an ambush by this Cadman fellow.'
'Sultan tells me the way is clear,' Hagalle said, tensing against the possibility that he too was unreliable. 'Sultan is a powerful seer, my Lord, and is right more often than not. However...'
Hagalle narrowed his eyes at the duke, wetted his lips and then nodded. Wheeling the gelding, he cantered back across the bridge, the ranks of his personal bodyguard parting to admit him and closing as he passed.
The dark-skinned seer, Sultan, was swathed in heavy black robes and seemingly immune to the heat. He squatted over a splatter of blood that was beginning to pool from a cut to the palm of his hand. As Hagalle and Farian drew up, he looked at them askew.
'Truth Shader did speak, Great One,' Sultan said in his thickly accented voice. The Sahulian tongue was apparently a challenge for his lipless mouth. 'Plague no more.' He stood to the accompaniment of cracking cartilage. 'Plague never was.'
Hagalle glared at the seer and then at Farian. 'Speak clearly, man.'
Sultan threw back his hood to reveal a black and crusted face, creased by untold years and the harsh aridity of the deserts of Makevar, where he'd served the headshrinkers before Ogalvy's occupation. He turned his sickly yellow eyes upon Hagalle and scrunched up his face in concentration, three broken stumps of teeth jutting from bleeding gums. 'Poisoned the Dreaming is with bad magic. For the restless dead Eingana has big tears.'
Hagalle fought back his disgust at the seer's appearance. He hated having to rely on such vague prognostications, but his advisors had counselled that Sultan be brought along after he had prophesied about the dark magic being used in Sarum.
The seer threw him a haughty look, as if he considered Hagalle an imbecile. 'Since the Reckoning, when Huntsman,' Sultan hawked and spat, 'made the dog-head's dreams destroy the Ancients, over the world has been stretched a web of power. Some read things there.' He touched his clawed fingers to his chest. 'Others its magic grasp for good or evil, and some drink from it so the mud will not take them.'
Hagalle merely turned an astonished and slightly baffled look towards Farian.
'This Cadman,' Sultan continued, 'uses the Statue of Eingana to give strength to his death-magic. This not good. This makes plague in the web. You no catch it like a cough. Bad magic drawn to bad heart. Make body rot. These things have I seen.' He glanced down at the pool of blood and began to apply pressure to the wound in his palm.
Farian snorted and leaned towards the seer. 'Forgetting the mumbo-jumbo, Sultan, do we have anything to fear from this corruption?'
'Who can tell the ways of another's heart?' Sultan's eyes glinted.
Farian removed his kerchief, but Hagalle merely lifted a hand to his and then left it. One of the scouts galloped back across the bridge and pulled up before the Duke.
'There is a large force, Your Grace, surrounding the council offices at Arnbrook House. They're making no moves. The rest of the city is like a graveyard.'
'Our foe seems to have committed his forces.' Farian looked at Hagalle.
'Or he may wish us to think so,' Hagalle said. 'Where's that fat fool, Starn?'
Hagalle cringed as Starn stepped beside his horse and gave a polite cough.
'Good, General,' Hagalle said. 'Excellent. Did you hear all that?'
Starn slid the flats of his hands beneath his breastplate and drew in his stomach. His eyes crossed as he started to stammer a reply.
'Out with it man, we haven't got all day,' Hagalle said. Balls of the gods, why had he been lumbered with such an incompetent oaf.
'What did you want me to hear, Emperor?'
'The enemy, Starn! The enemy. He's shown his hand.'
Starn tugged down his breastplate and stood to attention. 'Then with your permission, Emperor...'
Hagalle sighed and raised his hands to the sky. 'Advance with the main army and let them see our strength, but under no circumstances attack without my say so. Do I make myself clear?'
Starn's face reddened and he blinked repeatedly. 'You want us to lay siege to the city, my Emperor?'
Hagalle rolled his eyes. 'No, you buffoon. I want you to do as you've been told.' He rapped his knuckles on the side of Starn's head. 'Don't think. Obey.'
Starn saluted, bowed, and nearly tripped over his own feet as he hurried off to comply with Hagalle's orders.
'A wise move, my Lord,' Farian said. 'See if we can lure them out into the open. Last thing we want is street by street fighting.'
Hagalle bit down on his bottom lip. 'But how long do we wait, eh, Farian? If this Cadman's got half a brain he'll not give up the defensive advantage. Gods only know what's happening to my subjects in the meantime. Either they'll take the bait or they'll split and run. If they do neither, we attack come morning.'
Hagalle watched General Starn bumbling about relaying orders and wondered how on earth the once mighty armies of the west were now in the hands of such utter nincompoops. Once this was all over he'd be doing some serious restructuring. With the plans he had in mind for the empire he'd need men of far greater calibre than Starn.
He caught Farian watching him out the corner of his eye. And he was another one. Couple of prats, the both of them. Better off without them. If you wanted something doing...
There was a boy floating above his head. 'Ain's teeth!' Shader surged to his feet, but lost contact with the ground and spun skywards. The boy's head whirled around him laughing, fair hair plastered across his face. He reached out a hand and caught Shader's wrist to steady him. 'You're dreaming,' he said. 'Sammy?' 'Huntsman sent me. They'll be glad you made it back OK.' Sammy cast a look over his shoulder as if there were others watching. 'Mamba's found the statue.' 'Mamba?' Sammy moved aside to admit the hulking black man with the serpent's head. 'It movesss wessst,' Mamba hissed. 'Towardsss the docksss. Huntsssman thinksss it isss being taken to the Anglesssh Islesss.'
The snakeman faded from sight and Sammy was now no more than a swirling face. 'You must find it, Deacon,' he said. 'Find it.' Shader sat bolt upright and opened his eyes. He was surrounded by overhanging branches. Beside him Barek slept on a bed of leaves. 'Come on.' Shader shook the lad. 'Time to go.'
\*\*\*
They walked for long hours, the humidity slowing their progress. With Barek's help, Shader removed his chainmail hauberk and dragged it along behind.
Barek stopped him and pointed through the trees at a vast dome thrusting from the earth, its black surface shimmering and flecked with green. They emerged into a circular clearing, approaching the dome with caution. It was coated with rock dust, the ground strewn with debris and uprooted trees.
'What is it?' Barek asked. 'Something left by the Ancients?'
Shader crouched down to study the fresh earth around the base. 'Looks like there's been recent movement. Forced its way through the earth.'
'Earthquake?'
Shader shook his head. 'Not in Sahul. At least I've never heard of one.'
They walked around the dome until they came to a broad metal ramp leading inside.
'Magic?' Barek asked, keeping his voice hushed.
'Think you were right first time,' Shader said. 'This has the feel of Ancient tech.'
Barek stood at the foot of the ramp and squinted up at the dark interior. 'It's like nothing else I've seen from that era,' he said. 'Sarum's towers are older than the Reckoning, and yet this is completely different. It reminds me of the tunnels beneath the templum. I don't like it. It's giving me goose bumps.'
Shader felt it too, but wasn't about to add to the scaremongering. He'd seen enough of magic and demons to no longer doubt their existence, but this was something else. Clapping Barek on the shoulder he strode up the ramp. ' "That which doesn't kill me," Barek...'
He stopped at the top to wait for the lad, who was dragging his feet.
'Whisks me off to another world for a life of slavery?' Barek said with a grim set to his jaw. 'Elias had this story about these little gnome-like creatures whizzing about in flying teapots or something. Said they were harvesting humans for experiments on another planet. Still, you never know with Elias. All depends on how much he's been smoking.'
'You're rambling, Barek.'
'Yes, sorry. Happens when I'm scared.'
Shader slid the gladius from its scabbard. 'I was quoting the Liber. "That which doesn't kill me makes me stronger." '
'Can't say I got on with that bit. Didn't seem to fit with the rest,' Barek said. 'Guess it's all part of the mystery.'
The interior was a cavernous black metal chamber that gave off a greenish glow. A cloying mist hung in the air, smelling of age and decay.
'What the Abyss?' Barek said, dropping to one knee.
The floor had been chalked with strange markings---complicated sigils, and words in a language Shader didn't recognize. A crude and massive triangle had been drawn upon the floor at a slight remove from the writing.
'What did I tell you?' Barek said, standing. 'Magic.'
A chill crept over Shader's flesh. He glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye and pointed the gladius at a dark sheen on the wall. Keeping the blade before him, he advanced and started to discern the shadowy form of a man with a body of black mist. He could just about make out a cloak and armour, and a vaguely formed helm from which crimson eyes blazed. The figure was almost completely incorporeal and devoid of shade or colour.
'Callixus?' Shader held up a hand to keep Barek back.
The gladius flared, igniting the blackness around it with a pure golden glow. The wraith-knight cowered before the blaze.
'Alas no,' it said. 'But praise Ain. I thought I'd never again see the tabard of the Elect on a living being. Does the Order survive?'
'It still serves the Ipsissimus, although perhaps with less distinction than in your time.' Shader lowered the sword. 'What are you doing here? What is this place?'
'It is a tomb,' the wraith said. 'For those not permitted to die. Have you come to rot alongside me, to destroy me, or to help me?'
'Why aren't you with the others?' Shader re-sheathed the gladius. 'You're known to my Order as the Lost, and yet clearly that's no longer the case. Callixus attacked Pardes, and I fought your comrades in Sarum. Why should we help you?'
'Because I am a deserter. I have broken my oath to the Grand Master.'
'You disobeyed Callixus?'
Shader didn't know why he should be so shocked, after all, hadn't he defied the Ipsissimus?
'The Grand Master succumbed to despair, as did my brethren. I do not blame them. Our misery has been unimaginable, our desolation complete. Ain has not come to our aid during these lonely centuries. There is only so long hope can survive.'
Barek stood beside Shader, pale-faced and trembling. 'But you held out?'
The wraith turned its mournful eyes on the lad. 'Ain is faithful, young man. He will come, in time. Maybe I'm deluded, like my brothers say, but I refuse to despair. Callixus should have punished me for my disobedience, but he did not. I saw hope in that. And now two brother Nousians stand before me with the blood of life pumping through their veins. Ain is good. Ain is merciful.'
'What I don't understand,' Barek said, 'is why you don't leave. The door's open. We just walked in. What's stopping you?'
'Where would I go? What would I do? My life should have ended centuries ago. When Ain wants me, He will come.'
'Maybe Ain's waiting for you to do something useful,' Shader said.
The wraith's eyes flared.
'Your Order is an abomination,' Shader said. 'Even as we speak a battle is brewing and the Lost will be in the forefront of it. Maybe this is what Ain's been waiting for, a chance for you to stop being a victim. You're still a Nousian, aren't you? We're going to need all the help we can get.'
The wraith let out a long hiss and drifted around the chamber. Black mist trailed behind it like cobwebs. 'You know nothing of what we suffered. Nothing! Do you think I haven't thought of fighting back? We all have, but against this Cadman we are powerless.'
Shader folded his arms across his chest. 'Then why are you here and not doing his bidding along with the others? For Ain all things are possible.'
'Yes?' the wraith said. 'Then why did he leave us? Why?' A sob escaped him and he hunched over beside the wall. 'Forgive me, Ain, forgive me. You are faithful. I trust in you.'
Shader was about to make another retort when Barek silenced him with a finger to the lips. The lad approached the wraith and sat on the floor.
'You haven't told us your name,' he said. 'I'm Barek, and this is Deacon Shader.'
The wraith looked up, the fierce glow in its eyes softening to a warm orange. 'I was...I am called Osric.'
'Osric,' Barek repeated. 'Tell us, Osric, what happened to your Order?'
Shader groaned. They hadn't the time for this.
Barek held up a hand. 'Everything,' he said. 'Just as you remember.'
Osric sank down to the floor and sat cross-legged, mirroring Barek. Shader bit back his frustration and joined them.
'The Ipsissimus ordered us to aid the Abbey of Pardes in the 432nd year of the Reckoning. The Grey Abbot had sent word of a mawgish incursion. There was no help from Sarum, but that was nothing new. The mawgs didn't make a direct assault, but the abbey was effectively under siege.
Our fleet arrived just as a massive invasion force set sail from the Anglesh Isles. We rode swiftly from Sarum's port, thinking we would have but a few days to raise sufficient defences. There were three hundred of us, all Elect knights under the command of our Grand Master, Callixus. We were attacked from the rear by Sarum's militia and driven towards a large force of Imperial troops who had been barracked at the city for this very purpose. Apparently the Emperor had heard news of our mission and suspected foul play.'
'Nothing's changed there,' Shader said.
Barek was rubbing at his palm with a thumb, tracing circles where the flesh had been pierced and then healed.
'We could easily have turned and crushed the militia without having to face the more heavily armed Imperial troops. Callixus, however, had no wish to worsen the relationship between Sahul and Aeterna, and so sought to evade both forces. Just as we began to despair of so doing we were approached by an old Nousian who offered to guide us. He showed us a route through the northern suburbs that led to Fenrir Forest. He said he would meet us there and show us a secret way to the abbey.
'We galloped beyond Sarum and entered the dark wood. It seemed odd that our guide waited amidst the trees as we entered, for we had thought to have left him far behind in the city. Callixus found him trustworthy, and so we followed him deep into the forest. At last we came to a clearing. A vast metallic dome rose up before us, a great edifice from a bygone age. The old man said it was the entrance to the tunnels that would take us to Pardes.
'We entered via a wide ramp and found ourselves in this very room. Our guide waited at the entrance, a look of smug satisfaction on his face; a look that has burned itself into my memory.
'Callixus must have sensed betrayal for he spurred his horse towards the villain. The old man cast something dark at the Grand Master, who fell writhing from his steed and began to decompose. We watched in dread as our lord was reduced to a seeping putrescence from which rose a shadowy form that drifted to the side of our erstwhile guide. I charged the old man, but was struck down by the same magic.
'The villain laughed and then changed his appearance with some sort of illusion. There before us now stood a grotesquely fat man dressed in the scarlet robes of the governor of Sarum. He taunted the other knights and gloated about how easily deceived we'd been. He changed again, this time revealing his true form, brittle and skeletal, with filmy strips of dry skin clinging to the bone. Then he was gone and the ramp rose up to seal us within this metal tomb. Here we suffered Ain knows how long until the air was exhausted. Callixus and I watched our brothers choking and gasping.
'They found no respite in death, however. The skeletal creature returned and employed a powerful necromancy, which raised them along with their steeds. Here we remained, entombed, but conscious throughout the centuries.'
'This skeletal creature you describe...' Barek began.
'Now goes by the name of Cadman,' Shader said.
Osric nodded.
'He was once governor of Sarum?' Barek asked.
'Probably not by design,' Shader said. 'Cadman's a liche, of that I'm certain. I've faced his kind before in Verusia. I expect he became too successful at whatever else he was doing and attracted unwanted attention. I can't imagine a less desirable position for a liche. They're cowardly wretches, always laying plans to ensure their own survival.'
The creatures he'd fought in Verusia had largely been mindless minions. Their liche masters were rarely seen, and seldom stuck around in a fight. When cornered, though, they were deadly opponents. Shader had seen an entire company blasted apart by dark fire. The Seventh Horse had given chase, but found nothing other than shapes in the mist.
'But why would the Lost follow Cadman after what he's done to them?' Barek asked.
'Despair has robbed them of the strength to oppose his will. When faith in Ain dies,' Osric touched a spectral hand to his forehead, 'people will believe in anything: prophecies, powers, the influence of the stars. If they're desperate enough, they'll even believe lies.'
'But not you,' Shader said.
'My allegiance remains to Callixus, the man in possession of his own will, not the slavish automaton he's become. And whilst Ain is slow to answer my prayers, He grants me faith.' Osric locked his eyes to Shader's. 'But faith can be very dark.'
Shader looked away and then stood. He walked to the entrance, staring out at the trees. 'You still haven't told us what this dome is.' He slapped a hand against the wall. A resounding clang echoed around the chamber.
Osric drifted to his side, following his gaze. 'That I do not know,' he said. 'And I doubt Cadman really knows either. The world is full of mysteries, praise be to Ain. Do you intend to join this battle against my brothers?'
Shader thought for a moment before he replied. Sammy's voice was strong in his mind; that and the remembered pain of Shadrak's blade. 'I don't think so.'
'What?' Barek said. 'But the White Order...'
'Are in good hands. Justin might be a terrible Nousian, but he's a capable knight with a good head on his shoulders.' Shader grimaced, realizing he could just as well be talking about himself. 'Hagalle may not take too kindly to our having escaped,' he continued. 'He has more than enough men to deal with Cadman. I'm going after Shadrak. I need to get back my piece of the statue.'
'The Statue of Eingana?' Osric asked.
'You know of it?'
'There is a society within the Elect that ensures the Order remains true to its purpose. It is called the Saphra Society. Only a handful of knights are invited to join, mostly from the upper ranks. In my time I rose as high as Marshall so I was a member, as was Callixus. We preserve the secrets of the Order, the reason for its foundation.'
Something else Shader had been kept in the dark about. What next? Some revelation about the Templum itself? Dark secrets concerning his parents? In this shifting world he was beginning to wonder if he could even trust his memories, his sense of who he was. Shader fought to keep the bitterness from his voice. 'Which is what?'
'The Elect were formed in response to the Blightey affair. When the Ipsissimus was murdered, his Monas was taken.'
Shader knew all that. Blightey had eventually been cornered with the help of the Grey Abbot. 'That's ancient knowledge.' Shader suddenly thumped himself on the head. 'Idiot,' he said. 'The Monas concealed a piece of the statue, just like the Grey Abbot's.'
Osric nodded. 'That's the raison d'être of our Order, brother Shader. The Elect are trained with the sole purpose of protecting the artefact from those who would steal it. There have been many more attempts. Ipsissimi have been attacked by evil forces that have driven them insane or killed them. It is a function of the Saphra Society to ensure the artefact is safely passed on to the successor. You would have known all this if you'd not abandoned your duty as Keeper.'
Shader spun to face the wraith. 'What? How could you...?'
Osric pointed with a gaseous finger to the Sword of the Archon sheathed at Shader's hip. 'The Ipsissimus would never permit the Archon's sword to leave Aeterna, and only the Keeper can wield it. There can be no doubt that you won the competition, for the sword follows your desires. I may have been blinded by its light when you entered the dome, but I am not blind to reason. If you had stayed in Aeterna you would have known of the Saphra Society. The Keeper of the Sword of the Archon sits at its head.'
Shader felt giddy. Aristodeus must have known all this. That night at the docks he'd encouraged Shader to flee to Sahul. And the Grey Abbot--- he'd been the one to suggest the tournament.
'This Society of yours,' Shader's voice was hoarse. 'Who founded it?'
'The Ipsissimus,' Osric said, 'but on the advice of the Grey Abbot and one other.'
'Don't tell me,' Shader said. 'A bald man in white robes? Goes by the name of Aristodeus?'
Osric's eyes narrowed to glowing slits. 'Yes, but how do you know this? He must have been dead for centuries.'
The more Shader pieced together about his old mentor, the less he liked it. 'There's obviously more to our beloved philosopher than meets the eye. What do you make of the fact that he knew I was planning to bring the sword to Sahul? In fact, he positively encouraged it.'
The wraith's misty body rippled and his eyes flashed. 'Ain preserve us,' he whispered. 'This is the time of Unweaving!' Osric floated away into the chamber and then turned back to face Shader. 'Aristodeus said the time would come again, but I never thought I'd live to see it.' He looked down at his ghostly arms and chuckled. 'Now there's irony for you.'
Shader looked blankly from the wraith to Barek.
'Does this have anything to do with the epic of the Reckoning?' the lad asked. 'Only Elias said something about the Unweaving. Said it had begun before, but had been stopped. Something to do with the Technocrat of the Ancients.'
'Sektis Gandaw,' Shader said. 'The man who tried to un-create. Wasn't he betrayed by his own creatures?'
Barek was pacing, face furrowed with concentration. 'The dwarves,' he said. 'They stole the statue and gave it to Huntsman's gods. You know, the spider, the toad, and the crocodile.'
Osric's body was throwing off streams of black mist and his eyes were like flames. 'Aristodeus told us he was there, that he would have failed completely had it not been for the dwarves.'
Shader's head was pounding. He'd heard all that stuff about the dwarves and the gods before. Elias had wittered on about it incessantly back at Oakendale. Rhiannon had been his sounding board. Shader had spent more than one night drunk on scrumpy listening to the bard's crazy histories. But Aristodeus's involvement in all this, that was news to him and it made his skin crawl. There was something shouting at the bottom of his mind, clamouring for recognition, but every time he tried to focus in on it he was met with emptiness.
'We must get the statue back,' Shader said. 'If Shadrak's taking it to the Anglesh Isles it can only mean one thing.'
'Mawgs?' Barek said.
'Sektis Gandaw's creatures,' Shader said. 'Shadrak must be working for him.'
'I will go with you,' Osric said. 'This must be the path Ain has prepared for me. This is the way of my redemption.'
'I'm not sure,' Shader said. 'I need to think.'
'If you have Osric with you, then maybe I should rejoin the White Order,' Barek said.
Shader shook his head to clear it. 'But what about the Emperor?'
Barek puffed out his cheeks. 'If I run into him, I'll have to change his mind.'
'You'll never sway him with words,' Shader said.
Barek shrugged and merely offered Shader his hand. The two embraced and then Shader walked from the dome with Osric drifting alongside. He watched as Barek headed back through the forest in the direction of the city.
'What now?' Osric asked.
'Port Sarum,' Shader said. 'And if we're lucky, we'll find ourselves a ship bound for the Anglesh Isles.'
'Water,' Osric said with evident distaste. 'I can hardly wait.'
Lallia peeked through the crack of the closet door. Cadman was passing along the corridor with a corpse-knight in tow, a huge shogger with its jaw hanging off and one eyeball swinging from a thread. It wore rusty chainmail with broken links and a once-white surcoat sporting the Nousian Monas. Maybe that would shut the bloody liberals up, she thought with some satisfaction. All that crap about the Emperor being paranoid and intolerant of difference. She'd known from the word go the Nousians were shifty bastards. More than that, they were downright evil.
It all went wrong the day Zara Gen received that old tramp, Jarmin, and she'd been the one to greet him. She knew he was trouble from the minute she clapped eyes on him, but she'd assumed the Governor knew more about the situation than she did. Lallia clenched her teeth. Funny how you think you know someone only to discover later on that you got it completely wrong. She wouldn't be voting for him next election, that's for sure. That's assuming he wasn't dead along with the rest of the council.
Lallia began to wonder if she should have mentioned something about Cadman after she'd walked in on him. Maybe if she'd warned Governor Gen, the slaughter could have been averted.
Problem was, Cadman's dodgy pills had been good. More than good. And the perfume he'd given her in return for cleaning up his mess was still strong on her skin---even after all this time holed up in a closet with only a bucket to shit in and nothing to eat. At least he'd not been lying about that: it was potent stuff and she'd not had a cold night since. Not until the death-knights had come, that is.
Cadman checked another window catch---three times as usual---and waddled along to the next. The death-knight watched the way they had come, red eyes taking in every inch of the corridor. Lallia ducked back behind the door as the skull turned in her direction. When she heard its shuffling footfalls move away she looked again. As she'd expected, Cadman was fiddling with the lock on Zara Gen's office door. Another death-knight stood guard outside, hands resting on the pommel of a broadsword.
Cadman stroked the end of his moustache, his ample frame quivering like jelly. With one thumb thrust into the pocket of his velvet waistcoat, he rapped on the door and entered, leaving the big death-knight and the guard outside. If there was anyone left alive in Arnbrook House, you could bet that's where they'd be. If it was the Governor, and if Lallia could find a way to get him out, who knows what the reward would be?
Lallia slid her back down the wall of the closet and wrapped her arms around her chest. It was a total bitch that Cadman had skeletons for guards. They never needed relieving, and so she'd had no opportunity to make a run for it.
Matted strands of chestnut hair hung over her eyes. If this went on much longer she'd never pull again, no matter how good the perfume. Still, she thought, giving her bum a pat, it wouldn't do her figure any harm going without food for a few days.
She groaned as she realized she needed to pee. The stench from the bucket was getting unbearable, but what choice did she have? She swooned as she stood, steadying herself against the wall, and then pinched her nose shut as she moved to the back of the closet.
\*\*\*
Elias reclined in the Governor's chair, tilting it onto its rear legs and putting his feet on the desk. Zara Gen glared at him from the seat opposite, his eyes saying what his lips could not. He'd been gagged and bound since he'd tried to nip out the door when the death-knights brought Elias in. He was lucky to be alive, Elias reckoned, as the skeleton on guard had grabbed him by the neck and raised its sword to strike. Zara Gen had broken free and scampered back inside the office, apologizing profusely, and the skeleton had remained outside. Within the hour, though, two more knights in rusty armour had come in and tied him to the chair. When he'd started to protest, they'd silenced him with the gag.
'Have I told you the one about the geezer from Britannia who slips through the gaps between worlds and ends up in some crazy afterlife where his bint's waiting for him?'
Zara Gen's eyes rolled into the back of his head.
'Funny ol' world, that one. You see, our protagonist is the only person not really dead and he ends up with all these super powers. Strength of a titan, speed of a cat. He can even bound for yards at a time like some demonic kangaroo.'
Zara Gen shuffled the chair away from Elias.
'Just passing the time. Nothing like a bit of confinement for reviewing stories and learning lyrics. What's up Guv, potty time?' Elias swung his feet off the table and sauntered over to the en suite latrine. 'Don't know what you been eating, Guv, but it sure doesn't smell nice.'
Zara Gen growled beneath the gag.
'No? Don't need the pan?'
Zara Gen was silent.
'Here's a gag for you, if you'll excuse the pun. What do you call a politician when he's always busy?'
More silence.
'No? Tied up. Next one: What do you call a politician who can't speak? A blessing. Sorry, not too good, that one. Don't blame you for not laughing---not that you could if you wanted to. Cheer up, Guv, ol' fat boy'll be back before you know it and then the fun will really start.'
Zara Gen remained a sullen presence.
'You are one tough audience. Sure you don't want a piss? No? OK. Don't mind if I nip in for a Jimmy? Only all this waiting for the big bad necromancer upsets my bladder.'
A sharp rap at the door startled him.
'Quiet now, Guv.' Elias rushed back behind the desk and seated himself. 'Looks like playtime's over.'
The enormous bulk of Dr Cadman lumbered into the office. Elias caught a glimpse of the skeleton guard and a huge death-knight beside it before Cadman pulled the door shut and lowered himself onto the edge of the desk.
'I need you to tell me all you know about the Statue of Eingana,' he said amiably, 'and this Deacon Shader who so rattled my dear friend Callixus.'
Elias clamped his jaw shut. He'd shown enough indignity at the templum. It was obvious he wasn't going to get out of this alive, so he might as well put up a fight.
Cadman sighed. 'I really don't have the time for this. There's a veritable ocean of Imperial troops setting up camp outside the city and I don't plan on sticking around to find out what they want.'
With a slight gesture of his hand the air about him shimmered and the skin melted from his body. Fat withered into leathery strips that clung to mottled bones; the eyes sunk into empty cavities, and fleshy lips gave way to rotting teeth. Elias gagged and looked away from the decomposing corpse that now sat before him, but he could do nothing to dispel the pungent odour of decay and the cold unnatural terror seeping through his veins.
'There are many means of coercion, little man,' Cadman rasped. 'Trust me, I've seen more than anyone should of that sort of thing. But out of all of them I find the tortures of the soul the most efficacious. Do you have any idea what a liche can do to your humanity? And of course, with the nature of my magic, the suffering doesn't have to stop at the point of death.
'You know, I learnt a good deal from my apprenticeship to Otto Blightey, not all of it pleasant, I'm sure you'll understand. I'll never forget his deftness at impaling; but it wasn't so much his ability with a stake that impressed me: it was what he did to the victims when they should already have been dead.'
Elias began to blurt out everything he knew about the Statue of Eingana and then recounted the coming of Deacon Shader to Oakendale, his routing of the mawgs, and the founding of the White Order. Finally, he told the liche of Shader's love for Rhiannon.
Cadman nodded almost imperceptibly. 'I have noticed,' he said nonchalantly, 'a presence, something shadowy and rather sinister attuned to power of Eingana.' He cast a sideways look at the bard. 'Do you think it's Sektis Gandaw?'
Elias frowned. 'Difficult to say. The statue's always had its fair share of stalkers, not least of all Eingana's own brother, the Demiurgos.'
Cadman stood and resumed his corpulence. He took his time siting his pince-nez on the bridge of his nose and then tapped his breast pocket three times. Plucking out a silver case, he flipped it open and selected a cigarette.
'One other thing,' Cadman said, lighting up with a shiny Zippo Elias would have given his right arm for. 'Did my old mentor, Otto Blightey, have any part in the statue's history?'
Elias gave a little cough and wished he had the guts to ask for a smoke. 'That business with the Ipsissimal Monas a few decades after the Reckoning---Blightey found out it concealed an eye of the statue and stole it.'
Cadman took three quick puffs on his cigarette and raised an eyebrow. 'And you know this how?'
Elias tapped the side of his head. 'Use of the ol' noddle, how else? Why'd you think they sent the Grey Abbot after him?'
'So,' Cadman said, 'the Grey Abbot's ingenious method of concealing his piece wasn't original after all. How disappointing.'
Elias could see he was getting through to Cadman. If he continued to be useful, he might even get out of this with his life. 'Something similar happened before, according to a tedious religious historian I once read...'
'Alphonse LaRoche?' Cadman said. 'Believe me, I've read my fair share of him. You're referring to the burning, of course.'
'Well, well, well, aren't you just the dark horse.' Elias, wetted his lips, immediately regretting his choice of words. Cadman showed no reaction. If anything, he looked distracted. Elias redoubled his efforts. 'On that occasion, long before the Templum rose from the ashes of the Reckoning, Blightey murdered some poor geezer named Hafran Thrall, a sort of forerunner of the Keeper of the Sword of the Archon.'
'Yes, yes,' Cadman snapped. 'Your point?'
'Blightey used the sword to enhance his power.'
Cadman's neck cracked as he nodded. 'It was supposed to make him invulnerable, but he was hunted down and the ritual was interrupted. This is nothing new. It's all in La Roche.'
'Only part of him was strengthened,' Elias said. 'After the religious authorities burned Blightey at the stake, his skull survived, but it was locked in a casket and thrown into the Abyss by the Archon. Guess that's where everyone thought he belonged.'
'Except Sektis Gandaw, who eventually rescued him,' Cadman said. 'But you're not answering my question.' Cadman's eyes blazed at Elias, and dark mist spilled from his bony fingers. 'Forget everything that happened before the Reckoning. What became of his piece of the statue?'
'It was returned to the Ipsissimus. Not the same Ipsissimus, mind, as Blightey managed to hang onto the eye for quite some time. I think it was Valens II to whom the Monas was restored. It's said he lived an unnaturally long life, but eventually went mad and threw himself from the roof of the basilica. The Monas has been passed down the line of succession ever since. That's where your friend Shader comes in. Well, not him personally, but his Order.'
Cadman thrust his face towards Elias, the eyes suddenly black as the Void. 'Go on.'
'You won't find any of this in your standard histories,' Elias said.
Cadman stood with his back against the door, a corona of cigarette smoke billowing about his head. He peered over the top of his pince-nez, waiting for Elias to resume. Elias didn't miss the tapping of fat fingers against his thigh. Apparently Cadman didn't have all day. Elias, however, didn't want to see what happened next, once he'd finished his tale.
'The Blightey affair had shown the Templum to be vulnerable from within. Blightey was the principle architect of the new religion and had the ear of the Ipsissimus. In short, he was allowed too much access to the ruler of the Templum, and that's when things started to go wrong.
'Blightey just happened to leave Aeterna for the eremitical life after the Monas disappeared. He wasn't even suspected at first, and when he returned, having not aged a day, many years and a couple of Ipsissimi later, he resumed his position as counsellor and spiritual director.'
Cadman was nodding vigorously, a long trail of ash hanging from the end of his cigarette. 'Blightey never mentioned this to me,' he said. 'Oh, he liked to gloat about the past; loved the effect of recounting his own twisted history to his agonized victims. I'll let you into a little secret.'
Elias winced. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this. If it was a particularly important secret, he doubted he'd be trusted with keeping it.
'It's what made me run from him in the end,' Cadman said. 'The endless lectures in front of the rack, or with some poor former student strapped to a chair...' Cadman's eyes wandered to where Zara Gen sat rigid and attentive. '...the Pear of Anguish forcing his jaws wide, teeth ripping through gums, breath gasping from a constricted airway. It was as if Blightey had to go on teaching others and then torturing them to death in order to generate some spark of pleasure in his life. Naturally, the more I learned, the more imperilled I became.'
Thanks for sharing that. Elias licked his lips. Makes me feel a whole lot better.
'Please,' Cadman said, dropping his smoking stub to the carpet and treading it underfoot. 'Continue.'
Elias wrung his sweating palms together. 'Soon after Blightey's return to Aeterna, plague broke out. The Templum was largely unaffected, but as more and more citizens perished, suspicions were aroused. Blightey was summoned by the Templum Judiciary, but vanished before a hearing could begin. He left a trail of corpses in his wake. He was hunted for months, but no matter how close his pursuers came, he always managed to escape at the last minute.
'Finally, the Grey Abbot was called in. The official histories say he used the power of prayer to find Blightey, but it seems more likely he used his piece of the Statue of Eingana. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Blightey was captured and the Monas was taken from him. Before he was tried for his crimes, he was rescued by some sort of winged devil and went into hiding deep in the forests of Verusia.'
Cadman wrinkled his nose.
Elias scrabbled about for something else to say. 'What happens next is really interesting, particularly because it relates to Shader. There was some sort of high-powered meeting in Aeterna and it was decided the Ipsissimus couldn't be trusted to keep the Monas safe---which is a laugh when you think how they consider him infallible.'
Cadman puffed out his cheeks to the accompaniment of a sharp exhalation of air. Elias took the hint and went on.
'They set up this Order of fanatics known as the Elect to protect the statue. They selected the best soldiers in Nousia and ranked them by means of a tournament. They continue the practice today. The winner basically gets to play Hafran Thrall and become Keeper of the Sword of the Archon. It's supposed to be the same blade Blightey stole centuries before. The Templum believes it has power against the supernatural.' Elias gave a little cough and did his best not to look at Cadman. 'The Elect are ostensibly an elite fighting force answerable only to the Ipsissimus, but you can bet your life there's more to it than that.'
'Such as?' Cadman asked.
'Well I don't know, I'm not a member. Even if I applied I expect they'd blackball me. But my point is that Shader's a knight of the Elect and he won the tournament this year.'
'I see,' Cadman said. 'Then that explains the sword and how he was able to wound Callixus.' He flicked at his bottom lip with his finger. With a decisive nod, he clapped his hands together and turned to leave.
'Of course,' Elias blustered, 'there's a whole lot more I can tell you.'
'Thank you. You've given me what I need.' Cadman took hold of the door handle.
'But you need to hear about the skull.' Elias was clutching at straws. 'Remember the legend of how Blightey's skull escaped from the casket and made its way through the Abyss? His old pupil, Sektis Gandaw, built some contraption to bring him home...'
'We've finished,' Cadman said.
'No.' Elias was shaking now. 'The skull resurfaces in the legend of Jaspar Paris. It lures Paris into the forest by assuming the form of a beautiful woman...'
Cadman was no longer listening. The door opened onto the armoured cadavers outside.
'Jaspar Paris was saved only by the intervention of his spurned lover, Renna Cordelia,' Elias said. 'Don't you want to hear how it ends?'
Cadman paused for a moment, as if considering.
'The skull drank her soul.' Elias said.
'And?'
'It rose into the air, flames spewing from its eye-sockets, and sucked her life force up! That's what it does!' Elias said. 'He'll come for you!' Elias had no way of knowing that, but it never hurt to put the frighteners on a liche---or so he'd heard.
'I know.' Cadman left the room, slamming the door behind him.
'But I can help you! There's so much more to tell! So much!'
There was no response. The office had taken on the feel of a tomb. Elias buried his head in his hands and emitted a loud sob.
He started as someone coughed.
Zara Gen's eyes were bulging and he rocked the chair from side to side. Elias frowned, wiping the tears from his cheeks, but then he realized what the Governor wanted, and it definitely wasn't the pan this time. He set about untying Zara Gen with trembling fingers. No point being the obedient prisoner now. He'd told Cadman everything he knew and it surely wouldn't be long before the liche realized keeping him alive was a risk he no longer needed to take.
\*\*\*
Lallia watched as Cadman left the office with his hulking bodyguard and headed for the stairs. Pausing at the top, Cadman turned to the skeleton guard that remained outside Zara Gen's door.
'I think I'm finished with them,' he said. 'Best not leave wagging tongues behind.' He waved a cigarette towards the door and then started down the stairs beside the big death-knight, chatting away amiably and completely unbothered by the lack of response.
The remaining skeleton lurched to attention, took hold of the doorknob, and stalked inside.
Lallia cast about from side to side until she spotted a broom. Snatching it up, she dashed across the corridor to Zara Gen's office. She slipped through the open door and gasped as the skeleton raised its sword and advanced upon a raggedy little man in a rabbit skin coat. There was a flash of red that caused Lallia to turn her head. Zara Gen barged past her and out into the corridor.
The skeleton turned at the noise, but Lallia leapt forward and clobbered it with the broom, sending it clattering and crashing into the desk. She threw down the broom and grabbed the scruffy man, dragging him out into the corridor and slamming the door.
'Typical bloody politician!' the scruffy man shouted at the back of the fleeing Governor.
'Shut it!' Lallia said. 'This way!'
The skeleton's sword splintered the wood of the door and Lallia put her tail between her legs and scarpered.
'Elias, by the way,' the raggedy man said. 'Bard of Broken Bridge. And you are?'
'Shut your bleeding trap.'
As Lallia reached the bottom of the stairwell, there was a loud crash from behind. The skeleton leapt into the corridor and ran at them with frightening speed.
'Quick!' Lallia said, taking the steps two at a time. She led the way through twisting passageways that were known to few save the council's serving staff. As she reached another stairway, she cast a look over her shoulder and saw that the skeleton was gaining on them. 'Out of the way!' She pushed a discarded tea trolley down the stairs. Elias jumped to the side and the trolley hit the skeleton square in the ribs, slamming it to the floor below. 'Keep running!'
She made for a metal ladder that led to a trap in the roof and chanced a look behind. The skeleton struggled up, ribcage smashed, one leg snapped. Its eye-sockets flared crimson, and then it continued to lurch towards them. Elias scrabbled up the ladder behind Lallia as she bashed at the trapdoor.
'Come on!' he said. The skeleton was already on the first rung.
Lallia threw her shoulder against the trap repeatedly until it gave. She climbed onto the roof, where the reddening sun was starting to dip below the horizon. Elias followed her out and slammed the trapdoor shut.
'How do we lock it?' he said.
'You could always sit on it.' Lallia looked around for something heavy she could put on it instead, but already the skeleton was bashing at it from below.
'And get a sword up my jacksie? Sounds more like your sort of thing.'
'Forget it,' Lallia said. 'Let's go.'
They ran to the far side, looking in vain for somewhere to hide. Three storeys down, Lallia could see hundreds of undead surrounding the building. 'Shit! We're trapped.'
The splintering of wood made them turn back to the trapdoor. The skeleton emerged onto the rooftop and limped towards them, the bone of its broken leg grating against the stone.
Lallia shoved Elias behind her and raised her fists. The skeleton lunged and Elias screamed. He pushed past Lallia, caught the skeleton's sword arm and heaved. The rotting ligaments held firm and the skeleton fought back with shocking strength, forcing the bard to his knees. Lallia grabbed it from behind, wrenching at its neck. The skeleton struck her with the back of its hand and sent her reeling. She hit her head and came up groggy. She saw Elias snap off the skeleton's leg at the knee. It tottered about with its arms spread wide, and then Elias shoulder-charged it, sending it plummeting to the ground below.
Lallia peered over the edge of the building and saw the shattered remains scrabbling around like frenzied insects. A ripple passed through the horde of undead pressed around Arnbrook House.
'Look,' Elias said, panting for breath.
The swell of corpses parted and Cadman's black carriage clattered off to the east with a group of skeletal knights riding escort.
'What's happening?' Lallia asked.
'Buggered if I know,' Elias said. 'But for now I think we'll be safer up here.'
Lallia nodded, flopped down on the parapet and ran her fingers through the knots in her hair.
'End of the world,' Elias chuckled, 'but still time for personal grooming. My kind of girl.'
Lallia slapped him playfully on the arm. She considered him for a moment, taking in the sharp angles of his face, the lank greasy hair, the eyes set so close together that he looked like a startled chicken.
'What?' Elias asked, mouth gaping with feigned shock and showing yellow teeth that hadn't seen a brush in days.
Lallia creased up with laughter. She might have been scared, tired, and desperate, but even she had her limits.
'Thought you were in Gladelvi,' Shader shouted above the din in the bar.
The Green Man was heaving with dockworkers celebrating the completion of a galleon---the first of many judging by the conversation. Nothing like an Emperor's fears to bolster employment. Port Sarum had probably never had it so good.
Amidio Podesta's head slipped from his hand and crashed into his soup. He spluttered and cursed, came bolt upright, and wrung out his moustache.
'Cold.' He wrinkled his nose, licking the broth from his lips and mopping his face with a sleeve. 'What? Gladelvi? Bloody bastard wasn't there. Now I've a hold stuffed with Aeterna-tech and no one to sell it to.'
'Where's the crew?' Shader seated himself opposite.
'Boozing and screwing, like they always do. A pox on the lot of them. A pox on Jarmin the Anchorite's radiant arse too. Don't even have the docking fees. Probably lose the ship now.' Podesta sighed theatrically and picked up an empty glass. 'Don't suppose you could stretch to a beer, eh?'
Shader slammed a purse of coins under his nose. 'Half now, the rest when we get back.' Podesta's eyes came into focus and he straightened the tricorn on his head. 'Where are we going?' 'The Anglesh Isles.'
\*\*\*
Dead man's money might not be the Nousian way of conducting business, but Ain would understand. After all, you can't take coin with you and if he hadn't rifled the bodies on the plague carts someone else would have. At least his purpose served the greater good, Shader told himself, and no harm had been done.
It was a remarkable thing how quickly a profligate crew of drunks and rakes could be assembled when the price was right. Shader drew in his lips, leaning on the rails of the aftcastle of the Aura Placida, watching the lights of Port Sarum recede until they resembled fallen stars.
'Hoist those squares and catch us some breeze!' yelled Podesta into the night air. 'And give me some lateens on the mizzen, boys.'
He took a swig of rum and hollered up at Shader. 'Ain must love you, my friend. The tide's with us, and there's a west wind blowing.'
Shader leapt down the steps two at a time and joined Podesta on the quarterdeck. He pulled off his hat and threw his head back, letting his hair billow out behind him. The salt spray on his face, the biting air in his lungs, quickened his pulse with more life than any sham resurrection. It felt good to be away from Sahul and back on the open sea.
'They can't have more than a couple of hours on us,' Podesta said, offering Shader the bottle. 'But no one knows these waters like I do. Can't imagine too many ships heading to the Anglesh Isles. Your pale-faced midget must be very rich, or very frightening, eh?'
Shader assumed it was the latter. He took a glug of rum and handed the bottle back. There were a hundred other ways a ship's crew could make money, all of them with a lot less risk. He looked at Podesta out of the corner of his eye. What would have happened if Shadrak had approached him first? Would the Aura Placida have taken the job?
Podesta saw him watching and stoppered the rum, a sudden look of sobriety falling over his ruddy face. 'These are hard times, my friend. A man must take work where he finds it, eh?' He slapped Shader on the back and drew him into a hug. 'But Ain is good to you, eh? And to me, I think. Just when I thought I was going to lose the Placida my good friend comes looking for a ship. Trust me, Shader, your money has bought you the best. Say one thing for Amidio Podesta: say he's favoured by the gods.'
Shader frowned at that and eased his way free of the embrace. 120
'Slip of the tongue,' Podesta said. 'But you know what I mean, eh? Ain loves us, my friend. Don't worry. We'll catch this Shadrak. They'll have to slow down when they reach the Makara Reef, and I've a little surprise for them.'
Shader narrowed his eyes, but Podesta simply gave a gap-toothed smile.
'You'll see. When a customer doesn't turn up to claim his goods they become mine by default. That's why I love this business. There's always a silver lining, uh?'
Podesta made a beeline for the starboard rail and peered into the darkness. Shader joined him and saw a hazy yellow glow swaying in the wind.
'Here they come,' Podesta said. 'How do I look?'
He made a show of straightening his tricorn and fastening the buttons on his coat. Shader was spellbound by the approaching light, unable to work out what it was or why it swung from side to side. Podesta chuckled.
'Lantern on an Imperial galleon,' he said. 'There is a blockade, you know. There's another up front, and I wouldn't be surprised if a third was taking a wide berth to our stern.'
Shader stood back from the rail. This venture seemed about to end even before they'd gotten underway. 'You don't exactly look worried,' he said.
'I'm Amidio Podesta.' The Captain shrugged. 'When you've wrestled with bull sharks, ridden waves as high as mountains, and emptied the wine cellars of Crown Prince Raoul of Quilonia right under his nose worry seems to serve no purpose. Let's leave the worrying to lesser men, eh?'
Podesta strode to the mainmast and hollered up at the crow's nest. 'Send the Imperial signal, Elpidio.'
'Aye Captain,' the boy shouted back.
Shader peered up into the heights and a few minutes later saw a spark of light that winked on and off at different intervals. He'd seen something similar on campaign when they'd used a hooded lantern to send messages.
'Cleto,' Podesta shouted. 'Make sure our cargo's secure.'
Shader tensed at mention of the name and then jumped as the swarthy sailor stepped out of the shadows.
'You mean the special cargo, Captain? Already taken care of. They won't find it 'less they rip the ship apart plank by plank.'
'Good man,' Podesta said as Cleto slunk back into the darkness. 'Not in the moral sense,' he offered as an aside to Shader, 'but he's a handy old sea dog, no?'
The black hulk of a ship was now visible off the bow and another was coming alongside. Shader ran back to the aftcastle and saw a third light trailing them at a distance. It seemed Podesta was fully conversant with Imperial tactics.
'Sabas!' The Captain's call was scattered by the wind.
Shader strolled back down to the quarterdeck with his fingers stroking the hilt of the gladius.
'Captain?' the black man's deep voice rolled up from the galley.
'Cheesy bread. All this excitement's making me hungry.' Podesta gave Shader a half-smile. For all his bravado, the Captain was clearly anxious.
Grapples were thrown from the starboard galleon, and after a few minutes of barked orders the Aura Placida was boarded by a surly looking officer in a Sahulian bicorn, light breeches, and a heavily brocaded tailcoat. He was flanked by four troops in leather armour with cutlasses hanging from their belts. Behind them Shader could see a long line of crossbows resting on the galleon's rail, lamplight glinting from the tips of quarrels.
Shader's eyes darted about in an attempt to locate the best cover. He shuffled in the direction of the mainmast. More lamps burst into light about the deck as the crew of the Aura Placida emerged to gauge the threat.
The officer swept off his bicorn and gave a formal bow. Podesta did the same, with an elaborate flourish of his tricorn. The officer lunged and Shader half-drew his gladius, but stopped himself when Podesta's arms opened wide and he crushed the man in a huge bear hug.
'Benson, you old lubber! What are you doing onboard ship?'
Benson pulled back and held Podesta at arm's length.
'Amidio Podesta, you salty old scallywag. All this fresh sea air and you still smell like a cow's arse.'
Podesta made a show of sniffing his armpits. 'Well, my friend, you would be the expert on such things, eh?'
Podesta's hand moved behind his back and he made a twisting gesture with his wrist that could only have been intended for Shader. Suddenly getting his meaning, Shader buttoned his coat to conceal his Nousian tabard.
'Bit late for setting sail,' Benson said.
'Ah, my friend,' Podesta put an arm around his shoulder and led him towards the galley, 'this is why you're not a sailor. You don't understand these things. What did you do wrong for Hagalle to send you to sea?'
Benson chuckled. 'If he builds any more ships I reckon we'll all be sailors. Someone needs to crew them.'
The two passed from sight into the galley. Sabas's booming voice sounded in greeting. Clearly Podesta wasn't the only one who knew the officer. Benson's guards visibly relaxed and the Aura Placida's crew stepped forward to greet them. The crossbowmen stood down and muffled voices came from the galleon to mingle with the lapping of the waves.
\*\*\*
Prayer was getting tough again.
Shader shut the Liber and threw it on top of his folded coat. His knees hurt from sitting cross-legged on the deck, and his eyes were sore from reading in the dim lamplight.
Podesta had worked his magic with Benson and the Aura Placida was granted passage unhampered as she rode the waves towards the Anglesh Isles. It had taken Benson's men over an hour to load all the food, wine, and tobacco Podesta had gifted him. Shader shook his head and let the tiniest curl of a smile touch his lips. Podesta must have been playing both sides for years: smuggling for the Templum and supplying what the Sahulian navy lacked. It was a dangerous game; everybody apparently knew what was going on, but nobody cared. It reminded Shader of what they used to say in Gallia when he was on campaign: cheating on your wife was OK, providing you didn't get caught. He'd not seen the funny side at the time, but travelling with Podesta was giving him a whole new perspective.
Shader sighed and pulled the knotted prayer cord over his head. His own problem was fidelity to rules, not people. He wasn't so much concerned with others finding out; he was more worried about his own reaction. No matter how he justified it, he still couldn't quite see himself as holy unless he followed the Templum's moral code. Most of the other knights he'd known mitigated the Rule. It was common knowledge that even the priests took lovers, but Shader wasn't that kind of man. And that was a bloody nuisance as far as he was concerned.
It had been difficult seeing Rhiannon again at the templum. The white robes hadn't quite suited her. It was like covering a beautiful painting with an old sheet. He was sure it wouldn't last. Rhiannon was as much suited to the life of a priest as he was. The difference was that she already had a natural goodness, an easy way of being simply whatever it was Ain had made her. Shader knew he had to work at it, just as he'd had to work at everything else---all the philosophy with Aristodeus, the conduct becoming to an Elect knight, and especially unquestioning obedience to his superiors. The only thing that came naturally to him was killing, but that was perhaps to be expected, being raised by one of the hardest men in Britannia.
That was the only similarity between Shader and his father, though. If it hadn't been for their shared excellence with the sword, no one would have guessed they were related. Jarl was as straight as they came, an uncompromising man of action. In his way, he was as natural and earthy as Rhiannon. Shader, however, was too much of a thinker, a trait that often led to long spells of melancholy and self-doubt.
He stretched out his legs and tried to rub some feeling back into them. Taking up the prayer cord, he started working on the first knot whilst conjugating the Aeternam verb for "love"---amare. He'd simplified the practice from the endless litanies he'd been taught as a novice, whittled it down to one word that captured the essence of Ain. At least it would if he could focus.
'Thought you could use a whiskey.'
Shader was startled by the grating voice. He half expected to feel a knife at his throat, but instead Cleto crouched down beside him and held out a bottle. Shader took it without letting his eyes drop from the sailor's stubbly face. Cleto had clearly been in the wars and had probably survived his fair share of pestilence judging by the craters marking his skin.
'Peace offering,' Cleto said. 'For what I done last time. Got to thinking about it. Reckon it's about as low as a man can get, stealing from his shipmates.'
Shader took the bottle and drank deeply. 'You asking for forgiveness?' he said, passing the whiskey back to Cleto.
'Nah. Shog that Nousian shit, excuse my Gallic. What's done can't be undone. Just want you to know I got your back now. You're one of us.'
Shader put the prayer cord back around his neck and blew the air through his lips. 'Don't know about that, Cleto. I'm a passenger, not a crewman.'
'Captain says otherwise, and I'm inclined to take what he says a wee bit seriously.'
Shader nodded and looked down at the deck.
'You don't want to be sitting there too long,' Cleto said. 'You'll get piles.'
With that he was gone, back into the darkness. Shader suspected he was always there, always watching and waiting for his moment. At least this time he might be watching for less nefarious reasons. Assuming his word was as good as his liquor.
\*\*\*
The sun came up behind the Aura Placida, casting a red swathe over the sea that set Shader thinking about the battle he'd left behind. The smell of bacon and strong coffee wafted up from the galley where Sabas was singing a sea shanty in a rumbling bass.
Shader ached all over from spending the night on the deck with only his coat as a pillow.
Elpidio passed him on his way to the crow's nest and stopped to hand him a tin mug full to the brim with black coffee. 'Sabas said you'd need it,' the lad said, with a wrinkling of his nose. 'Can't see why people drink the stuff.'
Shader smiled his thanks and took the cup, sipping the steaming contents.
'On lookout again?' he asked.
'Got the best eyes,' Elpidio said, 'and by the looks of it Travid's fallen asleep.' His eyes turned to the crow's nest where there was a decided lack of activity.
Elpidio hurried away and started to climb the mainmast as the others emerged on deck. Captain Podesta staggered past and stood at the rail to relieve himself. He shook off the drops and gave a shudder, then turned to Shader as he fastened his trousers.
'By the gods of the Great Green I need a coffee,' he croaked before stumbling off towards the galley.
A slovenly looking youth came down from the mainmast like a sack of potatoes being lowered. It was a wonder he didn't fall, the way he swung from limp arms without any care for where he put his feet. Shader supposed this must be Travid, and judging by the gaping yawns he made no effort to suppress, it seemed unlikely that he'd seen anything during his watch besides his own dreams.
'Morning,' he groaned as he passed Shader and stumbled in the direction of the cabins.
'Ship ahoy!' Elpidio hollered from the crow's nest.
Travid stopped in his tracks and raised his palms. 'Weren't nothing there a moment ago. I swear.'
The galley door swung open and Podesta strode out, fully alert, with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
'Captain,' Elpidio called. 'Two ships off the bow. One of them's a reaver.'
Grim murmurs sounded amongst the crew and men swarmed to the prow to look out over the bowsprit. Podesta swilled his coffee overboard and handed the empty cup to Travid. As the lad took it, Podesta cuffed him on the ear, eliciting a loud squeal.
'You know what that's for, boy,' the Captain said, hopping to the base of the mainmast and pulling a spyglass from his jacket.
'That's a reaver all right. Looks like they've caught themselves a Sahulian merchantman.' He handed Shader the spyglass. 'Just there, to the right of the bowsprit. You see, eh?'
Shader squinted and then the ships came into focus. One was a caravel, not dissimilar to the Dolphin, but the markings were different and it flew the Sahulian flag---a flightless bird set against the backdrop of a clenched fist.
'Reckon we've found our Ghost, eh?' Podesta said. 'Back home in Sahulian waters. Seems some people will take any job.'
The second ship was large---a galleon by the looks of it. The hull was dark as pitch and there were four masts, each rigged with billowing black sails.
'Good boy, Elpidio,' Podesta called up to the crow's nest. 'All hands on deck!'
Shader handed the spyglass back. 'Is it mawgs?'
Podesta locked his eyes to Shader's. There was a grim set to his jaw. 'Aye. And not a few of them either. Ship that size will be packed with hundreds of the shoggers. Every man grab a weapon!' he yelled.
Sailors ran for the cabins and came back with cutlasses, knives, and hatchets. A few had crossbows. None of it reassured Shader that they'd have a chance against a horde of mawgs. If they didn't turn about and flee back to Port Sarum the mawgs would swarm over them like a plague of locusts, picking the bones of every crewman clean and disgorging the remains overboard for the sharks to finish.
'Are we running? Shader asked.
'That's exactly what they'd want. After finishing off the merchantman they'd catch us in open water. The Aura Placida's a good ship,' Podesta slapped the mast, 'but she's not as fast as a galleon.'
'But if they board us...'
Podesta leaned in close, the blood draining from his face. 'I know. You forget, I've seen what the bastards can do. But the crew doesn't need to know, eh?' Podesta raised the spyglass again. 'They're pulling away from the other ship. They must think this is their lucky day, uh?'
Shader drew the gladius and ran his thumb along the edge of the blade. He'd neglected it somewhat, hadn't even taken a whetstone to it, but it never seemed to blunt.
'Someone's crossing over to the reaver,' Elpidio shouted.
Podesta took a look through the spyglass and then passed it to Shader. 'Fit the description?'
Shader could see a small figure in a hooded cloak swinging from the doomed merchantman to the deck of the galleon. He landed nimbly as a mass of mawgs rushed towards him. The little man's skin was pale, his short hair white. As the mawgs surrounded him, he held up an object and they moved back. Without a doubt, it was the serpent statue.
'Shadrak,' Shader said, handing the spyglass back to Podesta.
'They're coming about,' someone called from the prow.
'Steady!' bellowed Podesta, drawing his cutlass. 'Cleto!'
Cleto's head popped up through a trap in the deck. Nods passed between him and Podesta and then Cleto vanished back into the hold.
'Crossbows on the foredeck!' Podesta shouted. 'The rest of you, defensive positions on the aftcastle. I want barricades up there---chests, tables, beds---anything you can find. You two!' He called over a couple of petrified sailors. 'Bring up every last flask of oil. If they look like boarding, drench the quarterdeck and then join us on the aftcastle.'
The sailors scurried off below. Shader frowned at Podesta.
'They're not eating my crew,' the Captain said. 'Just a precaution. You can never have too many plans, eh?'
The Aura Placida continued to sail closer to the reaver and its victim. The merchantman was floundering and there was no sign of activity on deck. The galleon, however, began to turn its port side towards them. Podesta pushed his way to the front of the ship, Shader following him.
'What are they playing at?' the Captain said. 'They should be coming at us head on.'
He had a point. Shader could now see that the prow of the galleon was fitted with a heavy metal ram. One hit from that and the Aura Placida's hull would be breached. That would be the end of them. The two ships were now a few hundred yards apart and Shader could see the massed furry bodies lining the rails of the reaver. A chilling roar went up from the mawgs, who began to jump and prowl about in barely suppressed frenzy.
'Look!' Shader said as slats on the side of the galleon's hull slid open and metal tubes popped out.
'What the Abyss?' Podesta said, leaning forward to get a better view.
He leapt backwards as a wave of explosions sounded and smoke erupted from the bank of tubes. A shout of horror went up from the crew and then there was a series of splashes as heavy objects hit the water in front of the ship. Another roar went up from the mawgs as the Aura Placida continued to drift towards them.
'Bring us about!' Podesta shouted. He turned to Shader. 'What was that?'
Shader had seen nothing like it before, but Aristodeus had once told him about thunderous weapons from a bygone era. 'Aeterna-tech?' he wondered out loud.
'Perhaps,' Podesta said. 'But I think we can do better than that. Cleto!'
Cleto was there in an instant. Slung over his shoulder was a long cylinder made of a dull metal Shader didn't recognize. Cleto had hold of some kind of grip with one hand, and with the other he steadied the cylinder and rested his thumb above a red circular protrusion.
'Do you know what you're doing?' Podesta asked with a look of mild trepidation.
'Not a fucking clue,' Cleto said. 'But there were pictures in the box. I reckon it's a simple matter of pointing and pressing the trigger.' He tapped his thumb against the button.
Podesta winced and gave him some room.
The bank of tubes on the galleon withdrew and then reappeared after a few moments.
'Whatever you've got planned,' Shader said, 'now would be a good time.'
Cleto rested the cylinder on the forward rail and knelt down with his head beside it. He closed one eye, took aim, and pressed the button.
There was a deafening roar and Shader and Podesta hit the deck. Cleto was thrown back against the foremast as fire and smoke streaked from the strange weapon. Shader rolled to his feet in time to see something strike the mainsail of the galleon and erupt in flame. The top of the mast fell away and dropped towards the stunned mawgs beneath. The reaver banked and the tubes sticking from the hull drooped.
Shader ran to Cleto's side and helped him to stand. 'You OK?'
'Fuck, yeah!' Cleto said with a wide grin spreading across his pockmarked face. 'Did I get 'em?'
'They lost a sail,' Shader said, 'but I think that's your only shot.' He indicated the smoking cylinder that now had a split running down its length. 'Unless you've got any more of those things down below.'
Podesta called out over his shoulder. 'Only one we had, eh, Cleto? Now answer me this.' He shot a look at Shader. 'What the shog did Jarmin the Anchorite of Gladelvi want with one of those, uh?'
Shader left Cleto to dust himself down and rejoined Podesta at the prow. 'They're turning away,' he said as the galleon increased the distance between them. 'It's not like mawgs to run from a fight.'
Podesta was biting hard on his knuckles. 'Maybe they've got more important things to do, eh?' He pointed at the stern of the retreating ship where a white face was staring at them from beneath a black hood.
'We must give chase,' Shader said. 'We need to get the statue back.'
Podesta's gaze switched to the floundering merchantman. 'All in good time, my friend. Rules of the sea. Search for survivors first, eh?'
Shader opened his mouth to protest, but could see from the Captain's face that he'd be wasting his time.
\*\*\*
The waters were red around the merchantman as the longboat came alongside. Dorsal fins broke the surface, sending ripples through the blood, and here and there huge jaws burst above the waves to tear at the disgorged contents of mawgish stomachs. Shader kept as close to the centre of the boat as possible, scarcely daring to move in case he was pitched into the water amongst the sharks.
'Hundreds of them,' Podesta said, peering over the side. 'No chance of survivors there.'
Shader half expected a shark to leap from the water and drag the Captain face first overboard, but Podesta seemed unperturbed.
Cleto swung a grapple up top and the three climbed aboard.
The Sahulian flag snapped and fluttered above them, but other than that there was no sign of movement. The decks were slick with gore--- half-eaten limbs and regurgitated bones. Shader stepped over the torso of a man whose hands still held fast to the railing, but whose legs had been ripped away at the hips. The three trod a path between chewed-up heads and strewn entrails, holding their noses against the stench of blood, piss, and excrement. Cleto retched and then bent double as his stomach emptied. He wiped the sick from his face with the back of his sleeve.
'Wait for us in the boat, my friend,' Podesta said, to Cleto's obvious relief.
Shader pressed on to the quarterdeck, a discomforting feeling growing all the while. The ship certainly matched the description of the Ghost they'd been given in Rujala, but there was something about it that unsettled him.
He started as a hand clapped down on his shoulder.
'You feel it too, eh?' Podesta said, his breath heavy in Shader's ear. 'Something very familiar about this ship. Look.'
A corpse held onto the wheel in a death-grip, its clothes shredded, the flesh of one half of its body stripped to the bone. The head hung to one side, attached only by the slenderest thread of sinew. The eyes were white and frozen wide, the teeth bared in a silent scream that seemed to stretch to eternity.
'Ain,' Shader muttered as he recognized what was left of the face. 'Captain Diaz.'
Podesta was ashen, a single tear rolling down his cheek. 'The Dolphin was the Ghost all along.' He fell to his knees and let his head drop.
It looked to Shader like a gesture of prayer. He'd always thought Diaz was Podesta's bitter enemy, but clearly the manner of Diaz's death had touched a nerve. Then Shader recalled the Captain's story aboard the Aura Placida on their way to Sahul.
Shader knelt beside Podesta and put an arm around his shoulders. 'Come, my friend,' he said. 'Time to leave.'
Podesta shook him off and stood. 'No!' he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. 'You're wrong. Go if you like, but I'm staying. Someone must have survived.'
Shader felt his cheeks flush with shame. 'You're right,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'
Podesta held his gaze, the tears spilling freely now. He gave a curt nod and then they both turned back to the blood-spattered decks and began their search. True to his word, Podesta left no stone unturned. He scoured every cabin, searched under tables, in cupboards, growing more frantic and enraged every step. Shader followed him, but kept his distance. They searched for over an hour and Shader felt they could do no more when Podesta's eyes turned to a loose plank in the hold.
'Help me,' he barked, drawing a dagger and using it to pry the board free.
Shader lifted it clear and started as something rushed past below. Podesta dropped to his front and reached into the gap.
'Got you,' he cried.
There was an answering yelp and then Podesta drew a young boy to the opening. The child was biting and scratching, but the Captain ignored the pain and uttered soothing words. Shader pulled the neighbouring plank away and then reached down to help Podesta lift the boy up. He was a scrawny lad, no more than nine or ten. His face was streaked with dirt, his clothes soiled with dried blood. He started to shake as he looked from Shader to Podesta, his mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out. Podesta drew the lad into an embrace and stroked the back of his head.
'There, there,' he said, his voice thick with emotion. 'You're safe now.'
Podesta raised his eyes to Shader's. They were bloodshot and brim ming with tears.
'Told you,' he said with no sense of triumph. 'Told you I'd find one.'
The streets were deserted, but if you looked close enough you could catch people peering through cracks in the curtains. Whatever might have befallen the centre of Sarum, the suburbs had so far been spared.
General Starn pressed his back to the wall and stole a quick glance down the alleyway, holding up a hand to halt the men behind. The sun was high in the sky and his blooming breastplate was growing more and more of a nuisance. He dug in between its bottom edge and his sore belly with the tips of his fingers. Sweat was streaming down his face and plastering his moustache over his lips. He blew to dislodge it before the tickling drove him stark raving mad. Once they were done and dusted here he'd have Mrs Starn trim it for him and put him back on a diet of herrings and oatmeal. Shed a few pounds and the armour would fit as well as it had years ago, when he'd won it at the tournament in New Ithaka--- back when Troy Jance was still on speaking terms with the Emperor.
Starn was about to signal the company forward when he was barged out of the way, catching the side of his head on the wall. 'Ooh, quite a knock that,' he mumbled as the Emperor strode past into the alley and stood there, hands on hips.
Indomitable, Starn thought. Like a god of battle. He felt a tad unworthy cowering by the wall. Not a good show to have the Emperor take the lead. Not good at all.
The thirty men of the Imperial bodyguard flowed past him, taking up their positions around Hagalle with seamless precision. Shields were raised in a defensive circle, but the Emperor stood a good head above the tallest of the soldiers and suddenly looked vulnerable. A single arrow was all it would take. It didn't matter that the enemy thus far had been reported as walking corpses; a good general always had to plan for the worst.
The shield wall parted for Starn as he took up his place beside the Emperor.
'Makes a change,' Hagalle growled. 'The scouts were right. Nothing. No movement in the northern suburbs. What would you say, General, press on to the central district and get a good look at the enemy ourselves?'
Starn scrunched his face up and tugged at his moustache. He'd have preferred a steady advance with the main army, but Duke Farian had been left to arrange that whilst Hagalle insisted on going ahead to make sure the scouts hadn't been lying. Starn had learnt long ago there was no point arguing with the Emperor. He was a man of action, a brave man--- whatever the slanderers might say. A man worthy to be followed.
'Lost your tongue again, Starn?' The Emperor rolled his eyes and Starn lowered his, feeling an utter disappointment.
'I was going to say...' he stammered, hating himself for his inability to speak in front of authority.
'What is it I pay you for, Starn?' Hagalle raised his voice and the sniggers started amongst the soldiers. 'Because I'm damned if I can remember. Wait here for Farian, if you like, but us men are pressing on. I want a good look at these ghouls for myself. You can never have too much reconnaissance, Starn. Never.'
Starn looked up, straight into the mocking eyes of Dalglish. As Hagalle pushed through the encircling soldiers and headed towards the junction at the end of the alley, Dalglish pulled off his helmet to run his fingers through his slick red hair.
He opened his mouth to say something, a wicked curl twisting the edge of his lips, but Starn had had enough of that sort of thing.
'Attention, Captain Dalglish. Let's not forget our places, eh?'
Dalglish sneered, but put his helmet back on and clicked his heels together.
'Keep close to the Emperor, Dalglish. This is a risky business. Every man at his best, what, what.'
The troops had to jog to keep up with Hagalle, who stood at the crossroads with one hand resting on a twenty-foot tall iron post, atop which was a glass sphere. The way ahead broadened into an avenue flanked by rows of identical posts. Starn wished he could show them to Mrs Starn. She'd always had a love of the Ancients, but there was little evidence of their civilization in Jorakum. Compared to Sarum, the Capital was something of a baby.
The streets to left and right of their position were sorry affairs, strewn with all manner of stinking waste. Black rats scampered about the refuse and occasionally raised their beady eyes to look at the company.
'Straight on,' Hagalle said. 'Can't see the enemy taking up positions down those shit holes. Place is a bloody disgrace. Makes you wonder what on earth Zara Gen has been doing all these years. I rather suspect Sarum will be having an election far sooner than he expects.'
Dalglish flicked a look at Starn and then left and right along the streets. Starn guessed his meaning, put his fist to his mouth and coughed.
'Not well, General?' Hagalle said, turning on him, arms folded across his chest.
'Um, no, Emperor. I mean, yes, I'm fine. It's just that, as Captain Dalglish has rightly pointed out...'
'Get on with it, man,' Hagalle said, his shoulders bunching up around his ears.
Starn tugged down the front of his breastplate and stood to attention. 'The area isn't secure, Emperor. If we continue on without...'
'Rubbish,' Hagalle said. 'Stay if you like, but I don't have the time for this.'
'Permission to speak freely, Emperor,' Starn said in an unusually strident voice.
Hagalle glowered, but then raised an eyebrow and inclined his head. 'General.'
'We should wait here for Duke Farian to catch up, deploy a rear-guard to make sure our retreat isn't compromised, and send scouts east and west.'
Hagalle gave him a slow handclap. 'Tactically astute, as ever, General, but you are forgetting one thing: all the reports have been of a motley band of zombies who haven't moved from the front of Arnbrook House.'
'With the exception of the black carriage,' Dalglish whispered in Starn's ear.
'What?' Hagalle growled. 'Speak up.'
'The black carriage, Emperor,' Dalglish said, his cheeks turning redder than his hair. 'Scouts said it headed east across the city with an escort of cavalry.'
'And that frightens you, does it?' Hagalle said.
Dalglish lowered his head.
'So,' Hagalle said. 'Unless anyone else has anything to add...'
The Emperor's eyes scanned the troops, but no one dared meet them. 'Good. Excellent. Then let's move it.'
Hagalle turned on his heel and strode ahead, the rest of the troop scrabbling about him with shields raised and eyes darting everywhere. Dalglish shrugged, and Starn took a deep breath before following the others.
They'd gone no further than fifty yards when a loud clopping started up from a few blocks away. Hagalle halted, and the company once again surrounded him. The noise began to swell, rolling towards them like an approaching tidal wave. Starn was all too familiar with the sound.
'Cavalry!' he barked. 'Orderly retreat. Let's get back to the alley.'
Hagalle looked like he was going to protest, but was swept along by the soldiers following a direct order from their general. The main body of troops walked backwards, facing the oncoming wall of noise, but Starn and Dalglish turned to take the lead. Starn's blood almost froze in his veins as dozens of shambling corpses spilled out from the rat-infested streets they'd just passed.
'What the Abyss?' Dalglish said, drawing his sword and banging it against his shield to alert the others.'
Starn looked back the other way. A bank of fog roiled from the buildings edging the business district, and shadows were starting to take shape within it. The Emperor was staring like a startled rabbit, his jaw hanging slack. The men were casting nervous looks about and looked ready to break.
'They're coming!' Dalglish called.
Starn spun. The corpses were shuffling towards them. Many were missing arms, and some had only one leg. They crawled, hopped, and slid, drawn on by inhuman appetites Starn could only guess at. Some of the soldiers were shaking, and none besides Dalglish had drawn their swords.
'You men!' Starn found his parade ground voice and jabbed a finger at the twenty he wanted. 'Two ranks deep, lock shields, and wait for my order.'
'Sir!' they yelled in unison, drawing their weapons and lining up in front of Dalglish.
'Captain,' bellowed Starn. 'We're going to smash through and run. Understood?'
Dalglish licked his lips and nodded.
'Is that understood, Captain Dalglish?'
'Sir, yes, sir!'
'Soldiers,' Starn indicated the remaining ten. 'Orderly retreat. You will protect the Emperor with your lives. Is that understood?'
'Sir, yes, sir!'
Hagalle was watching him. He nodded and drew his own broadsword, his eyes darkening, jaw setting. 'Bloody good show, General.'
Hagalle looked out front to where mounted knights were emerging from the mist. The horses were fleshless, their eyes blazing with red fire. The riders wore faded tabards and ancient chainmail with broken links. They carried kite shields bearing the Nousian Monas, and blades nicked and brown with age.
'Must be about fifty,' Starn estimated out loud.
'Not counting that lot,' Hagalle said, as two more companies rode out from the side streets up ahead.
'A hundred and fifty, then,' Starn said, straining to see how many corpses were milling behind. Another hundred, at least, he guessed, but he fancied their chances with them more than against the cavalry.
The undead horsemen formed up into tight wedges, making their intentions perfectly clear.
'Captain Dalglish,' Starn yelled. 'On my command hit them hard and keep going.'
The mass of dead were so close Starn could see the lifeless whites of their eyes and the blackened stubs of teeth. The stench was overpowering---worse than the leg ulcers that had tormented his poor old mother.
'Steady,' his voice rolled out. 'Steady.'
Dalglish cast a worried look over his shoulder. The corpses were almost upon them.
Starn's heart was pounding so loud he worried he might not be heard above its clamour. Sucking in a deep breath, he roared at the top of his voice. 'Charge!'
The shield wall surged forward and slammed into the undead. Bones splintered and rotting flesh pulped over the pavement. The soldiers in the back rank heaved, pressing against their colleagues with their shields. Those in front hacked and stabbed, carving through the first wave of corpses with ruthless efficiency.
A chilling screech sounded from behind and Starn swung to see the cavalry sweep forward. They gathered speed, raised their swords, and charged.
\*\*\*
'Hurry!' Gaston shouted as a window shattered and claws raked through, heedless of the jagged glass. 'We need to leave now.'
Maldark swung his war-hammer, crushing a hand. A head appeared above the window sill, its lips cyanosed and eyes sunken, tongue black and bloated like a slug. Gaston rammed his sword down its throat and ripped it free. The creature's eyes swelled with blood and gore spewed from its mouth. Gaston winced at the pain in his ribs as he twisted to make sure the priests were clearing the room.
Maldark smashed another ghoul in the face, spilling brains. Two more pushed through the window. Gaston hacked the head from the first with a double-fisted blow, and Maldark used his hammer like a battering ram to send the other flailing to the street below.
Ioana ushered Cadris, Agna, and Rhiannon out of the attic and onto the stairs. Gaston backed towards them, weaving his sword through the air as three more slavering corpses dragged themselves into the room. Maldark spun, the hammer arcing viciously and crushing a knee cap. Gaston lunged, skewering an eye and backslashing across the throat of the next. Claws tore at his face and he fell back, raising an arm for protection. Maldark bellowed and threw his weight against the three, bowling them out of the window. Gaston ran to his side and peered out. Scores of ghouls were scuttling up the walls like grotesque spiders. The street below was teeming with undead. They were pulling people from their homes and ripping into their flesh. Screams mingled with growls, causing Gaston's heart to sink. His breaths came hard and fast; his arms were leaden and shaky.
'Always hope, boy,' Maldark said, taking him by the shoulder and shoving him towards the door. 'Keep moving. Protect the priests.'
Maldark exited behind him and locked the door. Gaston squeezed past the priests on the stairwell and held up a hand for silence. He took the last few stairs to the ground floor on the balls of his feet, poking his head around the banister. Shadows passed across the shuttered windows, but the room was empty. Behind him Agna was panting, her face grey and drawn. Fat Cadris was a quivering mess, eyes darting every which way. Rhiannon was tight-lipped, her pupils like saucers. For a moment Gaston thought she was petrified, but then she met his gaze and he saw her grim resolve. She was scared half to death, like they all were, but she wasn't ready to fold.
Gaston crept to the front door and peered outside. A mass of undead hissed and snarled from the alleyway to the left. They immediately stopped their frenzied feeding and began to lurch towards him. He stole a look to the right. The street was clear and there was a flash of red. He blinked and looked again. It was Governor Gen waving from an adjacent alley. Behind him Gaston saw the glint of armour and swords.
'Quickly!' Zara Gen yelled. 'We'll cover you.'
A score of soldiers rushed from the alley and set up a line of shields across the street. Gaston recognized Captain Harding at their centre barking commands, eyes rooted unflinchingly to the advancing corpses.
Gaston turned to the priests on the stairs. 'To the door,' he said. 'Run to the right. The militia will buy us time.'
Ioana went first, angling behind the shield wall. Rhiannon had to half push half shove Cadris, and it seemed to take forever for his waddling bulk to cover the distance. Agna was even slower. By the time she was halfway across, the undead slammed into the militiamen with such weight that the line began to sunder.
Maldark roared and charged into the throng, his hammer rising and falling with tireless regularity. The first ranks of undead fell before his onslaught and Harding barked commands to his men. The shield wall began an orderly withdrawal back towards the alley. All the priests, bar Agna, had made it and the retreating troops almost collided with her.
Gaston sheathed his sword and sprinted from the doorway to sweep Agna up. He dumped her in the arms of Zara Gen and then pushed his way through the militiamen. The undead pressed forward like un unstoppable mudslide, hundreds more pouring from the tributary streets.
The soldiers locked shields behind Gaston and Maldark, casting nervous glances at Harding. Gaston caught the Captain's gaze and shuddered. He could just as easily have been looking in a mirror.
'Go,' Gaston said. 'We'll hold them as long as we can. No point us all dying.'
Harding was about to protest when Zara Gen called out to him.
'You heard the man, Harding. Follow me, and that's an order.'
Maldark crashed his hammer against the ground, sending a shockwave through the first ranks of undead. Amber lightning sparked from the hammerhead and the air about it started to shimmer.'
'You too, boy,' the dwarf growled at Gaston. 'You can do no more here. Look after Mater for me.'
Maldark suddenly lunged at Gaston and bundled him into the alleyway. One of the soldiers caught his arm and dragged him after the others. A loathsome cry went up from the undead and they swept towards the dwarf.
Gaston sprinted to catch up with the priests, the militia taking the rear in case Maldark couldn't hold off the horde. Rhiannon was urging Cadris forward, and Zara Gen struggled on with Agna over his shoulder. Ioana led the way like a frantic mother hen. When Gaston reached her, she touched his arm with shaking fingers.
'There are too many of them,' she said. 'I could try to stop them,' she fingered her Monas, 'but my faith...I don't know if...'
'Keep moving, Mater,' Gaston said. 'Otherwise Maldark's efforts will be for nothing.'
A cry from behind made him turn. Zara Gen lowered Agna to the ground, clutching his chest and breathing heavily.
'Can't go on,' he panted. 'Leave us here. I'll stay with her.'
Gaston jogged towards them. 'No way, Governor. You go. I'll stay---'
Something dark hurtled into him amidst the sound of breaking glass. Shards tore into his skin and hands gripped him around the throat, squeezing the breath from him. Zara Gen grabbed hold of the creature, but was struck across the face and sent flying into the wall. Gaston tried to pry the fingers from his neck, but they may as well have been made of steel. A rotting face pressed close, jagged teeth straining for his flesh. Gaston recoiled from the stench and kicked out with all his strength. His vision was starting to blur, his struggles growing weaker.
He saw a flash of movement behind the creature. Something white wrenched its head away. Gaston fell to his knees, panting for breath as Rhiannon slammed the ghoul into the ground and kicked it in the ribs, over and over. The creature shrieked and sprang up, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her into the side alley. Gaston forced himself to stand and staggered in pursuit. By the time he reached the alley, the ghoul's dismembered body was strewn all over the ground, but there was no sign of Rhiannon. He flopped against the wall, too exhausted to take another step.
\*\*\*
Skeletal steeds pulverized the shield wall, their riders hacking left and right.
Inevitable, thought Starn, but ten brave men had bought them precious seconds.
Up ahead, Dalglish drove a corridor through the ghouls, his men bunching into a wedge, cutting and thrusting with desperate fury.
The Emperor roared and spun to face the death-knights rolling over his men. A horse disintegrated from a double-fisted strike with his broadsword, the rider hurtling from the saddle, but immediately crawling back towards the fray. A score of riders wheeled to confront Hagalle, but he stood his ground, just as Starn knew he would. Hagalle bellowed his defiance and swung his sword in a wide arc, keeping them at bay.
Starn glanced back and saw that the last of Dalglish's men were through and running like the clappers as the undead closed ranks behind. With no time for thought, Starn grabbed Hagalle by the collar and dragged him towards the gap. The Emperor swore, but then saw what was happening and charged into the opening, kicking a corpse out of his way and trampling it underfoot.
Two ghouls moved behind the Emperor, but Starn was upon them, stabbing and slashing. He whirled as a death-knight reared up on its fleshless horse, grabbed a ghoul by the hair and threw it in the rider's path. Hagalle smashed his way through to the far side and Starn dashed after. More ghouls lunged at him, claws gouging his breastplate. Starn dived, rolling and clattering his way beyond the undead. Hagalle stepped over him and swept his blade into the horde, spilling putrid entrails to the ground. He backed away, hacking wildly, giving Starn time to find his feet and run.
'I say, Starn,' Hagalle yelled, pulling his sword from the belly of a cadaver and frowning at its blood-drenched yellow robes. 'Wasn't that Duke Farian's man, Torpin? Bigger pain in the arse in death than he was in life.'
The ghoul stumbled towards the Emperor and spewed black vomit over his breastplate. Hagalle backslashed almost nonchalantly and the creature's head flew into the air. The body teetered, the hands still feeling about for someone to throttle. Hagalle lopped an arm off at the shoulder and booted what was left of Torpin into the mass of undead. The ghouls leapt upon the former herald, ripping away grey flesh with gore-spattered jaws.
Starn's breaths were sticking in his throat, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't think of anything to say.
Hagalle took the lead with long loping strides, but Starn only had short legs and he was hardly in the best shape of his life. Mrs Starn's apple pie was likely to be the death of him, he thought as he took a quick breather, leaning against a wall.
Dalglish stood at the mouth of the narrow alley, urging him on. Starn held up a hand and sucked in some deep rasping breaths. A sound like a hundred melons being pulped came from behind and he looked back to see the death-knights riding over the ghouls and hacking them out of the way with rusted blades. The front two were almost through. Now or never, Starn told himself, and sprinted for the alley.
Dalglish and two others flowed back past him and locked shields. Hagalle grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him after the retreating troops.
'Keep going, General. Don't want to lose you now.'
The clash of blades on shields rang out behind as Starn struggled away from the melee. Two more soldiers ran to aid Dalglish and slow the advance of the death-knights. Good strategy, Starn thought. Dalglish had the knights bottle-necked. They could only come on two abreast, the shield wall giving ground one step at a time.
'More of them up ahead!' someone shouted down the line.
Hagalle was straining to see over their heads and cursed. 'Where the Abyss are they coming from?'
Starn lacked the height to see. 'How many?' he asked.
'Too damned many,' Hagalle said.
'Over there,' Starn said, spotting a passage between two houses and leading the way. The troop pounded after him until they reached an open square with an ornamental fountain at its centre. A broad avenue led away to the east, and cobbled alleyways ran to the north and west.
'We can't keep running,' Hagalle said. 'The men are exhausted and our passage north is blocked.'
Starn grimaced and then pointed to the broad base of the fountain that stood a couple of feet above the ground. 'Form up there,' he said. 'Shield wall facing the avenue.'
He was certain the death-knights would come that way, otherwise they'd lose the advantage of numbers.
Dalglish backed into the square with two bloodied men.
'Good show, Captain,' Hagalle said. 'Get those men behind the shield wall.'
Dalglish took his place in the wall beside Starn. 'Last stand time, eh?' He forced a grin that didn't extend to his eyes.
'We'll get out of this,' Starn said, not knowing who he was trying to kid. 'We have to. Told Mrs Starn I'd be back for our anniversary.'
Starn eyed the opening of the passageway they'd come through. As he'd expected, there was no sign of pursuit from the undead knights. Some of the men started to relax and lower their shields.
'Stay alert, lads,' Starn said, pointing to the avenue with his sword. 'They'll not give up so easily.'
The rumble of hooves rolled towards them, funnelling down the avenue and rising to a thunderous roar.
'Steady,' Starn mumbled to himself. 'Lock those shields!' His throat was raw from shouting. 'Stand your ground, and let's see if we can break this wave.'
He did a quick headcount as the knights came into view amidst a swirl of dust. Sixteen men standing, two of them badly wounded. One fragile line against a cavalry charge at least a hundred strong.
'General,' Dalglish spoke in his ear. 'Don't want to add to the gloom, but back there, in the alleyway, the ones we cut down just got up again. They can't be killed.'
Starn chewed on the edge of his moustache. So this was it, then. No more of Mrs Starn's apple pie. No more lazy nights on the porch sipping wine. Still, best be grateful for the times he'd had. He almost wished he was like the Nousians; right now he'd have loved a god to thank for Mrs Starn. Wonderful woman. The best.
And then the knights hit.
The force was colossal, driving the shield wall back against the fountain. Men screamed, bones snapped, blades clashed. Starn felt like his face had been slammed into a wall. He was surrounded by a blurry confusion, his ears assaulted by the din. Someone fell, clutching his arm. He tried to grab the fellow and then saw the fingers were mere bones. He struck at the severed hand with the pommel of his sword as it started to crawl towards his shoulder. He managed to slip the blade underneath and flick the thing off. Someone pulled him back and two soldiers stepped in front with shields raised. Starn shook his head, trying to restore his vision. The plinth had saved them, he was sure of it. The front horses must have tripped and those behind ploughed into them.
There was furious fighting all around him. The man in front screamed as a sword punched through his back. Starn stabbed past his thrashing body, his blade grating against metal. To his left, Hagalle stood out above the others, his broadsword rising and falling with savage fury. But Dalglish had been right. No sooner had the death-knights been struck down than their bones crawled back together and they returned to the fight.
Another soldier fell, blood spurting from his throat. Dalglish stood alone against two mounted foes. Starn forced himself forwards and parried a blow from one as Dalglish hammered his sword into the other's horse, dislodging the rider. Starn jumped out of the way of a hoof and sliced the leg off at the knee. The horse tottered and the rider fell forward straight into the path of Starn's backslash. The helmeted head clattered to the floor, righted itself, and glared at him with flaming eyes.
Dalglish staggered, blood spilling from a gash to his arm. Starn caught him and lashed out, denting a rusty shield. Four more riders pressed towards him and he had to lower Dalglish to the ground to face them. Hagalle's sword still clove into the death-knights, but Starn could see no one else standing.
He turned the blade of one skeleton rider and grabbed the rim of its shield with his free hand, wrenching the arm out of its socket. The horse fell to its side, hampering the approach of the other three and affording Starn time to snatch up the shield. Another horse reared up, flailing about with its hooves. Starn stepped under them and slammed the shield into the beast. He met a vicious swing from a death-knight with his sword and punched the shield into its face. Another parry, a backward step, and he tripped on something, toppling onto Dalglish. A death-knight swung down, but Starn got behind his shield, his arm numbed by the force of the blow. He tried to stand, but his feet got caught up. The death-knight raised its sword again, then suddenly veered away to the left as if carried away by a tidal wave. White shapes flashed by amidst the undead, bright steel scintillating in the sun. Starn fell on his side and could see nothing but Dalglish's bloodless face staring wide-eyed up at the sky.
\*\*\*
Maldark heaved against the living corpses piling on top of him, but knew it was hopeless. He felt the closeness of death and was relieved. If it was just about him, he'd have stopped struggling right then.
Throwing aside caution, he clung onto his hammer with a death-grip and narrowed his eyes. Heat coursed through the haft, singeing his fingers. Maldark gritted his teeth and hung on, the weight of the dead pressing him flat. He twisted his head to breathe, but his lungs refused to expand. A colossal roar burst forth from the hammer, accompanied by an explosion of golden light. The mountain of undead shuddered and then disintegrated, the ashes of the ghouls blasted into the air.
A new vigour flooded Maldark's body and he surged to his feet brandishing the hammer that now shone with the intensity of the sun. More and more undead lurched from the buildings, jaws gaping and dripping gore. Maldark spun, searching for any sign of his companions. The dead had closed the path behind. He could see nothing but a great ring of putrid flesh tightening around him. Raising the hammer aloft, he bit down thoughts of unworthiness and let the words of the psalm pour from his lips.
' "Why, O Lord, are they multiplied that afflict me? Many are they who rise up against me." '
He swung the hammer in a wide circle, following its arc and spinning with increasing speed. As he whirled, thoughts of betrayal rose to torment him; the faces of dead friends, the broken bodies of the grandchildren of Eingana.
Beams of amber streamed from the hammerhead, driving back the hordes of undead.
' "I will not fear thousands of the people surrounding me: arise, O Lord; save me, O my God." '
Unfaithfulness stabbed him like a rusted blade. He had no right to call upon the Lord. The only faith remaining to him was clutched firmly in his hands.
He continued to draw upon the puissance of his hammer, his veins swelling, his skin stretched to bursting. His eyes snapped wide and a scream tore from his throat as golden light exploded with the brilliance of a million stars.
The undead wailed and then flew towards him, sucked by tremendous force. Wave after wave spun towards the hammerhead, vanishing into the air the instant they touched it. As the last of them passed from existence, Maldark collapsed to his knees, feeling as if he'd aged a century. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart rattled against his ribs, but it didn't matter. He'd triumphed, and in some small way he'd started to atone.
The hammer sent a trickle of warmth up his arms, settling his breathing and granting him the strength to stand. The radiance faded from the head and the haft grew cold as ice.
The chill extended to his spine, the nape of his neck. A shadow fell over his mind and Maldark clenched his teeth. There was always a price to pay. As he'd expected, his use of the power in his hammer hadn't gone unnoticed.
Perhaps there was still time. If he could just make it to a building...
Barely had he taken a step when a gigantic black hand materialized in the air before him. Maldark felt a sickening dread he'd not experienced for centuries; a naked vulnerability at the core of his being. He'd felt it before, back on Aethir. That was the day he'd betrayed Eingana.
\*\*\*
Fleshless hands closed around Hagalle's neck. He rammed his elbow back, wincing as it struck bone. A skeletal rider flung itself from its horse, but he ran it through the ribs even as more hands pulled him from behind. He shifted his weight, twisted and hurled his assailant over his head to crash into the nearest death-knights. A blade clanged off his breastplate and Hagalle chopped down, severing an arm. Something white flashed to his right. He spun, ready to strike.
'Climb up.' A sandy-haired youth on a grey horse offered his hand.
Hagalle swung into the saddle behind him and gripped hard with his knees. The horse reared as two of the undead cavalry charged. The lad hacked the head from the first knight and the grey smashed its hooves into the other's horse, splintering bone and pitching the rider to the ground.
'Hold on,' the youth called over his shoulder as they thundered towards a line of undead horsemen.
Hagalle toppled backwards, but managed to catch hold of the lad's cloak. His sword arm trailed behind, and it was all he could do to keep his grip on the weapon. They hit the death-knights with a thunderous crack. Shards of bone shot all around them, but the lad leaned low against the horse's mane and Hagalle buried his face in the cloak.
'We're through!' the lad cried as they hit the broad avenue and kept going.
Hagalle turned his head and saw a dozen or so white-garbed knights following them. The death-knights were in disarray, but they were already re-forming.
'Stop,' he called out. 'We must go back.' The youth slowed to a canter as the other knights drew alongside. 'No way,' he said. 'That'd be suicide.' 'Do you know who I am, boy?' Hagalle growled, and then he caught sight of the lad's face. 'I know who you are.' It was Barek Thomas, the lad Hagalle had recently crucified. 'And you're too important to lose.' Hagalle shook his head. Curse his cowardly body, he'd started to tremble now he was out of the battle. 'Why?' Barek met his gaze. 'Because that's what we were trained to do.' 148
Hagalle rubbed at his temples. It made no sense. 'My men,' he muttered. 'We can't leave them.'
'They're dead,' Barek said.
A red-haired knight rode alongside. 'As we'll be, if we don't keep moving.'
'Glad you made it, Justin,' Barek said. 'Elgin? Solomon?'
Justin pointed to a brawny youth and a skinny runt sharing a waterskin and casting nervous glances back towards the square.
Barek nodded, but there was no joy in his eyes. There were only twelve riders remaining.
'How many...?' Hagalle started to ask.
'Too many,' Barek said, spurring the horse on as the death-knights drew up for another charge.
\*\*\*
Maldark dropped his hammer as the black hand snatched him up and soared into the air high above the city. A chilling voice cut through his awareness.
'I know you.'
The voice had a grating quality. It sounded clipped and artificial, but there was no denying who it belonged to.
'Sektis Gandaw.' The name left Maldark's lips like a curse.
'Maldark the turncoat. How did you get here?'
The giant fingers tightened around his ribs.
'A swirling eye,' Maldark said. 'A stormy sea. The Lord cast me into Gehenna and I passed into the Abyss. Next I appeared upon a red mountain in the desert.'
'Mystical nonsense,' Sektis Gandaw said. 'And to think I held such high hopes for the dwarves. That's what happens when you throw in rogue genes. I assume you know where the statue is. That is why you're here, isn't it?'
'Thou art the all-seeing one,' Maldark said. 'Why doest thou not tell me where it is?'
The hand released him and Maldark plummeted towards the ground. He closed his eyes and steeled himself for death, but the impact never came. His head was wrenched back and there was excruciating pain in his face and neck. He hung suspended by his beard, which was gripped by the thumb and forefinger of the giant hand.
'I'd rather hoped,' said Sektis Gandaw's voice in his head, 'your face would come away with the beard. You dwarves are too full of surprises. See how easy it is to kill you. You're nothing but an insect. You were at the centre of a power surge, dwarf. Tell me, where is the statue? Do you have a piece?'
'What if I do? Doest thou forget, I've seen inside your mountain? Thy secrets are known to me. The black hand lacks the power to carry objects through the planes. Death holds no fear for me. Perhaps God will still be merciful. Drop me.'
Maldark spasmed as sparks erupted around the hand.
'Nothing!' The hand shook him. 'What have you done with it?'
The fingers started to blink in and out of existence and Maldark fell.
'I'll find it,' Sektis Gandaw's voice echoed as the hand winked out of view.
Maldark dropped limply through the air. He held his arms wide and smiled. He hit something, bounced, and then tumbled down a rooftop. Instinctively, he clutched at the guttering as he rolled over the edge. Pain lanced through his shoulder and he let go, bouncing off a ledge and landing with a sickening thud on the ground.
He lay there for a minute and then gingerly started to test his limbs. Nothing broken, but he was going to hurt like hell on the morrow. He rolled to his knees and carefully stood. His skull felt like it was being pounded with a thousand sledgehammers and he staggered and nearly collapsed. Shaking his head to clear it, he took a faltering step and tripped over the haft of his hammer. Strange sort of luck, Maldark grumbled internally as he lifted it. Arnochian granite. He patted the hammerhead. Must have kept Sektis Gandaw from detecting what was within. Whatever claims the Technocrat made about the creation of the dwarves, they had more tricks up their sleeves than he could account for.
Shouldering the weapon, he muttered a prayer for the others and stumbled in the direction of the river. He was sure he'd seen a tavern there. A drink or two to restore his soul and then he'd summon his boat and return to the ocean. Sektis Gandaw had the scent of him now. There was no point imperilling the others.
\*\*\*
What is that fearsome clatter?
'You drop something dear?' Starn mumbled into the dirt.
What on earth was he doing on the ground? Last thing he remembered was opening a bottle of Shiraz out on the porch. Can't have drunk that much, surely.
He covered his ears with his hands as a roaring tumult passed all around him. It sounded like a river bursting its banks, or the approach of a cyclone.
'Ethna? Ethna, are you all right?'
He had to get back to the house, shutter the windows. Oh, where was Mrs Starn?
And then he remembered.
Starn sat up and watched the death-knights thunder past, pooling at the mouth of the southern alleyway and then filtering through two at a time.
Dalglish groaned beside him. 'What's that racket?' he rasped.
Dalglish was lying in a puddle of blood, most of which seemed to be coming from his arm. Starn fumbled about in his pocket for his handkerchief and applied pressure the way the surgeons did. It was then that he noticed another wound---a bubbling slit beneath Dalglish's breastbone. Dalglish's eyes opened a little and his cracked and dry lips parted.
'Shhh,' Starn said. 'They're going, Captain, though goodness knows why. Just you lie still.'
Shouts went up from the eastern avenue and men began to stream into the square. Armoured men. Familiar men. Men of the Imperial army.
'Here!' Starn waved to get their attention. 'Man down. We need help.'
Hundreds of soldiers advanced, teams of them going to secure the entrances.
'Let them go!' Duke Farian shouted above the hubbub.
As the Duke stood surveying the carnage the Emperor strode to his side. Farian said something and pointed at Starn. With that, Hagalle pushed his way through the ranks of soldiers and came to kneel at Starn's side.
'General,' he said, voice thick with emotion. 'Thank the gods you made it.'
There were tears in the Emperor's eyes, and for a moment Starn thought Hagalle was going to hug him.
'Dalglish is hurt,' Starn said.
'A surgeon!' Hagalle bellowed into the mass of troops.
'What's happening?' Dalglish said in a reedy voice.
'Doctor's coming.' Starn smiled down at him. 'You'll be right as rain in a few days.'
Dalglish's head rolled to the side, the barest of smiles touching his lips. 'Think the Emperor will send me home?'
Starn looked at Hagalle. The Emperor's face was drawn, the tears falling freely. Starn stroked the hair away from Dalglish's face.
'Course he will, lad. Course he will. And when you get there, tell Mrs Starn I said to make you some chicken soup.'
Dalglish gave a rattling sigh.
'Tell her that from me, lad,' Starn said. 'Nice bowl of soup. Have you better in no time.'
But Dalglish was no longer listening.
SEKTIS GANDAW'S SHAMAN
As a child, Shadrak might've thought this latest turn of events was unfair. Against his better judgement he'd led a posse of prats into the Maze, almost lost his life in the process, and then ended up enslaved by the Technocrat of the Ancients' world---a man who should have returned to the dust centuries ago. As if that weren't enough, once he'd fulfilled his task to assassinate Shader and steal the statue, he'd been chased by some kind of ghost and then set upon by the crazed son of Bovis Rayn. To add insult to injury, he'd not only lost some of his best weapons in the fight, but he'd picked up some nasty bruises from the black-haired bitch along the way. And to think she'd seemed no more than a sad drunk that night at the Griffin. That fateful bloody night.
If he hadn't been contracted to kill Bovis Rayn, he wouldn't have been shot with his own weapon. If he hadn't needed treatment from Cadman, he'd have never gone to the pub, never gotten involved with this Eingana business. If he hadn't run into mawgs in the Maze, and if Kadee's lingering influence hadn't made him inform the Sicarii, he'd not have been sent back with the journeymen. If he'd listened to his instincts and run when he'd had the chance, he wouldn't now be pressed in amongst a horde of mangy mawgs waiting to disembark.
The statue was bad news, he was certain of that. And there were things happening that were unnatural, to say the least. The shadowy presence of Sektis Gandaw, the dark wraith that had pursued him, and then, during the brief sea battle with the carrack, he'd seen the man he'd recently stabbed in the back staring at him across the waves. Shadrak dealt in certainties. His reputation had been built on careful planning, stealth, and making sure the odds were stacked decisively in his favour. Whatever was happening here, the child Shadrak would have definitely whined that it was unfair. But Shadrak was no longer a child, and if he'd learnt anything from adulthood it was that life wasn't fair. You only had to look at Kadee's slow death to see that. You only had to look at the scorn he'd endured growing up. Sometimes his victims would beg for mercy, and when they realized it was in short demand, they'd sometimes cry about it not being fair. Who says fair has anything to do with it? he'd say. The strong and the cunning survive, the weak perish. That's just the way it is.
The mass of fur moved and Shadrak was borne along with it. For once he was cursing his strong sense of smell. "Shit" would have been doing the stench a disservice. It was far worse than that. Yellow eyes glared at him, hungry for his flesh, but the creatures displayed remarkable willpower. None of them touched him. Sektis Gandaw was clearly a master to be obeyed.
The throng parted at the foot of the gangplank and Shadrak took his body through a series of stretches. The heat was oppressive, a hazy mist rising from the jungle floor and lending the trees a dreamlike quality. The tangled vines and creepers almost seemed to writhe, the moss upon the bark shifting into patterns that could have been faces. Shadrak's cloak was already heavy with damp, but he refused to remove it. Best be prepared for anything, he told himself as he checked his remaining weapons: the stiletto he'd stabbed Shader with, the thunder-shot, and half a dozen razor stars. No more exploding vials. He frowned at that. As soon as he got back to Sahul he'd need another trip to the hub of the Maze.
They'd stopped at a natural harbour, a widening of the estuary that was hemmed with roughly built jetties. One other boat was moored on the far side, a small fishing vessel by the looks of it. Shadrak squinted. There was a man sitting at the oars, casting nervous looks in their direction. A group of mawgs had noticed too and waded into the water.
A hulking brute lumbered towards him, rows of needle-like teeth protruding from black lips.
'Take statue to village,' it growled. 'Give to Krylyrd.'
Shadrak held its predatory gaze. After a tense standoff the mawg looked down. Shadrak noted the backwards bend of its knees, the tough ened leather of its torso. The limbs were protected by thick fur, the face as rigid as an old saddle. Points of weakness: eyes and armpits. If the jaws were open he'd fancy his chances with a blade through the roof of the mouth. Tough bastards, these mawgs. Always paid to know your enemy.
The mawg snarled and turned away, almost running on all fours as it rejoined the pack. There must have been a hundred or more entering the jungle, and at least as many still onboard the galleon. Barks and growls passed between the ship and those on the shore. Ropes were uncoiled and the gangplank was raised.
Shadrak was distracted by a chorus of yelps and the sound of splashing from the group who'd entered the water. They were swimming towards the fishing boat at an alarming speed. The oarsman half stood, teetered, and steadied himself on the side of his craft. He quickly set about untying the rope tethering him to the jetty. The instant he resumed his seat and lifted the oars, the mawgs capsized the boat and ripped into his flesh. Blood sprayed in a fountain, a dark stain spilling across the water.
When Shadrak looked back to the galleon it was already underway, drifting back down the estuary towards the ocean. Presumably a lift home wasn't part of the arrangement. Still, if the mawgs had been ordered to kill him, they'd have done so by now. Evidently Sektis Gandaw had other tasks in mind for Shadrak.
He was about to start after the pack that had all but disappeared into the jungle when a dark shape flitted across his peripheral vision. Shadrak crouched down, pulling his cloak about him, but it was too late. He'd already been spotted.
Coal-fire eyes burned into him, and for an instant Shadrak froze. What could you do against an enemy that couldn't be killed? Cold dread sluiced through his veins and his body grew weary and leaden.
What's the point of despair? Kadee's level voice commandeered his thoughts. Eingana will break the sinew when she's ready, and there's not much you can do about it. But she does expect you to go down fighting.
Shadrak clenched his jaw. That's what Kadee had done: gone down fighting against impossible odds. Unfair, perhaps, but she'd never complained about it.
He fought back the trembling as the wraith soared closer, its rusted chainmail and age-yellowed tabard growing more substantial. A blade of black fire appeared in its hand.
Shadrak took a step towards the jetty where the fishing boat was moored, but the creature seemed to sense his intention and moved to intercept him. Plucking two razor stars from his baldric, he held them beneath his cloak and waited.
The wraith towered above him, a brooding shadow that shut out the sunlight. Its sword arm extended towards him, the black blade a hair's breadth from his throat.
'The statue you stole from the knight,' the wraith hissed, holding out a spectral hand as if there were no choice but to comply.
Something grey sprang from the trees and the ebon sword swept down, slicing through fur and hide as if it were nothing but air. The mawg's severed torso fell to the jungle floor amidst spurts of brackish blood.
Another mawg shoved Shadrak towards the tree-line and launched itself at the wraith, snarling and clawing. Shadrak hurtled through thick vegetation, the death cries of the mawg spurring him on. Thorns tore at his cloak and scratched his face. He hurdled a log, charged straight through a bramble bush, and swung across a patch of bubbling mud on a liana. Cold frost assailed his back and it seemed as though a black cloud pursued him. Chill air swirled about his neck and he felt the icy touch of a spectral hand. He threw himself to one side, flinging the razor stars one after the other. Both hit the mark, but passed through the wraith with no effect.
Scrabbling backwards, Shadrak drew the thunder-shot and pulled the trigger. There was a faint click, but nothing more. That's why he always made such a fuss about being prepared. Should have gone back to the hub for more bullets before going after Shader.
The shadow-knight stalked towards him, making no attempt to defend itself. What would have been the point? The situation was hopeless. Nothing Shadrak could do would halt its progress. All his skill, all his training, and there was no chance. Life just wasn't fair.
He backed away and tripped over a fallen trunk. Terror sapped his strength and despair flooded his heart. Shadrak reached into his pouch and withdrew the serpent statue. He held it out to the wraith, but the creature turned at a demonic screech from behind.
A ferocious looking mawg clad in crocodile hide and human bones snapped shut its jaws and shook a gourd in front of the wraith. A sharp rhythmic beat cut through the air and the mawg began to hop and gesticulate. Its face was contorted into a grotesque leer, its body taut, fingers clutching. The wraith drifted towards the mawg but was halted by a violent thrust of the gourd and a bloodcurdling scream.
'No! You cannot stand against me! I am Callixus!' the wraith cried as it swirled into a black mist and was sucked forcefully into a vortex above its head.
'Ha!' The mawg clapped his hands with glee. 'Gone to the Void!'
Shadrak climbed to his feet.
'I Krylyrd,' it said. 'Shaman of Sektis Gandaw. Come, you have what he wants. He be pleased with Krylyrd. You see.'
'Sail ho!' Elpidio hollered from the crow's nest. Podesta jabbed his rum bottle in the direction of the black galleon skirting the coast of the archipelago and then took another swig. 'Seems our reaver knows her business.' He let out a burp. 'Coastal reef must have taken a thousand ships at one time or another.'
Shader clung to the forestays, swinging as the ship careened to starboard. They pitched into a deep trough and then righted, the bowsprit ploughing into another colossal wave. If Podesta hadn't looked so blithe, Shader would have panicked and kept as close as he could to the longboat. On second thoughts, he'd have probably lashed himself to the mainmast and prayed. Maybe this once Ain would take pity on him.
Podesta could quite as easily have been strolling in a tranquil garden, the roiling waters affording about as much attention as a pleasing blossom or a passing butterfly. The finding of the boy aboard the Dolphin seemed to have settled him. It didn't matter that the child wasn't eating and had a raging fever. He'd hardly stopped coughing since they found him, and his skin was waxy and pale. It seemed he'd taken a few scratches, which had turned nasty. Sabas had been charged with caring for him. Podesta's job was apparently done.
'Don't worry about the reef, my friend,' he said. 'I'm given to exaggeration. Can't have been more than a hundred wrecked.'
Shader took scant comfort from that.
The black sails of the reaver bulged like swollen stomachs as they caught the wind.
'Heading south into open water,' Podesta said, squinting over the prow. 'Not their usual hunting grounds.'
The Captain knitted his brows and gazed into his half-empty bottle. 'Can't understand why we've not run into more of them.'
Shader was well aware the Captain had been expecting trouble from the mawgs. The crew had been practising with more Aeterna-tech weapons---long slim barrels that blasted smoke and fired lead balls at frightening velocities. Cleto had been below decks pouring over the hand-written notes that had come with the shipment.
It seemed that the Templum archives had developed a leak, and it wouldn't have surprised Shader if it had come from within. There had been pressure on the Ipsissimus for years to return the knowledge of the Ancients to the world, not least of all from his likely successor, Exemptus Silvanus. Shader couldn't say he was too impressed with the weapons Podesta had procured. They took an age to load and sometimes exploded in your face. They also seemed ill-suited to fighting at sea. Cleto had made the discovery that the volatile powder responsible for producing the blast was rendered useless if exposed to damp. They'd have been better off with a couple more of the devastating weapons Cleto had used earlier; it might have only given them a single shot, but at least it had been a good one.
The Aura Placida sailed on past the archipelago and entered a strait between two larger islands. They tacked towards the northernmost shore and into a narrow estuary. All around the deck sailors scanned the shoreline whilst holding cutlasses, crossbows, and the Aeternam weapons.
The estuary broadened as they followed it inland until they entered a natural harbour fringed with mangroves. Jetties made from huge logs cut across the water. Podesta was frowning at them and tutting.
'Don't like this,' he said. 'Don't like it at all. Where are they, uh?'
Shader spotted an upturned boat bobbing beside a jetty off the starboard side. 'Doesn't look mawgish,' he said.
Podesta snapped open his spyglass and took a look. 'It isn't. That's a Sahulian fishing boat, or I'm a teetotal landlubber. Now what the shog is that doing all the way out here, uh?'
'And where's the crew?' Shader said.
Podesta's face was grim as he looked to the helmsman. 'Turn us into the wind, Mr Dekker.'
'Aye, Captain.'
Podesta cupped his hands to his mouth and his voice boomed out. 'Furl the sails! Ready the anchor!'
Shader gave him a questioning look.
'Don't want to be caught in the shallows, uh?' Podesta said. 'We'll take the longboat. That way, if the reavers come, the ship still has a fighting chance.'
The air grew still and humid the further they got from the ocean, leaving the sailors sweat-drenched and complaining as they went about their tasks. Shader removed his armour and unbuttoned his shirt. He borrowed a cutlass from Podesta to make up for the loss of his longsword. Sabas filled a backpack with provisions for him, and there was just about room enough to cram the Liber in on top.
Podesta left Dekker in charge and then climbed into the longboat beside Shader. The near-invisible Osric drifted at the bow, red eyes smouldering at the lapping waves. Cleto was next aboard, shouldering one of the Aeternam weapons, a cutlass swinging from his hip. Two more armed sailors followed him, stripping off their shirts and taking the oars.
The heat intensified as they took a tributary river into the mangroves. Here and there the muddy banks were scarred with skid marks that led down to the water.
'Crocodile launch sites,' Podesta said.
Shader's eyes were fixed on the water for any sign of movement.
'The crocs out here are big,' Podesta said, seemingly unconcerned. 'Seen them up to thirty foot. Tear a boat apart in seconds. Not much you can do about it if they attack, eh? Might as well not worry.'
'Thanks for the reassurance,' Shader said, fingering the pommel of his shortsword. 'Thought we'd have seen more mawgs by now.'
'Crocs probably got 'em,' sniggered one of the rowers.
'That's been troubling me, too,' Podesta said, wiping the sweat from his eyes and scanning the shoreline. 'They should be snarling and throwing rocks at us by now.'
'There they are,' the other rower said, dropping oar momentarily to point at the left bank.
Half a dozen of the creatures were huddled together, watching them.
'Those are just children,' Podesta said.
Cleto tugged one of the rowers away from his oar and took his place. 'Go get me one,' he said, a malign grin splitting his face.
'I ain't going near no crocs,' the sailor said.
Cleto grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. 'You'll go, Rodders, 'cause you're the best swimmer.'
'But...' Rodders looked to Podesta, but the Captain seemed busy picking dirt from his fingernails.
'You'll go, Rodders, 'cause you know I'll do you far worse than any croc if you don't,' Cleto said. 'Get my meaning?'
Rodders swallowed and took a deep breath.
He entered the water on the side away from the mawg children and swam beneath the boat to surface amidst a dense cluster of reeds. Shader frowned as he realized what Rodders was up to. One of the mawg children, a girl by the looks of it, came closer to the water's edge to study the boat. Rodders grabbed her and dragged her squealing into the water. The other mawg children shrieked and took off into the jungle as Rodders returned with his captive. Podesta helped haul the mawg to the deck and yelped as she sank her teeth into his forearm. He clouted her across the face, slamming her to the deck where she hissed and glared at him with yellow eyes.
'Cleto,' Podesta said, clamping a hand over his bleeding forearm and looking daggers at the mawg child. 'She's all yours. I want to know where the reavers are and where we can find this blasted Albino.'
Cleto grinned, grabbed the child by the scruff of her neck, and dragged her to the back of the boat.
'Cleto speaks mawgish,' Podesta said, rummaging through a pack and pulling out a bandage. 'Main reason I let him join the crew. He's also an extremely persuasive fellow.'
A shrill scream erupted from the child, causing Shader to reach for his sword.
Podesta placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. 'How important is this mission to you, uh? Sometimes tough measures are necessary for quick results. But all will be forgiven if the outcome is good, no?'
Shader shook his head, but relaxed his grip on the sword.
'Don't worry, mate,' one of the sailors said. 'They don't feel pain like we do.'
There was a succession of thuds, a sickening gurgling noise, and then a sound like the ripping of cloth. Shader shut his eyes and hoped Ain had done the same.
There was a loud splash as Cleto dumped the body overboard and came to report his findings.
'Village is set back in the jungle.' He pointed to the left. 'But if we keep going down the watercourse we'll come up on the far side. It's gotta be safer. Could be all sorts of shit waiting for us in the trees.'
Cleto twisted his neck at the sound of splashing. The body of the mawg girl was being thrashed about in the jaws of a colossal crocodile.
'Death roll.' Cleto grinned as the monster began to turn over and over in the water, the mawg's corpse following limply like a rag doll.
'And Shadrak?' Shader asked, swallowing his rage. His nerves were on fire, muscles tense with the suppressed desire to ram a blade through Cleto's pockmarked face. It wasn't Cleto he should have been angry with, though. He should have felt shame for permitting it, but he already had more than enough of that.
'Last seen heading to the village on foot. Seems our reaver's gone to join the mawgish fleet.'
'The mawgs have fleets now?' Podesta said.
'So she said.' Cleto turned back to the blood spreading across the water. The crocodile went under, taking the child with it. Bubbles frothed madly on the surface, gradually petering out. 'And this one's after some pretty big prey, if the child's to be believed.'
The longboat continued through the swamp for another hour until it came to a vast inland lake. They grounded in the shallows and Shader waded ashore. He pushed through slick foliage until he came to a cluster of dwellings crafted from bark and huge leaves bound together with twine. The bark had been sealed with a resin of some sort, presumably to render it waterproof. Podesta came puffing and panting up alongside Shader, mopping the perspiration from his face.
'Your ghostly friend seems to have vanished.' He gestured with his thumb in the direction of the boat.
'He hates the sun even more than I do,' Shader said, tilting his hat. 'Loses substance in the light. He'll be somewhere nearby.'
'I'll mind what I say then.' Podesta glanced about nervously. 'Looks like the mawg child was right. Looks like they packed up and took to the sea. Perhaps they got wind of our coming and fled before my fearsome reputation.'
Shader blinked to clear the sweat from his eyes. The village extended deep into the jungle, the shelters packed closely together and radiating out from the centre in tight symmetrical formations.
A slight chilling of the air alerted Shader to Osric's presence.
'There is something happening above the village,' the wraith said. 'I travelled to the foothills and heard drumming and chanting.'
'Cleto, Ned, with us. Rodders, you stay with the boat,' Podesta said.
'But...' Rodders started, and then raised his hands in surrender as Cleto scowled.
'Hail Hagalle!' Elias saluted a column of infantrymen snaking down Wharf Way. 'Not cool,' he muttered. Lallia seemed to think otherwise. Her eyes were glued to the uniformed arses and sparkling with more than reflected sunlight.
'Liberation and oppression: two sides of the same coin.' Elias leaned in front to get her attention. 'Walking corpses or marching...' He struggled to find the right word.
'Hunks?' Lallia said, licking her lips. 'Bed warmers?' Elias rubbed his fingers vigorously through his straggly hair. 'You really are a tart, aren't you?' Lallia opened her mouth in feigned shock. 'Just a healthy interest. It's not every day half the Imperial army marches through your home town.'
'Oh, I'll bet you'll be seeing a whole lot more of the army boys from now on. Don't expect ol' Hags to just up and leave. Cadman's given him all the excuse he needs to tighten the reins of power. You wait, there'll be flags on every rooftop and paid thugs roving the streets making sure we salute right. Before you know it there'll be taxes to pay for them, and you know what'll happen next, don't you?'
Lallia rolled her eyes.
'His Imperial nutcase will start searching for the enemy within. Mark my words, Fanny-go-lightly, he'll be rounding up anyone a bit deviant, anyone who sticks out from the crowd. And you know who'll be first, don't you?' He turned the corner into the Domus Tyalae and made a wide sweep with his arm. 'Your friendly neighbourhood religious minority.'
Elias's cart was still parked outside the templum. Hector was chewing nonchalantly on the hedgerows. The horse swung its huge head towards him as he approached, snorted, and let fall a steaming pile of dung.
'Sorry I left you, Hec.' Elias patted the horse's flanks and scratched him behind the ear. 'Let's see if there's some oats in the cart. Don't think those leaves are good for your digestion.'
'I couldn't care less if Hagalle hangs the lot of them,' Lallia said, glaring at the portico. 'If it hadn't been for the Nousians none of this would have happened.'
Elias grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him. 'Are your brains as loose as your knickers? The Nousians didn't start this, and in case you hadn't noticed, the chaps in the rusty armour with the flaming eyes were nothing more than zombies. I tell you, it's like landing a role in Dawn of the...Never mind. You're too young for that. My point is that the puppet-master's to blame, not the priests.'
'Cadman?'
'Who else? Unless someone's pulling his strings. There's a whole lot of weird shit going down and I'm starting to feel like an itsy bitsy player in someone else's story. You know the sort---where it's all pre-ordained and the characters just get swept along by some fatalistic cosmic tide.'
Frater Hugues appeared in the shattered remains of the doorway, his robes stained with various shades of brown and green. He was brushing what looked like potato peelings from his hair and mumbling to himself.
'Still here then?' Elias said as he sauntered over to the porch. 'You missed all the excitement.'
'Holy Ain!' A big grin lit up Hugues's gnomic face and he went to hug Elias. The bard held up his hands and fanned his fingers beneath his nose.
'Sorry,' Hugues said. 'Been hiding in the compost. Mater sent me to get cleaned up.' Hugues's face turned suddenly sullen, just the way Elias remembered him. 'And I've had more than my fair share of excitement, thank you very much. Demons and walking corpses. It's enough to test your faith, that's a fact. The others are inside. Only got back a short while ago.'
'Rhiannon?' Elias said, already stepping inside the templum.
'Not with them,' Hugues said with a frown. 'We've lost Limus too, and the dwarf.'
Elias swayed, a wave of nausea washing over him. 'What happened?'
Hugues narrowed his eyes and touched his forehead as Lallia approached. He pointedly kept his attention on Elias. 'Best ask those who were there.' He nodded inside, pressing his back to the wall as Lallia squeezed past.
She paused and held out a hand to him, as if she expected him to kiss it. Hugues stared at it like it was a mouldy kipper washed in by the tide, his eyes wide and jaw clenched shut.
'Lallia, Frater Hugues,' Elias said. 'Hugues, this is Lallia. I think she likes you.'
\*\*\*
Soror Agna passed Elias a steaming mug of tea.
'Help yourself, dear.' She gave a tight-lipped smile to Lallia before seating herself with the others at the refectory table.
The room was a mess---broken chairs, piles of glass that had been swept into a corner, patches of dried blood on the floor. The table itself had a couple of deep gouges out of the surface, and one of the legs had been hurriedly nailed into place.
Ioana had aged ten years, it seemed to Elias. She sat with her hands clasped at the head of the table. Elias wasn't sure whether to sip his tea or wait for a blessing. In the end he decided on the former.
Cadris was cramming crumbling fruit cake into his gob as if he hadn't eaten for weeks. With a build like his, Elias thought, he'd have endured far longer than a few weeks without food. Cadris caught him staring and turned his nose up.
Gaston was seated opposite Elias. His face was a crisscross of claw marks, and his armour had been discarded in favour of bloodstained bandages wound tightly around his mid-section. His blond hair was lank and filthy, partially obscuring his downcast eyes. He looked nothing like the brash and arrogant youth Elias remembered from Oakendale. In fact, if he hadn't known better, Elias would have said he looked like a heroic veteran, battle-worn from an epic defence against all the odds.
Lallia brushed against the back of Gaston's chair as she went to pour herself some tea. She cast a disdainful look over the company and cocked an eyebrow at Elias.
'Well,' Elias said. 'This is cosy.'
Ioana fixed him with baleful eyes. 'Thank Ain you are safe,' she said. 'But we should spare a moment's prayer for those we have lost.'
Like that's going to bring them back, Elias thought, slurping his tea. 'Let me get this right,' he said. 'You misplaced Limus, left Maldark to do all the fighting, and abandoned Rhiannon. Am I missing something?'
'The dwarf gave us time to escape,' Cadris said through a mouthful of cake. 'Ain praise his courage. He is sure to be a Luminary. A martyr even.'
'We didn't know Limus was lost until we reached the tunnels beneath the templum,' Agna said. 'We've searched everywhere, but there's no sign of him.'
Elias gave her his broadest smile. 'It's only to be expected when one's preoccupied with self-preservation.'
Agna's head bobbed above her tea cup. 'Quite. Quite. Such a shame, though.'
Gaston placed his hands on the table and glared at Elias. 'You weren't there. You've no r-r-right to judge.'
There was a time Elias would have backed away from a confrontation with Gaston, but not today. 'Oh, I've every right to judge you, Gaston, after what you did to Rhiannon. I'm all for forgiveness and atonement, but what did you do when you had the chance to make the slightest amends? Turned your back on her and left her behind, that's what.'
Gaston looked down, his face drawn and shoulders slouched.
'That's enough,' Ioana snapped. 'Gaston did everything he could. Without him we might all have been lost.'
'Oh, bully for him.' Elias gave a little clap.
Lallia shot him a warning glare as she pressed herself against the back of Gaston's chair and raised her cup to her lips.
'Well don't think you've had all the fun,' Elias said. 'If it wasn't for Lallia here,' he blew her a kiss, 'old fat-boy would have had my guts for garters. Did I tell you what happened when...'
Agna's head hit the table with a thud. Cadris almost choked on his cake, and Ioana stared with wide eyes. Gaston was closest and shook Agna's shoulders. He recoiled as she came bolt upright, her eyes pools of white.
'Agna?' Ioana said. 'Agna, are you all right?'
Agna's head swivelled towards her, drool trickling down her chin. 'It's Limus,' she said in a hushed voice. 'Oh, Mater, it's Limus.'
Elias put down his mug, scarcely daring to breathe. Lallia's face had drained of all colour, and Gaston took his hands from Agna's shoulders as if they were on fire.
'Pain,' Agna groaned. 'Darkness.'
'Oh, please,' Elias said. 'This is hardly the time for mystical bullshit.'
'Shut it, Elias,' Lallia said.
Elias sat back in his chair as if she'd slapped him. Agna's blank eyes continued to face Ioana.
'Cadman has him, Mater. His poor soul. He says he only has a moment; the effort is too great. He's falling, Mater. Falling into blackness.'
Ioana sat as rigid as a statue. 'Where is he? What can we do?'
'Dark. Dark everywhere beneath the trees. Limus says he is heading for Dead Man's torch,' Agna said.
Gaston leaned forward. 'The old beacon tower? I know how to get there.'
'Too late for Limus.' Agna's voice quavered, and her glasses slipped down her nose. 'But Rhiannon is with him. Limus says he carried her from Sarum. He is taking her to Cadman. He says he must.'
Limus carry someone? Elias doubted he had the strength to walk there unencumbered. 'That doesn't seem very likely,' he said.
Agna's eyes rolled and the irises returned. 'He is dead, Elias. Like the creatures in the city.'
Elias put his hand to his mouth. Poor Limus. Poor, poor Limus.
'He was the best of us,' Ioana said. 'Who else would have had the strength to reach us?'
Gaston was shaking his head. 'Ain was strong with him,' he said, as if he'd had a great revelation. 'Mater, I'll f-f-find a horse and go to the beacon. I might be able to b-b-bring Rhiannon back.'
'No,' Elias said, standing. 'If Rhiannon's in trouble, the last thing she needs is to see you. I'm going.'
'You?' Cadris said. 'What can you do?'
Elias hadn't even considered that yet. Without the statue he was as useless as the rest of them, but he couldn't abandon Rhiannon. Not after what she'd been through. 'I'll think of something. I'm not as helpless as I look. Actually,' he said with a sudden flash of inspiration, 'I've already got the inklings of an idea. Coming?' he said to Lallia.
Lallia looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had.
'Unless you're planning on converting,' Elias said, indicating the priests.
\*\*\*
The cart pulled up outside an immense warehouse on the edge of Calphon. Elias was sure this was the one, but it had been so many years. Decades even.
He jumped to the kerb and patted Hector before tethering him to one of the towering lampposts. Lallia climbed down and stood with her hands on her hips.
'A warehouse?' She puffed out her cheeks. 'Good plan.'
'Just you wait and see,' Elias said, heading inside.
It was as dark and musty as he remembered. Stacks of crates extended all the way to the far end with narrow passages between them. There were some rudimentary pulleys running across the ceiling, and an assortment of pallets and ladders.
An ancient man with a thick white beard and eyebrows like brushes, peered up from a ledger set on a slanted desktop. 'Elias Wolf, the Bard of Broken Bridge,' he said in a parched voice. 'Thought you'd never come.' He flicked through the crisp pages of the ledger until he found the right place. 'You're thirty-five years in arrears,' he said, looking up with rheumy eyes. 'Have you come to settle up.'
Elias grimaced. 'Stanley, my old mate,' he said. 'Gosh, how time flies. Look, I'm in something of a hurry. I need the ol' girl. Bit of a crisis.'
Stanley shook his head and tutted.
'What if I leave the horse and cart as insurance?' Elias said, wondering how Hector would take that.
'I'm sorry, Elias,' Stanley said.
'I've got instruments onboard. And herbs.' Elias raised his eyebrows.
Stanley drummed his fingers on the ledger. 'That old pre-Reckoning guitar? The one you used to play at the Griffin?'
'Still do,' Elias said, nodding enthusiastically, a terrible sinking feeling setting in. 'Deal,' Stanley said, standing to shake his hand. Elias's grip was limper than he normally liked, but needs must... Stanley led them along the central aisle until they came to a particularly large crate standing by itself. Elias stroked the wood and gave it a resounding slap. 'Prepare to be amazed,' he said to Lallia. 'I'm almost disappointed,' Stanley said as he headed back to his desk.
'I was hoping to keep it for myself.' Elias knocked out some bolts and flicked open the catches. Taking hold of the top of a panel he pulled it away and let it fall to the floor. 'What the shog is that?' Lallia wrinkled her nose and peered inside. 'That, my dear,' Elias said, beaming from ear to ear, 'is a motorbike.' The chrome still shone the same as it had when he'd packed it away all those decades ago. The tank gleamed a vibrant red, its gilt star leading the eye to three letters he thought he'd never see side by side again. 'BSA Mark IV Spitfire. 1968.' He gave the saddle a reverent pat. 'End of the line, but what the hell, revolution was in the air.'
Lallia gave him a blank look. Before her time. Before Elias's even, but for him it was a magical era; one year before the Summer of Love, the inspiration for the Golden Garden festival.
'Alloy wheel rims.' He crouched to show what he was talking about. 'Off-road tires, the ol' air-cooled 654 cc vertical twin, and enough horsepower to make Hector green with envy.'
Lallia ran her palm over the leather saddle. 'What's it for?' 'You of all people should know that,' Elias said, brushing her hand out of the way. 'You ride it.' He reached behind the front wheel and located a steel canister. 'Vacuum sealed.' He tapped the side. 'It'll keep forever in there.' 'What?' 'Petrol, my dear. Probably the last drop on the planet.' Elias unscrewed the petrol cap and emptied the canister into the tank. 'A lot of people said I sold out when I bought the ol' girl.' He removed his coat, wiped his fingers on it and then slung it to the back of the crate. 'But this baby's real technology---not that circuit board shit Gandaw was putting out. Pure craftsmanship.'
Lallia sniffed. 'If you say so.'
Elias reached behind the back wheel this time and pulled out a black leather jacket replete with silver zips and a faded lightning bolt on the back. 'Now let's go get Rhiannon,' he said, slipping on the jacket and taking out a pair of sunglasses from the inside pocket. 'How do I look?' he asked, tilting his chin and peering over the top of the frames.
'Ridiculous,' Lallia said.
Elias flicked his hair back, kicked up the stand, and wheeled the bike out of the crate. He swung his leg over the saddle and beckoned for Lallia to get up behind him.
'What do I hold onto?' She glanced around nervously.
'Me,' Elias said.
Lallia screamed as he fired the Spitfire up, opened the throttle, and roared down the aisle.
Stanley leapt up from his desk and shouted something, but Elias couldn't hear him above the thunder of the engine.
'What?'
'My guitar!' Stanley yelled.
'In the cart!'
Lallia's thighs pressed against his sides, her ankles crossing around his waist. Not quite the norm for riding pillion, but Elias could live with it.
'Hold on!' he called over his shoulder, and then they were speeding through the streets of Sarum like a bat out of hell.
The mawg children stood upon the rough-hewn terraces of an earthen amphitheatre. There were hundreds of them swaying and chanting in their guttural tongue. They crowded around an empty space below, which shimmered with cobalt light. A vibrant amber glow drew Shader's eyes to the creature at the centre. The once black serpent statue was being held aloft by a cavorting male adorned with skulls and bones.
Shader crouched by the trunk of a yellow wattle and scanned the crowd for sign of the albino. Osric drifted alongside him, a barely visible outline, like something traced in the condensation on glass.
'We are too late, it seems. I suspect the thief has already departed.'
'Is anyone going to tell me what's happening?' Podesta panted from a little way down the hillside.
Shader shushed him, his attention caught by movement in the air above the dancing shaman. The cobalt sheen began to coalesce into a sphere suspended over the shaman's head, its hue darkening as its density increased. The shaman screamed something at the assembled children and they responded with a cacophony of yapping and barking. He raised the amber statue skywards and let out a piercing shriek, the muscles in his arms and legs knotting, the veins ready to burst. The amber glow immediately dimmed. Turning in rage, the shaman pointed a long finger at one of the mawg children. The creature froze, its eyes wide with terror, and then it rose from its terrace and walked towards the shaman. As the child entered the space beneath the sphere, the shaman brought the statue down on its head with a sickening thud. The child crumpled to the ground, blood and brains spewing from its crushed skull. The shaman threw back its head and roared as the statue was wreathed in crimson flames, which licked at the sphere. The air shimmered and the surface of the sphere cleared. Within, a grey-clad man seated on a dark metal throne came into focus.
Shader tensed. Everything about the man offended his senses. His black hair had an unnatural sheen and seemed too perfect. Shader doubted it would be ruffled by the fiercest wind. The complexion was bloodless, the clothes starched and sombre.
The man reached out of the sphere and took the statue. He nodded once to the shaman, and then the sphere dissolved and he was gone. The shaman collapsed to his knees and the children began to talk in hushed murmurs.
'There!' Podesta hissed, breaking Shader's rapture. 'Heading into the trees.'
Shader slid a little way down the hill and looked in the direction the Captain had indicated. A small figure in black was moving towards the mangroves. Cleto tracked it with the slim barrel of his Aeterna-tech weapon.
Ned drew his cutlass and glared. 'Must be that cunting Shadrak,' he said. 'Come on.' He broke into a jog.
Cleto lowered his weapon. 'Probably out o' range,' he said, before setting off after Ned.
'What about the statue?' Osric said.
'Too late,' Shader said. 'Our best bet is to catch Shadrak and find out what he knows.'
\*\*\*
Shader stopped at the banks of the lake. Podesta huffed and puffed behind him and stood with his fists pressed into his hips.
'Where the shog's Rodders?' he said in between breaths.
Shader pointed to the longboat drifting on the far side of the lake.
'Idiot's supposed to be guarding it,' Podesta said. 'And where the Abyss are Cleto and Ned?'
Footprints led into the trees on the left bank. Shader started to follow them and then drew up as he spotted a pair of boots sticking out of the undergrowth. Taking hold of them he pulled the body out and stood back, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
'Poor old Rodders.' Podesta removed his hat and stared at the corpse. The neck was twisted grotesquely to one side. 'I'll make the stunted bastard pay, lad,' he said. 'You have my word. First, though,' he said, cramming his tricorn back in place, 'we need to get the boat.'
He started towards the jetty, but Shader placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. About fifty yards distant something large slid down the mud and splashed into the water.
'Shog me for a stupid cretin,' Podesta said. 'Maybe you should go,' he said to Osric. 'Never been keen on crocs, myself. Especially not salties.'
Osric floated to the end of the jetty and watched the rippling water in the wake of the crocodile. 'I cannot cross water without a boat.'
Podesta fished a long knife out of his boot and strained to see the salty. Patting the blade against his palm he reached a decision. 'If we head back towards the ship through the jungle the crew can pick us up in the other boat.'
Shader shrugged and started towards the mangroves, following the trail of footprints. Podesta and Osric trailed behind. Ned was slumped against a trunk, bleeding out from a slit throat.
Podesta blanched, sweat dripping from his forehead, eyes darting from left to right. 'Where the shog is Cleto?' he whispered.
Shader drew his cutlass and the Sword of the Archon and continued on a course parallel with the shore.
'At least if there are more crocs up here we'll stand a fighting chance, eh?' Podesta said, licking his lips. 'Gods, I need a piss.'
Shader held up a hand to silence him. There were three large salties basking at the edge of the mangroves.
'Inland a bit?' Podesta suggested.
The trio moved deeper into the jungle and found Cleto knocked senseless amidst the foliage. He was missing his Aeterna-tech weapon and cutlass. He groaned and began to stir.
'What happened?' Shader asked.
'Bastard hit me from behind. Hit me hard,' Cleto said, rubbing the back of his head. 'Where's my shogging weapons?'
'You OK to continue?' Shader asked.
'Try to stop me.' Cleto's eyes hardened as he pushed himself to his feet.
Shader hacked a path through the undergrowth. The thick canopy of leaves shut out the sun and rendered Osric more substantial, but it did nothing to reduce the sweltering humidity. Every few minutes Shader used his shirt to wipe the sweat from his eyes. Podesta shook the perspiration from his hair in a great shower and cursed Osric's indifference to the heat.
They cut inland for a few hundred yards and then headed west, following the course of the river. Fat black flies buzzed around them, flitting in and out of nostrils and eyes, and tenaciously returning to torment them no matter how many times they were swiped away.
They were halfway down a steep slope when there was a blast followed by a splash. Curses were shouted and they heard the thrumming of arrows through the air, the phwat, phwat, phwat of them striking the water. Shader slipped and slid towards the noise, breaking through the mangroves into the rushes at the water's edge. Something dark and wet cannoned into him and tumbled away before he could react.
'That's him!' Podesta shouted, struggling back up the bank in pursuit.
'Wait!' Shader cried, regaining his feet and scanning the thick vegetation. Heedless, Podesta pressed on and was soon lost to sight.
'Ain't good for a Captain to lose his head,' Cleto said, rubbing his chin and squinting into the trees. 'Reckon the little shit tried to board the Placida. Fired my sodding weapon.'
A low gurgling sound, followed by a heavy thud, came from the mangroves.
Osric drifted alongside Shader. 'This Shadrak is extremely skilful, it seems.'
Shader's eyes narrowed. He handed the cutlass to Cleto.
The sailor looked nervous, his eyes darting all over the place. Sending him back up the slope would be testing his newfound loyalty to the limits.
'Stay here,' Shader said. 'Make sure he doesn't get behind us.'
Cleto grunted, his knuckles whitening from the grip he had on the cutlass.
Shader started up into the trees, willing himself to relax. He let his peripheral vision do the looking.
'Let me go first,' Osric said. 'I doubt even he can slay the dead.'
Shader nodded and glanced uneasily around as the wraith glided into the thicket. He sat cross-legged on the ground and rested the gladius across his lap. His heart was racing in anticipation of the fight, or of a swift and silent stab in the back. Fumbling with the straps on his pack, he pulled out his dog-eared Liber, thumbed through the pages, and then began to read from Aeternam in a soft rhythmic monotone. Years of discipline led him inwards where the stillness gave sway to other senses, finer and keener edged. He could feel the hot air playing over the hairs on the back of his hands, hear the whispers of the water, the gliding of the gulls on the thermals. His breathing stilled; his heart sounded like a ponderous drum in his ears. The gossamer net of his awareness crept through the jungle, caressing bark and stroking leaves.
He did not pause in his prayer as something cold and sharp touched his throat.
'Ordinarily I'd have stuck you without a word.' Shader could feel the assassin's breath on his ear. 'But you're already dead.'
Shader smiled. 'You've not noticed the blade a hair's-breadth from your groin?'
He'd heard the assassin's approach, felt the air bend around him. The gladius responded to his unformed thought instantly. If he'd wanted Shadrak dead, he would have been.
'Stalemate,' the assassin said.
There was a sudden gasp from behind Shader and the knife fell away from his throat.
'I beg to disagree,' Osric hissed.
Shader turned and stood. The assassin was little more than three feet tall, pale-faced and with clipped, snow-white hair. His limbs were rigid and shaking, his pink eyes wide as they stared with horror at the ghostly hand protruding from his chest. Osric was hovering behind Shadrak, his head slightly cocked.
'I wonder if it is unchivalrous,' Osric withdrew his hand into Shadrak's ribcage, his eyes narrowing to fiery slits, 'that my hand can pass through you unhindered, and yet...' Shadrak started to spasm. '...I can curl my fingers around your heart and squeeze it quite palpably.'
Shadrak's shaking fingers edged towards one of the pouches on his belt.
'I wouldn't,' Shader said, putting his Liber away. 'I doubt you have the means of harming Osric here, and even if you did, I'd gut you before you could blink.'
Shadrak ceased struggling and hung his head.
'My statue...' Shader began.
'Hardly yours,' Shadrak said. 'Unless you're calling yourself Eingana.'
Shader drew in a deep breath and thumbed the edge of his sword. 'What happened back there?'
Shadrak was quivering uncontrollably, his eyes fixed on his chest where Osric still had a grip on his heart.
'Didn't stay to find out. Did my bit and buggered off before they realized there was fresh meat hanging about.'
Shader lifted the albino's chin and stared him in the eye. 'How long have the Sicarii worked for Sektis Gandaw?'
'They don't,' Shadrak said. 'Just me, and not by choice. If I get my way, I'll not see that coldblooded shogger again.'
'Where can I find him?' Shader asked.
'Ask the mawgs---' Shadrak gasped as Osric's fingers emerged from his chest. 'I don't know,' he rasped. 'Came to me with magic when the mawgs got me. Only saw the top half of him floating in a sphere. There were pictures behind him---flickering pictures, and dark metal walls. You'll be lucky to find him in Sahul, I reckon.'
Shader turned away and grimaced. The trail had gone cold. Two pieces of the statue in Cadman's hands, and the body with Sektis Gandaw. Were they in league? If there really were five pieces of the statue, where were the other two? Maybe Huntsman would know---if he could be found. It had all started out so simply---retrieve the Grey Abbot's Monas. The longer this went on, the worse things got, the more acutely Shader felt his failure. Ain only knew what had happened to the Grey Abbot. If he was honest, that was the least of Shader's concerns. There were others he felt responsible for. Others he couldn't bear to lose.
'We need to head back,' Shader said to Osric. 'Go after Cadman.'
The albino looked up at that. 'Cadman?'
'You know him?' Shader said.
'He's the one who started all this. Sent me to Broken Bridge to find out all I could about the statue from some scruffy bard. After that we dragged in an old hermit and took a piece from him---a fang. Cadman wanted me to keep working for him, but the guild wouldn't have liked it. It was straight after the business with the hermit that mawgs started appearing under the city. Went with a bunch of amateurs to root them out and that's when I got into this mess with Gandaw.'
'Does Cadman know about Gandaw?' Shader asked. 'Are they working together?'
'No idea.' Shadrak gasped and fell to his knees as Osric withdrew his hand and loomed over him.
'Let us hope not,' the wraith said. 'Three pieces of the statue is a lot of power.'
'Big deal,' Shadrak said, clutching his chest and taking long stuttering breaths.
'It will be,' Shader said, 'if Gandaw gets the other two. Even a self-centred bastard like you will have to stand up and take notice. Everything is threatened. Everything.'
Shadrak stood and dusted himself down. 'And I should care, why?' he said. 'Shogging world's screwed in any case, and before you suggest it, I don't take sides. Show me the money and I'll consider it, but otherwise take your best shot or let me go.'
Shader's hand tightened on the hilt of the gladius. Osric's eyes simmered and he drifted so close to the assassin that Shadrak shivered.
'You got 'im?' Cleto called, trudging up the slope. 'Hold ¼im still and I'll bleed the little shogger.'
Shadrak dropped into a crouch, eyes flicking dangerously, fingers brushing against his pouches. Shader pushed up close and touched the tip of the gladius to his throat.
'Am I going to see you again?' he said with ice in his voice.
'No one sees me,' Shadrak said, 'if I don't wanna be seen.'
'You know what I meant.' Shader pressed harder, breaking the skin.
'You won't get no trouble from me. Not without a contract, and I think the chances of that are pretty slim. Reckon your enemies might as well save their money. Cadman and Gandaw can sort you out.'
Shader returned the gladius to its scabbard. 'If Sektis Gandaw wins, he'll sort everyone out. Even you, Shadrak.'
The albino touched his thumb to the trickle of blood running down his neck and then pressed it to his lips. 'Guess I'll deal with that when it happens.'
Shader nodded and flicked his gaze in the direction of the mangroves. Shadrak gave him a sideways look, patted each of his pouches, and scampered off.
Cleto took a step after him. 'What, you gonna let him go?'
'Just did,' Shader said. 'You got a problem with that?'
Cleto's face creased in a silent snarl. 'Oh, yeah, I got a problem, but like I said, you're with us now, so I guess my problem can wait.'
Osric drifted alongside Shader as he watched the assassin enter the trees and disappear from sight. 'Perhaps we should have killed him. Ain does not mind the shedding of evil blood.'
Shader looked sternly at his companion and then shook his head. Maybe Cleto and Osric were right. Every muscle in Shader's body was stretched taut with the anticipation of cutting Shadrak down. What could you expect? After all, the assassin had stabbed him in the back. Shadrak would have had no compunction about slaying Shader, so why shouldn't he do the same? Ain, he told himself. Osric was wrong about that, same as Berdini had been. Ain would have minded, otherwise he wasn't worthy of worship. Shader grimaced. Even after all that had happened, he was still trying to be a Nousian. Not for the first time, he suspected it would be the death of him.
'Have to say I'm disappointed.' Shader turned to the wraith. 'Thought you'd have approved of my letting him go. Or have you lost faith in the goodness of Nous?'
'Nous has revealed Ain to us. We can be certain of his goodness.'
Shader allowed himself a wry smile. 'That's what I thought. Guess it comes down to how you interpret the revelations.'
'A pox on your revelations,' Podesta said, stumbling from the trees, trying to stem the bleeding from his throat. 'Bastard missed the jugular, but if you two don't shut up I'll end up theologized to death.'
\*\*\*
Shadrak stepped from the mangroves and slid down the bank towards the water's edge. The upturned fishing boat still bobbed at the end of the jetty. Perhaps he should have taken Shader's offer. At least that way he'd have had passage back to Sahul. An opportunity missed, he chastised himself. There would have been nothing stopping him ditching the agreement once he was home.
A column of mist was forming at the foot of the jetty. Shadrak watched, mesmerized, as it swirled and took on human shape. He backed away towards the trees, but something made him stop. This was no black wraith with burning eyes. He gasped as he recognized the creased dark skin, the beaded grey hair, and those eyes of sparkling green that could warm his soul no matter how far he fell.
Kadee.
Shadrak walked and then ran to the jetty, tears spilling down his cheeks, arms open wide. Kadee smiled, her whole face lighting up with that look that told him she loved him, no matter what. Just before he reached her, she held up her hands.
'You must not touch me, my baby fellah. I am here and I am not.'
Shadrak caught a glimpse of ghostly trees behind her, set against darkening alien skies.
'Kadee.' He folded his arms across his chest and made no attempt to disguise the tears. 'I've missed you.'
'I know,' she said.
'I've grown rotten without you. I've turned into everything you hate.'
Kadee's eyes glistened with moisture, but her smile held firm. 'I could never hate you, my son.' She glanced over her shoulder at something Shadrak couldn't see. 'I cannot stay,' she said, 'but there is someone I want you to meet. He can help you, Shadrak, just as he helped me.'
A figure formed beside Kadee---a man, brown-robed and hooded. As Kadee began to dissolve back into the mist, the newcomer raised his head and Shadrak shielded his eyes from the glare spilling from beneath the cowl.
'Kadee!' Shadrak held out a hand as if he could pull her back.
'She is safe,' the man said in a voice that reminded Shadrak of a breeze rustling the leaves in a forest.
'She's dead,' Shadrak said. 'How much safer can you get?'
The man touched the tips of his bone-white fingers together. 'The world is full of mysteries, Shadrak. Believe me, your mother will be much safer if you are prepared to act. You have been graced with favour, Shadrak. If not for the love of others you would have been slain at birth.'
Shadrak felt the dark spaces of his mind welling up, clamouring for attention. He tried to frame a question, but the man waved him to silence.
'Now is not the time. Answers do not come so easily. You have to earn them. But first you have to trust.'
Shadrak trusted no one. Not since Kadee had died in any case. The hooded man seemed to read his thoughts.
'That's why I asked Kadee to introduce us. She trusted me and now you must.'
'Who are you? What do you want?'
The man threw back his hood and Shadrak fell to his knees, blinded by the blaze.
'I am the Archon, and I will not stand idly by and watch the worlds fall. You have aided the enemy, Shadrak. You had little choice, I grant you, but your actions have brought us one step closer to destruction. What we do from now on affects the lives of the three worlds, Shadrak: of Earth, and Aethir, and Thanatos where the innocent dead are trapped. If you help me, you help Kadee. If you refuse, you will remain blind to what is going on, an ant in a game of giants.'
The light faded as the Archon pulled his hood up. Shadrak blinked until his sight was restored and then climbed to his feet.
'Everyone wants something.' Shadrak folded his arms over his chest. 'The shogging masters, Cadman, Gandaw, and now you. Only you're worse than the rest of 'em, ain't you? Thought you could use Kadee to get to me.'
'She understands,' the Archon said. 'You would do well to learn from her. Any woman who would take in a creature like you and give it the love of Nous should be listened to.'
'Yeah, yeah, like you know her better than I do. Like you know the first thing about me.'
'I know what you are.'
Shadrak took a step closer, fingers curling around the handle of the thunder-shot. 'Then fucking tell me.'
'You think a pistol will harm me?' The Archon's voice rumbled like a gathering storm. 'Even if it were loaded it would be useless. Nothing you could do would have the slightest effect. Frightening, isn't it?'
Shadrak started to tremble, in spite of himself. I'll find something, you shogger. Like it always did with him, the fear turned to anger. He opened his mouth to let it out, but the part of his mind that kept watch on his thoughts, words, and actions stepped in. He listened to it because it had served him well on so many occasions. Bide your time, Shadrak. Bide your time. 'You're right. I'm sorry. Tell me what you want and I'll do it for Kadee's sake.'
The Archon swept his arm in wide arc and behind him the air parted like a curtain to reveal a gleaming metal passageway. 'This Maze of yours beneath the city of Sarum, do you have any idea what it is?'
Shadrak peered past the Archon, recognizing the corridor leading to the hub of the Maze.
'Must have been left by the Ancients,' he said. 'I've found stuff in there that don't belong in our day.'
The Archon drifted closer, the hem of his robe inches above the ground. 'It is a plane ship,' he said. 'Made from scarolite ore by the homunculi of Aethir. Is that a name you recognize? Homunculus?'
Shadrak's mind was opening up like an infinite void. There was something...something he remembered, but it refused to come into focus. 'It's what he said...Cadman. When he took the bullet out...He said...'
'Serve me well and all will be revealed. Come.' The Archon stepped into the corridor. 'I will show you how to work this ship, then you will be a far more effective player.'
Shadrak followed him inside, gawping as the jungle vanished like a fleeting vision. The cold metallic surfaces felt like home. It was a relief to be away from the relentless heat of the Anglesh Isles.
'What d'you want me to do?'
'Nothing you're not used to. Wait. Observe. And when the time is right,' the Archon twitched his index finger, 'pull the trigger.'
AETHIR: ANNO DOMINI 1980
(276 YEARS BEFORE THE RECKONING)
Amber fire gushed from the maw of Eingana, engulfing the philosopher. The cavern floor split open beneath the old man and smoky tentacles coiled about his burning body. The giant serpent hissed and thrashed, its tail smashing a row of Kryeh from their seats. Wires ripped free of flesh, wings flapped and screens died. Malevolent laughter rumbled from the depths, and then there was a thunderous crack as the floor sealed. There was no trace of Aristodeus.
Maldark shuddered. He noticed that Sektis Gandaw stood well out of range, despite his bravado.
'So much for philosophy. So much for causes. You see,' the Technocrat sounded like an admonishing parent, 'it is useless to deny the truth. Nothing can stand against pure science. Nothing! Not Eingana, not your meddling philosopher friend. Not even the fabric of the cosmos.'
A thick chain choker cut into Eingana's neck the more she struggled.
'Look,' Sektis Gandaw said. 'See how easily she is harnessed like all the other forces in the universe. Aristodeus might have thought himself clever, but all his sophistry didn't save him from the fire. He nearly swayed you, Maldark, nearly won you over. But I designed you dwarves better than that. I would say you made the right choice, but everything was already written in your blood.'
Maldark lowered his eyes as the homunculi began to drop down on cables, seeking purchase on the scales of Eingana's head. The great serpent snapped one up, crunched down and spat blood. The others took the opportunity to land atop her head and hammer home their needles. Eingana screamed, her tail rippling and coiling like a corkscrew. The chief homunculus, Mephesch, waited until four needles were in place and lines were connected. As his colleagues jumped clear, Mephesch threw the switch.
Eingana stiffened.
A fierce pounding resounded about the chamber. Sektis Gandaw frowned and tapped a button on his vambrace, sending a sentroid hovering towards the metal doors. Maldark moved closer as the doors began to buckle. His Marshall, Dagar, followed.
'More hybrids?' he growled. 'Thought we'd got them all.'
Maldark wasn't so sure. He'd seen a few of them flee with the Great Spider when they'd finally realized their doom and the doom of their beloved Eingana.
The dwarf knights formed up in front of him, grim faces staring towards the door. Their tabards were red with the blood of the hybrids and many had holes torn in the links of their armour. Maldark hefted his war-hammer and waited.
The sentroid surged forward as the door exploded inwards. It fired a beam of light that bounced harmlessly off a huge chunk of scarolite being wielded as a shield. The black metal spun and hammered into the sentroid, sending it crashing into the wall. It dropped like a stone and split open on the floor---a steaming metal egg that continued to whir and click.
A gargantuan black man burst into the room, snake's head hissing, muscles swollen and thickly veined.
'Traitor!' Mamba spat at Maldark and charged.
The dwarves rushed forward to protect their Grand Master. Dagar's head was pulped by the snakeman's first blow. Fangs snapped down to tear the face from another. The dwarves pushed forward and rained blows down on Mamba. The shield caught most of them, but an axe found its mark and the snakeman fell back.
'Betrayer!' he screamed, yellow eyes stabbing into Maldark like daggers.
Maldark caught Sektis Gandaw watching with cold indifference. He followed the Technocrat's gaze to Eingana where the giant snake was solidifying, her glistening scales fading to matt. Maldark gaped, the bile rising in his throat. Eingana's eyes flared with amber defiance even as she started to shrink.
'Sssee!' shouted Mamba.
The dwarves broke off and turned to watch the death of the serpent. A hushed awe settled around the cavernous chamber. How could they be sure this was God's will? Had she not fallen through the Void from His heart? What if she really was God's gift to them, as the dwarves had once believed, back before Sektis Gandaw had revealed her lies.
'Eingana,' Maldark whispered, tears running down his cheeks. 'What have I done?'
Sektis Gandaw seemed to sense the change. He tapped out some combinations on his vambrace and the metal panels surrounding the chamber started to rise, smoke curling from behind them.
'Help her,' Mamba pleaded. 'Pleassse!'
The dwarves were all watching Maldark, their eyes as damp as his own. He flicked his gaze around the room. The panels had opened a couple of feet and shimmering mist swirled beyond. He caught a glimpse of massive shapes in the alcoves.
'Don't be a fool, Maldark,' Sektis Gandaw said, starting to rise towards the ceiling atop a metal disc. Mephesch was peering down from a balcony high above, his eyes narrowed, his mouth curling up at one corner.
Maldark flashed one last look at Mamba and then spun and hurled his hammer. There was a thunderous crash high up on the wall where Eingana was suspended from wires. The serpent was now no more than a small statue. Metal groaned and sparks flew. The hammer spun back through the air and landed snugly in Maldark's grip. The statue that had been Eingana fell.
'Flee!' Maldark shouted as the panels fully opened and four metallic behemoths rolled out into the room.
Sparks danced about their armoured frames, which were conical like Sektis Gandaw's mountain. Tubes emerged from their bodies and sprayed great gouts of fire at the dwarves.
Amidst the screams and the smell of burnt flesh, Maldark lunged for the statue. One of the metal monsters swung towards him, but he grabbed Eingana and dived. The stream of flame singed his hair as it passed overhead. Without looking back, Maldark sprinted for the door. He skidded on the carpet of charred and liquefying dwarf flesh that was all that remained of his men, but strong hands caught him.
'Run!' hissed Mamba. 'And keep on running.'
Cadman entered the tower alone, leaving a cordon of death-knights outside. The door creaked in protest and he jumped out of his skin as a fist-sized spider scuttled out of his way. Literally out of his skin as the illusion of corpulence deserted him once more and he couldn't be bothered to bring it back. Couldn't even be bothered to count anymore. He was bone weary and wanted nothing more than to shut himself up for a century and sleep. He slipped inside and pressed his back to the door.
The ground floor looked the same as he'd left it all those years ago: a circular chamber crawling with cobwebs, thick with dust, and coated with a growth of fluffy black mould that hung in strips like peeling wallpaper. The walls were six feet thick and reinforced by granite buttresses. The door was oak banded with iron and fitted with an incredibly intricate lock Cadman had brought from Verusia. The centre of the room was stacked high with crates. For the life of him Cadman couldn't recall what he'd packed inside them. A narrow stairwell wound its way upwards in a hazardous spiral with nothing to hold onto.
Braving the stairs to the first floor, he crunched his way across a carpet of dead cockroaches and lowered himself onto the scuffed and torn Chesterfield he'd shipped from Britannia. The leather was holding up rather well, considering the centuries he'd owned it.
Don't make them like they used to.
Cadman lay back and pretended he was still in Britannia; back with his mother in the thatched cottage, reclining on the Chesterfield and dreaming dreams of discovery.
Science had been his first passion, a vast unsullied canvass tugging at his natural curiosity. He'd had other dreams too---a place of his own in the country; a smallholding---oh, he'd have paid someone to manage it, but there was something altogether satisfying about self-sufficiency; a good woman to share it with---children even, if he'd had a lockable study where he could get away from them. But it was science that had really fired him up; science that had led him to Oxford, and science that had finally taken him to Verusia. Not pure science by then; more of a fusion of the arcane arts with rigorous methodology. The sort of thing that got you ridiculed by one community and reviled by another. It was a path with only one logical conclusion. A path followed in the footsteps of Dr Otto Blightey, one time fellow of Oxford himself, and now a mythical bogey man who had proven all too real.
Cadman reached for a yellowish envelope speckled with insect droppings. He'd left it on the coffee table some considerable time ago. The address was smudged and almost illegible, but for the bottom line: Verusia. With a sinking feeling, Cadman slipped the letter out and scanned it. Oddly enough, he remembered sitting on this very sofa and agonizing over the wording. He'd written it shortly after his arrival in Sahul. An apology to Blightey for running out on him. An explanation; a plea for understanding, for forgiveness. It was the desperate hope of a desperate man appealing to reason, appealing for compassion. He'd not sent it. Cadman stuffed the letter back inside its envelope and dropped it back on the coffee table.
It had taken him centuries to work through the trauma left by Blightey and now, with one scaremongering fairy tale, he was straight back to square one.
Damn that tatterdemalion ragamuffin! What's he have to go and put the frighteners on me for?
Jaspar Paris, Renna Cordelia, flying skulls that drank your spirit---all true. Cadman pushed himself up off the sofa. All too terribly true, and he only had himself to blame for raising the subject with the bard. No matter how far he ran, how much time passed, the threat of Blightey pursued him as inexorably as decay.
He took the stairs up to the second floor, noting with distaste that the canopy of his old four-poster was a sagging belly, the frame bowed, and the mattress a sodden heap with dense brown stains spreading across its surface. He made straight for the rusted ladder that led to a trap in the ceiling. His bony fingers rapped against the rungs as he ascended. The trap, warped by the centuries, refused to budge. Cadman directed his power at the stubborn wood until it crumbled into dust. He cried out as lesions cut into his bones. He could have used his pieces of the statue, probably should have, but something unsettled him each time he did. It was like the dip in temperature when a cloud covers the sun. At first he'd thought it was Blightey, but now he wasn't so sure. Blightey had a distinctive presence, malignant and somewhat excitable, as if he couldn't wait to get his hands on you. Whatever it was that followed Cadman's use of the statue was almost detached, medical even---like a surgeon deciding where to make his first incision. It was deeply worrying. It could have been his own paranoia, he was well aware of that, but it never paid to take chances.
Clambering out onto the roof he walked to the edge of the parapet and gazed at the waning moon. Even that looked like a spectral skull leering at him from the heavens.
He frowned at the driver sitting stoically down below in the driving seat of the carriage. Cadman felt a deepening of his familiar chill as he recalled the maniacal cackle, the eerie effect of the moonlight on the driver's back as they drove from the templum. It was the first time the man had shown any sign of life. Cadman shuddered. It had seemed like a veil had been ripped aside to reveal something beneath reality; something altogether more sinister and frightening than anything he'd ever imagined---and that was saying something. No sign of it now, though. The man was as lifeless as the zombies Cadman controlled. An empty vessel waiting for an animating intelligence. Numbers started bobbing up from the depths of Cadman's mind. He tried to let their patterns lead him from his worries, but a niggling thought slipped through the net: unless his own subconscious fears had somehow been reflected in the driver's uncharacteristic behaviour, someone, or something else must have entered him. Either that, or the man had been acting dumb all along.
His fingers fell to the pieces of statue the same way his thoughts turned to counting. Pulling out the fang and the eye, he brought them together. Warm amber light wafted from them like stardust. Cadman was about to put them away when he glimpsed something pass across the face of the moon. The tatters of his heart thrashed about wildly in his ribcage. Had he just spied the presence that came whenever he used the statue?
He rubbed the pieces between his thumbs and forefingers. Can't run forever, Cadman, he told himself. He'd already come this far, taken so many risks. In for a penny, in for a pound.
He focused his thoughts through the glowing amber pieces. Just a trickle of power. Maybe it won't be noticed.
Cadman's mind called to whatever it was that had crossed the moon. He waited for the feeling of being watched, but there was nothing. Nothing but the chatter of his own disquieted mind.
And then he caught a scent, which struck him as odd as he'd smelled nothing for centuries. It was a sweet smell, fresh and deeply evocative. It was the smell of a pine forest. And then he heard laughter. Not heard exactly. It was as if his thoughts laughed with a mirth not quite their own.
The flapping of leathery wings startled him and he looked up to see something spiralling down to the parapet. Some kind of creature, humanoid, in the loosest sense, but grey and gnarled like a gargoyle. Its head was angular and horned, the face a jutting beak edged with cruel fangs. The eyes were swirling pools of oil.
The creature lighted on the guttering and leered at him, a barbed tail rearing over its shoulder and swaying like a charmed snake.
'Are you following me?' Cadman said with as much command as he could muster.
'Not you exactly,' the gargoyle said, fixing its eyes on the glowing pieces of amber.
Cadman thrust the fang and the eye into their respective pockets, but didn't uncurl his fingers from them. His mind sent out a dark thread and felt a reassuring compliance. Abelard was on his way up.
'You're not the first,' Cadman said, drawing the illusion of fatness around him. 'It seems everyone who's anyone is drawn to the statue.' Like flies to ordure. He tightened his grasp on the pieces and sent Abelard a mental kick up the posterior.
The creature shifted its weight from foot to foot, its black eyes widening at Cadman's change of form.
'You have grown wary of using the statue,' it said. 'You have endured great pain rather than risk drawing attention.'
'But you found me,' Cadman said.
'I've been watching you for some time. I've also been watching the other watchers.'
Cadman felt an icy thrill run through his bones. 'Who?'
'I think you know.' The gargoyle sat on the edge of the parapet and held its chin in its hands.
'Blightey?' The name fell from Cadman's mouth like a dread augury.
He half expected a comet to streak across the sky, or the skull of the moon to descend and devour him. He whirled around at a clamour from behind and then steadied himself with a string of counting. It was only Abelard emerging from the trapdoor.
The gargoyle rolled from its perch and stalked forwards. At a click of Cadman's fingers Abelard stood in its way and glowered through his one remaining eye, the other dangling uselessly over his cheek. The gargoyle cocked its head and grinned. Its tail whipped out and the barb pierced Abelard's breastplate. Cadman gaped in horror as the death-knight stiffened and then fell to the floor in a shower of dust.
The gargoyle stepped up close to Cadman, bending its head towards his ear.
5,4,3,2...Oh, crumbs!...1, 0, -1, -2...
'Shhh,' the gargoyle hissed. 'He might hear your thoughts.'
Cadman took a step back, accepting the warmth of the pieces of statue and glancing at the malevolent face of the moon.
'No, no.' The creature wagged a taloned finger. 'The other one might see.'
'What other one?'
'The Technocrat of Aethir.' The gargoyle gave a clacking chuckle. 'Sektis Gandaw.'
Cadman was starting to feel like a flightless bird cornered by feral cats. 'Anyone else?'
'Besides the Dreamer shaman, the Archon, and a philosopher who thinks he can outwit fate, I think there is only one other, but you need not concern yourself with him yet. He is a patient player and has pursued Eingana for an eternity.'
The more Cadman heard the more he wished he'd never become involved. Maybe he should just give the pieces to this creature and have done with it. After all, what was oblivion compared with the horrors of the Abyss?
'Not everyone means you harm,' the gargoyle said. 'Just those with more power. Think about it. If you find the rest of the statue, you'll be top of the heap. You'd be able to crush them on a whim. You'd even be able to destroy Blightey.'
Now there was a thought. A world without Blightey. A world where Cadman didn't need to hide away in anonymity. A world without fear.
'But if I use the statue, they'll find me,' he said.
'Only Sektis Gandaw draws near. Blightey has barely a whiff of Eingana, and he's not all that interested.'
Probably bogged down with the day-job, torturing his way through the poor folk of Verusia in the hope of experiencing the tiniest spark of life.
'Sektis Gandaw is your greatest threat,' the gargoyle said. 'Like you, he was once a pupil of Blightey's, but he has far outgrown the master. You know what he plans for the statue? The Unweaving. It has always been his obsession---to unmake the cosmos and begin again. He seeks perfection; the sort of perfection that won't include you or me.'
Cadman walked to the parapet and looked out across the dark forest. What should I do? Back out now? Do I still have a choice? 'What are you?' he turned to the creature. 'How do you know all this?'
'I am the slave of two masters. My name is Ikrys. I am a child of the Abyss.'
Cadman stiffened.
'Not everything that comes from the Demiurgos is bad,' Ikrys said. 'And besides, I have not seen my home for centuries. 'He has kept me here,' Ikrys's voice dropped to a whisper. 'The same one who haunts you. I am Blightey's unwilling servant. I must be seen to do his will, otherwise you know better than most what fate I can expect.'
Cadman nodded. 'So tell me, what should I do?'
Ikrys folded his arms across his chest and stretched out his wings. 'Gather the pieces. Make the statue whole. Take charge. I will help you, if you work quickly. Blightey will expect me back in a few weeks. You will need the full power of Eingana by then.'
Cadman snatched off his pince-nez and squinted at the gargoyle. 'What's in it for you?'
'I get to go home,' Ikrys said. He shut his eyes and held up his hand for silence. 'Armies are gathering,' he said. 'There will soon be a great battle for the statue. We must make ready. You must summon more dead.'
'But I can't,' Cadman said. 'That would involve so much power from the statue that everyone from Aethir to Verusia would come.'
'Use your necromancy. I will act as a channel. You will experience no more pain.'
'You can do this?
Ikrys grimaced. 'If I must.'
Cadman felt a tug at his consciousness. He followed a black tendril of thought to the trees surrounding the tower. This cadaver was a strange one---something of a loose cannon. He felt its grudging obedience, but he could also sense its self-loathing, its desire to pass fully from life. Cadman probed deeper. It was the priest, Limus, whom he'd commanded to find someone close to Shader. Someone he could offer to the Dweller upon its return.
'Who have you got for me, Limus?' he asked silently with his mind.
'A friend.' The priest was tormented, his thoughts almost strangled.
He was strong, this Limus, but still he had no choice. His corpse was Cadman's, nothing more than an automaton. The fact that he retained the flickering awareness of consciousness was more of a curse than a blessing.
Ikrys was watching Cadman attentively.
'This friend,' Cadman spoke the words aloud for the gargoyle's benefit. 'Is it someone close to Shader?'
'Yes,' Limus sobbed in Cadman's mind. 'Her name is Rhiannon. She once loved him.'
The rumble of distant thunder woke her. It was dank and cold, the air thick with must. Rhiannon winced at the thumping in her head that kept time to the regular drip-drip of water upon the hard stone floor. Her throat felt bruised and constricted. She coughed to ease it, gingerly touching the skin and wincing at the pain. Judging by the stiffness in her back and hips she had been there for some time. She forced herself into a sitting position and swept her hair out of her eyes.
The last thing she recalled was Pater Limus pulling her away from the ghoul. She'd been shocked at his strength, the easy way he ripped the creature limb from limb. She'd been frozen, rooted to the spot as he slung her over his shoulder and carried her off. She'd struggled against his cold, ungiving grip, the skin of hands waxy and tinged with blue. He'd set her down so that he could throttle her with icy fingers, a single tear leaving its trail down his bloodless cheek. She'd tried to scream as her vision blurred and then darkness had taken her.
Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw that she was in a circular room with an uneven floor. Puddles of inky water collected in the depressions and damp climbed the windowless walls. A wooden ladder led to a trapdoor in the ceiling.
A muffled sound ---was it a harmonica?---reached her from outside. She tilted her head at each successive note, recognizing the lilting melody of the wedding jig she'd been forced to learn as a child. The music stopped abruptly. There was a creak and a thud, footfalls from above. The trap in the ceiling rattled and a crack appeared allowing dirty yellowish light to filter through. Whispers were exchanged and then the trap opened fully. A young woman backed down the ladder, her arse sticking out like it was on display. She turned and squinted at Rhiannon, a mass of chestnut hair framing a sultry face. She was dressed in a starchy white blouse and dowdy pleated skirt. Both were stained with sweat and dirt. An overpowering perfume wafted in with her.
A man clambered down behind her. He was wearing a black leather jacket with the faded emblem of a lightning bolt on the back. There was no mistaking the lank greasy hair, the spindly legs clad in patched denim.
'Elias!' Rhiannon rasped. Her throat felt like she'd swallowed glass.
The bard held a finger to his lips and squatted down beside her. 'Ol' fatty's upstairs. I kid you not, every time he came to the window it was like an eclipse.'
The woman with the chestnut hair was glancing from Rhiannon to the open trap. 'Can she move? We need to go.'
'Course I can move.' Rhiannon forced the words out through the pain. She pushed herself to her feet and swooned. She would have fallen had Elias not caught her.
'What the clanging bell is that?' Elias peered at the back of her neck.
Rhiannon touched her fingers to an egg-sized swelling and winced. 'Buggered if I know,' she said. 'Where the shog are we?'
'Dead Man's Torch.'
'The old beacon tower? But that's miles from Sarum.'
'Ah,' Elias said, 'but it's nothing when you have wheels, eh, Lallia?'
The woman winked at him and then sneered.
Rhiannon gave Elias a questioning look, but didn't bother pursuing it. She was too tired and in too much pain.
'That's a point,' Lallia said. 'How are we getting her back? There's only room for two.'
'Strong girl like you,' Elias said. 'Walk back will do you good.'
'Funny,' Lallia said. She started up the ladder, but then stopped and craned her neck. 'I heard something.'
Elias pulled out a harmonica and gave a broad grin. 'Still got the ol' magic,' he said. 'Even without the statue. Nothing like a bit of the ol' bardic charm to quieten the restless dead.' He helped Rhiannon to the foot of the ladder and followed her up to a mildewed room stacked with crates. The iron-banded door was slightly ajar. 'There's a bunch of those Nousian zombie-knights outside. And your mate Limus.'
'Limus?' Rhiannon said, her heart lurching. 'I thought he'd come to help me, but...'
'Sorry, love,' Elias said. 'Poor bastard's one of them now.'
Rhiannon rubbed her throat and tossed off a quick prayer to Ain, for all it was worth.
As they left the tower Elias began to play a haunting lullaby on the harmonica. In the shadows of the courtyard, mounted shapes began to sway and then grew still. Rhiannon looked up at the tower. Something was perched on the roof, a hunched gargoyle with wings drawn up on its back.
'Hurry,' Lallia called as she dashed into a thicket on the far side of the courtyard.
Elias continued to play his lullaby whilst nodding for Rhiannon to follow her.
Cadman appeared in the tower doorway, black vapours radiating from his fingertips to touch the mounted undead. Their limbs jerked, and red flared from their eyes.
'Follow Lallia,' Elias said. 'And just keep running. I'll draw them off.'
Rhiannon stumbled into the undergrowth and was pulled roughly to the ground.
'Keep still,' Lallia whispered. 'Wait for Elias, and then we run. If you can't make it, that's your problem. Clear?'
Rhiannon was finding it hard to lift her head, never mind make a run for it. She fancied her chances better just curling up in the thicket and going to sleep.
'This way!' she heard Cadman shout. 'Over here you ignorant bloody corp---'
The roar of thunder cut him off.
'Ready?' Lallia said, rolling to her knees.
The thunder came at them in a rising wall of noise. Rhiannon peeked out of the brush and saw Elias astride a red and silver two-wheeler speeding towards a clutch of skeletal horsemen. The din was incredible, the speed even more so. The death-knights raised their swords and charged. Elias skidded in a wide arc and sped away with half a dozen horsemen on his tail.
Rhiannon turned to Lallia for an explanation, but the woman was gone. She pushed her way through the brambles and stood. Her head rushed again and she staggered before taking her first lumbering step towards the trees.
A flapping from behind caused Rhiannon to turn just in time to see the gargoyle from the parapet hurtle towards her on leathery wings. Talons gripped her shoulders and a vicious barbed tail lashed out to stab her in the back of the neck.
\*\*\*
'Come on baby!'
Elias hunched over the petrol tank and let rip with the throttle. The wind tore at his hair as the Spitfire streaked across the clearing. He could see the undead riders in his mirror, feel the icy terror at his back, but he knew he could make it; knew the ol' girl wouldn't let him down.
Up ahead he could make out Cadman's grotesque bulk seeking to cut off his escape. No matter, Elias thought, he'd run the fat git over.
Something large fluttered down beside Cadman and dumped its load on the turf. As Elias sped closer he saw it was a body---Rhiannon's body---and that only made him madder. He pulled hard on the throttle and roared straight at Cadman.
Rather than run, as Elias had expected, Cadman stood his ground and raised his hands to the sky. The winged creature at his side pulsed with dark light and a column of black fire erupted from Cadman's fingers. He threw down his arms and the flame struck the earth. A split ran across the clearing and widened like an immense maw. Elias swung the bike around, but it careened and skidded towards the crevasse. With a last desperate scream, Elias plummeted into the chasm, the Spitfire tumbling after.
\*\*\*
Cadman looked over the edge of the crack and allowed himself a satisfied grin. The dark magic was flowing once more, and this time without the pain, the terrible warping of his own body. He looked up to where Ikrys was depositing Rhiannon atop the tower. The creature hadn't lied about its abilities, but he still trusted it just about as far as he could throw it. Too late for second thoughts, old chap, one inner voice said. I know, said the other, but it never pays...You know what I'm going to say, don't you? Cadman thought he heard a sigh from somewhere between his ears.
He frowned into the crevasse as it shuddered and closed up like a flesh wound. No rumbling of the earth, no quake. It was more a case of darkness oozing across the breach and coagulating. A thick scar of charcoal running across the ground was the only indication anything untoward had happened.
Ikrys flapped down beside him. 'Interesting.'
'What did I just do?' Cadman asked, peering over the top of his pince-nez at the gargoyle.
Ikrys shook his wings and settled them on his back. 'Does it matter? The girl is in our hands and her would-be saviour is dead. I told you I would help. Was not your power greater, even without the statue? Do you have any pain? Any warping of bone?'
Cadman patted his arms and chest. Nothing. Not even the slightest discomfort. Ikrys had channelled the dark energies as if they were his natural element. Perhaps they were.
'He was old. Older than anyone should be,' Ikrys said, staring at the blackened earth. 'The stench of Eingana has soaked into his flesh. Without life, though, there is no defence.'
'Against what?'
'The one who raped her.' Ikrys gave a sickly smile. 'The Demiurgos will draw the corpse to the Abyss.'
Cadman didn't like the sound of that. The last thing he needed was to arouse the attention of the Deceiver. He already had the eyes of the world on him, it seemed, not to mention the Dweller. That particular malevolence was evidence enough that he didn't want to mess with the Abyss, but he imagined the Dweller paled into insignificance compared with the being who'd spawned it.
'Well,' he said with false bravado, 'I bet your daddy's really pleased.'
'Oh, yes,' Ikrys said. 'And he'll be even happier if you gather the pieces of the statue and free me from Blightey. Just think how he'll reward you if I can return home.'
I'd rather not, Cadman thought, blowing out his cheeks and wishing he could bury himself in a deep hole a million miles away until this whole business blew over and was forgotten.
'Where's Lallia?' Cadman suddenly remembered. 'The strumpet who was with the bard?'
Ikrys sighed and sat on the ground, holding his head in his hands. 'Long gone,' he said with a yawn. 'And I'm too tired to care.' The gargoyle curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.
'Up!' snapped Cadman. 'That's the sort of sloppiness that will get us both killed. Up, and get after her, unless you want me to gift-wrap you and send you back to Verusia.'
Ikrys lifted his head and whined. 'I need to rest. Channelling is not as easy as it looks.'
'Do it,' Cadman said. 'Or our agreement is at an end.'
Ikrys clambered to his feet and unfurled his wings. 'And I thought Blightey was bad,' he said as he flapped into the air.
Cadman turned and started back towards the tower. For a moment he desired nothing more than the security of its reinforced walls, but he quickly realized it was an illusory safety, no better than the blanket of fat he wore. The Dweller was coming for payment. If it didn't accept Rhiannon as a substitute for Shader he was finished. He only hoped the old monk, Limus, had read the situation right. He'd said there was a bond between her and Shader. Perhaps it would be enough.
Actions beget yet more actions, he chastised himself as he entered the tower and made his way to the rooftop where Rhiannon lay prone beneath the clouds. Cadman peered over the crenulations at his servants, animated corpses, simply extensions of his own will. Amongst them he could see the stooped and white-robed figure of Pater Limus. Somewhere in the depths of the cadaver's ravaged soul Cadman could sense a grief welling up into resistance. Most of his victims never showed such autonomy; their simple souls were either long gone or ousted at the moment of reanimation. This one was strong. Too strong. Cadman raised his hands and let loose a bolt of darkness that swiftly reduced the old monk's body to a bubbling putrescence.
'Shit, shit, shit!' Cadman bent double in agony as lesions tore through his fat flesh. The illusion vanished, but the cuts bit deep into his bones and frayed his ligaments.
He sensed Limus's soul fleeing the remains of his body, felt its fear and self-condemnation. Cadman didn't give a damn about the old priest's fate, whether his soul was to languish in limbo or to slowly dissolve into oblivion. All that mattered was that, deprived of a body, it was unable to harm him, and that was an end to the matter.
The wind gusted and Shader slapped down the page of the Liber. He tried once more to focus on the verse but the salty ocean spray was spattering the paper and rendering it transparent. It would be all too easy to use that as an excuse to stop. He could equally well have used the frenetic activity of the Aura Placida's crew as his reason to give up. There were teams of men in the rigging, and dozens more scuttling around the decks tying off ropes and securing anything that looked as if it could move.
The ship pitched violently, a torrent of water washing the planks and soaking Shader's breeches. He probably should have moved the minute the turbulence started; there hardly seemed any point now. He tugged down the brim of his sodden hat and stared at the page, but his attention was immediately arrested by movement out of the corner of his eye.
Captain Podesta strode the decks sporting a red polka-dot neckerchief that covered the gash he'd received from Shadrak. He'd been lucky; a hair's width to the right and he'd have bled out back in the jungle.
Shader blinked rapidly and tried to refocus on the verse. It was one of those oddities that were strewn throughout the Liber, passages that jarred with the reader and didn't quite seem to fit: "Cessate et cognoscite quoniam ego sum Deus"---"Be still and know that I am God."
Adeptus Ludo had pointed it out to him back at the seminary. It was the only passage in the entire Liber to use the word "Deus." Elsewhere there was no mention of gods or God. Ain was simply "Ain" and Nous, the manifester of all things, was simply "Nous". Eingana was a ravished angel; the Archon was referred to as a "Radiant One", a being of light; and the Demiurgos was interchangeably called "the Father of Lies", "the Deceiver", and "the Smothered Radiance."
The Grey Abbot had told Shader that Frater Gardol referred to these peculiar passages as the "golden thread" running through the scriptures. Adeptus Ludo had lectured about something similar, before he'd been reprimanded by Exemptus Silvanus. Follow its course, he'd said repeatedly, and it will guide you through the labyrinth of obfuscation.
Be still and know...
'Cup of tea?' Elpidio crouched down beside Shader and thrust a steaming mug in his face. 'Sabas said you looked like you needed one.'
Shader closed his eyes, said a quick mental thanks to Ain, and then shut the Liber.
'Thanks, Elpidio, that was just the excuse I needed.' An interruption from without. There was no sin in that. Shader took the scalding cup, quickly switching it to his other hand so he could grip the handle. 'How's the boy from the Dolphin?'
'Been coughing blood. Sabas says he'll die if he don't eat something. Just been sitting with him, poor sod. Can't even tell us his name, so we've taken to calling him Little Amidio.' Elpidio gave a quick look left and right. 'Don't tell the Captain.'
'Knight's honour,' Shader said.
'Eh? Oh, yeah. Good.' Elpidio sat opposite Shader and copied his cross-legged posture. 'What you doing, then? Praying?'
Shader set the cup down on the deck and thrust the Liber into his coat pocket.
'Kind of,' he said, taking up the tea again and tasting it. 'Meditatio, they call it in the Templum. Reading a verse over and over until the meaning sinks in and illumination follows.'
'Oh,' Elpidio sniffed. 'Sorry I disturbed you.'
Shader laughed at that. 'Don't be. I've seen more illumination at the bottom of a deep well.'
The ship banked and half the tea sloshed onto the deck.
'So why do it?' Elpidio asked.
Shader shrugged and took another sip. It was a good question, the same one he'd been asking himself for years. Why indeed? What was the point? Aristodeus would no doubt say it was all about self-regulation and fear of the unknown. Ludo thought it was a matter of love, of becoming more authentically human, selfless and self-giving. Those were ideals Shader admired, but they were also entirely alien to him. He supposed he was just hoping that if he followed the disciplines he might suddenly be turned inside out, destroyed and rebuilt, like a lightning-struck tower.
'What's that for?' Elpidio pointed at the knotted prayer cord around Shader's neck.
Shader rubbed one of the knots between his thumb and forefinger. 'It's an aid to Contemplatio,' he said. 'Helps to keep the mind busy whilst you sink into silence.' Be still and know that I am God.
'Oh,' Elpidio said. 'My brain's always chattering. Seems nothing shuts it up, except maybe going up in the crow's nest. Don't know if it's the height or the wind whipping my face, but that's the only place I get any peace.'
Shader nodded. He could only imagine what the boy had been through with the loss of his parents, the family business, and even his home. He was undoubtedly treated well on the Aura Placida. Podesta was like a father to him, and Sabas was as close as a hulking Numosian could get to being a doting mother. It could be a lot worse, he guessed. Probably was a whole lot worse for Rhiannon, after what she'd been through at the hands of Gaston.
'Where's your creepy friend?' Elpidio made a show of scanning the deck.
Shader nodded towards the forecastle. 'Up there.'
Osric was looking out over the bowsprit, his mist-like body virtually transparent, a greyish outline pearled with sea-spray.
Shader started as someone stepped from the shadows and headed towards the hold. 'Ho, Cleto!' Shader raised a hand in greeting.
The sailor gave him a sullen nod and prowled off, muttering under his breath.
'What you do to him?' Elpidio said.
'Didn't let him kill the assassin back there in the jungle.'
'Right,' Elpidio said. 'That was pretty dumb.'
Shader gave him a wry smile. Maybe it was. Maybe he'd come to regret it, but it had certainly seemed like the Nousian thing to do at the time.
'As long as I don't get a knife in the back, I can live with Cleto's disapproval,' he said.
Elpidio looked indignant. 'He won't do nothing. Not now you're crew, more or less. Captain says that's the way it is: no fighting among ourselves. We're all family here.'
'And families don't fight?' Shader regretted the words the second they left his mouth.
Elpidio seemed to sense his discomfort and forced a smile. 'Mine don't. Not anymore.'
Shader held the boy's gaze. He saw the glistening of moisture around his eyes. Elpidio did nothing to disguise it.
'Mum used to say tears made you grow,' he said. 'Reckon I should be bigger than Sabas by now. Bigger than a giant, maybe.'
'Tell me about you family,' Shader said.
Elpidio looked away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 'Cleto says it don't matter. They were just gutted like pigs and that's all there is to it.'
'That all they were?' Shader kept his voice low and even. 'The same as pigs?'
Elpidio sucked in a deep breath and faced Shader with bloodshot eyes. His cheeks were flushed, and freckles stood out on the bridge of his nose. 'It's what we all are, ain't it? Shogging pigs. That's what Cleto says: we eat, shit, and die and no one gives a...'
'No one to mourn us? No one to remember?' Shader said, more to himself than to Elpidio. 'Everything we do is insignificant? Everything we think is delusion?'
Elpidio frowned. 'Eh? You saying it's all a load of bollocks? Nothing's worth it?'
Shader shook himself clear of that train of thought. He'd been down that path too often in the past. 'Thought that's what you were saying, Elpidio. All this,' he swept out an arm to take in the ship, 'the great cities, music, art: all for nothing, all self-deception.'
'You getting angry?' Elpidio pushed himself backwards and uncrossed his legs.
'So what if I am?' Shader said. 'None of it matters. We're all just mindless animals. Even your parents' carefully cultivated vineyard was really just a freak accident. If you wait long enough, perhaps a monkey will surpass them. Maybe this time next year we'll be drinking vintage Merlot produced by a herd of antelope.'
Elpidio let out a blast of laughter and snot. 'That's not even funny.' He creased up, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
'Then why are you laughing?'
'I'm not shogging laughing.' Elpidio let out another burst and was shaking from head to toe.
Shader laughed with him, but stopped abruptly when he noticed the tears streaming down the boy's face. 'You miss them?'
Elpidio winced and then nodded. 'Yeah,' he croaked. 'I miss them.'
Shader held out his arms and let Elpidio bury his head in his chest, sobbing without restraint. Shader ran his fingers through the boy's hair and tried to find something to say that might bring even the slightest comfort.
\*\*\*
Scores of black sails combed the waves like dorsal fins, sweeping ahead of the Aura Placida in a wide arc. Podesta passed Shader the spyglass.
'Looks like they have big quarry, eh?' he said, taking a swig from a bottle of rum.
Shader gasped as the scene came into focus. The reavers were bearing down upon a flotilla of white-sailed galleons. At this distance, and with the low cloud cover, it was difficult to be certain, but he could have sworn he saw the red Monas flapping from the masts of some of the ships.
'That's a Templum fleet,' he said, almost not believing his own words.
'Aye,' Podesta said. 'Let's just hope the reason for their incursion into Sahulian waters doesn't join all the other unsolved mysteries on the seabed, eh? The reavers outnumber them two to one; with those thunder-weapons they used on us, your Nousian friends won't have a chance.'
Shader focused in on the Templum flagship. The decks seemed to sparkle as sunlight glanced off of burnished helms and blades. It was hard to pick out any details at this range, but he was certain armoured men were massing towards the aftcastle and swiftly forming up into disciplined ranks. He swung the spyglass and caught sight of a white-robed figure flanked by two men in black with splashes of crimson.
'The Ipsissimus.' Shader's voice was hoarse.
'What?' Podesta took the spyglass. 'Shog me for a salty seadog. What the Abyss would lure the old spider from his lair, eh?'
Podesta lowered the spyglass and pointed. 'Two of the reavers are breaking away.' He offered Shader the spyglass but there was no need. The black sails looked like rotten teeth at this distance, but Shader could clearly see them pulling back from the group and swinging towards the Aura Placida.
'Decisions, decisions, eh?' Podesta said.
Already there were murmurings amongst the crew, many of whom had stopped their work to gawp and gesture over the side.
The Captain squinted out over the waves. 'If we take a south-westerly course, we might just make it close enough to Sahul for the Imperial fleet to get involved.'
'Might?' Shader could see the two reavers growing steadily more visible as they closed the distance. 'We still have quite a lead on them. Surely we could...'
'Maybe. Maybe not,' Podesta said, scratching his beard.
For a moment he looked like the king of fools in his motley attire of garish colours, the tricorn crammed low on his head like a mockery of admiralty. The impression suddenly vanished, as if swept away by a gust of wind. Podesta drew himself upright, pulled back his shoulders and hollered.
'Let go the mainsail! Hoist the lateens! Bring us about, Mr Dekker! Prow to the enemy and make it snappy! Let's see if we can spear us a reaver with the bowsprit, eh?'
He gave Shader a mighty slap on the back and leaned out over the rail to observe the approaching ships. Cleto stepped out from behind the mast, gave Shader a sideways glance and moved to Podesta's side.
'Want me to break out the rest of the cargo, Captain?'
'Good man, Cleto. Always like it when a sailor can read my mind. Ten men lining each rail to give the mawgs something to think about, the rest up on the aftcastle. That's where we'll make our stand if they board us. You know the drill. And don't forget the oil!'
'Captain,' Cleto said as he hurried towards the hold.
'Oh, and Cleto, tell the men, no firing till they get my order. Understood?'
'Understood, Captain.'
Podesta turned to Shader, a grim expression on his face. 'Don't fancy our chances much,' he said. 'Best hope we have is to do the unexpected.'
'Attack the two coming at us and then flee?' Shader said, peering towards the main body of black vessels starting to surround the Templum fleet.
'No, no, no,' Podesta said. 'See, even you expected that, and a mawg's a much craftier creature than a knight or a priest, or whatever you are today. Straight down the centre.' Podesta pointed to the channel between the approaching reavers. 'Right into the heart of the swarm.'
'You're attacking the entire fleet?' Shader said. 'That's suicide.'
Podesta shrugged and stared down at the waves. 'Sometimes we don't have all the choices we'd like,' he said. 'But if I'm going down to mawgs, it's not going to be because they ran faster than me. And besides, I thought a holy avenger like you might appreciate the opportunity to save your friends.'
Shader didn't think that was very likely.
So this is where it was going to end. He'd never considered death at sea. Not quite the slow fading from life he'd envisioned at Pardes. But this is what he was trained for, as were the fighting men he'd seen on the Templum flagship. They were Elect knights, sworn to serve the Ipsissimus; sworn to die for him and to see it as an honour. Shader gripped the hilt of his sword and narrowed his eyes against the squall. This is where Ain had led him. So be it.
Cleto's barking voice ripped him from his thoughts and announced the commencement of the path they had chosen. Sailors who'd only minutes ago been coarse and carefree fanned out along the starboard rail with the same long-barrelled weapons Cleto had taken to the jungle. The rest were massing on the aftcastle, many of them also brandishing the Aeterna-tech weapons, others with cutlasses and crossbows. Cleto strode the length of the deck, shouting commands in exactly the same tone as the Elect drill-sergeants had used. It was a marvel to watch: a line of scruffy seamen loading lead balls, tamping them down, and then raising the barrels to sight the enemy. Once he was satisfied, Cleto ordered them to lower their weapons and wait. He then ran to the aftcastle and went through the same routine.
Podesta was beside Dekker at the helm, gesticulating with sharp cutting motions of his hands and repeatedly uttering 'uh?' and 'eh?'
to make sure he'd been understood. Dekker looked pale, rigid hands clutching the wheel as if it were holding him in existence.
A tortured howl came from the galley. Podesta's jaw dropped, and he turned to Shader, eyes wide and frightened, bottom lip trembling.
Sabas emerged from the galley with a hefty cleaver in each hand. He'd removed his apron and wore only breeches and a vest. He'd always looked a big man, but at that moment Shader saw him as a giant, all bulging muscle, whereas in his usual attire he'd appeared stocky and not a little fat. He acknowledged Shader with a nod. The humour had left his eyes. They'd grown feral, and his lips were drawn back in a snarl. He came to stand before Podesta and lowered his gaze.
'The boy?' Podesta asked, his voice quavering.
Sabas shook his head. Podesta's hand went to his mouth, tears streaking his cheeks.
'Maybe it's good he don't have to go through this again,' Sabas said in a low rumble.
Podesta nodded and wiped the snot from his nose. He sucked in a deep breath and drew his shoulders back. He flicked a look at Shader, but there was no sparkle in his eyes.
Sabas made his way up onto the aftcastle, the other sailors parting for him out of either fear or respect. Shader guessed they'd seen this side of Sabas before and knew what was coming.
Elpidio was leaning over the edge of the crow's nest to get a better look at the enemy. If the boy was scared, he was disguising it well. He noticed Shader watching him and waved.
'You might want to join the others up top,' Podesta said, clapping a hand on Shader's shoulder. 'They'll swarm the decks in no time. At least from the aftcastle we'll have a defensive advantage, eh?'
Shader indicated the men lining the rails. 'What about them?'
'One volley and then they fall back. Dekker's the only one staying put. We need him to get us through and into the thick of it.'
Dekker was visibly shaking as he clung to the wheel, his muscles taut as a dead man's, eyes fixed straight ahead, lips moving with silent words.
'I'll stay with him,' Shader said.
'But...'
'If it's that important we break through, someone needs to keep Dekker alive.'
'Point taken.' Podesta held out his hand and Shader took it. 'May Ain be with you, my friend.'
'And with your spirit,' Shader said as the Captain turned and ran up the steps to the aftcastle.
'Here they come lads!' bellowed Cleto from up top. 'Ready weapons!'
All around the deck barrels were raised in perfect unison. The two reavers were almost upon them. Shader could see mawgs packed onto the decks like rats clinging to driftwood. The channel between the ships was narrowing as the mawgs realized what Podesta was trying to do, but fast as they were, it was still too late.
'I will stand with you,' Osric whispered in Shader's ear.
Shader nodded his thanks, but took little comfort. His palms were slick with sweat, and his breaths came in ragged gasps. Once battle had commenced he knew he'd be fine. It was the anticipation he couldn't deal with.
The Aura Placida slipped between the reavers like she was threading the eye of a needle. The huge black barrels of thunder-weapons protruded from the sides of both galleons, but they dared not fire for fear of hitting each other. Dozens of mawgs leapt to the railings and started to fling themselves across to the Aura Placida.
'Fire!' Cleto roared.
There was a succession of thunder-cracks. Barrels smoked, and mawgs were punched back against their own hulls before plunging into the sea.
'Fall back!' Cleto yelled as another wave of mawgs prepared to leap from the galleon, jaws snapping, claws rending the air.
As the sailors scurried past on their way to the aftcastle, Shader drew the gladius and took up a position behind Dekker. The sailor was speaking audibly now, the same words over and over:
'I love you Mary, I love you Mary, I love you Mary...'
The prow of the Aura Placida was already through the gap and the mawgs howled their frustration. The main decks of both reavers were heaving masses of fur. Yellow eyes glared their hunger at Shader as they passed, and some of the larger mawgs reared up and beat their leathery chests with razor sharp claws, gashing and gouging themselves. The spill of black blood whipped up a frenzy amongst the others.
Dozens more flung themselves across the waves. They were met with thunder and dropped like stones into the sea; all but two, whose claws found purchase in the carrack's hull. They hung there for a few seconds and then started to drag themselves upwards. As the first reached the top, Shader ran over and hacked away its arm. The mawg screeched and fell, but the other one made the deck and pounced. Shader twisted clear of a vicious sweep with a claw and backslashed across the mawg's throat. The thick fur saved the beast and it barrelled into him.
Parrying a bludgeoning blow as he stumbled backwards, Shader managed to put the mainmast between him and the mawg. It came around the left hand side, maw cavernously wide and filled to the gullet with thorny teeth. Shader thrust and the head pulled back behind the mast. It immediately reappeared the other side and he jabbed at it again. This time when it withdrew, he followed it. The mawg did as he'd expected and went back to the left. It roared its frustration when it found nothing but air, and then it screamed and thrashed as the point of Shader's gladius emerged from its chest.
Shader whipped the blade free and danced out of range as the enraged mawg thrashed about with blood pumping from its torso. He watched it for a moment, gauging the pattern of its movements, and then lunged with the gladius extended. The blade skewered an eye, and Shader pushed until he felt it grate against bone and hit something pulpy beyond. The mawg dropped like a sack of potatoes.
A cheer went up from the aftcastle, and Shader saw that they had cleared the two reavers. He wiped his blade on the mawg's fur and rejoined Dekker at the helm. Something shimmered behind the sailor causing Shader to start, but then he saw it was Osric's insubstantial image catching the sea spray. Shader was about to say something about the wraith not helping, but then realized Osric had been fulfilling their task to keep Dekker safe.
There was a succession of muffled booms, and clouds of smoke billowed up from the main mawg fleet. Shader's first thought was that it was a miracle, an act of Ain, but then he realized the smoke was coming from the thunder-weapons jutting from their hulls. Flames raced skywards along the masts of one of the lagging Templum ships. People were leaping overboard into the chopping waves as a black cloud rolled across the deck. The mainmast teetered and the hull lurched dangerously.
The reavers had the Templum ships encircled, but it was getting difficult to see what was happening in the thick banks of smoke now spilling off the sinking ship. Shader's eyes were watering from the acrid fumes and his stomach churned as the Aura Placida plunged into the troughs and rode the waves. They were coming up fast behind the nearest of the black ships. Shader blinked and squinted in an effort to gauge the numbers on both sides. There were about thirty reavers and fewer than fifteen Templum ships. Each of the reavers was packed with at least a hundred frenzied mawgs. Even if the Templum fleet avoided the thunder-weapons, it would be overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers.
'They're coming about, Mr Dekker!' Podesta shouted from the aftcastle. 'Take us straight into the pack and keep running.'
Shader looked back and saw the first two reavers turning in wide circles. The Aura Placida was caught between a rock and a hard place. Podesta's plan---if that's what you could call it---reeked of desperation. It struck Shader as the death-wish of a man who'd never come to terms with what he'd witnessed at the hands of the mawgs as a child. Is that what this was, the result of the Captain's obsession? Or was there really no other way? It was pointless worrying about it, Shader decided. The die was already cast. They were committed. All he had to worry about was keeping Dekker alive long enough to break through the reavers and scatter their formation. With any luck it would afford the Templum fleet some room for a counterattack, although what they could do against the thunder-weapons he couldn't imagine. No matter the source of Podesta's illegal Aeterna-tech, there was no way the Ipsissimus was going to have anything similar with his fleet. Not unless he was an utter hypocrite. Right now, Shader hoped that he was.
The aft of the closest reaver came looming into view, and for an instant Shader thought Dekker was going to ram it. At the last minute, the Aura Placida swung to port and grazed the side of the mawg vessel. Timbers screeched and the deck shuddered. Mawgs pitched overboard or tumbled on top of each other as volley upon volley of lead shot ripped into them from the Aura Placida's aftcastle. Before the mawgs could muster any sort of attack, the carrack was through and speeding towards the Templum fleet at the centre of the noose.
The reaver they'd struck swung around from the impact and headed straight for its neighbour. The Templum ships had given up running and were manoeuvring into a defensive circle. The reavers saw they had them just where they wanted them and began to turn side on so that they could bring their thunder-weapons to bear.
'That one!' Podesta bellowed from the railing of the aftcastle. He was pointing with his cutlass towards the largest of the black galleons. 'The flagship, Mr Dekker. Ram her!'
The mawg flagship was halfway through its turn and presented them with a broad target. The Aura Placida's bowsprit took on the aspect of a tremendous lance as it swung to the attack and the hunted became the hunter.
'Brace for impact!' Podesta shouted, and then there was a sickening crunch as planks splintered and the prow buried itself in the flank of the reaver. The flagship split and started to fold back around the remains of the bowsprit. Mawgs fell by the dozen into the water, but one---larger than the rest---levitated a foot above the deck and wheeled to face Dekker. Its face was pierced with human bones, and a chain of skulls dangled from its neck. The mawg extended two taloned hands and fire spiralled from them. Dekker's jaw hung slack, but he seemed unable to release the wheel. Shader stepped in front of him with the gladius raised. The blade flared white, drawing the mawg's fire into itself and quenching it. The mawg snarled something at Shader and then gestured to its fellows. A great mass of fur bundled towards the Aura Placida's foredeck howling like rabid wolves.
'Fly!' Shader screamed at Dekker. 'Get up top.'
Dekker tore his hands away from the wheel and sprinted for the aftcastle with Osric's ghostly outline close on his tail. Shader started to back away after him as the mawgs spilled to the quarterdeck and reached the mainmast. Two of them started to climb the mast by burying their claws deep into the wood. Shader looked up at the crow's nest and groaned. Elpidio was staring down, white-faced, eyes wide in panic.
Shader charged, but before he could reach the mast, the main swell of mawgs swarmed past it and fell upon him. There was a blur of fangs, claws and fur. Talons glanced off his chainmail, shredded his coat. Shader stabbed and slashed with wild abandon, cleaving, cutting, impaling. He ducked and danced, always poised, always balanced. No thoughts, no regrets: raw movements born from hours of practice and years of bloody experience. His hat was torn from his head and a claw raked the skin of his face, but Shader dropped low and gutted his assailant. He never stood still long enough for the mawgs to overwhelm him. His foot lashed out striking a mawg behind the calf and upturning it. Another grabbed him from behind, but Shader reversed his sword and rammed it through hide and flesh. He could see nothing but fur and fangs and blood, but he continued to whirl and slash like a devil. If he had to slay an army by himself he would. There was no way they were getting Elpidio.
As if sharing his resolve, the gladius hummed and shone with white-hot brilliance. The mawgs raged at its blinding light, but still kept coming in an endless avalanche. Shader cut down another and backed against the mast. The two climbing mawgs were almost at the crow's nest and he could hear Elpidio screaming. Jaws snapped an inch from Shader's face, causing him to duck round the other side of the mast. He jabbed forwards, spitting an arm, ripped his blade free and hacked down hard on top of a mawg's head. The beast crumpled into the path of the pack. For a second, Shader had a breathing space and he took hold of the rigging draping from the mast. Before he could climb, the mawgs surged forward and he was forced to back away to the railings. Elpidio screamed again---a ghastly shrill shriek---and blood showered the decks.
'No!' Shader roared, charging back into the horde, cutting, stabbing, hacking, his limbs fuelled by rage and pain.
The mawgs closed around him, striking from all sides. A blow to the head turned his vision red and sent him reeling towards a wall of claws. Just before they struck him, there was a series of bangs and four of the mawgs fell forwards with holes in their chests.
Strong arms grabbed Shader and pulled him through the gap.
'You're one crazy shogger,' growled Cleto, dragging Shader towards the aftcastle as three other sailors covered them with the Aeternam weapons.
'Elpidio,' Shader protested. 'Elpidio!'
'Too late,' Cleto said. 'Now get your arse up there and kill some more o' the cunts.'
Cleto shoved Shader towards the steps where other hands caught him and helped him up to the aftcastle. He turned as Cleto barked an order and the three sailors who'd covered their retreat fired again. Another mawg fell, but the pack continued to swell.
'Run!' Cleto yelled as the sailors tried desperately to reload their weapons.
Cleto bounded up the steps three at a time. Two of the others made it, but the third was snatched away into the pack. The sound of his flesh being ripped was unnaturally loud. His screams cut across the deck for longer than they should have, accompanied by rending, crunching, and disgorging. Finally, the big mawg they'd seen shooting fire from its fingers reared up with a hunk of dripping meat in each hand. It was hard to tell what body part it was, due to the gore, but thankfully the screaming had stopped.
Podesta put his hand on Shader's shoulder and peered down at the mawgs.
'There's no end to them,' he said in a hushed voice. 'Shoggers must breed like rabbits.'
He led Shader behind the two ranks of sailors armed with Aeternam weapons so that he could view the rest of the battle. Smoke billowed up in a wide circle making it hard to distinguish the Templum ships from the reavers.
'We must help them,' Osric said. 'It is our duty.'
Shader felt it too, the pull of his Elect training, the sense of purpose the Order had instilled in him. For Osric, it must have been even worse: years of loyal service followed by an age of undeath, centuries in which to regret his failings. Shader had taken the easy route; he'd simply walked away from it all, reneged on his responsibilities. But now, faced with a real threat to the Ipsissimus, he wanted nothing more than to be at his side.
One galleon was ablaze, careening precariously. Fire erupted from the thunder-weapons of the reavers at intervals, sending up splashes of water or splintering through planks. The chorus of screams and explosions was muffled and eerily dreamlike. For an instant, the wind cleared the smoke and Shader saw that the cordon of black sails was tightening about the remaining Templum ships. Clearly the mawgs wanted to finish this with tooth and claw. As their weapons thundered again and the smoke screen returned, Shader thought he saw another vessel, much smaller than the rest, escaping the fight. Shader blinked and squinted, but then the little ship was lost to sight. He'd been mistaken: it hadn't been fleeing the battle, it was heading towards it.
'Steady.' Cleto's voice brought Shader around.
The mawgs were now pressing onto the stairs, loping up cautiously. The entire quarterdeck behind them resembled a seething furry monster.
'Steady,' Cleto called again. Shader thought he detected a slight quaver in the man's voice.
The lead mawgs were only a few steps from the top. The first line of defenders held their Aeterna-tech weapons to their eyes, the barrels wavering either from fear or the wind. The second rank looked like they would have run, if there had been anywhere to go. They clutched their own weapons in white-knuckled hands. Behind them stood the last line of defence: a huddle of grim-faced sailors brandishing cutlasses. Tough men, every one of them, but each betraying the hopelessness of their plight and the fear of what was to come. Sabas stood at the centre, his black skin beaded with sweat, the two cleavers hanging loosely at his sides as if he had all the time in the world to bloody them.
'Fire!' Cleto roared.
There was a series of thunder-cracks. Blood sprayed, mawgs fell. One had a fist-sized hole through its chest; another lost half its face, yet still the horde pressed on, clambering over the bodies now clogging the steps. The front row of sailors knelt to reload as the rank behind took aim.
The mawgs howled and surged upwards like frenzied wolves scenting injured prey. The first wave was decimated by another volley from the Aeterna-tech weapons. The front rank of sailors stood and fired again as the men behind reloaded. There was time to get off one more volley before the mawgs reached the aftcastle and the sailors scattered to port and starboard.
Sabas roared and charged the horde's centre, flanked by a score of men wielding cutlasses. The big man swung his cleavers in brutal arcs that sent up gouts of black blood. Shader went to follow him into the fray, but Podesta held him back.
'Wait, my friend. You've had your turn. Sabas will hold the steps for a while yet.'
A rush of cold air told Shader that Osric had sped into the melee, and within moments blood was flying from the mawgs as if the air itself bore arms against them.
Sabas cut his way deeper into the pack, his arms swirling like the blades of a windmill. He reached the top of the steps where the mawgs could only come at him two at a time and hacked away with ruthless efficiency. The beasts never relented. It was almost as if they enjoyed the challenge, flinging themselves at this unyielding wall of death and trusting in their limitless numbers. Sabas would tire, they must have known that. It was only a matter of time.
It came sooner than Shader had expected. Sabas half hacked the head off of one mawg and then buried his second cleaver in the skull of another. The blade lodged there, but the creature didn't drop. It barrelled on into Sabas, knocking him flat on his back. The big man let go of his blades and pounded his fists into the mawg's head as it snarled and snapped on top of him. Sailors pressed in and started to batter and stab the creature, but more mawgs were now surging up the steps and onto the aftcastle.
'That's our cue,' Podesta said, charging in with his cutlass weaving a wicked arc and sending up sprays of black gore.
Shader leapt after him, cutting and stabbing with renewed ferocity. Between them, they drove the mawgs back to the steps and then took up a position either side, thrusting, blocking, and slashing. Osric must have been somewhere in front of them as mawgs were suddenly sliced open by an invisible blade. Panic spread through the closest creatures and they started to tear at each other in their desperation to get away.
Sabas was back up, but one of his arms was horribly mangled and he had deep gashes across his chest and face. He clenched a cutlass in a meaty fist.
'Let me at them!' he bellowed, prowling towards the stairs.
'Stay where you are,' Podesta called over his shoulder as he gutted another mawg. 'You're too badly hurt.'
'Don't have time to hurt,' the black man growled. 'But I'm gonna give them a whole load of hurt for what they did to my Elpidio.'
He pushed past Shader and Podesta and cannoned into the mawgs. The cutlass swept down and a head flew through the air. Sabas drove into the pack like a one man phalanx, heaving and hacking with the fury of a titan. He cut a swath through the mawgs until he set foot on the quarterdeck. Shader ran down beside him, expecting the big man to stop there, but Sabas pressed on into the mass of mawgs still filling the deck. Within seconds they surrounded him and he went down amidst great spouts of crimson blood.
A passage of gore opened up in the scrum of mawgs who'd smothered Sabas. Limbs flew, oily blood sprayed, and the mawgs scattered from the big man's body. Osric was clearly visibly now---a translucent death-knight defined by the clinging black blood of his foes. The creatures backed away from him, and for a moment Shader thought the tide had turned. Then, the big mawg with the piercings and skulls stepped through their ranks with dark mist rolling from its claws. Osric gusted towards it, but the creature made a clutching, twisting gesture with its hands and a tiny black aperture appeared in the air before Osric. The wraith caught like a sail in a gale, stretching and fluttering towards the black hole. His sword arm was caught by some unimaginable force and corkscrewed into the opening, dragging the rest of him after it. Osric twisted his head, his crimson eyes flaring right at Shader. He held out his free arm as if Shader could catch hold of him and tug him clear, and then even that was gone. The mawg clapped its hands and the black hole vanished along with Osric.
Shader's knees weakened and he had to steady himself on the banister. He now stood alone at the foot of the steps. He glanced back up at the aftcastle to see Podesta ordering the survivors to take up crossbows and line the railing.
'Ready the oil, lads!' the Captain bellowed.
A mawg leapt and Shader stepped back as he impaled it. A thrill ran up his arm from the hilt of the gladius, which had once more started to hum and glow. Heat flooded his veins and cleared his head. It felt as if he'd rested for a week.
He met a vicious claw swipe with the blade and severed the mawg's arm at the elbow. Two more charged him at the same time and he gave a little ground, retreating to the bottom step. The first mawg snapped out its jaws, but Shader rammed the gladius through the top of its mouth and into its brain. The second lunged at his legs. Shader tripped on the next step as he slashed the mawg across the face and then kicked it back into the pack. He found his feet just in time to meet a clubbing blow from another mawg. Its hand flew over the rails into the sea and torrents of black blood spouted from the stump. Shader ducked under a strike from the remaining hand and buried the gladius in the mawg's belly. He ripped it clear and slashed across the creature's neck. Two more mawg's pounced, and Shader gave up another step.
The thrum of crossbows sounded from above and the mawgs fell, skewered with bolts. A couple more replaced them and Shader retreated again, parrying claws desperately until he was once more on the aftcastle. Podesta joined him and they resumed their position at the top of the steps, cutting down the mawgs in pairs. There was no let up, though. The mawgs just kept coming and Shader was already starting to tire. Podesta looked like an animated corpse. His face had lost all colour and he was spattered with mawg blood. His eyes, though, burned with frenzy. Behind him, the sailors continued to fire into the mass below, but it was like spitting on a bushfire. One man leapt overboard, obviously thinking his chances were better with the sharks than with the mawgs. Another stood by a keg of oil, eyes tracking Podesta, but the Captain showed no indication he was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice yet.
A snarling beast dived at Podesta's legs and bore him to the ground. Shader spun and stabbed it through the eye, but another came up behind him. He backslashed across its throat, but already others had made it to the aftcastle. Podesta scrambled to his feet and they backed towards the stern. Shader glanced left and right.
'The oil, Captain?' he said. 'If we're going to do it...'
'Not yet,' Podesta said. 'Not yet.'
A dozen men on either side had thrown down their crossbows and taken up cutlasses. They looked finished, like dead men, but their jaws were set and he knew there was no give in them. The mawgs roared their triumph and swarmed forward. The sailors leapt to meet them, screaming a chilling battle cry. Shader's blows were weakening as he cut and thrust, twisted and spun back into the wall of fur. A man's arm fell at Shader's feet, where the deck was already awash with red blood. He glimpsed Podesta whirling and hacking like a demon. Something struck Shader on the back and he flew towards the gaping mouth of a mawg. He slashed wildly with the sword, missed, but managed to roll out of the way of a sweeping claw. He came up and rammed his blade into the groin of another mawg, wrenched it free and parried a clubbing forearm.
Shader felt a strange calmness. He moved with speed and efficiency, but it was as if everything had slowed down and taken on a dreamlike quality. This was it, his final moment on earth. This was how it was to end, and yet he fought on as if he didn't have a care in the world. It was a hazy game, a practice bout, maybe even someone else's nightmare, but part of him retained its grip on reality; part of him knew that this could only end one way. He risked a glance at the sailor by the oil keg.
Amber light flooded the deck and Shader shielded his eyes from its brightness. The mawgs started screeching and thrashing the air. They lumbered about the aftcastle, some stumbling down the steps. A savage roar sounded from the quarterdeck and Shader peered over the rail to see the big mawg with the bone piercings pointing off the bow and gesturing for the pack to follow. As the mawgs started pouring down the steps, Shader squinted out to sea where the small ship he'd seen had taken up a position between the reavers and the Templum fleet. Someone stood before its single mast holding aloft a blazing amber object. Podesta handed Shader the spyglass and once he'd got it focused he gasped with recognition. It was Maldark the Fallen, armoured in banded mail, grey hair and beard streaming in the gusting wind. He held his war-hammer aloft, its stone head shining with the radiance of the sun.
The mawgs started leaping into the sea and swimming towards the dwarf's boat. The same was happening on all the reavers: the mawgs were piling into the water, and soon the sea was a mass of dark shapes converging on Maldark.
'What the shog are they doing now?' Cleto growled.
Shader couldn't take his eyes off the scene. A remote part of his mind registered that Cleto was still alive, a fact that didn't surprise him in the slightest.
The mawgs streaked towards the little boat in a tide of slick fur. As the first claws raked against the hull and mawgs started dragging themselves aboard, the blaze from Maldark's hammer burst across the waves. Flames scorched the swimming mawgs, who screeched and dived below the surface, but to no avail. The water may as well have been oil fuelling the fire. Shader looked away, blinking against the flash-blindness. When he looked back, ash coated the sea around Maldark's boat. Hundreds of mawgs had simply been incinerated, but those at the rear were surrounded by a greenish glow emanating from the big mawg with the bone necklace. Under the shaman's protection they were still battling the waves in a ragged semicircle.
The dwarf had his back to the mast and nearly fell. He took a step forward and tried to lift the hammer again, but he dropped to his knees with the effort. He looked up as the air above him ripped open. An icy thrill ran up Shader's spine as he recognized the cobalt skies he'd glimpsed during the mawg ritual on the Anglesh Isles. It seemed as if a blue veil had been rent to reveal a separate reality behind. Maldark's body sagged with what looked like resignation as a gigantic black hand pushed through the aperture and swooped towards him. Dark fingers curled around the dwarf, dragged him away from the hammer. Shader wanted to shout a warning as the mawgs closed in on the boat. He entertained vague ideas of stripping off his armour and flinging himself into the sea to go to Maldark's aid, but he did nothing. There was nothing he could do. Half a dozen mawgs dragged themselves dripping onto the boat. The shaman went for the hammer, while the others yelped as the giant fingers uncurled and offered the dwarf to their frenzy.
Do something! Shader urged. Stand and fight!
The shaman raised the hammer as cobalt swirls formed a sphere above. Amber scintillated from the head of the hammer for an instant, then sputtered and died. The shaman barked at the other mawgs who howled and tore into Maldark, smothering him beneath a mass of fur.
Shader couldn't even shut his eyes as the blood began to spray and the hammer burst into crimson flame. The sphere swelled into a vast rent in the sky, and the grey-clad figure appeared once more, reaching forward from his metal throne, fingers curling around the haft of Maldark's hammer.
Sektis Gandaw opened his eyes and allowed himself the barest of smiles at the war-hammer lying across his lap. Electrodes withdrew from his skull in quick succession, the wires retracting into the centre of the array above the projection seat. He frowned, but only ever so slightly, as the skin punctures ringing his head like the marks of a thorny crown tightened and then sealed with a fresh dermal layer. He withdrew his hand from the black gauntlet and stood---a little too soon. Giddiness swamped him and he half fell, clutching the arm of the chair for support. A hundred needles pricked his skin, restoring equilibrium, and he sucked in a long, deep breath.
He flinched as something twitched in his peripheral vision. The sedatives calmed him even before he could berate himself; it was nothing but the holographic black hand upon its tray, extending and flexing its phalanges. He punched a sequence of buttons and the hand flickered away.
The hammerhead was still warm from the transition, and Sektis Gandaw felt an uncharacteristic thrill as he caressed it. He was almost disappointed when chemicals flooded his arteries to return him to homeostasis. Curling his fingers around the haft, he felt the whir of circuits in his exoskeleton that enabled him to lift it as if it were a feather. He strode to a circular section of floor, which detached itself and bore him down to the ground level.
Mephesch was checking the connections on the body of the serpent statue. It was mounted upon a pedestal and wired into the nerve centre of the symmetrical mountain. Microfilaments were attached to every inch of the statue, like the tendrils of a luminescent anemone.
'Not the piece I was after,' Sektis Gandaw said, 'but a fortunate find in any case. You were right about the Arnochian granite blocking our sensors. The recalibration worked perfectly. Now let's just hope we weren't deceived. These dwarves are as cunning as...' He wanted to say 'your lot,' but thought better of it. Nevertheless, it was true. After all, had he not augmented his original dwarves with the genes of the homunculi?
He handed Mephesch the hammer. The homunculus staggered under the weight and then set it down at the foot of the pedestal.
'At least now we can now account for all five pieces,' Sektis Gandaw said.
One was definitely amongst the Templum fleet that had set sail from Latia. The Kryeh had detected its power, and with the acquisition of the body of the statue, Sektis Gandaw had been able to maintain a trace through his network of spies in the sky.
Mephesch rubbed his hands together and cocked his head.
'Is it ready?' Sektis Gandaw asked, stooping to inspect the panel displays around the base of the pedestal.
'We have limited control,' Mephesch said. 'If a piece of the statue really is concealed within the hammer it should reveal itself to the body.'
Sektis Gandaw nodded, his eyes flicking from the hammer to the serpent statue's gaping mouth. 'Proceed,' he said, stepping back and stroking his chin.
Mephesch tapped the screen on his vambrace and then threw a switch set into the pedestal. There was a waft of ozone, followed by a low drone. The microfilaments surrounding Eingana's petrified body started to dance with multi-coloured lights, and then the black stone of the statue began to shimmer. Amber radiance burned away the black until the statue shone with its brilliance. Sektis Gandaw's optics darkened against the glare, and he watched in satisfaction as Maldark's hammer began to pulse and glow in response. The top of the hammerhead rippled like water, and a shard of amber began to emerge. A ray of golden light shot from the mouth of the statue to connect with the shard, coaxing it free from concealment.
It was a fang, Sektis Gandaw observed. His second piece of the Statue of Eingana. It travelled along its beam of light until it hovered in the serpent's maw. The sinuous body writhed and the mouth snapped closed. When it opened again, the fang was embedded in the upper gum. The serpent coiled and twisted, and then grew still as if suddenly fossilised. Mephesch flicked the switch and the droning died down. The amber radiance around the statue pulsed a couple of times and then winked out, leaving dull black stone in its wake.
'Good,' Sektis Gandaw said. 'One step closer.'
Mephesch lifted his black eyes to meet Sektis Gandaw's. His lips parted like a gash, curling upwards at the edges in a smile.
Sektis Gandaw didn't like that look; didn't trust it. But no matter, he thought, Mephesch was proving his usefulness, but it was a usefulness that would ultimately lead to his own demise, along with that of everything else in the imperfect universe.
'I'll be in my chambers,' Sektis Gandaw said, instructing the floor disk to rise. 'The slightest glimmer from the other pieces, call me.'
Mephesch nodded as Sektis Gandaw was borne to the very top level of the mountain.
The disk set him down on a narrow walkway flanked by an army of sentroids. The spherical robots beeped and flashed as he passed them, scanning his vital signs and then standing down when they perceived no threat. They guarded the only way into his quarters, which were inaccessible from the outside. A thousand feet above ground level and shielded by fifty feet of scarolite. The only way into the mountain was from below, and even he wouldn't want to set foot in the passageways down there. If he wanted to get out, he could, but it would involve exterminating the aberrations he'd left roaming the lower levels. That would be a waste, though. Not only did the monsters he'd created over the centuries serve as a deterrent to would-be intruders, but there seemed little point eradicating them when he had no intention of venturing outside. It was utter chaos out there. At least in the mountain he had absolute control. Outside it was all so random, so many ungovernable factors that further evidenced the blindness of creation. Inside, Sektis Gandaw was the sole architect of everything that happened. There was no dissent. It was a microcosm of all he intended to create.
He paused outside the shimmering black door of his study and tapped in the code. The door slid open and he stepped inside. Two Sentroids descended and he stood still as they scanned him. The door hissed shut and the Sentroids spun off to take up new positions either side of it.
He tapped out a sequence on his vambrace and a dazzling display of numbers and geometric shapes sprang into the air, whirling, dancing, gyrating. Arcs upon arcs, circles within circles; squares, lines, dots and digits, all held in perfect balance. It was a visual symphony of perfect harmony, the blueprint of the life to come, the promise of the future world.
A stool spiralled its way up from the floor and Sektis Gandaw sat upon it with a satisfied sigh. One step closer. Even after all these centuries the desire burned strong. It was the only desire remaining to him, and that's as it should be, he reminded himself. Once you have everything, you have no need for anything else.
He was close. Closer than he'd been in centuries. The dwarf, Maldark, was out of the way, so there'd be no repeat of what happened the last time he'd harnessed the power of Eingana.
The idiot who had two of the other pieces of the statue had gone quiet. At first their power had been used carelessly and Sektis Gandaw had drawn near. The other piece was with the Templum fleet, on its way to Sahul. The mawgs had been decimated by Maldark's attack and would never be able to take it from so strong a force.
Think, he told himself. Reason. Three pieces so close together, so close he could almost touch them. Maybe he didn't have to do anything. After all, the wheels had already been set in motion. Armies were gathering in the vicinity of Sarum, presumably in response to the recent uses of the statue. War was coming, of that you could be certain. From what he had observed of Sahulian Emperors, there was no way a Templum force was going to be tolerated on their soil. Conflict was bound to arise, and conflict leads to desperation. Desperate men make mistakes, Sektis Gandaw reasoned, and he'd be watching, biding his time. He'd waited this long; he'd mastered the art of patience. Nothing good came quickly. He could wait as long as it took. After all, he was Sektis Gandaw, the Technocrat; the Übermensch they'd called him during his rise to power on Earth. The over-man. They couldn't have been more right. Man was nothing more than a beast, the biological bi-product of chemical reactions and random fluctuations. Nothing but an ape, and yet to most men the idea was seldom entertained. To think of themselves as apes was preposterous; but no matter how much higher they considered themselves than primates, humans were always bound to their intrinsic flaws, their status as brutes. The Übermensch, though, he was something more. He wasn't just a development of man, he was over and above him. Humanity was a pitiful laughing stock to him. The Übermensch was lord of his own destiny; he was self-made; there was nothing he couldn't do. They had known that and disapproved. Monkeys withholding their consent from a god.
For a moment, Sektis Gandaw was struck by the fact that he couldn't remember who "they" were. Machines had preserved his body all these centuries, enhanced his senses and ensured his survival, but they'd failed to halt the erosion of his memories. Little pieces of his past crumbled away like melting icebergs year after year. He'd saved clusters of them, partitioned them away, sealed the organic memory nodules as best he could, but it was a patchy defence. Huge gaps of emptiness lay between the preserved recollections. If he concentrated hard enough, he could hop from one set of memories to the next as if they were stepping stones above an abyss, but there was no continuity.
They, he focused on the thought. Who were they? And then it came to him with a sharp realization. "They" had been his rivals, all dutifully disposed of. "They" had been the wastrels behind the Global Garden Festival. "They" had been the alternative-lifers who'd made their last stand in Sahul, or the ignorant Dreamers who'd rejected his vision and brought about the Reckoning. There had always been a "they" dogging his movements, thwarting his progress, ever since he'd started on the path of perfection. Ever since he'd taken his first steps under the tutelage of Dr Dee in London, when he'd learnt to scry upon the world of Aethir.
Sektis Gandaw stopped as a buried memory burst into consciousness. That was when it had all started, when he'd come to the conclusion that the world was a mess, that it needed fixing. There hadn't been a "they" until that moment. He hadn't been dissatisfied until the whisperings had started.
His head was pounding with the implications, but mercifully the sedatives kicked in and he could look at it more objectively.
Everything changed the day the voice had called to him. A voice from somewhere he no longer believed in; refused to accept. Somehow, his scrying activities had aroused the attention of a being trapped in a very dark place. He'd walled the memory off, he realized, beaten it back with the tools of his science.
More drugs surged through his veins, dampening down the rising feeling that he might have been mistaken, might not quite hold all the answers. There had been something back then that science couldn't account for. Not just the rudimentary science of the alchemists of his day, but the science he now worshipped at the altar of.
Another shot of tranquilizers entered his bloodstream. Memories are buried for a reason, he told himself. Especially childish memories of hell and bogeymen. Just part of the collective unconscious, he reminded himself, as his rational mind locked down the hatches against his flawed human nature. That's why everything has to be put right, why the Unweaving needed to happen. Then "they" would thank him for creating a universe that made sense. A universe without skeletons in the cupboard.
Sektis Gandaw almost allowed himself a smile. Almost, but not quite. Equanimity had been restored. He was back in control. The Übermensch.
But no matter how he tried to deny it, he could still feel the niggling presence of that dark memory haunting the shadows of his awareness. More of a sound, than a presence; the muffled echo of the voice that had revealed the existence of the homunculi and opened up to him the possibilities of their technology. It was the voice of his erstwhile mentor, speaking to him from the Abyss. It was the voice of Otto Blightey, the Liche Lord of Verusia.
Shader watched the plumes of black smoke rolling off of Maldark's boat as flames consumed it, erasing the evidence of the dwarf's regurgitated remains. Tears streaked his scratched and bloodied face. Something about Maldark's ending had touched a nerve, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The minute flaming arrows had arced from the Templum flagship he'd gasped and stumbled as if they'd pierced his heart.
The archers had then turned their bows on the surviving mawgs as they'd fled the flames, howling and leaping into the sea. Not a single one had made it back to the reavers. At least that was something to be thankful for. Perhaps Maldark's attack hadn't been completely in vain. His intervention had saved the Templum fleet, but nevertheless it had still been a failure.
Shader raised his eyes to the spot in the sky where the black hand had appeared and let out a long and anguished cry. The remnants of the Aura Placida's crew turned their heads towards him, but he was beyond caring. Podesta was slumped beneath the mainmast knocking back a bottle of rum. Rivulets of blood ran down the wood and, as Shader watched, a fat glob dropped from the crow's nest to spatter the Captain's hat.
'Ship ho!' someone called; someone who was not Elpidio.
Podesta tried to stand, but before he made it to his feet, Cleto tore himself away from the spectacle of flame and strode over to him, followed by the rest of the crew. Shader didn't like the way Cleto was standing with arms folded across his chest, nor the way Podesta had eyes only for the rum. He flicked a look to the sea where a longboat was bobbing towards the Aura Placida. He lifted his gaze to the Templum flagship and saw a white-robed figure peering through the smoke like a ghostly sentinel. Shader turned back to Podesta as Cleto barked angry words and a chorus of growled agreements passed through the crew. There were only a score of men left, all of them drawn and looking bloodless. Gutless, Shader thought as he realized what was happening. Sliding the gladius from its scabbard with a ringing scrape he advanced on the mob.
Cleto turned on him and scowled, raising the barrel of an Aeternam weapon and levelling it at Shader's chest. Shader had seen what the weapons could do, but he couldn't have cared less as he stalked towards Cleto. The sailors parted for him, eyes darting uncertainly.
'Stay out of this,' Cleto said. 'This is crew business and none o' yours.'
'Funny that.' Shader's voice was a parched whisper that split the air like the crack of a whip. 'Seeing as it was you that said I was one of you now. Not just you,' he added with a flick of his head towards the crow's nest, 'but Elpidio too; and if there's one thing I've learned about you Quilonians, it's that you're...what's the word you use?...democratic. So, whatever business you have with the Captain is my business too.'
Cleto tensed, his finger twitching over the weapon's trigger. Shader pressed on until the barrel was touching his chest, directly over his heart. He opened his mouth to yell at Cleto, tell him to do it, but before a sound came out Podesta lurched to his feet and stumbled, steadying himself with one hand on the mast.
'Bravely done, my friend.' He wagged the bottle in Shader's direction. Podesta's eyes were swollen and bloodshot. He forced his lips into a wide grin, but the rest of his face didn't comply. 'Cleto's right,' he said. 'Captain's job is to protect his crew, not lead them into slaughter. I...I... caused this.' He swept the bottle around to encompass the bloodstained decks. 'My obsession. My fear.'
Cleto lowered the barrel of his weapon and turned his eyes on the Captain. Podesta met his gaze with a forlorn nod.
'I was just a kid,' Podesta's voice quavered and tears fell freely down his cheeks. 'Just a boy, like Elpidio, when they came. Blood in the water,' his voice cracked. 'Blood, blood, blood...'
Shader sheathed his blade and went to embrace him, but Podesta drew back.
'I failed you,' Podesta said to the remnants of his crew. 'And for that I will be forever sorry.'
He removed his tricorn, rubbed at the spatter of blood, and handed it to Cleto.
'She's yours now.' He slapped the mainmast. 'Treat her well, Captain.'
Cleto accepted the hat and wiped something from his eye as Podesta turned away and staggered towards the cabins.
'But what...?' Shader started to ask.
Cleto interrupted him. 'Don't you worry about him. We'll see he's all right, won't we lads?'
'Aye, Captain.' The sailors saluted him.
Cleto fixed Shader with a narrow-eyed stare. 'And what about you? What happens now?'
Shader was spared from answering by a shout of 'Ho!' from behind.
The Aura Placida's crew turned to look towards port where a head was poking above the rails. For an instant Shader didn't register the clipped grey hair, the chiselled face, and the stiff deportment as the man climbed aboard. Chainmail sparkled in the resurgent sunlight, and the red Monas symbol seemed to have burst and spilled its own blood across the once white surcoat.
'The least you could do is salute, soldier,' Ignatius Grymm, Grand Master of the Elect, said.
Shader's eyes filled with tears, but whether it was from the shock of seeing his old commander or from the losses he'd suffered he could not say. He was awhirl with unnameable emotions and could only stare blankly back. Ignatius cocked his head, a look of concern passing across his blood-streaked face. Shader dropped to his knees and bowed his head. He could think of nothing else to do.
\*\*\*
'His Divinity is very impressed with your actions,' Ignatius said, leaning with his back to the rail as the Templum flagship rode the waves. 'Personally, I thought it was suicidal.'
Shader searched Ignatius' eyes for any hint of a reprimand, but all he saw was the sparkle of fondness. It did nothing to quell the conflict raging within him. If anything it just increased his guilt at deserting the Elect.
'I suppose it was in the spirit of the Order,' Shader said. 'Give no quarter and all that.'
Ignatius clapped him on the back. 'Oh, yes. I'm sure songs will be written about it. The lone knight taking on a hundred mawgs.'
'More like a thousand,' Shader said with a half-hearted chuckle.
'A million then.' Ignatius was watching him like a concerned parent. 'Might as well save the poets the trouble of exaggerating the tale.'
Shader dipped his head, grasping the rail and staring into the sea. 'Only I wasn't alone,' he said as the faces of Sabas, Elpidio, and Osric flashed before his mind's eye. 'And it wasn't even my idea to attack.'
'Yes,' Ignatius said, turning to join Shader's study of the waves. 'What on earth possessed the Captain to such an act of valour? Hardly the sort of behaviour you'd expect from a smuggler.'
'You know he smuggles for the Templum, don't you?' Shader said.
Ignatius chewed his top lip, his brows furrowing in thought. Finally, he pushed away from the rail and straightened his surcoat with a sharp tug. 'A good man, nevertheless. Brave. Fearless.'
Shader lifted his eyes to the horizon half expecting, half wishing to see the Aura Placida racing towards them. Ain only knew where Cleto would take the crew. Some port no doubt where they could make repairs. Shader had felt like he was watching the slow death of an old friend as the carrack limped away.
'He was terrified,' Shader said. 'The mawgs tore his crew apart when he was a kid. He was so scared he did the only thing he could: he faced his demons head on.'
Ignatius was nodding his understanding.
'The only problem was,' Shader continued, 'he dragged the crew into his own nightmare. I don't suppose they'll ever forgive him.' He couldn't see how they could; not with so many of their friends among the dead.
Shader winced as he pictured Elpidio's face again, and then his thoughts turned to Osric. Poor doomed Osric. Shader didn't know whether to be relieved that Osric's curse had been lifted, that he'd finally found the peace of death. He felt an icy knotting in his stomach, as if all his hopes, all his Nousian beliefs, were being sucked into a void at its centre. Araboth. Shader shook his head with bitter recollection of his time in the illusory realm. That's where Osric should be now, but something about that last desperate look the wraith had given him told Shader there was no heavenly paradise waiting for him. It had been a look of utter horror, as if at the last Osric had glimpsed the madness of the Abyss, or worse still, the absolute emptiness of the Void.
He started at a tap on his shoulder and looked up into Ignatius' grey eyes.
'His Divinity is here,' the Grand Master said, dropping to one knee.
Shader did the same as the Ipsissimus, accompanied by a black clad exemptus in a red biretta, approached. The exemptus hobbled ahead, tapping the deck with a walking stick. His cheeks wobbled as he walked, and his paunch rippled beneath his robes. Shader recognized him from his consecration, and from that fateful day at the tournament.
'Deacon Shader, knight of the Elect,' Exemptus Cane said through a spray of spittle. 'Keeper of the Sword of the Archon.' Cane looked pointedly at the gladius scabbarded at Shader's hip and then shuffled around to indicate the Ipsissimus.
Shader couldn't help staring. There was something different about the ruler of the Templum: he no longer had the pallor of death about him. His face shone with a vitality that matched the sparkle of his eyes, and he seemed taller somehow, less emaciated. The hair beneath his biretta was brown with a healthy sheen, whereas before it had been as grey as his bloodless face.
'Bend your knee and bow your head before His Divinity, the Infallible Ruler of the Nousian Theocracy, the Supreme...'
'They're already kneeling, Cane,' the Ipsissimus said, 'and their heads are bowed. I think we can safely say they know who I am, so please, let's not go through all that pomp and ceremony.'
'But, but, but...' Cane's jowls shook, but he sealed his lips and dropped his chin to his chest at a withering look from the Ipsissimus.
'Please stand, Deacon Shader,' the Ipsissimus said, holding out his hand.
Shader rose and planted a kiss on the Ipsissimus's golden ring. His eyes flicked to the gleaming Monas hanging above the white robe, its single amber eye glinting as if it held a miniature sun at its centre.
'You have my thanks,' the Ipsissimus said. 'And my forgiveness. No one has ever left the Elect before, particularly with the Sword of the Archon, but your actions today have more than atoned for that little... blip.'
The Ipsissimus threw an arm around Shader's shoulders as if they were old friends and led him away from Cane and Ignatius. They received some strange looks from the crew and the scores of battle-weary knights who stood to attention as they passed.
The Ipsissimus pulled open the door to a large cabin and gestured for Shader to enter. Shader cast a look back at Ignatius, but the Grand Master merely shrugged.
'It's quite all right,' the Ipsissimus said. 'I was going to offer you a drink.'
Shader ducked inside the doorway. He was a little disoriented by the absence of gold and crystal, velvet drapery, and artistic masterpieces he'd come to expect from the highest echelons of the Templum. Instead he was confronted with a low bed without a mattress, a single threadbare sheet, a chipped and scratched wooden chair that looked as if it would collapse if a cat leapt on it, and an upturned crate upon which stood a carved Monas, a burned-down candle, and a prayer cord. A string line had been tied across the back wall, and from this hung a couple of pristine white robes and a stained and patched nightshirt.
'Can't stand all the tawdry trappings that are supposed to go with the Office,' the Ipsissimus said, easing past Shader and stooping to reach under the bed. 'Have to go along with it in Aeterna, but here,' he stood with a bottle of wine and a couple of goblets clutched to his chest, 'here things are a little more as Ain prefers, don't you think?'
Shader stuck out his bottom lip and nodded.
'Oh, don't say anything,' the Ipsissimus said, setting the bottle and glasses on the deck and feeling around under the bed until he located a corkscrew. 'I know your type quite well; I know the sort of judgments you've secretly been making.'
Shader opened his mouth to protest, but the Ipsissimus jabbed the corkscrew in his direction and continued.
'I've done it myself,' he said. 'Still do, as a matter of fact, Ain forgive me. Only the other day I made scurrilous remarks about dear old Exemptus Silvanus. Unforgivable comments, egocentrically critical and unbefitting a Nousian. Actually, since you've been kind enough to join me, would you be so good as to hear my confession?'
Shader took an involuntary step back and gave a little cough.
'But, Divinity, I'm not a priest.'
'Ah, pshaw!' the Ipsissimus said. 'You're a Nousian, aren't you? Nothing in the Liber that says you have to be a priest.'
'But Templum Law, Divinity...'
'I'm Ipsissimus. Templum Law is whatever I say, isn't that so?'
Shader stiffened and swallowed. The Ipsissimus was watching him intently through narrowed eyes. A long silence ensued and then suddenly the Ipsissimus doubled up with laughter. Shader was too stunned to react, but the Ipsissimus's mirth continued, hands weakly slapping his thighs and head bobbing. His laughter grew shrill as he drew closer to the floor, his legs wobbling until he dropped to his knees. Tears rolled down his cheeks and his breath came in stutters as if he were sobbing.
'Forgive me.' He waved a hand at Shader. 'I shouldn't have, but you looked so serious.'
A high-pitched hoot escaped him and Shader felt his cheeks tighten. The edges of his mouth curled, and then he could contain it no longer. He spluttered and sprayed spittle as a laugh burst forth, and then he was giggling with the Ipsissimus as he offered a hand and helped the old man up. Only he wasn't old anymore. If he hadn't known better, and if it hadn't been for the eyes, Shader would have thought him a man in his thirties. The Ipsissimus must have seen the expression on his face.
'I succumbed,' he said, touching the gilt Monas around his neck. Its amber eye glinted and Shader felt a reciprocal purr from his gladius. 'Such is the way of power.' He looked momentarily older as his face creased with concern. 'It disguises itself as a need or a means to an end. It has a strategy for all of us, and in my case it convinced me that I was necessary in this coming war.'
The Ipsissimus sighed and seated himself on the floor, gesturing for Shader to join him. He picked up the bottle and the corkscrew and flicked his eyes from the sheathed gladius to Shader's eyes.
'I know the names of every crewman on this ship,' the Ipsissimus said, 'and every Elect knight on board. It's no easy feat.' The cork popped free and the Ipsissimus poured a little wine into a glass and passed it to Shader. 'I developed a system, a sort of memory game, where I think of something each person reminds me of and then store the image away in an imaginary castle up here.' He tapped his temples. 'It works pretty well up to a point, but it has finite capacity. Once I get above a certain number I start to forget those I started with. How's the wine?'
'Excellent, Divinity, thank you.' It was the truth, but even if it hadn't been, what else could he have said to the ruler of the Templum?
The Ipsissimus filled his own glass and then topped Shader up. 'The crew.' He raised his glass. 'I remembered all their names, every single one of them, but then the mawgs attacked us and I can't recall the names of the dead. How do you explain that?'
'How many did you lose, Divinity?' Shader's mind was filled with the bloody faces of crewmen from the Aura Placida whose names he'd never known. He'd barely even acknowledged many of them. He sipped some wine and closed his eyes as his stomach knotted.
'Fifty-three on this ship.' The Ipsissimus's voice was almost a whisper. They're still counting the survivors on the others, but with the sunken ships, we must have lost close to a thous...' The Ipsissimus took a long gulp of wine and gave a weak smile. 'But you suffered losses too. Friends among them.'
Shader's eyes brimmed with tears, but he didn't look away.
The Ipsissimus reached over and held his hand. 'There is more suffering to come. Much more.'
Shader nodded. How could it be otherwise? He could feel the walls of fate closing in around him, its cogs and wheels grinding inexorably, deaf to all appeals.
'I am sorry, Deacon Shader,' the Ipsissimus said, 'but you are at the centre of what's happening. Don't ask me why, but Ain has placed you here for this very purpose.'
Shader's eyes narrowed. 'How do you know?' He didn't include the customary "Divinity", but the Ipsissimus showed no sign that he was bothered.
'Oh, there's no mystical explanation.' The Ipsissimus released Shader's hand and took another sip of wine. 'I was told some time ago, but I never paid it much notice. Now, however, after what I saw you achieve during the battle with the mawgs, I'm starting to realize they spoke the truth.'
'Who?' Shader gripped his glass so tight that he half expected it to shatter.
'Aristodeus,' the Ipsissimus said, 'and...'
'And me,' Huntsman said as his spirit shimmered into view.
The Dreamer had the look of a vulture about him as his leathery face craned towards Shader on a spiny neck. At first it seemed as if he'd sprouted wings and drawn them about his sinewy body, but then Shader realized it was the cloak of feathers. Huntsman's sharp eyes studied him, lids twitching, lips curling in the slightest hint of a sneer. Shader held his gaze, but had the uncomfortable feeling that, by doing so, he was giving far too much away. He felt the vein in his temple pulsating and pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve the tension building in his head.
Huntsman ruffled his feathers with a whiplash motion and swivelled his head to regard the Ipsissimus. Shader was on his feet in an instant, the gladius scraping and ringing as he drew it. Huntsman hissed and glared, a clawed hand emerging from beneath his cloak and making clutching movements in the air.
'Sit down, Shader,' the Ipsissimus said. 'Sit down. He's merely a spirit. And besides, he's a friend.'
Shader obeyed without question, sliding the sword back into its scabbard and resuming his cross-legged position on the floor. His eyes remained fixed to the Dreamer's, though, and he fancied that he saw a glint of triumph in Huntsman's eyes. Huntsman's hand withdrew beneath the cloak of feathers and he offered the Ipsissimus a thin-lipped smile.
This wasn't right, Shader told himself. The Ipsissimus of the Templum and a heathen sorcerer in the same room together. What if Huntsman had ill intentions? No one should come so close to the Ipsissimus. Not even me, he realized.
'Forgive him, my friend,' the Ipsissimus said to Huntsman. 'It's how they're trained.'
Huntsman bowed his acceptance. 'My people train dogs same way.'
The Ipsissimus lowered his eyes and touched his fingertips together. 'I have nothing but respect for my Elect,' he said with careful clarity. 'The sacrifice they make, the paradox they embody, allows the rest of us to live the ideal. Fighting for love is no simple matter of conditioning.'
Huntsman's eyes widened with what might have been amusement and then he dropped into a crouch opposite the Ipsissimus.
'You are wise my friend, but Sahul trembles; Eingana remembers. Once before, fate of all worlds was entrusted to such as he.' Huntsman flicked his head in Shader's direction. 'Fallen one, Maldark, was first to betray goddess. His actions are cursed throughout Dreaming. It is told that even his own people have withdrawn below ground out of shame.
I no longer trust this philosopher's plan. Much he does not tell us. His ways are not Sahul's ways. They cannot help Eingana.'
Shader stiffened at the mention of Maldark. The dwarf had been afflicted with inconsolable guilt; whatever he'd done, he'd believed himself beyond redemption. Was that why he'd drawn the mawgs to himself? Had it been a despairing attempt at expiation? Shader couldn't accept that theory. There'd been something about Maldark's attack on the reavers, a purpose, a desperation to break through the mawg ships and to reach the Templum fleet. Whatever the motivation for Maldark's last battle, it certainly hadn't been suicide.
'Maldark was no fool,' Shader said, staring at the deck.
'His actions in world of Dreaming were...' Huntsman's face contorted with the effort of finding the right word. 'How do you say it?' He looked at the Ipsissimus. 'Desecration. Yes, his actions were a desecration. Shall I tell you what he did?'
'Maldark was no fool,' Shader repeated through clenched teeth.
The Ipsissimus touched the gilt Monas around his neck and looked from Shader to Huntsman. 'Maldark?'
'Fallen,' Huntsman spat. 'Betrayer of gods; blight of Dreaming.'
'My friend,' Shader said. 'And I will not listen to another disparaging word about him. Understood?'
Huntsman glowered, but said no more. The Ipsissimus lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip of wine. 'Tell me about him, Shader.'
Shader reached for his own glass. He half expected images to leap into mind, images of shared times, of camaraderie and laughter, but when he thought about Maldark, nothing came. The only recollections of the dwarf he had were of fighting: Maldark driving off the mawgs in the dilapidated house in Sarum; battling back to back against the undead knights of the Lost; standing shoulder to shoulder as the roiling horror of the Dweller burst into the Templum. Shader's mind replayed the bloody savagery of the reavers' attack and the moment of hope that had accompanied Maldark's arrival. He searched in vain for some other memory, something to match the fondness he felt for the dwarf, something to compensate for his loss. His only reward was the vision of a sea of swirling blood and carrion birds swooping down to peck at his friend's disgorged remains spilling out into the ocean.
'He was,' Shader started, but couldn't find the words. 'We were...' The realization struck him like lightning, leaving Shader with a feeling of nakedness so absolute he was certain the Ipsissimus and Huntsman could see into the deepest recesses of his soul; could expose him for the fraud he was. 'We are the same.'
'Hah!' Huntsman said with a sharp clap of his hands. 'I told you so. Aristodeus cannot be trusted. His arrogance is bait for trap, and his ways are hateful to Sahul.'
The Ipsissimus held up his hand for silence and studied Shader with eyes the blue of the winter sky over Latia. A dewy film coated them, dulled and deepened them, evoking the image of a glacial sea.
'This Maldark,' the Ipsissimus's voice was little more than the distant fracturing of ice. 'He was the one in the boat that came to our aid?'
Shader nodded.
'He wore a white cloak like the Elect, but it bore a cross rather than a Monas,' the Ipsissimus said. 'Was he a Nousian?'
Shader shook his head. 'I don't think so. I wanted to ask him about that, but there was never time. He mentioned---forgive me, Divinity--- he mentioned God.'
The Ipsissimus closed his eyes, his brow creasing. 'He was clearly a warrior, and akin to our Elect. How can this be? The cross indicates he could not be one of them, and besides he was...he was...'
'Too small?' Shader gulped down the last of his wine.
'Well, uh...' The Ipsissimus's head was bobbing as he struggled for the right thing to say.
'He was a dwarf of Dreaming,' Huntsman said, as if that cleared things up.
Shader turned his eyes on the shaman. 'How do you know this?'
Huntsman spread his arms and turned his palms upwards. 'It is my business to know.'
'It's a place.' the Ipsissimus uncrossed his legs and rubbed his knee. 'The Dreaming. Aristodeus refers to it as Aethir. I used to think it was a visionary thing, like inscape or...or...'
'A hallucination?' Huntsman gave a sour look. 'My friend, we Dreamers know how you civilized folk regard us, but it is no matter. Your self-deception safeguards our knowledge and we are thankful for that. Dreaming is real, though it is not like this world. It is home of my gods, though they are exiled from it. It is also home to dwarves and all other creatures of Sektis Gandaw.'
'The Dreaming is Sektis Gandaw's world?' Shader said.
Huntsman shook his head. 'Sektis Gandaw is from this world. It is said he fled to Dreaming long before flowering of Ancients' civilization.' Huntsman hawked and spat. 'It is also said that he returned and made that accursed society. From his black mountain in Dead Lands of Dreaming, he sent out harvesters to bring back humans from Earth. He worked dark magic on them, joining them together, shaping them.'
'To what end?' the Ipsissimus asked.
'My gods say he sought perfection. Each time he did not succeed, he cast out his failures and tried a new path. After much time, he gave up. Things of this world not good enough for him. He set about work of Unweaving instead, unmaking of all there is so he could begin again. To do so, he needed power beyond any that comes from this world. He needed Eingana.'
'A being of the Supernal Realm,' the Ipsissimus said. 'One of the three who fell through the Void.'
'Mother of dog-head,' Huntsman said. 'He who made Dreaming. Father of my gods.'
'But Maldark.' Shader rubbed his forehead and frowned. 'His cloak, the red cross, his God. How---?'
'Ain once had many names,' the Ipsissimus said. 'Just don't tell Exemptus Silvanus I said that. If Sektis Gandaw was bringing people from Earth, their knowledge, their culture would find a footing in the Dreaming. Perhaps you should tell us about these dwarves, Huntsman. It may help us to---'
The air beside Huntsman rippled and a boy appeared. He was naked except for a loin cloth. His skin was streaked with ochre, his fair hair wound into dusty dreadlocks.
'Sammy!' Shader rocked back on his haunches and stood.
The boy looked at him askance and then addressed Huntsman. 'I can't find her. The ants say there's no sign.'
Shader's heart flew to his throat. 'Find who? Sammy, who are you talking about?'
The boy turned on him, tears streaking his begrimed face. 'Rhiannon. I can't find Rhiannon.'
Shader's hand covered his mouth and he reeled. How could he have forgotten her? He glared at Huntsman, recalling that it was the shaman's machinations that had pulled them apart. His and Aristodeus'. 'What's happened?' It was an accusation. 'Where is she?'
Huntsman's joints cracked as he regained his feet. 'There was a battle in Sarum. Terrible battle. Dead walked. Many were killed.'
'No!' Sammy said. 'She's not dead. I know it.'
Huntsman placed a hand on the boy's head. 'And I believe you. Trust your feelings.'
'Then why can't I find her?' Sammy asked.
Huntsman's eyes flicked to Shader and then the Ipsissimus. 'Some places Sahul cannot see. Blind spots. Things unnatural. Such was Sarum during plague. I return with you, Samuel. We look in web for empty spaces. Gain some knowledge.'
'But...' Shader started.
Huntsman took Sammy's hand in his and the air began to shimmer. He turned to the Ipsissimus as their bodies began to fade.
'Yours only piece not in enemy hands. It must not be lost. Our best hope is in unity. You must join with Hagalle and march to Homestead. With might of my gods it may be we can keep it from Sektis Gandaw and this necromancer.'
The boy and the shaman vanished.
Shader spun to stare at the golden Monas hanging around the Ipsissimus's neck. Its single amber eye glinted and Shader slapped himself on the forehead. He should have known. It was identical to the Grey Abbot's Monas---the one he'd failed to return.
'You,' he said. 'Maldark was coming to aid you, to protect the Monas from the mawgs.'
The Ipsissimus held out a hand for Shader to help him up. 'It does seem likely.' He appeared to have aged again, his face now grey and haunted. 'But enough speculation. We should make ready.'
Shader wanted to ask what for, but he already knew. You must be whole again, the Archon had said. The Ipsissimus is coming for the final battle and he will need you.
The Ipsissimus held the cabin door open. The salty spray from outside seemed suddenly like venom.
'Nice name, by the way,' the Ipsissimus said as Shader slipped past him.
'Sorry?'
Ignatius Grymm was coming down the deck towards Shader, palms upturned to ask how it had gone. Shader's mind was a confusion of emotions. The Ipsissimus's bright eyes anchored him for an instant.
'Rhiannon.'
The name struck Shader like a condemnation. His lips started to move in reply, but then the discipline of the confessional kicked in and he said nothing.
The Ipsissimus gave the slightest of nods and started to pull the door to. 'Speaking of nice names,' he said peeking through the crack, 'did Investigator Shin catch up with you?'
Shader just looked at him, dumbfounded.
'Bardol Shin?' the Ipsissimus shook his head, 'of the Templum Judiciary? No? Never mind. Doubt you'd remember even if he did, what with all this commotion. Ain be with you.'
'And with your...'
But the door had already closed.
THE EMPEROR'S RULE
Hagalle stood with his back to the wall as the other men in Zara Gen's office congregated around a globe drinks cabinet and pretended an interest in the map on its surface. Snippets of conversation reached his ears, but much of it was drowned out by the nagging voices within.
'---no idea how it got here,' Zara Gen was saying. 'I'm sure I saw one just like it in Councillor Arkin's office.' Duke Farian guffawed and clapped him on the back. 'Very good, Governor,' he said. 'Very good.'
'I'm sorry?' Zara Gen said.
'Worth a bloody fortune, you old scoundrel.' Farian gave the Governor a jab with his elbow. 'And that's without all the booze.' The Duke stooped over the globe and ran his finger across the surface of a continent. 'Do you know, I think this is an original Waldseemüller gore--- either that or a bloody good copy. This would have been an antique for the Ancients. Look here---layers of printed paper, each meticulously prepared and pasted onto the sphere. Every gore,' Farian droned on, 'has a width of 30° of longitude---'
Master Frayn opened the lid and peered inside, eyes rolling like a glutted viper's. 'So, gentlemen,' he said, as if he were their equal. 'What's your poison?'
Farian coughed and crossed his arms, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. 'Must I remind you---'
Hagalle knew they were glancing in his direction. His lips felt dry and cracked, and there was no saliva in his mouth. His heart was sending little shudders through his chest and rippling his shirt. He saw Frayn close the globe and perch on the edge of Zara Gen's desk. Farian whispered something in the Governor's ear and Zara Gen nodded gravely. The Duke then pointedly moved the roll of maps he'd deposited on the desk away from Frayn's backside.
It's too darned hot in here, Hagalle thought, turning to open the curtain and then thinking better of it. He fanned his face with his hand, all the while watching the recesses of the office out of the corner of his eye. Too darned dark, too. He shot Farian a look. The Duke caught it and muttered something to Zara Gen, who then stooped to speak in Frayn's ear.
The Sicarii slipped from his perch and crossed the room on the balls of his feet, treading as lightly as a dancer. Hagalle's eyes followed the glint of steel from the ball-pommel of the dagger sheathed at his hip. Frayn fiddled with the valve on the lantern hanging from its elaborate stand beside the door. The circle of its orange light brightened, but still didn't reach the corners.
Thump!
Hagalle started, his hand going to his chest.
Knock, knock.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. About time, too, he thought. Let's get this over with and get these people out of my sight. By the gods, it's stuffy in here.
Frayn got the door, standing behind it as it opened. General Starn bumbled his way into the office, puffing out his red cheeks. His eyes were bulging from his head as he made a show of wondering how the door had opened by itself. Frayn stepped into view when he shut the door and Starn raised a finger in mock admonition, grunting and coughing beneath his moustache.
Hagalle pushed away from the wall and Starn came to attention, clicking his boot heels and thumping his chest. He was as ramrod as he could be with such a curved spine and large gut. He looked like a comedy soldier, all stiff and starchy, but with a roly-poly edge to him. If he hadn't known better, Hagalle would have retired the man as an embarrassment.
Hardly the image to put the fear of the gods in the foe; but looks weren't everything. Starn had proven that at the Battle of Sarum.
'General Starn.' Hagalle clasped his hands behind his back. He towered above the little man and found himself wishing Starn wouldn't keep lowering his eyes.
'Emperor!' Starn barked in a voice that sounded like he'd got moustache hair stuck in his throat.
'You know why you're here?'
Starn's cheeks grew redder. His eyes flicked up to the level of Hagalle's chest and then fell back to the floor. 'I'll do better, my Emperor. You have my word on it.'
Frayn resumed his lolling at the edge of the desk, and Zara Gen hovered behind his chair as if he wanted to sit, but didn't dare while Hagalle was standing. Farian loomed at Hagalle's shoulder, but was easily driven back by a glare.
'Better how?' Hagalle asked, taking a step towards Starn and glowering down at him.
'W-W-Well.' Starn's jowls trembled. 'Hrruh, hmm. I-I-I...'
'Careful, General,' Hagalle said. 'You're starting to sound egotistical.' That was the word, wasn't it? Hagalle was sure that's what that bald sod Aristodeus had once called him.
To Hagalle's astonishment, Starn dropped to his knees and bowed his head further, as if he were intending to kiss Hagalle's boots.
'Forgive me, Emperor. I...Well...Mrs Starn...I mean...'
Hagalle stooped and laid a hand on the General's shoulder. 'No,' he said. 'You forgive me, General Starn. Forgive me for underestimating you; forgive me for ridiculing you. Your actions during the battle were...' Hagalle felt a lump in his throat and his eyes grew moist. He forced a cough and nodded to the drinks globe. 'Master Frayn, would you do the honours?'
'Emperor,' Frayn said as he dashed across the room and opened the globe.
'Whiskey,' Hagalle said. 'And you, General?'
Starn clambered to his feet, dusted himself down, and then tugged his uniform jacket straight.
'Well, uh, most kind, Emperor.' He cast a look at Frayn. 'Don't suppose you have a brown ale? No? Uhm, well, a stiff brandy then, what.'
'Governor?' Frayn said. 'Your Grace?'
Farian wandered over to look for himself, but Zara Gen waved away the offer of a drink. Hagalle studied him for a second and narrowed his eyes. What's Gen up to? Trying to impress me with his austerity? Hagalle scoffed and switched his attention back to Starn.
'When we return to Jorakum, General, I intend to have you properly honoured.'
Starn clasped his hands over his belly and gave a little bow.
'In the meantime, anything you want, anything at all, it's yours.' Hagalle was regretting every bad word he'd said about Starn. He only wished he had more men like him; men you could rely on in a tight spot; men who'd never stab you in the back.
Frayn passed Hagalle his whiskey. Hagalle grimaced and set the glass to one side. Suddenly he wasn't thirsty any more.
'Anything, Emperor?' Starn's eyes widened with hope or desire.
'Absolutely, General. You name it. A new horse, finer armour---you must admit you need a new breastplate!'
Starn laughed dutifully and accepted a glass from Frayn, taking an appreciative sip.
'What I would like, Emperor, more than anything...'
'Yes,' Hagalle said. 'Go on.'
'...is to see my wife.'
Hagalle stared at him open-mouthed. For a moment his mind was blank.
Starn went on. 'An early discharge, Emperor. I'm getting too old for this. I...I miss Mrs Starn...'
'Out of the question,' Hagalle snapped. 'How dare you even suggest such a thing!' He turned and rolled his eyes at Farian, who tutted and shook his head. 'This is hardly the time, General Starn. Hardly the time. With the news our scouts have just brought, you think my most senior General should be leaving?'
Starn fumbled his glass, spilling a little brandy on his jacket as he caught it. 'Forgive me, Emperor.'
Hagalle sighed and fixed his glare on Zara Gen. 'Oh, sit down, Governor! You're making me nervous with your loitering.'
Zara Gen lowered himself into his chair and twiddled his ponytail.
Hagalle ground his teeth and then addressed Farian. 'Is the boy here?'
'Outside, Emperor,' Farian said. 'Shall I?'
Hagalle clicked his fingers and Starn opened the door. The bumbling dolt poked his head outside and beckoned.
Barek Thomas shuffled into the room, his sandy hair recently washed and combed by the look of it. He still wore the white surcoat of his Order, but it was becoming threadbare and he'd been unable to disguise the bloodstains. Hagalle's eyes flicked to Barek's empty scabbard and then to the youth's face. Something had altered---the tilt of the chin, the glint of the eyes in the lamp light. There was an altogether different air about the young knight from the nervous, pleading boy who'd shaken when he'd knelt before Hagalle asking for help. Hagalle fought to keep himself from sneering at the memory. Infernal impudence. As if he, the Emperor of Sahul, needed some raggedy Nousian to rouse him to the defence of one of his own cities. Hagalle's eyes drank in the youth's poise: shoulders back, chest high, heels neatly pressed together. He raised an eyebrow and looked from Starn back to Barek. That's what had changed: the boy had bearing; he'd come to himself. He knew he'd done well at the battle. More than that, Hagalle bit his lip, the lad had saved his life and was bloody well expecting to be rewarded for it.
Barek started to say something, but was cut off by Starn putting fist to mouth and coughing. Hagalle caught himself scowling and swiftly manufactured a smile.
'Thank you, Mr Thomas. Thank you for coming.' His tone was measured and amiable, and he noted the lad relaxed in response. 'Forgive me, Barek, but I'm not sure of your military title. Perhaps you could...' Hagalle made a winding gesture with his hand.
'Emperor.' Barek dropped to one knee and bowed. 'It is an honour. I am...'
Starn coughed again and put a hand on Barek's elbow to help him stand. The fat fool then whispered in Barek's ear.
'Sorry,' Barek said, looking down at Hagalle's boots. 'I am now Master of the White Order.'
Hagalle inclined his head. 'Master? Remind me, General Starn, do we have "Masters" in the Sahulian army?'
'No, Emperor,' Starn said. 'Only one master, and that's your Imperial Highness. Other than that we have...'
'Thank you, General, that will do,' Hagalle said, his cheeks starting to feel numb from all the smiling. 'So, Master Barek, there are titular differences in our respective forces. Different worlds, different ways, don't you agree?'
'Oh, yes, Emperor,' Barek started enthusiastically and then ran out of steam. He was glancing furtively from side to side.
'A man cannot serves two masters, Barek, surely you can see that.' Hagalle took a step towards him and used his height to cow the lad. 'Oh, I'm sure we could come up with a new title for the leader of the White Order, but what would be the point? The puppet-master would still remain.' Hagalle smiled internally this time as Barek looked up with eyes as wide as saucers. Hagalle wagged his finger from side to side in a gesture of mock admonition. 'You are either for the Emperor of Sahul or for Nousia. You can't have it both ways.'
'Emperor,' Zara Gen said, standing. 'Forgive my interruption, but did you not say this young man saved you during...?'
Hagalle held up a finger without even looking at the Governor. He waited until he heard the muffled thud of Zara Gen resuming his seat.
'Truly,' Hagalle said, turning away from Barek and wandering over to the window, where he peered through the crack of the curtains. 'I am grateful for your intervention. There's no doubt you are a brave man. Honourable even. But even the best of us can labour under deception.'
'My Emperor,' Barek said. 'I am loyal to Sahul. My spiritual practices...'
'Are utterly incompatible with my will,' Hagalle said in as nonchalant a tone as he could manage. 'And besides,' he spun and glared at the knight. 'How do you account for the presence of a large Templum Fleet in Sahulian waters?'
'Emperor?' The lad's jaw hung slack and he glanced around the room for enlightenment or support.
Zara Gen was looking at his hands clasped atop the desk. General Starn seemed to have found something interesting on the carpet, and Master Frayn was positively statuesque.
'A coincidence?' Hagalle asked. 'A new Order dressed like the Templum Elect rides to Sarum, butchers my soldiers, and then shows up at a key stage of the battle with a vast Templum force closing in from the sea. Oh, I have no doubt your presence helped turn the tide. General Starn here commended your intervention in his report, and I remain grateful for the ride away from the thick of it. In fact, that's why you're still alive. If I didn't owe you my gratitude I'd have had the remnants of your Order burned at the stake as a warning to your Templum despot.
'I want to give you a chance, Barek. You're of Sahulian stock, so there's still hope for you. General Starn will have you escorted to the old militia barracks where you and your men will do some serious reflecting. I look forward to whatever decision you make in the next few days. Goodbye.'
Starn ushered the lad outside, where Hagalle noted with satisfaction a contingent of Imperial troops was ready to lock him in chains. The rest of the Order would have been arrested whilst they spoke.
'And now to the other matter.' Hagalle clapped his hands and shot a broad grin at Zara Gen.
The Governor looked up and the colour drained from his face. 'The matter of the enemy within, Governor Gen?'
Zara Gen pushed himself upright and tugged at his ponytail. 'My Emperor, I can assure you that I am utterly loyal. My family has served the Zaneish dynasty faithfully...'
'I know, I know, I know,' Hagalle said. 'Why does everyone take things so personally?'
Zara Gen lowered himself back into his chair, but his eyes never left Hagalle's.
'I was referring,' Hagalle said, 'to the Nousian menace that you have allowed to flourish in Sarum: the Templum of the Knot. Yes,' he forestalled Zara Gen's unborn protest, 'I know you think they were a boon during the plague, but do you not recall that saying of the Ancients, Governor? Wolves in sheep's clothing, I think it was. What better way of lulling us into a false sense of security whilst Daddy sets sail from Aeterna. What do you suppose their real function is, eh? To open the metaphorical gates while the city sleeps?'
'Emperor,' Zara Gen was back on his feet and leaning over the desk. The colour had returned to his face---it was now as red as his robes. 'Forgive me, but this is preposterous!'
'Really?' Hagalle said.
At that instant, Master Frayn's hand snaked out and grabbed Zara Gen by the neck. The Governor's eyes bulged and he flapped his arms around uselessly. Frayn reached inside Zara Gen's robe with his free hand and withdrew a glittering silver Monas on a slender chain. With a sharp yank he broke the chain and handed the symbol to Hagalle.
Frayn released Zara Gen, who sank into his chair with his head in his hands.
'I have eyes and ears everywhere, Governor Gen,' Hagalle said. 'Were you really so naive as to think your little visit from the most notorious Nousian in Sahul would go unnoticed? How long have we known, Master Frayn?'
'Riders were sent to Jorakum the instant Jarmin the Anchorite set foot in Arnbrook House, Emperor,' the Sicarii said with a smirk. 'We were just awaiting your order to take care of the priests.'
Hagalle narrowed his eyes. The idiot wasn't supposed to have mentioned that in front of Zara Gen. Frayn licked his lips and started fiddling with his ridiculous oiled moustache.
'A good thing for you that our families have such a long history of mutual support, Zara Gen,' Hagalle said. 'I'm sure I don't have to say any more. Duke Farian will assume your duties. You are free to go---for now. Don't stray beyond the city limits. And, Zara Gen, we are watching.'
Zara Gen slipped out of his office scarcely daring to breathe. The instant the door shut behind him, Farian sat behind his desk and Hagalle turned his mind to the next problem.
'You may leave, Master Frayn. And in the future, be more careful with your choice of words.'
'Emperor,' Frayn said, before giving an ostentatious bow.
'Oh, and Master Frayn,' Hagalle said. 'Any news on Cadman?'
'Our best trackers are onto it, Emperor. Believe me, there's nowhere he can hide. He'll be dead by morning, along with those priests.'
Hagalle nodded and waited for Frayn to leave the room. 'So, Farian,' he thumped the palm of his hand. 'What are we going to do about this invasion?'
The instant the words left his mouth, Hagalle had a revelation. How could he have been so blind? The priests, the White Order, and the coming of the Templum fleet. Throughout all that had happened there was one common denominator, a ringleader. How could he have dismissed all those reports of a Nousian knight showing up in the provinces and training the local youths? A man who'd apparently spent time at Pardes under the nefarious Grey Abbot; a man dressed in the attire of the Templum Elect and sworn to absolute obedience to the Ipsissimus.
'Farian,' Hagalle said in a voice barely above a whisper. 'I want men patrolling the streets, scouring the inns, walking the docks. Put the word out. I want this Deacon Shader brought to me. I don't care if he's dead or alive, but I want him. Is that understood?'
'Deacon Shader,' Farian confirmed. 'I'll alert the militia and reassign a troop of our own men. Should I inform the Sicarii?'
Hagalle thought about it for a moment. The assassins were becoming indispensable. Already they played a part in more of his plans than anyone else.
'No,' he decided. 'I'm sure they have enough on their plate. Let's handle this one ourselves. Now, Farian, unroll the maps. I want to know exactly where these bloody Nousians are landing.'
Something tugged relentlessly. A shudder passed through the Void, bringing with it an awareness of the absolute blackness; but awareness nonetheless. A groan escaped and was followed soon upon by a stark realization and the formation of a single thought.
'No!'
What remained of Callixus' soul rekindled its dark flame and protested against its unnatural perdurance. 'Leave me here!' he screamed silently, for there was no sound in the Void.
The tugging increased and Callixus felt his reawakened consciousness being sucked violently through the tiniest of apertures in the darkness until he re-emerged in the differentiated world of light and shapes.
One of the shapes detached itself from the others and came towards him. Callixus' vision was a kaleidoscope of gyring patterns that came into stark and corporeal focus upon a bulky figure in a velvet jacket.
'Welcome back, old chap,' Cadman said with that air of false jollity that Callixus despised.
For an instant he contorted with pain and wondered if he'd been brought back body and soul. Something wrenched at his gut, twisting and mangling. Callixus let out a long hissing groan and stared down at his gaseous hands. Still a wraith, he realized, and in the same moment he knew that the pain had been nothing more than a manifestation of the hatred he held for Cadman, for what he'd made Callixus endure. For bringing him back.
A grey leathery creature dragged itself alongside Cadman and clung to his leg. It was sharp-faced and horned, with bat-like wings hanging limply behind. Callixus was reminded of the gargoyles that adorned the Ancients' Templi back in Aeterna. The creature's black eyes swirled like ink in water, but hardened when they met his gaze.
'Allow me to introduce Ikrys.' Cadman patted the gargoyle.
Ikrys winced and groaned, rolling to his back with arms and legs splayed. Callixus thought the creature was dying, so horribly warped were its limbs, but then Ikrys's body began to writhe and crack, bubble and straighten until, with a sigh, he hopped to his feet and snapped open his wings.
'Quite a resilient fellow, don't you agree?' Cadman said. 'If only I'd met him sooner.'
Ikrys cocked his head and leered at Callixus.
'He's been kind enough to channel the dark forces for me so that I don't suffer. More importantly,' Cadman patted his pockets, 'I don't have to use the statue.'
'What you call the dark forces are my natural demesne,' Ikrys said. 'But the demands you make are great indeed. I would prefer to save myself for more useful tasks in the future.'
Callixus drifted closer, his eyes surveying the courtyard outside the beacon tower. 'Why have you brought me back?'
'Besides your riveting company,' Cadman said, clapping his hands together, 'I need news. News about the body of the statue.'
Callixus clutched at the fragmented memories that had been dragged from the Void with him. It was as if a fissure ran through his mind and he needed to hop from recollection to recollection to make any sense of the scattered images.
'I had the albino.' A ripple ran through his ghostly body as he recalled the shriek that had alerted him to the danger. 'But a sorcerer aided him and I was cast into the Void.'
'What sorcerer?' Cadman asked. 'Who could have such power over you?'
'A mawgish shaman. I do not know what happened to the statue.'
'He has it, fool!' Ikrys snarled 'And now he will reach for the other pieces, starting with yours.' He pointed a long taloned finger at Cadman.
Cadman's eyelid twitched, and for an instant Callixus glimpsed a mottled skull beneath the illusion of flesh.
'Who is he?' Cadman demanded. 'Sektis Gandaw?'
'Who else?' Ikrys said. 'This incompetent has allowed another segment to fall into his hands. This changes matters greatly. His reach is lengthening. You will have to act swiftly before he locates your pieces and comes to claim them.'
Callixus caught a sly look in Ikrys's eyes, but said nothing. Cadman fretted a moment longer and then seemed to grow fatter. It was like watching a child snuggle under the bed clothes. Ikrys winced and glared at the necromancer. Apparently the enhancement of the illusion came at a cost. The gargoyle shook out his limbs, stretched his wings, and inhaled as if drinking invisible forces from the night air.
'I am not without power,' Cadman said, adjusting his pince-nez on his nose. 'I have my necromantic skills; I have two pieces of the Statue of Eingana; and I have you,' he squinted at Ikrys.
Once more, a cunning look passed over Ikrys's taut and leathery face. Callixus wondered if it conveyed a secret amusement.
'Well,' Ikrys said, 'now that your grunt is back it might be a good time to mention another threat I've detected.'
Cadman's fists clenched and he shut his eyes. 'What threat?'
'The other woman, the one you said you knew---¼
'The tart?' Cadman said.
Callixus looked at him for an explanation, but none was forthcoming.
'If you like,' Ikrys said. 'She proved extremely resourceful and had made it most of the way to Sarum when I caught up with her. She was intercepted by a group of black-clad men on the edge of the forest. They looked like they were about to do my work for me, but she spoke with one of them in private. He fondled her as he questioned her and then relayed what he learned to the others. After that, the man escorted her back to the city whilst the rest of the group altered their course.'
'Altered it how? Where are they heading?' Cadman asked as he fumbled a cigarette into his mouth and struggled to light it.
'They are coming here,' Ikrys said.
'Shit,' Cadman said. 'Shit, shit, shit. Black clothes you say?'
'As the night,' Ikrys said with practiced innocence.
Callixus' hand went to the hilt of his sword. 'Why have you kept this news until now, demon?'
Ikrys's tail arced through the air, its barbed tip stopping before Callixus' chest.
'Why, because I was waiting for you do deal with it. No point alarming the master until there's something we can do about it. So, be a good boy and do whatever it is he pays you for.'
Callixus half drew the black blade, but Cadman jabbed a cigarette between them.
'Cut that out, the pair of you. If these men are Sicarii, I'm finished. Do something, Callixus. You're supposed to be the strategist; and do it quickly before I send you back into the Void. No, on second thoughts you'd probably like that, but I doubt you'd have such a peaceful time in the Abyss.'
Callixus' vision blazed red. He released his grip on his sword and shut his eyes until he could once more feel the torment of his brethren, their despairing thoughts, their futile desire for revenge against Cadman. When he opened his eyes he made sure to keep a neutral tone.
'The Lost have heard me,' he said with a pang of pride tinged with loathing. 'They are ready.'
'Keep the assassins from the tower, Callixus. Do this for me and I may yet release you,' Cadman said.
Callixus studied him for any sign that he was lying, but then realized there was no point. Cadman was the arch-liar; even his appearance was a distortion of the truth. If there were to be any end to this nightmarish existence, it wasn't going to come from an act of gratitude on Cadman's part.
'Come on, Ikrys.' Cadman started walking back towards the tower. 'We still have much to prepare. As if it's not enough having Sektis Gandaw hunting us from beyond the stars, and a bunch of trained killers at the door, we still have that blasted demon to deal with. The woman is secure on the roof? Good. Let's hope it's enough, eh? I trust you have some knowledge of the...'
Cadman's voice was cut off by the slamming of the door. The skeletal steeds of the Lost began to emerge from the darkness, the red eyes of the riders burning like embers. They would have all felt Callixus' despair as he once more looked upon his comrades. Without the need for speech, he conveyed his orders, and the former knights of the Elect took up their positions around the tower like nothing more than obedient guard dogs.
The hard earth at the foot of the gangplank was as unfamiliar to Shader as the myriad realms he'd passed through on the flight from Araboth. His sea-legs still wanted to sway, and a wave of nausea broke over him. Clutching the rail to steady himself, he glanced back at the ship, at the flashes of silver mail and white tabards making ready to disembark. Ignatius Grymm was staring down at him like a disappointed father. He'd not said anything, but Shader knew the Grand Master had expected him to stay, to ride once more with the Elect.
The port of Dalantle was sleeping, save for a few fishing boats straggling in from the ocean. The Templum fleet spilled across the harbour, white sails furled, prows gently bobbing. One huge sitting duck, Shader shook his head, but the Ipsissimus must have known that. The Imperial patrols had seen them---how could they not?---and alarms had pealed out across the bay whilst they were still in open water. Night had fallen rapidly and the clamour had ended. Dalantle was already watchful, and messages had likely been sent.
Shader drew his coat tight against the chill air and headed towards the hazy lights of town. His chainmail felt so much heavier since he'd put it back on. Maybe he was just tired; maybe he'd get used to it again. He'd find an inn, see out the night, and then seek passage to Sarum in the morning. The stench of blood still filled his nostrils; it was as if it had seeped into his pores. Elpidio haunted every alleyway of his mind, one minute limned with misty luminescence, the next as a hunk of blue-dappled meat, stiff and waxen; neither true but both yelling for his attention, baying for comprehension, or grief, or vengeance. The swirl of emotions was as twisted as the knots on his prayer cord, which now hung from his belt like a flaccid serpent.
Shader left the harbour by a footpath that ran parallel to the main road. The way was lit by hanging lanterns that creaked in the breeze. The clopping of hooves sounded from somewhere ahead and a dark shape came into view.
Shader's hand caressed the pommel of the gladius as he took to the shadows, waiting for the horse to pass. A hunched man walked before it, leading it by the reins and muttering under his breath. The sound was rhythmic and sonorous, like a prayer chant, the words ill-formed but vaguely familiar. The man came into focus beneath the muggy light of a lantern, the chant sharpening at the same time into a litany of Aeternam. The horse came to a halt just beyond Shader's position and the man turned to face him. Shader covered his nose and mouth against the stench and took a step back. He watched for the telltale smoulder of red eyes, the cold presence of undeath, but saw only darkness under craggy brows. The man's face was both broad and long, his lips almost drooping. He'd seen this face before, he realized, at the White Order's camp above Lesmallen.
'Praise Ain! Praise Nous! Praise his holy Archon!'---Dave the Slave. 'I knew you'd return. I waited. See, I waited. Oh, Nous be praised for giving me this chance to atone.'
Shader's gut clenched with revulsion. He fought down the bile in his throat. 'What...?'
Dave shuffled forward and thrust the reins into Shader's free hand. He fumbled at his belt and removed a scabbarded longsword, which he handed over. Shader half drew it, instantly recognizing the blade.
'My father's sword? But how did---?'
'Nous revealed it to me. It was lost, but now it is found. Quickly, milord. Hurry. Nous's work must be done. Ride! Ride to Sarum! Evil besets the servants of Nous and they have need of his champion.'
Shader was jostled towards the horse and helped into the saddle. His mind felt heavy and numb. Questions half-formed and dissipated before he could voice them.
'How...?'
'Never you mind that,' Dave said, guiding the horse in a circle by its bridle. 'Make haste before they all perish. Ride for the Templum of the Knot.'
The hunchback gave the horse's flank a sharp slap and Shader clung on as it cantered towards the town.
'Ride, I tell you! Ride!' Dave yelled. 'The Sicarii are coming. Coming to kill the priests.'
Ioana? Cadris? What about Rhiannon? Was she still with them? Sammy had said she was lost---
'Swiftly!' Dave flapped his hands and jigged from foot to foot.
Leaning low over the horse's neck, Shader dug his heels in and galloped for the Old Sarum Road.
\*\*\*
Gaston muttered the Aeternam words softly as he fingered the knots on his prayer cord. He had remained in his pew as the priests returned to their rooms. His heart was swollen with gratitude and tears of relief rolled down his cheeks.
Mater Ioana was the last of the priests to leave the templum. She paused to rest a hand gently upon his shoulder. 'Not ready for sleep?'
Gaston looked up through blurry eyes and smiled. 'I should be exhausted, after all we've been through, but I feel...' He winced, trying to find a way to express the relief washing over him like a cleansing wave. More than relief, he realized: acceptance; belonging; the dim possibility of forgiveness.
'I know what it is you feel, Gaston.' Ioana gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. 'We have all felt it at some time---me, Cadris, Agna, Velda. Even Hugues.' Ioana shut her eyes for an instant, her face lit by a smile that seemed to radiate from within. 'I think even Deacon Shader felt it once, although I could be mistaken. It is Nous accepting your burdens. You are where you're meant to be, Frater. You are home.'
Ioana's fingers slipped from his shoulder and she headed out through the sacristy.
---Frater.
A shudder started in Gaston's chest and rippled throughout his frame.
---Home. Here in the templum, not amongst the knights of the White Order; not following in Shader's footsteps. Maybe that was the one good to come out of the evil he'd done to Rhiannon: it had forced the split from Shader. Ever since the founding of the White Order, even when Shader had abandoned them, Gaston had striven only to be like his mentor. He'd wanted nothing more than to serve Nous with heart and sword. Now, Gaston felt like scales had fallen from his eyes. It wasn't Nous he'd craved, it was Shader's approval; Shader's presence in his life. From the moment he'd fallen out with his dad, Gaston had felt like a hollowed-out skin, an empty carcass.
Shader had given him a glimpse of wholeness, but it hadn't been the truth. Maybe they'd been too much alike, Gaston thought; too alike in their errors. For all his nobility and courage, Shader was not following Nous. He was a fighting man, a warrior of terrifying skill. In spite of his struggles with prayer and his attempt at the monastic life, Shader still resorted to the sword in his trials. Undoubtedly he sought the good, but not in the way that Nous did. For Shader, morality was a matter of opposing evil and enforcing the greatest good. He believed the employment of pain, suffering, and even death was necessary if good were to prevail. The important issue was that good triumphed, whatever the means, whatever the cost.
As he worked his thumb and forefinger around the third knot on the prayer cord, feeling out its mysteries, Gaston heard a gentle thud on the roof. His senses flared to alertness, but he quickly quelled them with the thought that it must have been a possum. No sooner had he continued with the prayer than he heard another thud, this time followed by a slight scuffing sound. Rising to his feet he listened intently, but heard nothing else. Shaking his head at his own jumpiness, Gaston yawned and decided to call it a night. He put the prayer cord over his neck and strolled towards the sacristy and the adjoining door to the residences. As his fingers touched the handle, someone screamed.
Gaston ripped the door open and sprinted along the corridor past the priests' rooms. Pater Cadris and Frater Hugues emerged from the refectory, white-faced and trembling.
'That scream---?' Gaston said.
Hugues was transfixed by something outside the window.
Cadris stammered his reply. 'I think it was Velda.' He gazed fearfully down the corridor to her closed door.
'There are dark shapes outside,' Hugues whispered.
Gaston headed towards Velda's door, but stopped when Ioana's burst open. She was panting, her eyes wide and fearful.
'Run, Gaston!' she commanded. 'Run, all of you! The Sicarii---'
A black-garbed figure stepped out into the corridor from Velda's room. In his hand he held a bloodstained dagger.
Without hesitating, Gaston bundled Ioana back into her room and followed her inside, dropping the catch.
'It's useless,' Ioana said. 'They're everywhere.'
Another muffled scream came from a nearby room and then a door slammed. The sound of tramping feet filled the corridor outside, and a pounding started from the direction of the refectory. Gaston's heart matched the fierce beat as he cast about for some means of escape. Shadows passed across the window and someone started rattling the door handle.
\*\*\*
Shader rode through Calphon drawing looks from the whores arrayed along the pavements. A commotion broke out ahead as a couple of rogues set upon an old man who'd been foolish enough to walk home at night. The muggers scarpered as Shader's horse drew near and he leaned from the saddle to offer the old man a hand up.
'Thank you, sir, thank you.' The man dusted himself off and slapped a cap on his balding head. 'I was just on my way---' He staggered back as if he'd seen a ghost and raised tremulous hands to his face.
'What is it?' Shader righted himself and looked around expecting to see the rogues coming back with reinforcements. The street was deserted.
'It's you!' The old man stumbled away and then started to run with bandy legs. 'It's him!' he yelled into the night-blackened streets. 'The one they're looking for! Guards! Guards!'
Faces appeared at windows and at the cracks of doors. Figures began to step from the shadows back where Shader had come from.
'I saw him first,' the old man was protesting. 'The money's mine.'
Shader kicked the horse into a canter, but already a crowd was forming up ahead. Whistles sounded from somewhere in the distance amidst cries of 'Make way! Make way!'
Springing from the saddle, Shader slapped the horse's rump and sent it galloping towards the crowd. He ducked into an alleyway and ran, cutting and weaving through a maze of byways until he was clear of the main thoroughfare.
He stopped to catch his breath by a battered fence that picketed a garden. How had the old man recognized him? The one they're looking for, he'd said. Who was looking for him? The Sicarii? Surely not---it was hardly their style to enlist the aid of the public; that'd do nothing for their reputation. Who then?
He made his way through the underbelly of Calphon, threading a route back to the main road some way beyond the crowd. Keeping pressed to the wall, he peered around the corner, ducking back out of sight as a couple of soldiers jogged by. He sucked in a sharp breath. These were no mere militiamen; they were dressed in the livery of Imperial regulars. He risked another look. The soldiers had stopped to consult with a large group of similarly garbed troops back down towards the crowd. After a brief exchange, they split off in pairs and scattered. Pulling his hat low and raising his coat collar, Shader hurried across the main road and continued towards the Mermaid. He reached the entrance to the tavern with footsteps close on his heels, but without waiting to see who it was, he slipped inside and shut the door.
The air was thick with smoke and the odour of stale beer and sweat. The place was heaving, all the tables taken and the spaces between packed with standing drinkers. Shader was hit by the wall of noise---raucous laughter, barking voices, the clink of coins and the chink of glasses.
He forced a passage to the window and peered out. Two Imperial soldiers were passing from view up the street. They must have been right behind him. He waited a minute to make sure the way was clear and then made his way back to the entrance.
'Wait!' a woman called from the huddle.
Shader's hand went to the gladius, but he resisted the urge to draw it. He turned and looked up from beneath the brim of his hat.
A dirty-faced woman was squeezing through the crowd, her chestnut hair in greasy disarray as if she'd been dragged backwards through a bush.
Her clothes were ripped and tatty---they may have once been some sort of servant's uniform. She met his gaze, ran her fingers through her hair, and bumped up her breasts.
Shader turned, a snarl half-formed on his face.
'Wait!' she repeated, touching his shoulder.
'Sorry, lady,' Shader said. 'I'm consecrated.'
'What? No. How dare you!'
A waft of sickly perfume inflamed his nostrils. He backed into the entrance porch, dragging her with him. She opened her mouth to say something, but Shader took her jaw in one hand and pushed her against the wall.
'Out with it,' he hissed. 'Who are you?'
'A friend, you idiot!' She almost spat the words at him. 'Or at least a friend of a friend.'
Shader narrowed his eyes, willing her to explain.
'My name's Lallia.' She extricated herself from his grip and straightened her top.
Shader's eyes flicked to the mountain of soft flesh threatening to burst free of its constraints and then met her cattish eyes.
'I know where your friend is,' she said. 'Rhiannon.'
'What? How---?'
Lallia pressed herself against him and pulled his face close to hers. Shader struggled, but then her lips smothered his as the door opened.
'Make way in the name of the Emperor.'
A pair of soldiers pushed roughly past and entered the bar.
Shader's head reeled with Lallia's scent, and the warm wetness of her lips sent fire through his veins. She pulled away and whispered urgently.
'I went with Elias Wolf to rescue her, but we were attacked. She's being held at Dead Man's Torch. Dr Cadman has her. I used to work with---'
'Cadman?' He had Rhiannon at the old beacon tower? Shader's head whirled with possibilities, but he couldn't focus. Other matters clamoured for his attention.
'No time,' he said. 'I have to get to the Templum.'
---Rhiannon!
'I'll come with you,' Lallia said, running her hand down his arm. 'No,' Shader shoved her aside. 'It's too dangerous. Wait here.' 270
She pouted and was about to say something, but he didn't wait to hear what it was.
'Shit,' he said through clenched teeth as he sprinted back into the alleyways. He couldn't be in two places at once. The beacon was too far; he had to choose the templum. 'Oh, Rhiannon,' he groaned before shutting his mind to her plight and bitterly entrusting her fate to Nous.
\*\*\*
Gaston reached under the bed and dragged out his sword.
'What are you doing?' Ioana asked.
'The Sicarii killed my dad,' he said, drawing the blade. 'They'll not do the same to my friends.'
'But Gaston, you've made a choice. This is not our way.'
Maybe it wouldn't have been his way, thought Gaston, if Shadrak the Unseen hadn't shown him the futility of peace. He winced, catching his train of thought; he was starting to sound like Shader---desiring all that Nous had to offer, but never quite able to release his grip on the sword. Now was not the time to worry about it. The choice, as he saw it, was simple: fight or be murdered. Much as he admired Ioana's faith, his own was still a frost-hardened seed in comparison. Fallen at the first hurdle, Gaston. He could almost hear his dad's condemnation from beyond the grave.
Gaston took hold of the door handle and pressed his ear to the wood.
Silence.
Waving Ioana back, he wrenched the door open and darted into the corridor. He swung his sword at a black shape to his left, but felt something sharp pierce his side. He slashed blindly behind him and heard a cry as his blade tore into soft flesh. Whirling, he met the stab of the first assassin and kicked out at the man's knee, snapping it backwards and sending him screaming to the ground.
A lean man, cloaked and hooded, was kneeling mere feet away and bringing a hand crossbow to bear. Gaston dived as the bolt was released, rolled to his feet, and impaled the man on the tip of his sword.
Up ahead he could see more of the dark figures in the refectory. He heard Cadris crying for mercy and ran at the assassins. His first blow was parried by a shortsword as two Sicarii spun to face him whilst a third went for Hugues and Cadris.
Gaston turned a thrust from the shortsword and stepped back as the other Sicarii produced some sleek silver darts. The crash of Hugues upturning the refectory table distracted the dart-thrower, but the swordsman leapt to the attack with a ferocity that stunned Gaston. The man cut and stabbed with dazzling speed. It was all Gaston could do to block the blows; he had no chance of launching a counterattack.
As he backed down the corridor parrying desperately, he glimpsed Ioana's despairing face peering from behind the door to her room.
Cadris screamed from the refectory and then something pierced the skin of Gaston's shoulder---the dart-thrower had got his focus back. Consumed suddenly by an old familiar fury, Gaston felt all uncertainty pass. He made a fierce parry that turned his assailant's sword, and in that moment struck the man with a thudding left hook. The assassin staggered and then found Gaston's blade skewering his belly. Another dart hit Gaston, this time in the thigh. He felt dampness around the wound to his side, and coldness where the first dart had struck him. He lunged towards the dart-thrower, but was hit twice more as the assassin skipped nimbly back. Giving up all hope of defending himself, Gaston ducked his head and charged, receiving another hit before he bowled the assassin over backwards into the refectory.
Cadris was writhing on the ground, a deep cut to his abdomen, and Hugues was holding sternly to his assailant's wrists as the man sought a way to stab him.
Gaston hacked wildly at his own opponent, who was frantically seeking to regain his feet. More hooded figures appeared at the windows and then the room was filled with the sound of breaking glass as they smashed their way inside. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw an assassin kick down Ioana's door. It was over, and all Gaston could feel was the rage of despair. He delivered a vicious cut to the dart-thrower's head and followed it up with a thrust through the groin. The assassin screamed and spasmed, but then two of the newcomers pounced at him. He blocked a swing from the blade of the first, but the second caught him between the ribs. As the blood bubbled to his mouth, Gaston disembowelled the man with a blistering riposte.
He tried to turn in an attempt to reach Ioana, but something struck his lower back. Ioana was standing beside the wreck of her door, her attacker dead at her feet, and Deacon Shader was striding towards the refectory with two bloodied swords in his hands.
Gaston hacked feebly at his opponent, but the man easily blocked his blow and moved in for the kill. All sensation had seeped from Gaston's body and he started to swoon, no longer caring about the blade about to strike. Shader yelled and hurled his gladius with such ferocity that it nearly tore the head from the assassin's shoulders. As Shader surged past him into the refectory, Gaston felt Ioana stroking his head and realized that he had fallen and she was cradling him like a sick child.
Dimly he saw Shader fighting with bewildering skill and speed, his longsword a glittering blur. There was panic on the faces of the Sicarii as they realized the deadly power of their opponent. Shader whirled to meet a desperate backstab and sliced through the assassin's wrist. The man fell on his arse and tried to scrabble away, but Shader's sword skewered him like a pig. Shader's eyes were like pools of ice as he dispatched the last of the assassins with a cut to the jugular. The monk Shader had given complete sway to a raw killer, heartless and unswayable. He turned a slow circle and then lowered his head as if disappointed there was no one left to kill.
Hugues retrieved Shader's gladius and offered it to him with either reverence or fear. Shader ignored him, dropped his longsword and fell to his knees at Gaston's side.
Shader appeared limned with silver, a spectre of moonlight. A misty corona surrounded his head, warring with the deep shadows of his face. Another face came into sight behind Shader's shoulder---a woman, perhaps an angel with hair like flames. She was holding a lantern that blazed so harshly Gaston had to blink away tears. When he looked again, Shader had become a blur flickering in and out of existence.
'Mater---?' Gaston's voice rasped like a whetstone on a nicked blade. He coughed and dug deeper. 'Did I---?'
Fingers brushed the hair away from his face---Ioana's?
'Oh, Gaston,' someone said. He thought it was a woman.
Wetness touched his cheek. Was it raining?
Shader's mouth was moving, a smudge of twisting blackness.
'...fought well, Gaston...made...proud.'
'Dad? Is that you?' Gaston's head sank deeper into the pillow and someone---Mum most likely---pulled the covers over him. He tried to see, but his eyes were so heavy. Look tomorrow, he told himself. I'll look tomorrow.
Someone wailed.
It'll keep---
\*\*\*
Shader reached out a hand to Ioana, but she pulled away, hugging Gaston to her breast and shuddering as she wept.
Soror Agna limped from her room, stooped and crooked as if she'd finally started to lose her battle with age. Hugues helped Cadris to his feet. The fat priest was bleeding from cuts to his face and arms, but he'd still managed to cover Gaston's body with a white sheet. Not a sheet, Shader realized as blood soaked through the material like the blossoming of a poppy---it was an altar cloth, though where had he---?
Sweet perfume wafted to his nostrils as the woman with the lantern crouched at his side. Shader stared blankly for a moment, his mind smothered by an obscuring pall. He looked from her to Gaston, to Ioana and back again. The woman from the tavern. He acknowledged her with a perfunctory nod. Lallia, the friend of Elias Wolf. She too was bloodied and shaken.
'You should have stayed behind.' Shader said. He felt his lip curling, almost snarled. Isn't that what he'd told her to do? Wait at the Mermaid?
'Remember the three you killed on the way in?' Lallia asked, her head cocked to one side.
'Yes---'
'There were four.' Lallia's cheeks puffed up as if she were going to be sick. She raised a blood-drenched kitchen knife in a shaking hand. 'Had a crossbow pointed at your back. The blood's all his.' Her grip failed and the knife clattered to the floor.
Shader sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes and stood. Ioana watched him as if she expected him to do something, say something. She cradled Gaston as if her body warmth could revive him; held him towards Shader as if he had power over the dead. The cold touch of defeat crawled through his veins.
Agna somehow managed to kneel down beside Ioana, joints cracking like dry twigs underfoot. As she drew the cloth over Gaston's face, Shader's failure bubbled up to his throat and he leaned against the wall, swallowing back bile.
He caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and craned his neck, expecting to be struck down by some new enemy.
'Mater,' Zara Gen cried, stumbling down the corridor towards them, his crimson robes clinging like self-accusation. 'Mater, I'm so sorry.'
'Both your mother and father are right, Deacon,' Aristodeus said. 'The world is like that: full of paradox.' Deacon lowered his sword. How could you marry peace with struggle? Service with power? Love with the sword? Silver streaked towards his face and, with an instinctive parry, he turned the philosopher's blade.
'Never drop your guard, my boy---even in the midst of debate. Your mind must be sharper than a razor, yet your awareness must be divided, concentric rings of widening focus rippling out from a still point. You must---'
Deacon's sword slipped between the words and touched the flesh of Aristodeus's neck. The philosopher's eyes bulged. It was the first time Deacon had seen him shocked. The old man's face tightened with suppressed rage, but then he smiled and gave that sagacious nod that said he'd planned for this all along.
'Excellent. Now you're getting it.' Aristodeus pushed the edge of Deacon's sword away and thrust his own blade into the ground. 'Killing for Nous,' he returned to the former point. 'It's why your father never joined the Elect; why he never embraced the faith like your mother did. It is the tension which defines you, makes you what you are.'
'Confused?' Deacon said, ramming his sword back into its scabbard. 'What's that got to do with the clear sight you say I need?'
Aristodeus sighed and put an arm around Deacon's shoulder. He reeked of sweat from their exertions, and wisps of white hair were plastered to his scalp. Deacon was as tall as his mentor; he figured he probably moved like him too. Thought like him even. The philosopher had moulded him for so long now, Deacon could scarcely remember a time in his life when Aristodeus hadn't smothered him like an overprotective mother.
'Nous isn't what he seems, Deacon.' Aristodeus leaned in close to whisper. 'But don't tell anyone I said that---least of all your mother. Gods come and go, changing with the times and the needs of the people. Truth, however, truth remains constant.'
Deacon stepped away from the philosopher. 'Nous is not real?' Anger bubbled in his belly like magma.
Aristodeus rolled his head and chuckled. 'Is that what I said?'
'Well---'
The philosopher tapped his temples. 'Think, Deacon. Think! Please tell me I've not been pissing in the wind all these years. Head over heart, isn't that what I taught you?'
'Yes, but---'
Aristodeus opened his mouth to say something, but then rubbed his beard and shook his head.
'Some things you'll have to work out for yourself. Nous, my young friend, is most definitely real; but he is, as I have said, not what he seems.'
Deacon felt like he was being mocked and didn't like it one bit.
'So I've been duped. Is that what you're saying?'
'Not at all, Deacon. These things are mysteries---not because they can't be explained, but because they only come to us a bit at a time. Do exactly as you've been doing: keep to your devotions, as they may yet serve you well. Question constantly, but at the same time act "as if" it's all literally true, down to the very last Ipsissimal proclamation on the Archon's favourite tipple.'
But Nous was supposed to be a person. Isn't that what Aristodeus had taught him from the start? A person of love? If that's the case, why did he require the use of a sword? Why did the Ipsissimus need an army? If Nous was so loving, then---
\*\*\*
A footfall startled Shader awake. His back and neck ached from being hunched over on a pew. Ain, he was tired; more tired than he could ever remember being. He looked up to see Lallia, blood-smeared and wild-looking, like one of the Furies from Aristodeus's tales.
'The Mater says the lad who died was going to join the priests.' Lallia spoke almost whimsically, as if her mind were somewhere else. She sat herself beside him, frowning at the altar.
Shader's muscles bunched under the onslaught of a molten stream. Whenever he tried to picture Gaston, he saw Rhiannon; saw what his protégé had done to her. His fingers clutched at the air as if it were Gaston's throat, and at the same time his eyes blurred with tears.
'Couldn't have seen him making it.' Lallia brushed against him, placed a hand on his back. 'Didn't look the sort to cower like the rest of them.'
Shader nodded vigorously, his body shaking with unnameable emotions. 'He knew how to fight.'
'I'd say. You know what really pisses me off?' Lallia turned her face to look right into Shader's eyes. He was beyond caring about the exposure of his grief. His gaze never wavered from her verdant stare. 'The way those priests mourn for him as if he were a disappointment. You know, the Mater even kicked his sword like it was some kind of des...desec... What's the bloody word?'
---Desecration.
'They'd sooner he did nothing?' Shader rasped through clenched teeth.
'You'd think,' Lallia said, looping her arm in his. 'Some people are just so up their own...You know what I mean.'
Shader forced a smile. Lallia seemed to take some relief from it. Her lips parted, showing a flash of white teeth.
'You knew him, right?'
'I trained him,' Shader said. 'Made him what he was...'
'But?'
'It doesn't matter. He should be judged by what he did with his last breath.' ---Not by what he did to Rhiannon.
'Fair do,' Lallia said. 'Now, will you walk with me?'
'Why?' Shader was still half-dazed. Loss and grief had wedged themselves between the two sides of his nature, unweaving them, separating the strands into impossible allies.
---Mother and Father.
'I need to feel the night air,' Lallia said, 'and take some little pleasure in being alive. It's been hard, these past few days.' Her look had turned to pleading, longing. 'So much death.'
Shader nodded and stood. As they left the templum, he felt only its utter emptiness.
She rested her head on his shoulder as they strolled in the direction of the Forest Walk. They passed along broad avenues lit by the Ancients' lanterns atop their towering posts. The chill was restorative, cleansing; the warmth of Lallia against his side like a benison.
Shader burned with questions, but kept them to himself lest they marred the momentary calm. Finally, as they entered the arboretum, he could contain it no longer.
'Rhiannon,' he stopped and turned to face Lallia. 'Is she...?'
Lallia's eyelids fluttered and she dropped her gaze. 'I went with Elias.' She shuddered with a suppressed sob. 'We,' she waved her hands by her head, 'had this message or something. One of the old priestesses went weird, said Rhiannon was at Dead Man's Torch.'
'You told me Cadman had her? Why would he want Rhiannon?'
Lallia's face lost some of its colour. 'I wouldn't want to guess. I used to work with that fat shogger; only he's not fat---not really.' She hugged herself and shuddered. 'He's this...thing. Like a skeleton.'
'A liche,' Shader said. 'Feeding on human life to sustain his own.'
Only why Rhiannon? Why her specifically? Coincidence?
'We tried to save her.' Lallia was whimpering like a child. She seemed suddenly less than she was---her assuredness had vanished, leaving her vulnerable, bashful even. 'We freed her from the tower, but then creatures came; dead things and worse. I-I-I ran. I-I-I left them. Oh, poor Elias,' she wailed. 'I think something terrible...'
Shader embraced her, held her face to his chest and let her tears soak into his surcoat. 'I should go to her.'
Lallia pulled back and made him look at her tear-streaked face. 'It's too late,' she sobbed. 'I'm sorry. So, so sorry.'
Shader's despair pooled in his gut. His knees buckled, but Lallia caught him. A groan left his lips of its own accord. Words too awful to utter sought to burst from his skin.
Lallia's cheek pressed against his, their tears mingling. The hot wetness of her mouth found his lips. Her scent fired his senses, excoriated his grief. He tired to break away, but Lallia held his head firm, forcing her mouth against his, eating him. Ashamed by his stiffness against her leg, he whimpered and managed to prise his face from hers. Lallia continued to suck at his lips, lick his cheeks.
'No---' Shader said, but without any real conviction.
Her hand felt his hardness, forced its way inside his breeches. Shader gasped, fire coursing up his spine. Rhiannon. He closed his eyes, struggled to see her. Rhian---
With a growl he tore at Lallia's blouse, sending buttons pinging into the air. His fingers grasped the pliant warmth of a breast, kneaded it, thrilled at its wrongness.
Rhiannon had refused him. None of this would have happened if---
Lallia pulled his face to her breast and moaned as Shader's tongue found the nipple.
---She'd listened to Huntsman over him.
Lallia ground herself against his groin, at the same time seeking an opening in his armour, clawing and probing, scratching at the steel.
---All at Aristodeus's bidding. The philosopher had taken the choice from him. Always had.
With a snarl, he forced Lallia to arch away from him, her hair trailing towards the ground, her torso supported only by his hand on the small of her back. He ripped the remnants of her blouse aside and buried his face in her belly, sinking his teeth in then running his tongue back up between her breasts. She cried out as he grabbed her hair and forced her back further until she lay upon the ground. She found a way beneath his chainmail and raked his back with her nails. Shader put his weight upon her, driving her head into the earth with fierce thrusts of his tongue.
She bent her knee and rolled him over so that she was astride his hips. She freed him from the constriction of his breeches and poised herself above him. He felt her hot wetness touch him, felt himself urging for her entrance.
'No!' he screamed, twisting away and dumping her to one side. She hit the ground hard and let out a rush of air.
Shader hurried to his feet, tugging up his breeches and stumbling away.
'What is it?' Lallia cried, hoarse and throaty.
'Keep back.' Shader's hand gripped the hilt of his gladius. 'What are you doing?'
Lallia sat up, her hands covering her breasts. Her allure had left her. To Shader she now looked waxen and cold, like the Demiurgos frozen in ice at the heart of the Abyss.
'Whore!' Shader turned and ran through the trees back towards town.
'Shog you!' Lallia screamed after him. 'You shogging hypocrite!'
Her words pierced his back like arrows. He raced on through the trees, snagging his surcoat on a low branch and cursing as he stopped to free it. His heart leapt to his mouth as something lurched from the shadows.
'Nous be praised!' Dave said, almost doubled up by the weight of the hump squatting like a malignancy on his back.
'What? How---?'
'Praise Nous! Praise Ain!' Dave shuffled towards him, eyes shrouded with darkness, mouth set in a grimace of condemnation. 'Another moment...' The hunchback shook his head and let out a long hiss of air.
'How did you get here?' How had he covered the distance so quickly? Did he have another horse? Some other means of transport?
'Faith, master. The faith that moves mountains.' The words cut like an accusation. 'Fear not,' Dave said, taking hold of Shader's hand and kissing it. 'Nous is still with you. He will not let you fall. Not now. Not when there's so much at stake.'
The gladius purred at Shader's hip, trickled warmth into his fingers.
---Nous is not what he seems.
Dave stiffened and cocked his head, almost as if he'd read Shader's thoughts.
'Nous is not Nous,' he muttered, then headed away from the trees as if he expected Shader to follow him.
'What does that mean?' Shader hurried alongside.
Dave paused momentarily and looked up at the sky. 'Don't rightly remember,' he said before resuming his slow trudge towards the lamp-lit streets. 'But I do know he needs fighters more than he needs those lily-livered friends of yours. Why'd you think you bear the Archon's sword?'
'How?' Shader shook with emotion. 'How can Nous want killing? He's supposed to be a god of love.'
'The God,' Dave hissed through his teeth. 'The God of love. But even a garden of love needs pruning. You are Nous's gardener, Keeper of the Sword, and there are deep-rooted weeds that require your attention.'
'Nous wants me to kill? To go on killing? In the name of love?'
'There is a word for this kind of killing,' Dave said, lifting his chin almost proudly. 'It is a word from the oldest times; a word steeped in holy history. For where lies the harm in the slaying of evil? You would do well to remember it, master---'
But Shader was no longer listening. He already knew what the word was---he'd come across it often enough in the works of Berdini; heard it from the lips of Aristodeus.
Killing for Nous isn't murder, he used to say with a sardonic smirk. Not homicide. When the sword of truth is used to root out corruption, the proper term is "malicide".
'Stop following me,' Shader said to Dave in a voice lacking authority.
Dave twisted his head to look up at him, silver starlight glittering in his eyes. His mouth hung slack, edged with drool.
'Just stop.' Shader turned on his heel and ran for the templum.
'It's insulting,' Albert muttered to himself in between puffs. His heart was bouncing about in his ribcage with such violence he half expected it to burst through his chest. His gut was jiggling like a bag of slops as his shoes pounded the earth in an effort to keep up with the other Sicarii. 'What do they take me for? A bloody journeyman?'
It's not as if he was dressed for it. Running about in the wilds in the middle of the night was hardly Albert's thing, and he'd long-since abandoned the traditional cloak and dagger look for a smart dress suit he'd picked up during an overseas mission to Gallia. An assassin of his calibre didn't need to exert himself or sneak around in a mask. He was a professional, the consummate killer; not a throat-slitting hack like the rest of them. He paused to catch his breath and glare at his lithe companions darting through the trees like shadows. Ham-fisted goons. Good for nothing but second-rate thuggery.
'No slinking off this time, fatso,' Master Frayn's whisper cut him like a knife.
Albert's heart almost exploded then, but he had the presence of mind not to show it. He even managed to act like he'd known Frayn was there all along.
'My particular skills call for discretion, darling,' Albert said, tucking his thumbs into his jacket pockets and surveying the area. Not that he could see much---it was black as the Void. 'As opposed to blundering headlong into danger without a clue what we're up against.'
Frayn slipped in front of Albert, his face shrouded by the hood of his cloak. 'So you were slinking off, then.' It was a statement tinged with threat. 'Maybe you've got somewhere else to be.' Frayn pressed closer.
Albert had a thousand places he'd rather be. He thought he'd left this sort of activity behind when he'd earned his stripes with the guild, so to speak. For goodness' sake, had they already forgotten how the poisoning of half the council had saved them from being exposed and, in accordance with the written, if not the practised, law, executed? The fact that the contract had been paid for by the other half of the council was by the by.
'If you're alluding to the spurious allegation about me undertaking private work with Shadrak, Master, may I remind you that the guild found no evidence of wrongdoing.'
Frayn snorted and threw his hood back. He made a show of scanning the sky beyond Albert and then pinched the ends of his moustache straight. 'Listen, Albert.' Frayn checked to make sure no one was in earshot. 'I don't like you, but at least I'm honest about that.'
The feeling's mutual, Albert thought, but kept tight-lipped.
'But you're good at what you do. No, better than good. You're probably the best poisoner in Sahul.'
Probably? Albert faked a smile.
'The guild is playing big tonight,' Frayn said. 'What with the attack on the templum and our mission.'
---Ordered by the Emperor no less (unofficially, of course). Albert loved that kind of duplicity. Hagalle was a man he could respect.
'There may be...' Frayn wrung his hands as if he had a stain he couldn't get rid of. '...changes afoot, if you know what I mean.'
Oh, absolutely. Frayn was so much up Hagalle's arse he'd need a lamp to see. 'Changes? Whatever do you mean, Master.' It never hurt to show idiots like Frayn a modicum of respect. The more important they felt, the more stupid they became.
Frayn cast a look behind and then draped an arm over Albert's shoulder. Albert forced himself not to wrinkle his nose.
'First I need to know who my friends are,' Frayn said. 'Understand?'
In your dreams, darling. Albert frowned in the direction of the other assassins. They'd all passed from sight into the cover of the trees. With their black cloaks, they were as good as invisible.
'Shouldn't we...?'
Frayn narrowed his eyes as if he could read Albert's thoughts. The reality was, he could probably barely read a book. The man was an arse, a laughing stock. He'd only made it this far in the guild because the other masters needed a fall-guy. Master Rabalath had told Albert as much over dinner one night---boeuf bourguignon with chanterelles à la crème and a bottle of Quilonian Malbec. The bourguignon provided the perfect base for a dash of passionflower essence---not enough to induce sleep, but enough to loosen the old codger's tongue. If certain people on the council had their way and moved against the guild, they'd have the perfect target in Frayn, full of his own importance, cow-towing with all the nobles; he'd even said it himself: he was the face of the Sicarii. Oh, the chances were slim now, after Albert's success with eliminating the political idealists who objected to the use of assassins, but should the climate change, should Zara Gen rebuild his alliances, Frayn would be the first on the gallows, whilst the true masters, Rabalath and Paldane, would slip away like cockroaches through a crack in the floor. The guild would return to the realm of whispered rumours, whilst continuing to bring quiet death as inexorably as time.
'You're right,' Frayn said, pulling his hood up. 'We'll speak later, yes? And not a word to the others.' He tapped the side of his nose and raced ahead.
Albert sighed and set off at a steady jog. His knees were burning and his heart resumed its attempts to batter its way out of his ribcage. He snagged his trousers on a tangle of brambles, ripping the hem as he pulled his leg away. Ruined. There wasn't a tailor in Sahul he'd trust with stitching clothes of such quality. It could be years before he visited Gallia again. And the cost! It didn't bear thinking about. The shadows up ahead grew denser, revealing the presence of his comrades.
Albert started up a low mound in pursuit, but the thorny creeper clung on with the tenacity of a debt collector. He shook his leg and took a long stride, tripped on a root and pitched forward. With reflexes born of fear, his hands hit the ground first and jolts of pain shot through his arms and neck. But at least they'd taken the brunt of the impact. He knelt, accepting the knees of his trousers would be utterly ruined, and gingerly patted his jacket pockets. All still there. All intact. He held his breath a little longer and then blew it out through pursed lips. Occupational hazard, he thought wryly as he clambered to his feet. Many a poisoner had inadvertently died by his own hand.
One of the vials of toxin he carried in his jacket had been extracted from the notorious brown snake of the northern jungles and blended with extra virgin olive oil. The oil slowed the rate of absorption, but the end result was as certain as syphilis in a Graecian bathhouse. Another was distilled from the Britannic death-cap mushroom and dried to a powder. The third was topical and extremely virulent. Get it on the skin and it was curtains for you. This Cadman they were after was no ordinary victim. Anyone who controlled an army of walking corpses was likely to prove difficult to kill. Frayn apparently didn't think so. In his feeble mind, the reputation of the Sicarii alone was enough to put paid to ordinary mortals. He saw Cadman as his own man, his underworld doctor, his ears in the council; but Albert had been around long enough to know that Cadman was not simply going to lay down and die just because the guild was onto him. Frayn and the others could take their shot, and Albert hoped they were successful. But if not, he'd come fully prepared: a liquid for injection, a contact poison, and a powder for inhalation, all of which would kill anything living. The only potential flaw in the plan was that, judging by the company he kept, Cadman was not necessarily alive, at least not in the usual sense of the word.
The trees began to thin out as the ground grew uneven, rising and dipping in a succession of hillocks that protruded from the earth like tubercles.
'Over here,' Frayn hissed in a stage whisper.
Albert trudged up a mound and hunkered down beside the master behind an immense gum tree. He could see the others now, all crouching at the bases of trees flanking the bumpy ground.
'There,' Frayn said, pointing into the darkness. 'Dead Man's Torch.'
The tower was barely visible, a deepening of the blackness that rose like a pillar of shadow.
'There's a flicker from the upper level,' Frayn pointed out. 'Probably a candle. Not quite lights out, but I'd say we're expected.'
A hooded Sicarii scampered over to them. 'They have four guards around the base.' He sounded like a boy---Carn Jenith perhaps. 'There's also a horse patrol, half a dozen of them.'
'Undead?' Albert asked.
'Too far away to see,' the lad said. 'What are your orders, Master Frayn?'
Frayn gave a muted clap. 'So there are ten of them and twenty of us---'
A tremor passed through the ground and a murmur went up from the assassins.
'What---?' Frayn said, pinching his moustache.
Albert frowned and cast his eyes around the copse and back over the cluster of mounds. Tumuli, he thought. Maybe one of the Dreamers' sacred burial grounds. He wondered if he should mention anything to Frayn, but then the earth shook again.
'What is that?' Frayn strained a look towards the tower. 'Horses? There'd have to be a hell of a lot of them. Earthquake?'
'In Sahul?' Albert said. Most unlikely. The funny thing was, the shaking seemed to have come from---
Someone screamed.
Yells filled the air; swords and knives were drawn and the shadowy shapes of Sicarii could be seen hacking ferociously at the ground. Albert backed away from the tree. The earth where he'd been standing ruptured and a hand punched through, skeletal fingers clutching blindly. Another burst forth right beneath the young Sicarii and grabbed hold of his ankle. The lad yelped and fumbled for his dagger. Frayn looked aghast. He was shaking so much Albert thought he'd shit himself. When a third hand forced its way through the loamy ground, Frayn ran from the trees.
'Charge!' he yelled, waving his sword as he sprinted straight towards the tower guards.
A handful of others followed him, but most were caught by necrotic fingers. Albert turned and twisted, eyes scanning the ground before he set his feet down. He weaved a path through the questing hands that were emerging from the tumuli and the surrounding woodland. He saw an assassin pulled down, a dozen hands clawing at him as he thrashed about and screamed. Something touched Albert's shoe and he stamped on bony fingers. He no longer felt the hammering of his heart. For all he knew, it had stopped. He was in the middle of a sea of writhing limbs fighting their way up from the grave. Another assassin went down, this time right beneath the earth as the skeletal arms forced the ground asunder and bodies started to climb out. Skeletons, mud-caked and brittle, but with eyes the colour of starlit rubies.
Albert huffed and puffed towards the tree line, hoping to join Frayn's desperate charge, but up ahead the assassins faltered as a figure, spectral and black, materialized before them, an ebon blade of wispy shadow held aloft. The wraith glowered with coal-fire eyes and emitted a terrible shriek.
Six riders trotted into view from behind the tower. They were heavily armoured in visored helms and hauberks, their steeds skeletal, but with hellish eyes and flaming breath.
Frayn squealed and ran to the right, the five assassins with him following. Albert hesitated, checked behind, where scores of corpses were shambling from their graves and pressing in upon the surviving Sicarii. As Frayn's group reached the tree line to the east of the tower, more horsemen rode from the forest, fanning out to block their way. There were too many to count.
A light now shone from the upper window of Dead Man's Torch and a bulky silhouette peered out. Something flapped down onto the parapet and watched like a vulture.
They hadn't seen him yet, Albert thought as he edged away to the left. Still hadn't seen him...Still hadn't---
The six original riders moved to cut off Frayn's group's retreat and the corpses from the tumuli were now shambling out onto open ground. The wraith drifted to a position on the assassins' left flank.
They still hadn't spotted Albert. He sidestepped away, keeping as close to the tree line as he could, but watching all the while for limbs jutting from the ground. One step...Two steps...Almost there...Just another couple of steps and then he'd turn and flee. Careful. Care---
One of the six riders wheeled its mount and looked straight at Albert, its eyes red blazes through the visor of its helm.
'Shit!'
Albert spun and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He leaped over a flailing hand, kicked an emerging head right off its neck, and sprinted through the trees. Branches tore at his face, snagged his clothing, but he hurtled on heedless. A chorus of screams rose behind him. Steel clashed with steel. Shouts. More screams, and a chilling wailing.
Albert flicked a look over his shoulder. The skeletal knight was weaving its mount through the trees in pursuit. Dipping his head, Albert ran on over a tumulus, dancing in and out of clutching hands, and down the other side. He stumbled, flapped his arms about for balance, but then stepped into a depression and wrenched his ankle.
'Shit!' he cried again. 'Bloody rabbits! Shit, fuck, bugger, damn!'
Half limping, half hopping, he forced his way through a thicket and out into the open. The skeletal steed was so close he could almost feel its fiery breath on the back of his neck. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the vials. It was useless, he knew, but he was damned if he was going down without a fight. He fumbled one and dropped it. The glass shattered and dust puffed up into the air. Albert whipped out his handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth, hopping further into the clearing and trying to unstop one of the other vials. He didn't dare look back to see how close the rider was. His face was taut with anticipation of the death blow that could fall at any moment.
Giving up on the stoppers, Albert slung both vials over his shoulder and hopped even faster. The air shimmered in front of him and a beam of bright light cut across the ground ten paces ahead. The light grew upwards to the accompaniment of a rushing noise, and Albert had to shield his eyes from the glare. The hoofbeats behind him stopped and he risked a quick look back.
The rider had drawn up to watch the light, seemingly as enthralled as Albert. He peered back at the glare through splayed fingers. It was now a rectangle of white radiance---like a doorway. In the entrance stood a silhouetted figure, humanoid---only much smaller. It held something in its hands---a staff? A tube?
'Get down!' the figure shouted as it pointed the staff at Albert.
Without needing to be told a twice, Albert flung himself face down in the dirt. There was a thunderous crack, a rush of air, and a resounding shatter. The figure stepped away from the light and held a hand out to him. Lifting his head, Albert looked into a face as pale as death and eyes like diluted blood.
'Shadrak! What are---?'
'No time,' the albino said. 'Come.'
Shadrak slung the tube over his shoulder and helped Albert to his feet before starting back towards the light.
'New weapon, darling?'
'Later,' Shadrak said beckoning him on.
Albert looked behind and saw the rider's headless body sitting bolt upright upon its skeletal steed. Its helm lay in two halves on the ground, fragments of bone scattered all around it.
They entered a metallic corridor lit by a ghostly blue glow. Albert blinked until his eyes adjusted as Shadrak tapped some buttons on the inside of the doorway and a panel slid down.
'I was hoping for more of you,' he said. 'Seems I'm a bit late.'
'That's an understatement, if ever I heard one,' Albert said. 'Is this the Maze? How come it's here? How did you know---?'
Shadrak touched a finger to his lips. 'Orders from above. Now, you have a choice to make: either you go back out there and take your chances, or you come with me.'
Some choice. Albert patted his jacket pockets, but found them empty. He still had his cheese-cutter in his trouser pocket, but he doubted that'd do much good against skeletons wearing gorgets.
'Looks like it's your shout, darling,' he said with a tight-lipped smile. 'Where are we going?'
Shadrak turned on his heel and strode down the corridor. 'The Homestead,' he said.
'The what? The sacred site of the Dreamers? Why on earth would---?'
Shadrak tapped more buttons and a section of the wall slid open. He turned to look back at Albert. 'You in or out?'
'You're the one with all the cards,' Albert said, ambling towards him. 'Looks like the old team's back together.'
Shadrak sniffed and passed through the doorway into a part of the Maze Albert had never seen before. Clearly Shadrak had only revealed as much as he needed to. Albert couldn't blame him. He'd have done the same.
'Well call me Daisy!' Albert said, following him. 'What the blue blazes?'
The corridor opened onto a spherical chamber dominated by a silver plinth that twinkled with lights. The top of the plinth mushroomed out to house dark mirrors with flashing symbols dancing across their surfaces. A background susurrus caused Albert's ears to pop, and deep in his bones he felt, rather than heard, a low droning.
Shadrak flicked some switches on the plinth and two ovoid chairs rose from the floor. He gestured for Albert to sit, and as soon as he did, pliant restraints fastened across his lap and over his shoulders.
'What are you doing?' Albert yelped, suspecting he'd just stumbled into a trap. Shadrak might have been a partner, when it suited him, but he was still an assassin.
Shadrak lowered himself into the other seat and restraints rolled out to secure him. That calmed Albert somewhat, but he still didn't like it. There was a feel of magic about the place, a sense of wrongness. But Albert was no superstitious simpleton. He'd seen enough of the world to know there were secrets that had survived the Reckoning.
'This is Ancient tech,' he said. 'How---?'
'It's a little more than that,' Shadrak said. 'This, so I'm told, is the blending of science and lore: the combined knowledge of two worlds.'
Albert glanced around at the glowing metal walls, the winking displays on the plinth; felt the giving steel of the restraints. Crazy as it sounded, he could quite well believe Shadrak.
'And we're going to the Homestead? In this?'
'Yup,' Shadrak said, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.
Some unseen force yanked Albert's stomach through his shoes. It bounced back beyond the top of his head and he vomited. The lights flickered, trees appeared in the walls and gave way to absolute blackness. The low drone became an insistent whine and then Albert felt all his weight dissipate as if he were a ghost.
'One hundred and twenty-six, one hundred and twenty-seven, one hundred and twenty-eight! Round four: one, two, three...'
Cadman's vision was starting to blur, the mortar between the bricks becoming indistinct and wavy, like the strands of a cobweb blowing in the wind.
'...six, seven, eight...'
Pin pricks behind his eyes; a pressure that threatened to pop them from his head as if veins of acid swelled up in their sockets.
'Soon, master, I will have it.' A parched voice; the words clumsily formed as if the tongue were too large for the mouth. 'Then I will have freedom? Yes?'
'...eleven, twelve---Will you stop that infernal chatter, I'm trying to concentrate!' On counting bricks. Can't you see it's vitally important? Not like counting sheep, you know.
Cadman sat up. Or rather, he tried to sit up but his head barely raised a few inches and the rest of his body failed to comply.
'What? Where---?'
Flame coursed through the nerves of his neck where he'd cricked it. His head had been twisted to the left for as long as he'd been counting; it was easier to see the bricks that way. He tried to lift a hand to inspect the damage but his arm was numb and apparently held fast above his head. His eyes were too sore to look. He strained his head from side to side, ignoring the impinged nerves sending fragments of glass through his scalp. A hint of dark movement in his peripheral vision caused him to strain his neck forwards. Someone stooped over the end of his bed---it was a bed, right?---and grunted. There was a jolt and a squeak like a cog in need of oiling.
'Aaagh!' Cadman's arms were wrenched one way, his legs the other--- just by a tiny increment, not enough to rip him apart, but enough to stretch the tendons and ligaments to their limits.
'Another turn and the ligaments will be permanently loose.' A cold voice. It would have been clinical save for the hint of a thrill it conveyed.
Cadman tried to thrash about but his hip joints popped and his arms felt like they were about to dislocate.
'Blightey!' Oh my God, Blightey. I'm dreaming. Please tell me I'm dreaming. Wake up! Wake up!
'What I most enjoy about the rack,' Otto Blightey seemed to be talking to someone else, as if elucidating torture for an interested student, 'is its inexorable tension. It is almost the perfect incarnation of nature's inherent cruelty; of the futility of life's struggle for continuance, the unrelenting march of time.'
'It is as certain as the coming of the Dweller,' said the first voice as if it were chewing the words.
Cadman recognized it from somewhere. His mind threw up a tantalizing image of a winged gargoyle with eyes as black as pitch.
'Ikrys?'
Blightey turned the crank a notch and Cadman screamed as he'd never screamed before, a long drawn-out shriek of agony that echoed through eternity.
\*\*\*
Cadman rolled out of bed and landed face first on the floor with a thud. He checked he could move his limbs, and breathed a shuddering sigh of relief that he was still fat and still unharmed.
Someone was murmuring, as if reciting a private litany. Cadman turned on his back and peered through the tiniest gap in his eyelids, dreading what he was going to see.
Thank God!
He was still in the tower---Dead Man's Torch. Still in his bedchamber. Still safe. Still alive.
The gargoyle, Ikrys, was hunched in the corner mumbling to himself over and over. The creature looked shrivelled and grossly disfigured. Even he had surpassed his limits as far as channelling the dark forces was concerned. Scores and scores of the ancient dead had ripped their way from the earth at Cadman's bidding. Ikrys had said he was a creature of the Abyss, that the dark currents were his natural habitat. Nevertheless, he suffered as Cadman once had. Perhaps now the assassins had been dealt with they both could rest.
And then Cadman remembered. Oh God---that ejaculation again. When had he started using it? When had he stopped? God, it must have been centuries since he'd heard the expression. As far as he could remember, it had died with the world of the Ancients. The dream about Blightey must have been a warning from his unconscious, something to jolt him into action. The Dweller was going to return and would expect a suitable substitute for Shader. Cadman had to make ready, had to ensure that the woman was accepted.
'Come along, Ikrys, chop-chop,' Cadman said, clambering to his feet. That's another phrase I've not used in an age. What on earth's the matter with me? 'Can't have you moping about feeling sorry for yourself. We have a sacrifice to prepare, a demon to greet and...'
Ikrys shook his wings like a couple of limp dishcloths. He twisted his head at an impossible angle and gazed at Cadman through black slits beneath heavy lids that were so rough and grey they could have been carved from stone.
'And what?' The words came out like a blast of steam.
'Well,' Cadman said,' sounding much more amiable than he felt. 'There are a lot of dead assassins outside. Can't have them idling away when they could be put to good use.'
Ikrys groaned and curled into a ball.
'Come, come,' Cadman said. 'A big strong denizen of the Abyss like you. I thought you said the dark currents were your natural dwelling. Surely you can help me raise a few more corpses.'
Cadman was already reaching out with his mind, searching out the nascent corruption rising from the dead Sicarii like a clogging miasma. He sent out strands of black ichor to each silent heart and then placed a hand on the gargoyle's head, channelling the unnatural forces through him. Ikrys shuddered and retched, but almost instantly, the ethereal strands tautened and Cadman felt the wailing consciousness of twenty more recruits clamouring for his attention. With practised ease, he dismissed their moaning to the periphery of his mind and headed up the ladder to the roof.
Rhiannon lay as still as death, back resting against one of the merlons that surrounded the parapet like rotting teeth. She looked pale and waxen, her lips slightly cyanosed.
Shit. Don't tell me she's snuffed it.
Cadman's black heart fluttered like a the crushed wings of a butterfly. He hurried to her side and felt for a pulse. Bradycardic, but regular. He turned her head and felt the back of her neck. There was an oozing pustule where Ikrys had stung her. Maybe he'd been a bit overzealous with the venom. Still, at least she was in no state to cause any trouble.
Cadman peered over the parapet and gave a satisfied clack of his tongue as the dead Sicarii slipped into the shadows of the forest. The ancient corpses that had slaughtered them massed around the base of the tower and the Lost sat astride their skeletal steeds with the stoicism of granite.
A shimmering of the darkness alerted Cadman to Callixus' presence on the roof.
'Punctual as ever, eh?' Cadman said as the spectre took on some semblance of solidity.
The former Grand Master of the Elect rested a hand upon the hilt of his black sword, red eyes flaring through the eye-slit of his helm.
'It is folly to meet this demon's demands,' Callixus hissed. 'It cannot harm you while my knights stand against it.'
'Surely you're not suggesting I renege on an agreement?' Cadman said. 'Have you begun to lose your Nousian morality at last?'
Callixus flinched, his eyes smouldering. 'This Dweller was spawned in the Abyss...'
Cadman knew where this was going and really didn't have the time. 'As was Ikrys. Are you going to deny how useful he's been?' He took Callixus' silence as affirmative. How could the wraith consider anything evil in comparison with his own unnatural perdurance? 'Look at yourself, before you judge others,' he said, and immediately regretted it.
'I see what I am, Doctor, perhaps more clearly than you see what you are. I judge myself with the eyes of Ain, even after all these centuries.'
'You still loathe yourself? But I thought...'
The wraith floated towards Cadman as if he were about to strike. Cadman tightened his hold upon Callixus' will and the Grand Master came no closer.
'I despise what you have made me,' Callixus said. 'I am shamed by the weakness that allowed you to harness my soul. When Ain judges me, if ever you cede him the chance, I pray that he will be merciful, for I was given no choice.'
Still angry? Still struggling? Callixus should have quieted by now. Most of the raised dead were acquiescent within weeks, but the Grand Master had been under Cadman's control for five hundred years. How could he still care? How could he remember anything else?
'Perhaps,' Callixus continued, the words tumbling out as if they'd been pent up for decades, 'Ain is still trying to teach me. The Elect are exemplary in all things but their pride. My impotence before your evil may be the means of my salvation.'
Cadman shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing. 'Oh, Callixus, my old friend. You still cling to hope when all the evidence is against it. You really are remarkable---my absolute favourite. What would you have me do, release you?'
The glow of Callixus' eyes softened for a moment. 'You would do that? Then why did you bring me back from the Void?'
Cadman wanted to touch him then, hug him even, but the gesture would have felt hollow. 'I need you, Callixus. Right now I need you more than ever. I know you think I'm evil,' ---and I'd be the first to agree with you--- 'but give me a few more days. See this through to the end, not because I force you, but because I'm asking you.' Begging you. 'Hell, Callixus, I'm as lost as you are. Even more so, because I chose this path.' As much as anyone could choose anything. What was it the Ancient World priests used to say about seeds and stony ground, some getting smothered by weeds? If only Cadman hadn't been so assiduous in his studies. If only he hadn't looked down on those less capable than him. If only he hadn't met Blightey...
Too late for regret, Cadman. Way too late. He'd chosen his path and now he had to follow where it led. Oh, he could have hidden away in the shadows of Sarum for another century, more perhaps, but eventually he'd have had to face what he was. You could only put it off for so long, and Cadman had a nasty feeling his moment was coming. Time to face the music, Ernst.
An odd feeling was gnawing away at what remained of his innards. He struggled to decipher it, shook his head, and then looked up into Callixus' tormented eyes.
Compassion?
Surely not. He could almost hear Blightey laughing at the idea all the way from Verusia. Too late for compassion, my dear Ernst, the Liche Lord would say. You've stacked up too many tokens in the name of truth. Blightey's truth---uncompromising, cruel, unforgiving. One act of compassion won't make an iota's difference. What would be the point?
No point, Cadman realized. It would make no difference; there'd be no discernible gain.
Nevertheless...
'I release you.' He clapped a hand on Callixus' ghostly shoulder. 'But I ask you---I implore you---stay with me a few more days. Maybe Ain would want that.' ---Now that's stretching it!--- 'Maybe you could help me...'
Cadman turned away, his heart thudding like a ricocheting bullet. Stop right there, Cadman, you cowardly, self-seeking, walking sack of rot! Fear, that's all this is. Just put up or shut up. Take the consequences of your actions.
'I will stay,' Callixus said, his voice thick with emotion he should not have felt. 'I know how hard---'
'No,' Cadman said, raising a hand for silence. 'I don't need to hear that. The Dweller is coming and there's nothing I can do about it. It was my fault. I knew it was a risky gambit going after the statue, and now all the bad choices I've made are coming home to roost.'
Cadman stooped over Rhiannon and started to drag her to the centre of the roof. He paused for a moment, looked over his shoulder at the wraith, and felt he would have wept if he'd been capable. 'Thank you,' he said, and then tried to put the matter out of his mind with counting.
Rhiannon moaned and muttered something. For a moment she looked exactly what she was: a sacrificial victim dressed in virginal white. Well, I'm not sure about the latter. The effect was ruined by the filth staining her robe, but it was enough to make Cadman pause and reflect. She could have been a pre-Raphaelite heroine, perhaps even a saint. He bent closer to hear, but then realized she was probably just talking in her dreams. Whatever venom Ikrys had in his tail, it would undoubtedly give Morpheus a run for his money. Cadman shook his head and sighed. Not that anyone in this topsy-turvy post-Reckoning nightmare would even know who Morpheus was anymore. Mythology had fallen during the time of the Ancients, and religion along with it. There had been no place for anything that lacked utility in Global Tech's world.
And to think, at one time Cadman had trodden the path of science, a natural enough progression from his medical career. Odd that he didn't end up like the Technocrat himself, especially as they'd both shared the same mentor in Blightey. But Blightey had moved on since his tutoring of Sektis Gandaw. He'd told Cadman they'd fallen out, but if what Cadman had gleaned from history were true, that was an unmitigated understatement. There'd been a conflict of terrifying proportions and Gandaw had emerged triumphant. Blightey had slithered away into obscurity, but he'd not been idle, and his threat certainly hadn't gone away. If the Liche Lord's millennia of existence had taught him anything, it was how to be patient. New protégés had come and gone---most of them had ended up on spikes outside Blightey's castle in Verusia---and by the time Cadman had come to the Liche Lord's attention, Blightey had immersed himself in practices far darker than science, far more primal and insidious.
'Doctor!' Callixus hissed.
Cadman's head snapped back and his pince-nez flew from the bridge of his nose. Rhiannon's teeth were bared in a rictus grin, her fist drawn back for another blow. Before Cadman could react, Callixus smothered her like a vaporous pall, re-forming behind her with her wrists held in his spectral hands. She squirmed and cursed as Cadman fumbled around for his pince-nez. It was an automatic reaction, one he still cherished. He'd had no physical need of the eyeglasses for centuries, but that didn't mean he didn't need them. They were as necessary to him as Cognac and cigarettes. He twisted the frames back into shape and settled them back on his nose. Rhiannon flinched as if she expected him to hit her back.
'Be still, my dear, be still,' Cadman said, raising his palms. 'Whatever I may be, I'm no brute.'
She said nothing, but eyed him with undisguised malice.
Cadman couldn't really blame her. 'If I could spare you, I would,' he said with a gentleness that surprised himself. 'Odd as it might strike you, I don't actually want anyone else to get hurt. Too much has happened already.' Too much that I didn't intend. Or did he? Was he to blame for all the actions that had arisen from his initial action, his decision to seek out the statue? Was he culpable for accepting the path suggested by the Dweller, or was the demon to blame for tempting him?
'I am...' Cadman shut his eyes and tried to find the right words. Why the hell am I explaining myself? What does any of this matter? 'I'm afraid.' More than that: he was terrified. The longer you, lived the greater the fear of oblivion. He'd spent centuries running from death, outwitting mortality, sidestepping the big questions of his existence; but the Dweller made that impossible. Not only had it coaxed him from the shadows and back into the world of risks, but now it was on its way to exact payment for its services.
'Tell someone who cares,' Rhiannon said, looking at him as if he were something she'd ordinarily scrape off her shoe. 'You expect sympathy, after all the people you've killed? Shog, you're pathetic.'
Cadman swallowed. He hadn't expected that. Didn't she know he had the power to kill her? Hell, he even had the power to raise her again and grant her an eternity of torment.
She continued to stare at him with fire in her eyes. Life.
'I didn't want to become like this.' Cadman couldn't stop himself; he needed her to understand. 'I just want to be left alone.'
'Then crawl back under whatever stone you came from.'
Callixus' eyes smouldered down at Rhiannon, but she paid no heed. She wore her anger, or her despair, like armour.
'Too late for that,' Cadman said. 'Far too late. Newton's First Law and all that.' She'd have no idea what he was talking about, but Cadman wasn't really addressing her. He was speaking to himself. It's what he needed, what he should have done an age ago. 'I know what the right thing to do would be.' Just the acknowledgment sent icy fissures through his bones. 'I know I'm being selfish.' Self-preserving; self-absorbed. 'But I can't do anything else. It's my fault---everything that's happened---but I'm too weak to make it right.'
Some of the fierceness left Rhiannon's eyes. She studied Cadman just like his mother had done whenever he'd disappointed her.
'Then let me help you,' she said.
She sounded sincere. Impossible. She's just acting. She just wants to save her skin.
Her eye-contact never wavered and Cadman felt himself grimacing.
'But...' he wrung his hands. There was a tightness behind his eyes that extended through his cheekbones. It was as if the remains of his body remembered how to cry, but lacked the tear ducts to do so. 'How...? I mean, what...?'
Wind whipped through Rhiannon's hair, fanning it out behind her like a black halo. Callixus turned his head to scan the rooftop as the gust raced around them faster and faster, sucking dust and detritus into a funnel of air until Dead Man's Torch was the epicentre of a cyclone. Cadman staggered back, holding onto a merlon for support.
'Too late,' said the voice of a child.
The wind dropped, leaving an ebon figure perched atop the crenulations. Its face was devoid of features, its body curved like a woman's, with jutting breasts and tapered hips; yet between its legs hung an appendage as huge as a horse's. A hazy miasma surrounded the androgyne, radiating a palpable malignancy as poignant as the plague that had ravaged Sarum. The head split down the centre, revealing a man's face beneath, still black, as if carved from coal, yet unmistakeable in its dour leanness.
'Deacon?' Rhiannon said, struggling, but still held firm by Callixus.
'Shader?' Cadman took a step back.
'Appropriate, don't you think?' the Dweller said. 'After all, it was his soul you promised me.'
Rhiannon turned her ire on Cadman. 'You did what?' She looked from him to the black figure. 'The thing from the templum? Is this...?'
Cadman nodded, his hand slipping inside his jacket pocket, fingers caressing the warm fragments within. 'Lies and deception,' he said. 'That's all it is.'
The Dweller laughed and hopped off the parapet, a leer spreading across Shader's face. 'What would you expect? Like father, like son, don't they say? But I didn't force you into any bargain, Cadman. You did that of your own free will. I did as you asked: I killed the knight. You might at least have had the courtesy to tell me he carried the Sword of the Archon as well as the petrified body of Eingana. No, no, no,' the Dweller wagged a finger to forestall Cadman's protests. 'His soul, you said; either that or a suitable substitute. Isn't that what we agreed? And if no substitute was forthcoming, then I could have you.'
Cadman took another step back as a ripple ran through the Dweller's phallus, which began to stiffen.
The demon winked out of existence and appeared directly over Rhiannon, stroking itself to rigid attention. 'So, lady,' its voice was husky, urgent. 'I assume you are here for me?' The Dweller looked to Cadman, who nodded. 'I need to know,' it ran its hand up and down the length of its member, 'what are your feelings for Deacon Shader?'
'Shog him,' Rhiannon said without hesitation.
The Dweller's hand stopped moving. 'What, no love? No affection.'
Cadman studied her face, searching for any sign she was lying. She was expressionless, utterly pokerfaced. She may have been a hustler; she may have been bluffing. How would he know? How would the Dweller---?'
'Fuck him,' Rhiannon said. Her eyes dropped to the Dweller's appendage and she sneered.
As if she'd uttered a word of power, the Dweller lost all cohesion, splashing to the floor in a liquefied pool. Cadman sighed with relief and was about to release the fragments when a bubble popped on the surface of the puddle. A rill of blackness oozed from the edge, twisting and coiling. The liquid began to simmer, tendrils sprouting, the central mass growing, roiling, churning. One after the other, heads burst forth from the rapidly solidifying bulk, drool trickling from their mouths, eyes rolling. Callixus dragged Rhiannon back and released her so that he could draw his sword, but all the Dweller's eyes were on Cadman.
'Not good enough,' one of the heads said.
A multitude of others leered at him, their eyes burning through his disguise, baring his true form; revealing him for the skeletal aberration he'd become.
'No,' Cadman moaned. The black dread of annihilation he'd fled all his life boiled up from within. 'No!'
'NOT GOOD ENOUGH!' All the heads yelled in unison.
Cadman screamed, his bony fingers fastening around the fragments of the statue, wringing force from the petrified remains of Eingana.
Fangs of lightning ripped through the night sky, flaring with amber radiance. The air withdrew with a hissing rush, and the scene atop the tower was suspended for an instant. Cadman stood outside of himself, looking down. The Dweller ceased its writhing and stood like a petrified insult to life, a mass of heads and tentacles, a glistening sculpture of malice. Rhiannon was held in midflight, halfway to the stairs, and Callixus---oh, Callixus---was frozen as his black blade arced towards the demon. Not only had the air withdrawn, but it seemed to Cadman that time had retreated like the waters before a tsunami. Pressure built---he fancied he could see shapes cordoning them, a ring of horrors from some unimaginable nightmare. The hiss was still present, but not in a true audible sense. No sound, just the sense that his ears needed to pop, that something was about to blow.
Cadman plunged back into his skeleton. Callixus' sword resumed its swing and the Dweller lashed out with flaccid tentacles. With the screech of a thousand banshees, the air rushed back, slamming into the demon and tearing it apart.
Cadman staggered and fell, but Callixus caught him.
'The woman---' Callixus said.
'Let her go.' Cadman lay back in the wraith's ghostly embrace. He was tired. So tired. He thought about the undead outside. They would kill her. If he wasn't so tired he'd call them off. She didn't deserve this.
The pieces of amber in his hand flared and started to throb. Cadman struggled to sit up, opened his fingers and stared in horror at the segments pulsing like a beacon. 'Oh my God, oh my God---'
A fissure appeared in the sky, a jagged split of cobalt. Callixus turned to look up at it, at the same time helping Cadman to stand.
'What is happening?'
'Oh my God,' Cadman said. 'It's him. It's him!'
The fissure widened, permitting them the vision of a man upon a throne. The image zoomed closer and Cadman simply watched with paralysing dread. It wasn't a throne, he realized: it was a metallic chair bedizened with crystals and lights, an array of leads dangling overhead, terminating in the scalp of the seated figure. The man himself was dressed in grey, his hair slick and unnatural, his face bloodless. Worst of all were the eyes. They were cold, sharp as scalpels. They examined Cadman as if he were nothing more than an ant, a specimen.
The eyes flared with argent, searching out the hidden spaces of Cadman's mind. He tried to pull away, but was held entranced. Suddenly, it seemed as if he were tugged towards the chair, but at the same time a spectral image of the man upon the throne shot towards him, hit him with the impact of a fist and sent him tumbling in on himself.
Cadman saw the chair and its figure withdraw, the fissure closing behind them, but the man's image---his doppelgänger---was within him. It was inside Cadman's body. No, he realized. It was inside his mind.
The man reared up like a giant, immense and powerful beyond all reckoning. Cadman squealed and ran, but where could he go? How could he run? He was in his own head.
'Do you know who I am?' the intruder asked in a voice devoid of expression.
'Yes!' Cadman wailed. 'Yes!'
Cadman whimpered and crawled away---not in any physical sense, there was nothing physical here---but he backed into the shadows of his mind, covered himself with emptiness as if it were the soil of the grave.
'Say it!' the intruder's voice boomed through every cell and synapse, forcing Cadman to bury himself deeper and deeper in forgetfulness. 'Say it!'
Cadman screamed as he plummeted into an abyss within himself. 'Sektis Gandaw!' he cried, falling, falling, gyring and spinning.
He tried to slow himself with his arms, but when he extended them there was nothing there---only wisps of blackness as wraith-like as Callixus.
Something sucked at him, tugged him to the side. He yelped as he hurtled forwards, hit a hard surface, and bounced. No---not bounced: dispersed.
Cadman saw movement as if through glass. Wait---it was through glass. He was inside something made of glass. A tube. He was in a tube. Giant fingers closed around the tube as he fought to orientate himself. God, what was he? He lacked substance. He was roiling about in a test tube like trapped gas.
A gigantic eye peered in at him.
Let me out!
There was no sound.
The tube rocked and images passed by in blurry succession. Finally, with a jolt, it settled. It seemed to be standing upright. There were other tubes beside it, each with their own gaseous contents swirling about.
Where am I? Cadman screamed silently.
Where am I?
\*\*\*
Sektis Gandaw looked through Cadman's eyes and sought to synchronize the experience with his own body back inside the Perfect Peak. Bi-location took some getting used to. Just a slight calibration...His fingers on Aethir tapped out a sequence. The interior of the mountain shimmered and superimposed itself over the top of Cadman's vision. Mephesch was kneeling beside the projector seat checking connections.
'You have him?'
The words must have come out of both bodies simultaneously as the ghostly figure that had been atop the tower with Cadman inclined its head towards him.
'In a test tube with the others,' Mephesch said. 'No doubt to linger there forever, unless you come up with some use for him.'
Unlikely, Sektis Gandaw thought. Not with the Unweaving so close now. Nevertheless, Cadman's memories might still prove useful in the meantime. He'd learnt long ago, from his conflict with Blightey's unnatural minions, that there were no organic memories to pilfer. Cadman had rotted away to little more than bone and cartilage. But the power that animated him, the strength that allowed him to endure, was eminently accessible, if you had the technology to process it.
'Sever the link with my own body, but not with Cadman's test tube,' he told Mephesch. 'Being in two places at one time is disorienting.'
There was a faint click in his skull---Cadman's skull---and then the images from Aethir vanished.
Sektis Gandaw gazed at the amber fragments in his hand: an eye and a fang. The body of the serpent and the other fang were inside the Perfect Peak, ready for the work of Unweaving. Just one more eye to locate. One more piece and Eingana would be whole.
The wraith insinuated its way into his vision. 'Doctor?'
With an effort, Sektis Gandaw closed his eyes and drew upon the memories of Cadman's essence, stowed away beneath the Perfect Peak. Callixus. Yes, that was it. Cadman had bound the dead knight to his service and then released him. Sektis Gandaw could soon remedy that.
Cadman's control over his creations was strong, almost innate. With the merest thought he shackled Callixus to his own will.
The wraith rippled, his eyes flaring with surprise or rage. 'But you promised---'
'Be silent,' Sektis Gandaw said, striding to the edge of the parapet and gripping it with skeletal fingers.
Dark shapes lumbered around the edge of the forest, every one of them connected to him by the merest thread of sentience. Excellent. A readymade army.
He drew upon more of Cadman's memories---a winged creature named Ikrys, flashes of stories, faces, hints, clues, speculations. Cadman must have been an imbecile, he thought as the words of an epic poem played across his mind, the story of the Dreamer Huntsman coming face to face with his so-called gods.
'Hybrids!' Sektis Gandaw almost felt anger. He moved his jaw from side to side, grinding his teeth. Speaking with this body could take some getting used to. He saw an image of a tabletop mountain in a sprawling red desert. 'So that's where you fled to.' The Dreamers had a name for it, that much he deduced from the poem...the Homestead. The place Huntsman had brought about the Reckoning.
He held up Cadman's pieces of the statue and concentrated. Nothing. Not the slightest link with the missing fifth piece. Either it was shielded, or Eingana was still finding ways to hide from him. Maybe it was Nous, he scoffed. After all, it had been with the Templum fleet.
Another of Cadman's memories insinuated its way into his consciousness. The bard had told Cadman the tale of Otto Blightey stealing the artefact from Aeterna. It had been concealed in the Ipsissimal Monas. What if that was still the case? What if the supreme ruler of the Templum was here in Sahul, a sort of last guardian of the statue?
With the power of the two pieces in his hands, and two more on Aethir, he knew he should have no trouble confronting the Templum force, especially with the backing of Cadman's undead army. But he was used to certainties, and the fact that he couldn't detect the last piece was evidence he'd been wrong, either about the statue or those who now held it. He hadn't had time to look at all the variables. What if the Ipsissimus had some means of resisting him? He must have come all this way for a reason. Maybe Huntsman had a trick up his sleeve. Perhaps he'd underes timated them both. Sektis Gandaw didn't know the terrain, didn't know what forces could be arrayed against him. He was the one who should be calling the shots, not them. Maybe it was a mistake inhabiting Cadman's body. He could have waited on Aethir; played his usual patient game. Too late to worry about that now. In for a penny, in for a pound. Where had that come from? Perhaps if he stirred things up at the Homestead, Huntsman would be forced into a desperate act to protect his gods. He might even persuade the ruler of the Templum to come to their aid. At least that way Sektis Gandaw could choose the site of any battle and plan accordingly.
'Where is Ikrys?' he asked.
'Below,' Callixus answered like a dutiful slave.
'Fetch him,' Sektis Gandaw said. 'Tell him I'm going to need a bigger army.'
Much bigger, he thought. It never paid to take chances.
Shader's anger trailed him like a cloak as he strode down the Domus Tyalae towards the templum. He wasn't even sure it was anger, and if it was, he wasn't clear who to direct it at. He kept telling himself he was furious with Lallia, but he knew that wasn't fair. Whatever she was, however she chose to lead her life, he knew he was just using her as a scapegoat. Was it Gaston? His death? What he'd done to Rhiannon? Was he angry with Rhiannon for listening to Huntsman and wrecking whatever chance of happiness they'd had?
He stepped over a black-clad body lying in a pool of its own blood just inside the narthex. He resisted an urge to kick it and carried on down the aisle towards the sacristy. He stopped at the door, wincing and clenching his fists. For a moment he felt the shame of what had happened with Lallia and was overcome with self-loathing. Suddenly he had perspective on his life, saw it for the sham it really was. His fingers brushed the hilt of the longsword Dave had mysteriously returned to him. He was definitely made from the same mould as his father, a man of violence, bred to be a killer. It didn't matter how hard he tried to hide that truth beneath a veneer of Nousian piety, the path of peace was beyond him. The monks at Pardes had known that all along, so why had they played along with the farce? Had they taken some sort of sick pleasure in watching him fail? Maybe Hagalle was right about Nousians. Maybe it was just some global cult of control...
Shader shook his head to put the thought from his mind. Nous wasn't to blame for his weakness. The Templum hadn't made him what he was. If anyone had shaped Shader, it was Aristodeus. But even the philosopher needed to be absolved as far as Shader was concerned. If the confessional had taught him one thing it was that you left all your excuses, your blame of others, outside.
He pushed open the door and passed through to the corridor that was flanked by the priests' chambers. Frater Hugues was on his hands and knees scrubbing at the blood on the tiles. He seemed only to be diluting it, spreading stains of pink across the floor.
'Where---?' Shader started but stopped himself. His voice sounded too harsh.
Hugues looked up, his face set and hard.
'Agna's cleaning Velda's body in readiness for the funeral. Mater's doing the same for Gaston, and Dr Stoofley's in with Cadris. He'll be lucky to make it, what with a cut like that.' Hugues looked Shader up and down as if he knew where he'd been. 'Thought you might have helped,' he said. 'Had to drag those dead assassins outside by myself. There's still one in the narthex, but he can wait.'
'Have you alerted the militia?' Shader asked.
Hugues put his head down and started scrubbing again. 'I might not be as educated as you,' he said, 'but I'm not totally stupid. Who do you think would've sent the Sicarii? They certainly wouldn't come here without a contract.'
Shader hadn't had time to consider the matter. He'd just come because Dave had told him the priests were in danger. Nousians were always in danger throughout Sahul, but Sarum had been different...'
'Hagalle,' Hugues completed his thinking for him. 'That's who's in charge here. I bet the Sicarii were his cleanest option, but he's got control of the militia and the Imperial troops. It won't be long before he sends them to finish the job.'
Shader's cheek twitched. He set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. 'Which room is Mater in?' He needed to see Gaston one last time. Needed to lay at least one ghost to rest.
Hugues stood and opened a door for him. Shader slipped inside and leaned with his back against the jamb.
Ioana was stooped over Gaston's naked body, wiping away blood with a damp cloth. Her robe was stained red, and she sobbed as she worked.
Shader kept still and watched her tenderly prepare Gaston for the grave. Ioana did not even show that she knew he had entered the room as she proceeded to dab the body dry like a mother with a baby. Finally, she retrieved Gaston's surcoat and covered his nakedness with it. It was stained with patches of pinkish dampness where she'd obviously tried to clean it. She was pulling it up to cover Gaston's face when Shader took a step away from the door.
'No,' he said so softly she probably didn't hear him. 'Mater, wait.'
Ioana inclined her head towards him, her eyes moist and bloodshot. She forced a smile for his benefit, but it did nothing to assuage his guilt. He'd made Gaston what he was. He'd offered the lad a new life, a new sense of purpose, and then he'd abandoned him.
'What else could he have done?' Ioana said, stroking Gaston's hair. 'He knew I disapproved and yet he fought to save us. Now I don't know who was right or wrong.'
Shader moved to the bedside and rested his hand on Gaston's shoulder. It felt cold and unreal, as if the lad were made of wax. For an instant, Shader had the sense that the body was nothing more than a shell, that Gaston had gone somewhere else; that he was at peace. Delusion, he told himself. There was nothing peaceful about any of this. And yet the feeling didn't totally vanish.
'He did well,' Shader said, looking directly at Gaston's face as if the lad could hear him. 'Hugues says the Emperor sent the assassins.'
Ioana straightened up and felt behind her for a chair. She flopped into it and sighed. 'Who else? Zara Gen would never do such a thing.'
'Not judging by his reaction. What do you suppose that was all about?'
Ioana smiled at some private recollection. 'He's one of us. Don't you see? That's why he's always let us be. He'd been impressed by Bovis Rayn when he preached in the city.' She smiled weakly at Gaston's body. 'We always wondered how Bovis got away with it, and why nobody objected to us being here. Then Zara Gen started meeting with me in secret, but he was finally accepted into the Templum by Jarmin the Anchorite.'
Shader's jaw dropped. 'And now he's no longer in charge?'
'The Imperial troops have the run of the city,' Ioana said, 'and it looks like Hagalle's assumed direct control of Sarum. Either that or one of his stooges---most likely Duke Farian. Sarum is no longer safe for Nousians.'
'But Mater, the Ipsissimus is here in Sahul with an army. I arrived with them at Dalantle.'
Ioana's eyes nearly popped out of her head. 'His Divinity? Here? Oh my word! Hagalle's bound to know about it. He has enough troops in the area for a full-scale war.'
Shader studied Gaston's face one last time, golden hair surrounding it like a halo. He pulled the surcoat up to cover it and made the sign of the knot above the body.
Hagalle had tried to kill the priests, and he was responsible for Gaston's death. There had been Imperial troops searching for Shader out on the streets too. What of the others?
'Mater, have you heard anything about Barek and the White Order?'
Ioana stood. 'Dr Stoofley is here tending Cadris. He said the knights were being detained at the old Imperial barracks. You should free them. I can't bring myself to trust Hagalle's justice.'
'You would approve? If I get them out?'
Ioana looked up at him, dampness rimming her eyes. She nodded.
Shader turned on his heel and left.
\*\*\*
The iron gates of the compound were flanked by a couple of militiamen. Behind them, through the bars, Shader could see squads of patrolling Imperial soldiers. The walls surrounding the enclosure were too high to climb, and the gates were no doubt locked as well as guarded.
He ducked back inside the porch of the tailor's shop that stood opposite the barracks. Night hung heavy over the street, the stars wan and distant as if seen through a gauze. A few of the Ancients' tall lanterns flickered with orange light that sprang from some hidden source, casting long shadows, but providing just enough illumination to see by.
Shader took another look at the two guards on his side of the gate. He doubted either would have a key. Most likely the troops on the inside were charged with letting people in and out. The militiamen were most likely there for show, to make it seem that Sarum still managed her own affairs. One of them wore captain's stripes; his face was thickly moustachioed and he had the stiff bearing of a career soldier. The other was younger and looked utterly miserable, hugging his arms across his chest and shivering, in spite of the night being mild.
A direct assault would be useless. Shader would need to find some way over the wall to the rear of the compound, away from the light. Perhaps he'd be lucky and find something he could climb on. His hope diminishing, he stepped from the porch, but immediately pulled back as he saw a hunched figure approach the gates.
'Who goes there?' the captain challenged, drawing his sword. His young companion turned to call to the soldiers within the enclosure.
The hunchback walked right up to them and, with a sickening feeling, Shader realized who it was.
'Praise Nous for such a beautiful night, gentlemen. Praise his glorious name.'
---Dave the Slave.
'Now look here,' the captain said. 'We don't want any trouble.' He put a hand on Dave's shoulder and turned him away from the gate, then started as he clapped eyes on Shader.
'Ah, look,' Dave said. 'Nous's right hand has come to the aid of the righteous.'
'Who are you?' the captain barked. 'Show yourself.'
Shader walked towards them, pushing his coat back to reveal his swords. 'Deacon Shader,' he said. 'I've come for my friends.'
The creak of old metal announced the opening of the gate. Half a dozen Imperial soldiers spilled through onto the street, shields before them, spears raised.
'Captain Harding, City Militia. Look, there's no need for any trouble here. The Emperor's holding your friends merely as a precaution. Now, I'm sure if we could---'
'That's him,' a bearded soldier said, pointing his spear at Shader.
'Now wait a minute, gentlemen,' Harding said, but already the soldiers were fanning out around Shader.
'This is my city,' Harding said. 'Back off until I give the order.'
'Get lost, Harding,' the bearded soldier said. 'We can handle this. Go catch yourself a thief or something.'
The young militiaman tried to draw his sword, but one of the soldiers pushed him in the back. As he tried to gain his balance, the soldier punched him in the face and the lad went down. Harding went to draw his sword, but a spear point to the throat stopped him.
'Like I said,' the bearded soldier growled. 'Get lost.'
Harding backed away shaking his head.
In that moment, Dave snarled and leapt. The bearded man screamed as Dave clawed at his face. Shader caught the fierce flash of the hunchback's eyes, the feral contortions of his face. The soldier toppled backwards and Dave followed, landing on top of him and mauling his throat.
The other soldiers surged forward, but Shader stepped in amongst them, both blades leaping to his hands. He turned the thrust of a spear and gutted his attacker with the gladius. His longsword clanged against a shield, which he spun around and elbowed the man in the jaw. A rush of air from behind made Shader duck, a spear-tip grazing his cheek. He turned to face the attacker, but Captain Harding charged into the man's shield, bowling him over. Harding blocked another spear thrust and severed the soldier's hand at the wrist.
'Nous comes to liberate the just!' Dave cried out, slipping through the guards and rushing into the compound.
Shader could see more soldiers rushing to the gate from within, but Dave seemed oblivious. Just before the soldiers were upon him, he vanished.
Harding and Shader stood side by side as the remaining three soldiers in the street levelled their spears and pressed their shields together, advancing with caution.
'Run,' Shader said. 'This isn't your fight.'
Harding shot him a look of disbelief, or disdain. 'This is darn right unlawful,' he barked loud enough for the Imperial soldiers to hear. 'I'll not stand for it.'
The young militiaman groaned and sat up, rubbing his face. He found his feet and scarpered as a dozen more soldiers emerged from the compound and encircled Shader and Harding.
'This wasn't quite what I had in mind,' Shader said.
'Battles never go as planned,' Harding said, as if Shader were a rookie. 'You watch my back, I'll watch yours.'
'Thanks.'
'Don't thank me,' Harding said. 'Once this is over, you're still under arrest. Orders is orders, but I'll be damned if these thugs from Jorakum are going to behave like this in my city.'
The circle closed in, spears bristling. Shader's blades were a blur as he batted aside two thrusts, slipped inside and stabbed a soldier through the chest. He backslashed another across the face and skipped away to avoid being impaled by yet another. Harding was breathing heavily behind him, the clang of steel on steel deafening as he bashed at the wall of shields and hacked at spears. He groaned and fell against Shader, blood spurting from his shoulder, but he immediately lunged, skewering his attacker, ripping his sword free and swinging at another, who jumped back out of range.
'I'll be damned if these milksops are gonna take me,' he growled. 'In my day I'd have killed twenty by myself.'
Another spear came for Shader's head. He swayed aside, hacked down on the haft and broke it. The soldier barrelled on behind his shield, but Shader spun out of the way and slit his throat. More soldiers spilled out from the compound and swelled the circle of attackers. Harding grunted as another spear took him in the side. Shader whirled, grabbed hold of the haft, and stabbed its wielder in the bicep. The man screamed and let go. A sound like an avalanche rose above the combat. Horses, Shader realized. It was all over then.
Harding staggered and pulled the spear out, blood gushing from the wound. He fell to his knees, panting. Miraculously, the wall of spears remained still.
'Would have taken them ten years ago,' Harding gasped. 'Must be getting old.'
He sagged to the floor and Shader stood over him, swords poised to strike.
But no one moved.
Shader thought they were expecting him to surrender. Clearly they knew nothing of the Elect. But then the circle split apart as the soldiers pulled back. Behind them, Dave the Slave walked before a line of mounted knights who rode out onto the street to surround the Imperial soldiers.
'Barek!' Shader said, recognizing the sandy-haired youth in a mail hauberk and Nousian surcoat. He felt a rush of emotion swamp him. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but somewhere in amongst it all, he felt pride as he recognized some of the others: Gord, Solomon, Elgin, even Justin. Including Barek, there were only thirteen. How many had been lost along the way? These were the lads he'd trained, the lads he'd let down. In spite of his misgivings, in spite of his belief that they could be nothing without his lead, they came now to his aid when it was meant to be him rescuing them. He thought of Gaston, the most flawed and the most brilliant amongst them; thought of his waxy corpse looking more at peace than ever he'd been in life. Gaston, who'd done so much wrong, and yet at the last, even in the face of Ioana's disapproval, had vindicated everything Shader had ever fought for. Tears spilled down his cheeks as the Imperial soldiers dropped their spears and were herded into the enclosure.
Barek dismounted and embraced him. 'You came for us,' he said. 'I always knew you would.'
Shader shook his head, feeling so inadequate. 'A right mess I made of it, though,' he said through the tears. 'Barek, it's good to see you. Good to see you all.'
'Any news of Gaston?' Barek asked. 'Things weren't good between us last time we met.'
Shader pulled back from the embrace and sheathed his swords. Without meeting Barek's eyes he said, 'Gaston's dead.'
Barek dropped his head.
'But he put us all to shame, Barek, at the last. He died saving the priests from Hagalle's assassins.'
'Really?' Barek said. 'He redeemed himself?'
Shader wanted to believe that; hoped it were true. But that was for Rhiannon to judge. If not her, then Ain.
'The Ipsissimus is here,' Shader said, avoiding answering. 'The Templum Fleet is at Dalantle.'
'I heard,' Barek said. 'But Hagalle plans to attack them.'
Shader nodded. He crouched down to feel for a pulse in Harding's neck. He'd lost a lot of blood, but his heart still beat, albeit faintly.
'The Emperor's an idiot,' Shader said. 'Scared of his own shadow. He should be going after Cadman, who still has two pieces of the statue. The others are in the hands of Sektis Gandaw. Ain only knows what will happen if he gets hold of Cadman's.'
'This all sounds so unreal,' Barek said. 'Like one of Elias's stories. Sektis Gandaw's a myth, like Otto Blightey. I still find it hard to accept this is happening.'
'Me too,' Shader said. 'Me too.'
'What should we do? There are so few of us left.' Barek rubbed his horse behind the ear and then climbed back into the saddle. 'Nevertheless, we are battle-hardened and yours to command, if that's what you wish.'
'You have any spare horses?' Shader asked.
'Here,' Dave the Slave said, leading the horse Shader had ridden from Dalantle. 'Go, Keeper of the Sword. Lead this holy Order. Ride to the aid of Nous's Vicar on Earth and bring death to the infidel, Hagalle.'
'Thought I told you to leave me alone,' Shader said. 'And besides, what do you think fourteen knights could achieve against the thousands Hagalle commands? Why don't you do something useful? Take this man to the templum; see if Mater Ioana can do anything for him; or try Dr Stoofley, if he's still there.'
Shader was surprised that Dave did as he asked. The hunchback stooped and lifted Harding as if he weighed no more than a baby. Without a word, he trudged into the night and faded from view.
'There has to be another way,' Shader said to Barek. 'We have to make Hagalle see reason.'
He mounted his horse and led the White Order northwards through Sarum's night-darkened streets. Reasoning with a madman was a task that didn't inspire much hope. Maybe the Ipsissimus would have more luck, if he could get close enough to parley. Failing that, the best they could do was pray and hope for some kind of miracle.
Rhiannon dropped down the last five feet of the ladder and twisted her ankle.
'Shit,' she cried. 'Shog, shit and fuck.'
The room she'd entered was a bedchamber---presumably Cadman's.
The gargoyle-thing was curled up on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily. It appeared to be asleep. She glanced up at the trapdoor. There was no sign of pursuit, but it wouldn't be long till they noticed she'd gone. No time to hang about.
She tested her ankle and winced at the pain. She could walk if she didn't put too much weight on it. She took a step towards the gargoyle, intending to throttle it in its sleep, but then took hold of herself. Stupid to take risks now. She just had to get out of there.
The gargoyle snored and Rhiannon held her breath. Once its breathing resumed its steady rhythm, she hobbled through the open door and limped downstairs.
The lower levels were unguarded, but the front door was secured from the inside. She drew back the heavy bolts one at a time, holding her breath whenever they squeaked. Taking hold of the handle, she cast a look over her shoulder to make sure she still wasn't being followed, and then pulled.
She slid through the merest of cracks and immediately saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Black shapes to either side of the door began to lumber towards her. Doing her best to ignore the pain in her ankle, she half ran, half hopped for the trees. More shapes emerged from the darkness to shamble in pursuit, but within a few strides, her ankle eased and she was able to plant her weight on it. She tore into the undergrowth, veering to the left as a horde of groaning figures rose from a cluster of mounds.
'Ain,' she whispered to herself, half in prayer, half in shock. 'More shogging zombies.'
She sprinted away from the main mass of undead, arms pumping furiously, breath coming in ragged gasps. The darks shapes from the tower still followed, spreading out like a dragnet. Ducking beneath overhanging branches, Rhiannon found herself on a woodland trail and picked up her speed. Something grabbed at her robe---it may have been a branch, but she didn't stop to find out---and then she slipped and tumbled down a bank. She hit the bottom with a thud that jarred her neck and sent a thumping pain through her skull. She crawled another pace before pulling herself up using a drooping branch.
Black figures lumbered through the darkness behind her, merging with the forest so that it seemed the trees themselves were moving, reaching out, coming for her. She pushed away from the branch and took a couple of steps, but then a hooded figure emerged from behind a eucalypt in front of her. A dozen or more black-cloaked figures slunk out to either side.
'Who the hell are you?' she found herself shouting in her panic.
The lead figure threw back its hood to reveal a sharp face dominated by a well-oiled moustache. The flesh was pale, the eyes, red. Strips of meat clung to its teeth.
The others revealed their faces, each with the pallor of the grave and starting to putrefy.
Rhiannon whirled, looking for an opening, but the horde from the tower was closing in around her. She grabbed a branch and snapped it free from its trunk. It lacked weight, but she'd take whatever she could find. Crouching, she held the branch in both hands and dared the cloaked zombies to advance.
They drew daggers and came at her---lightly, on the balls of their feet, not at all like the shambling things behind. As they drew closer, Rhiannon saw that they all had grisly wounds---raked faces, gouged chests, ripped out throats.
Cracking twigs and rustling leaves startled her. She spun, still looking for some opening to slip through, but the noose had closed and there was nowhere to run. A hundred pairs of hands reached towards her. She swooned and retched at the stench of decay, dropping the branch and falling to her knees. Cold fingers touched her---
Lightning flashed, its flicker making the movements of the dead appear stilted. A sizzling crack followed, and a thunderous blast rolled through the woods. Flesh charred, smoke plumed skywards, and bodies fell. Another explosion sent rotting carcasses hurtling into trees and a passage opened through the horde. The cloaked zombies still came on, but the air in front of them swirled green like a vast shield of light. As they struck it, the corpses disappeared, as if they'd walked into the mouth of a cave.
Two figures ran through the corridor between the undead, one cloaked in feathers, the other much smaller and half naked. Recognition hit Rhiannon, and she knew she must have been dreaming; knew she must have been dead.
\*\*\*
'Boy has heard it.'---A man's voice, thick and awkward, as if the words were alien. 'All of web shudders in warning. Sahul's children cry out.'
'The ants.'---A boy's voice, shrill and excited. 'They tell me everything.'
Rhiannon moaned and turned, trying to snuggle down away from the noise. The bed was too hard. Her arm felt numb beneath her. Something coarse ground into her face, and her lips were dry and dusty. She rolled onto her back and red heat seared through her eyelids. She covered her face with her hands, blinking rapidly.
'How many?'---Another man's voice, smoother, more refined, yet the accent wasn't Sahulian.
'As many as stars.'---The first man again. She knew that voice. Huntsman. And the child---Ain, it had to be Sammy.
'Gently, my dear,' the other man said. 'Huntsman, a drink. I would do it myself, but in the spirit I lack the digits.'
Rhiannon let her hands drop and risked looking into the blaze. She blinked again and realized she was facing the sun. She turned away and was startled to full alertness when she saw a rough pillar of rock---limestone---jutting towards the azure sky like a fossilised finger. She shook her head and focused. Not just one rock---hundreds of them. Pocked and twisted monoliths surrounded her like a petrified forest, or a city sprouting from the earth.
Huntsman crouched into her field of vision, a tight grin exposing the black stubs of his teeth. Sunlight glinted from the crystals beaded through his hair. He put something pulpy to her lips and she sucked automatically, drawing sweet moisture into her mouth and gulping it down.
'Cactus,' Huntsman said. 'Keep you alive.'
'Sammy?' Rhiannon pushed Huntsman's hand away. 'Is he with you?'
'Here,' the boy said.
He sounded so old.
Rhiannon rolled to her knees and Sammy came to stand before her. He looked taller somehow, but she knew that was impossible. Then she realized it was due to his bearing. He stood straight and proud, like Huntsman. His fair hair was besmirched and twisted into stubby dreadlocks that reminded her of the trunks of grass trees. His cheeks were browned from exposure and daubed with ochre. He was naked apart from a soiled binding around his loins that may have been animal skin or some kind of treated leaf. Like Huntsman, he was barefoot, and his eyes---Sammy's sparkling playful eyes---were piercing pinpricks in the grime, distantly focused and utterly serious.
'What have you done?' she shrieked at Huntsman, surging to her feet and lunging for his face.
The old Dreamer swayed out of her reach. Before she could renew her assault, a white radiance stepped between them.
'He has preserved your brother, by all accounts.'
The other man. His voice was strangely distant, dreamlike.
Rhiannon stepped back. 'Oh my shogging---What are you?'
He was robed in white and wearing a biretta. His face seemed unnaturally young, although the eyes were those of an old man. Rhiannon could see right through him as if he were a ghost.
He frowned at her, ran his eyes up and down her filthy white robe. 'Hardly the sort of language one would expect from a Nousian. Particularly a postulant.'
Rhiannon's hand went to her mouth. 'Oh my---' She bowed her head and wasn't sure whether or not to genuflect. 'Oh, oh, oh.' What was she supposed to say? How should she address him? 'You're...you're...'
'I am the servant of the servants of Nous, my dear, and you have been through a terrible ordeal.'
'Ipsissimus,' Rhiannon gasped. 'The Ipsissimus? Here?'
'Not exactly here,' the Ipsissimus indicated his see-through form, 'but I am in Sahul. These are perilous times, my dear. I'm only sorry that you have been caught up in them.'
Warm fingers curled around her hand. Sammy pressed in close, his dirty body complementing the stains on her robe. He looked so alien, so utterly unlike the little boy she knew and loved. Yet, when he pressed his head into her side, Rhiannon clutched it to her, ruffling his matted hair with her free hand.
'My friend,' Huntsman said to the Ipsissimus. 'This army of corpses, it marches now towards Homestead.'
'Why would it do that?' the Ipsissimus asked. 'Thought there was nothing there besides desert and the mountain itself?'
Huntsman's eyes widened in horror. 'Gods of Dreaming.'
'Even so---' the Ipsissimus started, but Huntsman cut him off.
'Cadman must think they know where rest of statue is.'
'Do they?'
'No.'
'Then we should stay out of it,' the Ipsissimus said. 'We can't risk the Monas.'
'But we must go to them.' Huntsman looked like he would have shaken the Ipsissimus if he had anything to grab onto. 'He will kill them before he believes they do not know.'
Rhiannon let go of Sammy's hand and stepped towards Huntsman. 'It's not Cadman. Not anymore.'
Huntsman looked at her as if she were crazy, but then realization crept across his face even before she explained herself.
'On the tower, on Dead Man's Torch,' she said, 'something came for him: a man seated on a throne. The skies opened like someone had torn a curtain. This man---'
'Sektis Gandaw!' Huntsman seemed to visibly wilt as he said the name. The Ipsissimus merely closed his eyes.
'---he did something to Cadman,' Rhiannon said. 'Entered his body in some way. I think Cadman's gone---dead even, if that's possible.'
'If Sektis Gandaw has the other four pieces---' the Ipsissimus said.
'He needs only one more,' Huntsman finished. 'To begin Unweaving: end of all things.'
The Ipsissimus's spectral hand clutched the golden Monas around his neck. 'Why hasn't he already come for it. With the other pieces he could---¼
'The Archon,' Sammy said, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. 'He wards it. The other pieces can no longer find it.'
'Then Gandaw's barking up the wrong tree,' Rhiannon said.
'No.' Huntsman regained his poise and shook his head. 'He wants revenge. My gods thwarted him once. He does not forget.'
The Ipsissimus touched his fingertips together beneath his nose. 'And you say they don't know about my Monas?'
'No,' Huntsman said. 'They never let me tell them.'
'Then why---?' Rhiannon started.
'Sektis Gandaw doesn't know that. He will try to force knowledge from them and they will be unable to answer,' the Ipsissimus said.
'It is worse than that.' Huntsman looked from Rhiannon to the Ipsissimus with panic in his eyes. 'Sektis Gandaw hates my gods. He goes to slaughter them, just as he once slaughtered Barraiya People. My friend,' he said to the Ipsissimus, 'we must help them.'
Ipsissimus Theodore watched his troops file past as he was borne along in a gilded lectica by four men. He loathed this mode of transport, but as Exemptus Cane was forever reminding him, it was what the people expected. An Ipsissimus had to be seen as more than human. Apparently, being carried on a cushion-strewn litter rendered one divine.
As columns of armoured men marched past, seemingly oblivious to the heat, Theodore had an unquiet heart. He had never been comfortable with the use of force and yet his Templum had for thousands of years subscribed to a theory of just war. Theodore had always found this contrary to the example of Nous, who had embodied a strategy of non-violent resistance. In this case, though, when the future of Creation was at stake, he could see no alternative. And yet a quiet, nagging voice refused to grant him the peace that should accompany a decision made in good conscience; a voice that seemed to taunt him with the limitations of his own faith: Trust in Ain. Be not afraid.
Following the maps sent to Aeterna by the Jarmin in return for Aeterna-tech medicines and weapons, the column made its way south and east towards the Delling Ford. Theodore had been outmanoeuvred on the armaments front. Exemptus Silvanus, more and more, was having his way in Templum affairs. And to think people believed the Ipsissimus wielded absolute power. The reality was closer to Quilonian democracy. It was no secret that Silvanus favoured opening up the archives and releasing the knowledge of the Ancients. Some technology had already been made available---medical wisdom and such. It was a necessity. And then, during the Verusian campaign, strange armaments had started to appear, and transportation---most notably shipbuilding---had accelerated to rival the galleons of Sahul (which Hagalle had apparently modelled on a captured mawg reaver). Perhaps Silvanus was right. The Templum couldn't pretend the technology wasn't there, not when its rivals were rediscovering it by themselves. It was a perennial problem, but Theodore still believed with his whole heart that the sort of weapons they'd supplied to Jarmin didn't marry well with the way of Nous. It all reeked of power and hypocrisy, yet, even as Ipsissimus, he felt impotent against the tide.
The heat and dust forced the knights to remove their armour and walk their horses. Shade was minimal, at times non-existent, as they trudged across ruddy earth that seemed to foreshadow bloodshed. Scrubs of hard weeds and tufted grasstrees jutted from the desert, providing no respite from the scorching sun.
The scouts returned with news of an intercepting army to the south blocking the passage to the ford. General Binizo rode alongside the lectica to inform the Ipsissimus. He was your typical Latian, Theodore thought, careful not to be uncharitable---dark-eyed and swarthy, an impressive nose dominating his face. Binizo carried himself with a deportment that could have been construed as pompous if it were not the norm for one of his breeding.
'There are nearly four thousand men, Ipsissimus, and they are illintentioned. No sooner had our scouts sighted them than a score of riders gave chase. They are highly skilled and were able to fire arrows from the saddle. They pursued our scouts for perhaps a mile before returning to the main force.'
'Is it Hagalle?' the Ipsissimus asked.
'No banners were sighted, but I would assume so, Divinity.'
Theodore nodded his agreement. 'I had better get some rest. If the Emperor is so ill-disposed towards us I shall need to be prepared for a very long negotiation. If,' he added, 'we are granted the opportunity to talk. Oh, and General,' Theodore said, stamping his foot so that the litter bearers would stop. 'Find me a horse. I refuse to face the Emperor of Sahul like some pampered Ancient world queen!'
Binizo wheeled his mount and touched his forehead.
'No,' Theodore said. 'On second thoughts, make it a mule.' Hagalle already viewed him as an imperious conqueror. Maybe a touch of humility would help. 'And inform Exemptus Cane that he may ride in the lectica.' Either that or break it up for firewood.
\*\*\*
'They have the high ground,' Ignatius Grymm said, looking down on Theodore from his destrier.
'That is rather apparent,' the Ipsissimus squinted up at the twin hills that rose in great natural steps either side of the valley. 'Surely that can't be a natural feature.' Theodore shifted his position on the mule to find a degree of comfort. The animal stank of musk and sweat, and he was sure it was infested with lice.
'Some sort of earthworks, maybe,' the Grand Master said. 'Either that or canny fortifications. Sahul has seen its fair share of warfare. I was reading about the Zaneish rise to hegemony on the voyage from Aeterna.'
Theodore gazed back over his own army deployed at the edge of Dour Wood, if the maps were anything to go by. A thin line of Britannic skirmishers provided a screen for the main force; hard men from the north, lightly armoured in leather and equipped with slings and javelins for harrying the enemy, and long bladed knives for finishing the wounded. Behind them, to the left, just nudging out of the tree-line, were the Templum's shock troops: over a hundred knights of the Elect, heavily armoured and perfectly disciplined. One coordinated charge from them was enough to decimate any army in Nousia. Theodore only hoped they'd enjoy the same success in Sahul, should it come to it.
The centre was held by the heavy infantry units, nearly two hundred men in plate armour and wielding fearsome glaive guisarmes, twice the length of a spear and with hooks at the back of the blade for unseating riders. They had a contingent of the Ipsissimal Guard to their right and another to the rear---seasoned veterans in red cloaks with an embroidered white Monas. These men fought with short stabbing swords and rectangular shields. Theodore had seen them manoeuvring in Latia and had been in awe of their ability to flawlessly change formation and to use their shields as a defensive wall. A long line of archers came next, each with Britannic long bows carved of yew. Bringing up the rear were the Elect Foot, Theodore's personal bodyguard, fighters of incomparable skill and loyalty. He imagined they were feeling a little forlorn back there with no one to protect---besides Exemptus Cane, who seemed quite at home in the Ipsissimal lectica.
'Are they a threat?' Theodore asked his Grand Master. It was so difficult to tell with these things. He'd never actually witnessed a battle, but he had endured years and years of endless parades with Ignatius wittering on in his ear about the pros and cons of every single unit.
'All enemies pose a threat, Divinity. The first rule of war is never to underestimate your opponent. Especially when he outnumbers you by at least two to one. See how Hagalle employs a screen like our own, only longer. He doesn't want to show his full strength. Those peltasts at the foot of the hill will split and run once the real fighting begins, making way for whatever he has behind. Those are light cavalry on the left hill, but too few to be more than a nuisance. I doubt he'll risk them against the Elect. Up there,' Ignatius pointed to the top of the left hill and swung his finger over to take in the right, 'he has twice our archers. If those are long bows, we lose the range advantage. Their heavy cavalry are on the right flank. He aims to use them against the Ipsissimal Guard, but if he does, we'll wheel away and let them face the guisarmes. What troubles me most is what he has guarding the mouth of the valley. Perhaps when we get closer we'll be able to see.'
'If we get closer,' Theodore said. 'I have a feeling Hagalle is not going to want to parley. Nevertheless...' Theodore shook the reins and sent the mule plodding forward.
'You know my feelings on this, Divinity' Ignatius said, dismounting and handing the reins of his destrier to a young squire. The Grand Master took hold of the mule's bridle and walked beside it.
'You have surpassed yourself in letting me know,' Theodore said with a smile. He knew how hard it had been for the Grand Master to speak his mind, even when asked. 'But it is not with all this,' Theodore flicked his hand back at the Templum army, 'that we do Ain's work. We must reach out with humility and friendship. If Hagalle refuses us, then we shall have to think again.'
If he didn't kill them. Theodore dreaded the thought. Such an incident would spark full-scale war between Sahul and the whole of Nousia. It was hardly the kind of legacy he was hoping to leave.
Ignatius led the mule out onto the dusty red plain between the forest and the hills. Sunlight glinted from the spears and armour of Hagalle's forces, making it difficult to see. Theodore wondered if perhaps he should have brought a white flag. Maybe his robes would suffice. In any case, even a total brute would be able to tell that two men and a mule hardly constituted an act of aggression.
The sun harried them every slow plodding step of the way, deadlier than a hail of arrows, more certain than a sword through the guts. Theodore wished he'd brought a waterskin. Now they were out of the limited shade of the eucalypts, they'd probably both shrivel and die before they came within talking distance of the Imperial force, and even if they should make it, he'd probably be too parched to speak. If Ignatius was feeling the heat beneath his chainmail and cloak, he didn't show it. There was a sheen on his forehead beneath his iron grey hair, but other than that the Grand Master was as stoic as ever.
Midway between the two armies, Ignatius brought the mule to a stop as the screening peltasts in front of the imperial force parted to either side of the valley mouth. Two staggered phalanxes guarded the pass between the hills. It was impossible to gauge their depth, but each was at least forty men wide and bristling with spears.
'Hoplites,' Ignatius said, for once sounding surprised. 'That's a throwback. I've studied them in Balzeal's History of Conflict, but this kind of warfare was obsolete by the time cataphracts and pikes were on the scene. Not to mention the longbow.'
Theodore climbed down from the mule and shaded his eyes to get a better look. The hoplites must have really been suffering in the heat; they wore bronze breastplates and shouldered heavy round shields.
'You think Hagalle's technology is expanding faster than his purse? Maybe he can't afford to upgrade his entire army,' he said. 'Does this give us more bargaining power?'
'I'm not sure, Divinity. Out in the open the Elect would smash through them, and head to head, our glaive guisarmes have the greater reach. But holed up there in the valley mouth, they may well prove an immovable object. I'd say Hagalle's plan is for a defensive battle. He seeks only to prevent us making further progress on Sahulian soil. He's hoping we'll turn tail and head back to Aeterna.'
That wasn't really an option, not with the threat posed by the Statue of Eingana. And besides, Theodore had a feeling that his piece of the statue wasn't about to let him go anywhere but forward.
'If necessary, can we break through?' Theodore studied the Grand Master's face, but Ignatius was giving nothing away. His hesitation, however, caused Theodore to frown.
'There is an ancient story,' Ignatius stared out at the hoplites, 'of a few hundred men like these resisting an army of thousands---some say a million. If we get drawn into attacking their position, we may suffer heavy losses.'
He didn't need to say any more. Theodore could already tell. They might even lose. 'All the more need for diplomacy to succeed then,' he said, abandoning the mule and walking towards the hills. Sweat soaked his robes and trickled in stinging rivulets down his legs and into his sandals.
'Divinity, wait,' Ignatius said as a ripple passed through the massed troops on the right-hand hill. 'They're coming down to meet us.'
About thirty heavily armoured troops, black-cloaked and bearing shields emblazoned with the Sahulian Imperial Fist, made their way through the footmen fanned out along the slope. They marched in column around the front of the hoplites and then formed into a diamond about a central figure who towered over them.
'Hagalle?' Theodore watched as the clustered troops set out towards them.
'If it is, that's a brave move for an Emperor.'
More so than for an Ipsissimus? Theodore quashed the thought the instant it reared its head. Mind you, he'd heard Hagalle was fearful to the point of paranoia. If it was him, then either the rumours were false, or Hagalle was facing up to his fears. That might make him a very dangerous man.
Theodore looked back at his own troops some five hundred yards away. They were drawn up in disciplined ranks, and from this distance there was no sign of the red dust that stained their cloaks. They looked pristine, immaculate; a professional army that would be very difficult to beat.
The mule was nuzzling the ground as if it were looking for something to eat. Theodore hoped it stayed put. The walk back in this heat suddenly seemed beyond him. He fingered the Monas around his neck and turned to face the approaching soldiers.
They stopped ten paces away and spread out in a semicircle. They were grim looking men, each with a hand clutching the pommel of a scabbarded broadsword, each glaring with practiced intimidation. Theodore felt his hopes for a peaceful resolution slipping away. The tall man they'd been guarding stepped out in front and advanced alone. The soldiers looked from one to the other and started to follow, but the tall man held up a hand and they stayed back.
Theodore knew at once he'd not been mistaken. Everything about the man's bearing screamed Emperor. He had a leonine head with a sharp face. His grey-streaked black hair was drawn back in a ponytail, leaving the startling green eyes exposed above a distinguished nose. He wore a black enamelled breastplate above black clothes, and a huge broadsword hung from his hip. If he was suffering from the heat, he showed no sign of it.
Ignatius stepped in his way before he could reach Theodore. Nervous looks passed between the Emperor's troops, but they made no move.
'Get out of the way,' the Emperor said as if Ignatius were a truculent slave.
As Theodore expected, the Grand Master stood his ground. He folded his arms across his chest and met Hagalle with a level stare. Theodore put a hand on the Grand Master's shoulder and prompted him to step aside. He then lowered his head before the Emperor and dropped to one knee.
'Divinity!' Ignatius sounded appalled.
'Very good,' Hagalle said with a slow hand clap. 'And it might work in Nousia, but here in Sahul we despise nothing more than false humility.'
'Emperor Hagalle---' Theodore began, still averting his eyes.
'We also expect men to be men.' Hagalle looked back at his bodyguards, who chuckled dutifully. 'Not castrated milksops who dress like women.'
Theodore saw movement from the side.
'No!' he said. 'Stand down, Ignatius.'
'But, Divinity---'
'I said stand down.'
Theodore climbed to his feet and did his best to smile as he met the Emperor's sardonic gaze. 'Emperor, we have a common foe---'
'Shut it. Take your girlie army back to the ocean and sail on home to Aeterna.'
Hagalle turned away as if there were nothing else to be said.
'Emperor, I ask only---'
Hagalle spun, his fist coming straight at Theodore's face. The Ipsissimus tensed and blinked, but no impact came. Quicker than Theodore thought possible, Ignatius was in between them, his own hand clenched about Hagalle's fist.
'Ignatius, no!' Theodore said.
Hagalle's other fist came up, but the Grand Master pivoted and straightened Hagalle's arm behind him, forcing the Emperor to the ground. The black-cloaks roared and drew their swords.
Ignatius jumped back, his own longsword rasping from its scabbard.
'Back, Divinity,' he yelled. 'I'll hold them.'
'No, Ignatius. This isn't what I---'
Hagalle rolled to his feet and whipped out his broadsword, but the black-cloaks were upon Ignatius before the Emperor could involve himself.
Two fell in a heartbeat, the Grand Master gliding in between them and weaving his sword through the air in a glittering sequence of thrusts, slices, and parries. He rolled around an attempted backstab and hacked his opponent across the hamstrings. The man screamed and fell amidst spurting blood.
Theodore winced and flapped his hands around. How had he lost control of the situation? What had he done wrong?
The clash of steel cut through his thoughts as they formed and he could do nothing except stare like a mesmerized beast. Ignatius hammered his sword against a shield and then kicked the man in the chest. He tried to back away, but the others had already started to outflank him. One of them charged at Theodore, but Ignatius still had the presence of mind to spot the peril to his Ipsissimus. He whirled through a vicious array of attacks, battering aside two men and dispatching the assailant at Theodore's feet.
A group of cavalry sped down the left hill and started out onto the plain. Theodore glanced behind, but his own army remained stationary, as he knew they would. Ignatius had given them a direct order not to interfere---no matter what happened.
A blade passed so close to Theodore's cheek he felt the rush of air. Ignatius parried it and ran the man through. He spun to meet the onslaught of three others and was powerless to help Theodore as more soldiers cut him off and the Ipsissimus was surrounded.
The pounding of hooves rolled like thunder across the plain and Theodore forced his eyes shut, seeking out an instant's peace before the end. Grunts and cries came from the left where Ignatius was still battling, but then a trumpet cut across the din. The clash of blades stopped as everyone turned to the north.
Dust rose in plumes behind a wedge of horsemen thundering to intercept Hagalle's light cavalry. Theodore squinted as the Imperial riders wheeled to meet the threat. The newcomers were in Nousian white, sunlight glinting from drawn swords. At the tip of the wedge rode a gaunt man in a pilgrim's hat and a black coat, the tabard of the Elect billowing beneath.
They wouldn't dare, Theodore thought. The Elect would never disobey their Grand Master. But then he realized the Elect hadn't moved. These riders had come from nowhere. No---they came from the same direction as the Imperial forces: they must have ridden from Sarum. And then he recognized the man in the pilgrim's hat: Deacon Shader.
The white knights smashed through the light cavalry like they were chaff, scattering them and continuing on through. Shader reined in before Hagalle's black-cloaks and leapt from the saddle. The others split, one group watching the black-cloaks, the other keeping an eye on the Imperial army. Impossible, Theodore thought. Reckless. There were only a dozen or so of these white knights, and yet they stood against the foe with the same insolence that he'd come to expect from Ignatius.
Hagalle raised his sword and opened his mouth to bellow something, but Shader darted through the black-cloaks like a striking serpent and pressed the tip of the Sword of the Archon to the Emperor's throat.
'Call off your grunts, Hagalle,' Shader said through clenched teeth.
Hagalle tensed and snarled. Shader's sword pressed harder and drew blood.
'Last chance.' Shader's voice was ice.
'Stand down,' Hagalle said. 'Do it, now!'
The black-cloaks sheathed their swords and bunched together, glowering.
'Now,' Shader said. 'You two have something to talk about.'
Hagalle's face burned red. 'I will not---'
'So talk.'
\*\*\*
'Ignatius Grymm, Barek Thomas,' Shader said as Barek dismounted. 'Ignatius here is Grand Master of the Elect. My former boss, if you like.'
'Former?' Ignatius growled, although Shader saw the glint in his eye. 'Vows are for life, Shader, or had you forgotten?'
Ignatius reached out to take Barek's hand, but the lad bowed his head and dropped to one knee.
'I see you've trained him well,' Ignatius said. 'But as for you not genuflecting before the Ipsissimus, Shader, I imagine the Judiciary will have a thing or two to say about that.'
'Oh, they've got enough to beat me over the head with already,' Shader said. 'I shouldn't bother them with something so trivial.'
Ignatius tapped Barek on the shoulder. 'No need to kneel, lad. We're only joking.'
Barek stood and did his best to smile. 'Master Shader spoke of you often. I'm honoured.'
Shader inclined his head towards the Ipsissimus and the Emperor who were engaged in a battle of words. At least that's how it sounded. Hagalle was looming over the Ipsissimus, emphasizing every point with a thump of his fist into the palm of his hand. He shouted, rather than spoke, and seldom allowed the Ipsissimus to complete a sentence. The man was a bully and an idiot, Shader thought. If this went on much longer...
The black-cloaks were leaning on their shields, watching the argument with sullen expressions and occasionally whispering to one another. The White Order circled the gathering. Shader saw Solomon and Gord, Elgin and Justin, and smiled. Oh, they had their flaws, just as he did, but it was good to see them alive.
The Ipsissimus was speaking in a quiet voice, saying something about mawgs and holding out his Monas for Hagalle to see.
'Then it should be mine,' Hagalle cut him off again. 'It came from Sahul in the first place, and it's Sahul that's under threat, is it not?'
Ignatius' eyes narrowed and his hand went to his sword hilt.
The air behind Hagalle shimmered and then swirled with green luminescence. Huntsman stepped out of the air followed by Sammy and Rhiannon.
Shader gasped and felt his heart thudding in his chest.
'This is bigger than Sahul, stupid white fellah,' Huntsman said as the portal winked out of existence.
Sammy staggered and dropped to his knees. Rhiannon knelt beside him and cradled his head.
Huntsman's hands were curled into claws. He perched on one leg like a brolga and fixed Hagalle with venomous eyes.
'This boy has more sense than you.' He indicated Sammy who was pale and shivering, even in the heat. 'He use all his strength to bring us here quick enough to stop your nonsense.'
Hagalle roared and drew his sword. Huntsman made a grabbing motion with his fingers and the Emperor stumbled away clutching his throat.
'Kill him!' he gasped between pants.
The black-cloaks moved to obey, but Justin Salace nudged his horse closer and glared down at them.
Huntsman stalked towards the Emperor, fingers splayed. 'Aristodeus said you would be ready; said you weren't as stupid as you looked. I need your army, white fellah. I need it now.'
'Huntsman, no,' the Ipsissimus said, moving between the Dreamer and Hagalle. 'This is not the way.'
The intervention seemed to break the spell. Hagalle coughed and then lunged at Huntsman, barging the Ipsissimus out of the way as he did. Ignatius tackled him and landed atop Hagalle, fist raised to strike. The black-cloaks surged forward and the White Knights drew their swords.
'Cut it out, you flaming idiots!'
Everyone froze and looked back towards Rhiannon. She lay Sammy back on the ground and stood, dusting herself down. She then walked through the black-cloaks, who parted as if she were their queen. Shader took a step closer in case anyone tried to harm her.
'Back off, shoggers,' Rhiannon said. 'You too, knight-boy.' She touched Ignatius on the shoulder and he nodded, standing to resume his place beside the Ipsissimus.
'Excuse my language, Divinity,' Rhiannon did her version of a curtsy, 'but this needs to stop.'
The Ipsissimus smiled and gestured for her to continue.
'Emperor,' Rhiannon offered Hagalle her hand and helped him to his feet. 'I'm sorry, I know I'm out of my depth here---'
'At least you're a bloody Sahulian,' Hagalle said. He leaned in closer and whispered something to her.
Rhiannon blushed and gave a polite chuckle. Shader had seen her do that before; knew she must be fuming, but playing along anyway.
'I'm also a Nousian,' she said, straightening her robe.
Hagalle frowned at that, but said nothing. Like everyone else, he seemed to be waiting for her to go on.
'I've seen what we're up against,' she said. 'And I do mean us---all of us.'
She took in the black-cloaks, the White Order, and then indicated the two armies drawn up on either side of the plain. 'This Cadman captured me.' She looked at Shader, but he couldn't read her expression. 'Thought he could use me to repay a debt. When that didn't work out there was a fight with a demon. You know the one I mean.' She spoke directly to Shader this time and he shuddered at the memory. 'Cadman won. Whatever else that statue is, it's bloody powerful, and he only had two pieces of it. But then something happened. The skies opened and a man came through. He was seated on a throne or something. He...I don't know how to describe this. He went inside Cadman.'
Huntsman nodded. 'Sektis Gandaw. He has found a way back, but how, I do not know. He has never had the power. Not since my gods took last of his plane ships.'
'He already had two pieces of the statue,' Shader said. 'Mine and Maldark's. Maybe that's how.'
'Yeah, maybe,' Rhiannon said. 'But that means he's now got four.'
The Ipsissimus fingered the Monas on its chain. 'Then what should we do?'
'An army of corpses marches on Homestead,' Huntsman said. 'This is why we have come.'
'More undead?' Hagalle said.
'Many more,' Huntsman said. 'Cadman---Sektis Gandaw---is ravaging sacred sites of my people. Ancient graves are being opened. Ants tell Sammy this army is more numerous than grains of sand in Great Desert.'
'But they're heading to the Homestead,' Hagalle said. 'Why should we care? Even your people seldom go there these days. It's just a rock in the back of beyond.'
Huntsman drew himself up and cocked his head. 'It is home of my gods, last of their kind. They it was who rescued statue from Sektis Gandaw in Dreaming. We cannot let them die.'
'Not convinced,' Hagalle said. 'I'm not sending Sahulian forces into the outback when there are cities to be defended.'
'Against what Sektis Gandaw plans,' Huntsman said, 'there is no defence. First he will slaughter my gods, and then he will come for you.' He looked directly at the Ipsissimus. 'Archon shields you for now, but Gandaw will find a way.'
'Wouldn't it make more sense,' Shader said, 'for him to come for the Monas first, make the statue complete?'
'He is careful. Very patient,' Huntsman said. 'He must know last piece cannot be hidden from him for long, not now he has all others. But he will take no chances. My gods defeated him once before. He hates them beyond all imagining. He will not leave them unpunished.'
Hagalle turned on his heel and strode away from the group. He stood with hands on hips, staring up at his army. Rhiannon followed him and spoke in his ear.
'Then we should go to the Homestead,' the Ipsissimus said. 'One final battle to decide the fate of the world.'
'It is not just this world that is at stake,' Huntsman said. 'If Sektis Gandaw wins, he will start Unweaving. This world, Dreaming, even Abyss itself, will be unmade. All that exists will cease.'
Hagalle nodded to Rhiannon and walked back to stand with the Ipsissimus and Huntsman. 'You should make use of a lass like that,' he said to the Ipsissimus. 'She might well be infected with your disease, but she's still Sahulian, and she has the Sahulian gift of common sense. I'll go, if you will, but only on the understanding that you leave as soon as this is over.'
'You have my word,' the Ipsissimus said.
'Then I suppose that will have to do.' Hagalle turned to Huntsman. 'I take it you have some plan for marching thousands of troops across the centre of Sahul without them dying of exposure and dehydration.'
'Sammy,' Huntsman said. 'With rest and food he will regain his strength. Together, he and I will open a portal.'
'Better hope you get your aim right,' Hagalle said.'
'We will.' Huntsman nodded, gazing into the distance. 'Homestead is most sacred site of my people. It will draw us.'
ROGUE'S LAST STAND
Albert stepped out of the plane ship into a cathedral-like cavern. Natural phosphorescence bathed the walls in a greenish glow. The floor was a forest of twisted stalagmites, and stalactites hung from above, dripping with moisture. It was like standing in a dragon's jaws.
He turned back to the plane ship but saw only the rectangle of light from which he'd just emerged, and nothing but air and rock where the craft should have been. Judging by the immensity of the corridors he'd traversed with Shadrak, the craft was too large even for the cavern. Perhaps its peculiar nature allowed it to merge with the walls, or maybe it was somewhere else altogether.
Shadrak appeared in the light carrying a large metal box. He set it down before Albert.
'The globes explode when shattered,' he said, opening the lid and lifting a glass orb for Albert to see. 'These tubes spit fire in long gouts, and there are lengths of cable and pitons.'
'Fascinating,' Albert said. 'I would thank you for your generosity, but I have no idea why you're giving them to me.'
'You had a choice back there,' Shadrak said, glaring at Albert with those unnerving pink eyes. 'Stay and fight, or come with me and do what you're told.'
'Yes,' Albert said, rubbing his chin. 'I must have missed that last bit.'
Three shapes moved from the shadows surrounding a cluster of gigantic stalagmites. Albert took a step back, but Shadrak put a hand on the small of his back.
'I was told to expect this,' he said.
'Told?' Albert said. 'Told by whom?'
Albert flicked a look over his shoulder at the entrance to the plane ship. Perhaps if Shadrak was distracted he'd be able to nip back inside. How difficult could it be to pilot the thing? If Shadrak could manage it then Albert was sure it would be a doddle for him.
The figures edged closer to the accompaniment of a sibilant hiss and deep throaty croaks. Albert's mouth hung open as he began to descry what they were.
The central figure had the body of a huge black man, thickly muscled and ridged with veins. His head, however, was serpentine, bobbing and swaying at the end of a sinuous neck. To his right loomed an even larger man, this one bronze-skinned and with the head of a crocodile. Its tawny eyes watched him the same way Albert would have eyed a crème brulée. The third figure was much smaller, a squat humanoid with the head of a toad and a tongue that flicked out as if tasting the air.
The three stopped a few paces from Albert and Shadrak. The albino placed the orb back inside the box and shut the lid.
'I am Mamba,' said the black man with the snake's head.
'And I am Baru,' Crocodile Head said.
Toad hopped closer and shot his tongue towards Albert. 'Thindamura.'
'Shadrak,' the Albino said, 'and this is Albert, your protector.'
'Their what?' Albert said, inching back towards the rectangle of light.
A shadow passed overhead and Albert looked up. He dropped into a crouch as it seemed the ceiling fell towards him, but then he realized that something was making a controlled descent. Something massive, with eight long legs dangling beneath it. Shadrak pulled him back to make way for a gigantic spider.
'The Archon said he would send aid,' the spider said with a clacking of mandibles. 'Yet he sends us only you.'
'I don't know what he promised you,' Shadrak said. 'Just told me to bring help and that's what I've done. Albert's the best in the business and he's got a box of tricks that's as good as a small army.'
Protector? Box of tricks? Small army? What on earth was Shadrak playing at? Albert turned to ask him, but Shadrak had already slipped back into the rectangle of light. The door panel started to slide down.
'Good luck, Albert. I have to be some place else. Hold as long as you can and we may yet get out of this alive.'
'Get out of what? You can't just leave---'
But the rectangle of light had gone, leaving only rocks and air in its wake. There was a shimmer like a heat wave, a muffled drone, and then nothing.
The great spider shuffled towards Albert, watching him through rows of red eyes.
'I am Murgah Muggui. We are the last of our kind. If indeed you have the skills to aid us, we will be forever in your debt.'
'Aid you? I'm a poisoner, for goodness' sake. I kill people for a living.'
'I fear that is exactly the sort of help we will need,' Murgah Muggui said. 'An old enemy comes, and soon the last battle will be fought. Console yourself that your are labouring to preserve more than your own life. You are fighting for the survival of worlds.'
'Then I think you've been sent the wrong man,' Albert said. 'I'm way too much of a cynic to give a damn about all that. A vintage Sauvignon and some mature cheddar is the only thing on my mind right now.'
That and a million other things. Such as how he was going to repay Shadrak for this; how he was going to capitalize on the weakness of the Sicarii following their unprecedented losses at Dead Man's Torch; and...'
A muffled boom shook the cave.
'What the---?'
'They are coming!' Thindamura hopped excitedly. 'They are coming!'
'Who?' Albert said. 'Who's coming?'
Baru turned his great head to look up at the ceiling towards the rear of the cavern. 'The dead of Sahul,' he said. 'And creatures from Aethir.'
Mamba flexed his bulging muscles and bared his fangs. 'Sssektis Gandaw comesss. After all thisss time he hasss not forgotten.'
Another boom, this one louder and more urgent. Rock clattered from the ceiling and a crack raced across the rear wall of the cavern.
'We will be trapped down here,' Murgah Muggui said. 'Quickly! There is an old fault that runs all the way to the summit. If we go now we may yet evade them.'
The three hybrid creatures ran from sight behind the stalagmites. Murgah Muggui rose into the air on a ropey strand of silk and scuttled across the ceiling.
Albert looked around helplessly, thoughts consumed with a thousand ways of killing Shadrak. Another explosion nearly threw him from his feet. Cursing under his breath, he stooped down, lifted the metal box, and ran.
He got no more than a dozen paces when the rear wall exploded. Rock spewed into the cavern and a chunk struck Albert on the temple. He fell in a daze, cracking the back of his head against stone. He heard the metal box crash to the floor and for a moment feared it was about to detonate. The contents rattled and chinked, but did not break.
He rolled to his front and tried to rise, his head pounding and groggy. He couldn't quite focus on the ground beneath him---it seemed to pitch and roll as if he were at sea. Cold hands grabbed him and hauled him up. He probably should have screamed, but he was too disoriented to care. He grinned like an idiot as rotten teeth pressed towards him, red eyes glaring from a face that resembled off meat. Scores of corpses shambled about him clutching with cyanosed fingers. Albert retched and his vision cleared. The stench of rot filled his nostrils and screams bubbled up from his gut.
Suddenly Baru was amongst the dead, ripping with his great jaws, pummelling with his fists. He tore Albert from his attacker and slung him into the arms of Mamba. The snake man passed him to the care of Thindamura and then leapt into the fray, bludgeoning the dead with his tree-trunk arms.
Toad led him towards a fissure in the cavern wall, but Albert pulled away and ran back for the box. Putrescence sprayed and limbs flew as Baru savaged the undead. A corpse lurched towards Albert, but Mamba clubbed it down. Hundreds more were still pouring through a cavity in the rear wall. Lifting the box, Albert struggled towards the fissure. Toad was hopping and gesticulating for him to hurry. Mamba and Baru fell back, flattening the dead with thunderous blows. They were both bleeding from dozens of cuts, but they seemed not to notice.
'Quickly,' Thindamura croaked, flicking his tongue from side to side. 'We must go up.'
Albert ducked inside the fissure and set the box down.
'What are you doing?' Thindamura said.
'Buying us some time.' Albert opened the box. 'You hop along and I'll catch up.'
Thindamura looked back at his fellow hybrids, saw the futility of helping them, and bounded up the slope before him.
Mamba backed into the opening, swinging his mighty arms and pulping rotten flesh. Baru fought for every inch of ground, snapping with his jaws and using his huge hands to break necks or batter limbs. The tide of undead continued to swell and the two hybrids were forced to retreat.
Mamba almost stepped on Albert as the assassin snatched up three glass orbs and hurled them. Light flared amidst a deafening crash and scores of corpses were blown apart. The smell of cooking meat wafted into the fissure. Albert shuffled up the slope a little way, pulling the box behind him. Mamba's bulk filled the opening; he was pounding and hissing as he fought to keep the mass of undead back.
Albert selected a couple of pitons and a mallet and proceeded to hammer one either side of the fissure. Mamba retreated before the horde as Albert pulled out a fluid filled cylinder with a metal nozzle. He turned it around to get some sort of understanding of its mechanism. There was a trigger of sorts, like those he'd seen on crossbows. He wedged the body of the device into a crack, secured it with scree, and began to rig it to his tripwire. Mamba stepped over him and Baru backed into the opening still clubbing left and right, but tiring visibly. He swung his head towards Albert.
'You need to go. Now!'
Albert made a few adjustments and then scrambled up the slope after Mamba. He looked back as Baru cried out. Bloodless hands grabbed the hybrid and dragged him down. Albert knew he should have gone back, but that really wasn't his style. He was about to resume his ascent when he saw a vast shadow descend upon the undead. Murgah Muggui ripped into them with her mandibles, pinned them down with her legs, and angled her bulbous body to bring her stinger to bear. Baru broke free and reached the fissure whilst the giant spider thrashed about, cutting a swath through the corpses. Her bulk backed towards the opening as she held off the throng of undead, but then something silver glinted in the cave. It was a sphere that sped through the air to the accompaniment of a shrill whirring whine. Murgah Muggui must have known what it was and tried to withdraw, but a beam of blinding light discharged from a nozzle in the sphere and she screamed. For an instant, Albert saw her innards, as if she had been struck by lightning, and then Murgah Muggui burst into flame. Her flesh roasted, giving off gouts of black smoke, and her limbs twitched and contracted.
'No!' Baru cried, stepping towards her.
'It's too late,' Albert said. 'You have to keep moving.'
He scurried down, took hold of Baru by the shoulders, and turned him towards the slope. The hybrid let out a mournful cry and clambered upwards. Albert retrieved the box, stepped over his tripwire, and followed.
He'd gone only a few feet when he heard a high-pitched whir behind him. Instinctively, he hit the ground and light lanced over him, blasting a hole in the rock. He dragged the box around a bend, opened it, and fumbled around inside until he found another of the cylindrical weapons. He cradled it in his arms, located the trigger, and waited with his back pressed to the wall.
Baru turned and started back towards him.
'No,' Albert hissed. 'Get out of here.'
The silver sphere rounded the corner and Albert pressed the trigger. Flame gushed from the nozzle and struck the sphere, hurling it into the wall. It spun frantically, emitting a shrill scream and discharging beams of light in random directions. Albert kept firing as it turned first red and then white. The screaming rose to a crescendo and the sphere crashed to the ground. Albert didn't release the trigger until the flames ran out.
The dead lurched through the fissure, jamming each other in the opening as they blindly sought out prey. Finally, one of them squeezed through and lumbered forward, right into Albert's trip wire. Flame shot across the passageway, melting flesh and filling the fissure with acrid smoke.
Albert nodded his satisfaction before setting off after the hybrids, dragging the box with him.
What the hell was he doing? He should never have been here. First Master Frayn's madcap scheme, and then Shadrak's double-edged rescue. This wasn't Albert's kind of work. He was a poisoner, not some desperado making a last stand just to save a bunch of freaks worshipped by savages.
Strong hands grabbed him and pulled him further up the slope.
'Give me the box,' Baru said. 'You must move quickly.'
Already, the dead had passed through the flames and were closing inexorably.
'How far have we got to go?' Albert asked.
'A long way. We will tire before we reach the top, but these dead things will not.'
'You go,' Albert said. 'I'll see if I can slow them down.'
Baru glared at him and then nodded, clambering up into the darkness.
Albert carried the box around another bend and then scooped out the rest of the orbs. He'd used up all the fire cylinders and had no time to rig another trap. Instead, he placed all the orbs but one on the ground--- fifteen of them. Holding the last orb, he backed away and waited.
Within moments, groping hands appeared, followed by a great swarm of cadavers lumbering towards him with frenzied eyes.
'Here we go,' Albert told himself. 'Trusting it all on one last throw of the die.'
He hurled the sphere into the midst the others and threw himself around the corner. The passageway shook as a thunderous roar rolled along the fissure and a blast of heat scorched his back. Howls went up from the undead and the smell of burning flesh followed.
Albert waited for the heat to pass, found his feet, and ran as fast as his chunky legs would allow him.
The hybrids waited further up. Baru dropped behind to guard the rear whilst Thindamura kept the lead, hopping ahead and then crouching impatiently as the others caught up. At first, Albert thought he'd stopped the dead, but after half an hour of arduous climbing he could hear shambling and groaning pursuing them up the fissure.
The hybrids seemed deflated by the death of Murgah Muggui, but still they kept moving upwards, although Albert had the impression they did so purely for his sake. To his mind, they had given up.
Finally, Thindamura climbed some knobs in the passage wall and disappeared from sight. A moment later he reappeared.
'It is here,' he said. 'The opening to the summit.'
The groaning of the dead echoed up behind them as first Mamba, and then Albert, followed Thindamura up the natural chimney. Baru brought up the rear.
'They are close,' he said, his crocodile jaws clacking. 'And they are many.'
Daylight spilled through an aperture above them and Thindamura leaned over the lip to offer Mamba a hand. The snakeman did the same for Albert, who emerged into blinding sunlight with Baru climbing out behind him.
Albert blinked and saw that they were on a vast rocky surface high above a sprawling red desert. The expanse of limestone was immense, like a giant's tabletop that ran for hundreds of yards in every direction. The clouds were so low it looked like he could step on them.
'Keep moving,' Thindamura said, leading them away from the opening.
The first of the dead poked its head out and hissed, and soon corpses were spilling from the hole without end.
Albert was too exhausted to run, but he managed to stumble along behind the hybrids as they vainly sought a way to escape. They'd made it no more than a hundred yards when Thindamura stopped, his eyes goggling, tongue hanging flaccidly.
A figure had appeared upon a ridge at the far end of the Homestead. It was more bone than flesh, and wreathed in strips of mildewed fabric and dust-clogged cobwebs. Red eyes blazed at them across the distance.
A grey creature flapped down beside it on bat's wings, and a shadowy shape drifted to its side.
Mamba hissed, his tongue tasting the air.
'Is it him?' Baru asked.
'I think ssso,' Mamba said.
Albert looked behind where the undead were still pouring from the hole. There were already hundreds of them, and yet still they came.
'Look,' Thindamura said.
Albert turned back to the three figures. The skeleton held its hands high, amber light suffusing them. A jagged black crack rent the air before it, widening like a colossal maw. In the opening, armoured riders appeared astride skeletal steeds. There must have been nearly two hundred of them, all in rusty chainmail and corroded helms. Flames flared from the horses' nostrils and an icy chill rolled out across the summit.
The skeleton then looked up at the sky, power pouring from its hands in pillars of amber fire. The heavens split like ripped fabric and admitted a cobalt wash. Black flecks filled alien skies, swooping nearer, until Albert saw they had the faces of feral women and broad leather wings. There were so many that the sky turned black.
The hybrids looked at each other, shoulders slumped in defeat.
'The Kryeh,' Mamba said, his voice flat and lifeless. 'We are undone.'
As scores of winged demons dived from the sky and a horde of undead closed in from behind, Albert could only watch in terror as the knights on fleshless horses charged.
General Starn felt out of place, but that was nothing unusual. The Emperor was issuing demands to General Binizo of the Templum army and Binizo was politely, but doggedly, rebuffing him. The Ipsissimus stood back from the arguing, his attention focused on the antics of the Dreamer shaman and the boy. Huntsman was standing on one leg shaking a gourd whilst the boy scrabbled around on the ground and occasionally cast dirt into the air. Both seemed enraptured, their eyes almost pure white, their mouths frothing. The Grand Master of the Elect, Ignatius Grymm, looked on with barely suppressed disdain, and Deacon Shader was talking with a sandy-haired lad, his eyes all the while flicking towards a white-robed woman with long black hair.
Rulers, commanders, and heroes, by all accounts. And then there was Starn. Oh, he was officially a general, but titles meant nothing, not when you knew yourself as well as Starn did. He'd always worked hard, he granted himself that, but he was under no illusions about why he'd risen so high. The Emperor considered him a bit of a dullard, a "yes man", and who was Starn to disagree with him? He'd masqueraded as someone important for too long. Once this battle was over, he was slipping off with Mrs Starn somewhere the army couldn't find him. He'd saved enough money for a bit of land, and Mrs Starn was as green-fingered as they came. A nice little smallholding outback where no one was likely to disturb them---
'Don't you agree, General Starn?' the Emperor said.
Starn nodded automatically and puffed out his chest as he turned back to the strategic debate. So far, his only role had been to concur with the Emperor. He'd missed whatever was under discussion, but his opinion didn't seem to carry much weight in any case.
General Binizo was watching him with one eyebrow raised. The man was as proud as a peacock and dressed immaculately in a red jacket and white breeches. His knee-length boots were polished so much Starn could see his reflection in them. Now there was a real general, he thought to himself.
'You realize what you're agreeing to, General Starn?' Binizo asked.
'Uh, yes. Quite.' Starn put on his best gruff voice.
'You'll be blind to whatever lies on the other side of this...this magical doorway our friends are conjuring.' Binizo nodded at the Dreamer and the boy, both of whom were now chanting in some indecipherable tongue and making circular motions with their arms. 'There's no telling what you might run into.'
Oh. Starn hadn't thought of that. If only he'd been listening.
'Not a problem for the Heavy Foot, eh, Starn?' the Emperor said, clapping him on the shoulder.
'The Foot, Emperor?'
'That's right, General. Haven't you heard a thing we've been saying? I need my best man in the vanguard. You take charge of the regiment, and I'll coordinate the bulk of the army.'
Starn stroked his moustache and felt his cheeks reddening. 'You're relieving me, Emperor?'
'Not at all. I'm entrusting you with the most crucial role.'
Starn straightened up and saluted, all the while feeling like one of those canaries his father had told him about as a child---the one's Pop and his colleagues used to carry ahead into the mines to check for poison gas.
'I'll go ready the men, then,' Starn said, bowing and leaving Binizo and the Emperor to decide whose army was going to achieve the greatest glory. Starn dreaded what they'd be like once this was all over, once they had spoils to divide. Hopefully, the Ipsissimus would be as good as his word and the Templum army would just sail back to Aeterna. It didn't seem likely, though, not if all the things Starn had heard about Nousians were true. He was dreading telling Mrs Starn about the campaign. He knew only too well what her thoughts would be on an alliance with Aeterna.
'General.'
Starn stopped, took a deep breath, and wondered what he'd done wrong now.
'Yes?' He turned to see Deacon Shader walking towards him. The sandy-haired lad was on his way back to his Order, a group of a dozen or so knights attired in the manner of the Templum Elect.
'We have your back. No telling what you'll run into on the other side. I was hoping you'd have a minute to discuss how this is going to work.'
'Good idea,' Starn said. I'm glad someone's taking this seriously. 'You have any experience of these portal things?'
'A little, although maybe not quite the same as this. Tell your men to expect a moment's disorientation. With any luck we'll emerge in the open, but just in case we walk straight into conflict, it might be best if they adopt defensive positions.'
'Thank you, yes, I had already thought of that. We'll be going in testudo. I believe the term's Aeternam in origin.'
'Tortoise,' Shader said. 'Sounds like a good plan.'
A flare of green drew Starn's gaze. Shader turned with him. The Dreamer and the boy now stood before a vast disk of swirling green light a hundred yards across. Starn strained his eyes, but could see nothing through the glare.
'This is it then,' Shader said. 'Good luck, General.'
'Yes,' Starn said. 'You too. And, uh, Ain be with you.' He winced inwardly as he said the words. He was definitely leaving that bit out of the tale he told Mrs Starn.
\*\*\*
Shader rode Gaston's mare like a talisman through the portal, Barek on his right and Justin on his left. Elgin was behind with Solomon and Gord, the lads at the rear forming the base of the wedge. Fourteen in all, including Shader. Not nearly enough.
They emerged into chaos---screams from up front, curses, and the sickening reek of decaying flesh. The line of infantry immediately before them was pushed back onto the horses as those up front tried to retreat. Someone was yelling above the din of battle, 'Press on! Press on!'
Shader looked for Starn, but couldn't see him in the throng. The ranks up ahead began to buckle, the weight of some unseen enemy forcing them back. 'Forward! Give no ground!'---It was Starn's voice, hoarse and insistent. The troops in the rear leaned into their shields in an attempt to drive their unit forward, but the front line sagged and terrible screams rent the air.
'Sound the charge, Barek,' Shader said.
As soon as the first trumpet note blasted out, the foot soldiers parted down the centre. Starn was bellowing, 'Make way, make way!' and Shader thought he saw the General dragging a blood-soaked comrade to the right. As a channel opened, Shader drew his longsword and charged.
The White Knights stayed with him as he sped along the corridor between the foot men straight towards a surging tide of corpses. He hacked left and right, pulping rotting flesh like ripe fruit. The mare trampled corpses underfoot and carried on into the thick of the putrescence. Cold hands groped at Shader's boots, but his blade was a whir of flashing steel that bit through flesh, severing limbs. Barek's horse stumbled and nearly fell, the dead tugging it down into their writhing mass. Shader could do nothing, or else he'd lose momentum as he tore straight through the centre with Justin on his left. He saw flashes of white out of the corner of his eye and risked a glance to see Elgin and Solomon in amongst Barek's attackers slashing their swords in murderous arcs, their horses kicking out and crushing ancient bones.
Inevitably, the charge faltered before the endless rows of the dead. The ones in front had their backs to Shader as if they engaged another foe, but then they wheeled cumbrously to face him. Gord forced his way alongside and Justin trampled a cadaver to resume his place at Shader's left. Barek, Solomon, and Elgin had made it, too, and glimpses of white still moved amongst the corpses behind.
'There are too many,' Barek said.
Shader stuck his sword through the mouth of a raving zombie. The mare was bucking and whinnying, trying to turn in a futile bid to escape. Elgin made two vicious cuts, felling a couple more corpses, and Solomon ripped a severed hand from his boot and cast it aside.
A great roar went up from the foot soldiers to the rear and rows of undead dropped like scythed wheat.
'Again!' bellowed Starn from somewhere in the phalanx.
The wall of shields heaved and swords rose and fell. Within moments, the undead capitulated and the infantry reached the last of Shader's riders just as a colossal wave of necrotic flesh was about to hit.
The Heavy Foot opened ranks to let the white knights through and then locked shields to meet the onslaught. The undead slammed into them, but the back ranks pushed with their shields and the line held. Shader weaved the mare through the troops with the other knights following. They emerged to the left of the conflict and for the first time, Shader saw the wispy clouds surrounding the summit of the Homestead. Beyond the army of the dead he could see a man in a dark suit behind three unearthly figures with the bodies of men and the heads of animals. Facing them, a long line of cavalry was cantering towards a charge, and in the skies above hundreds of black shapes started to soar down.
\*\*\*
Albert searched every pocket of his suit as the black shapes swooped. Bugger all! No poisons, no darts. He felt like an unprepared rookie. Damn that little runt Shadrak. He should have allowed more time. A box of explosives was one thing, but for Albert, who was always so meticulous in his preparations, it was a one-shot wonder.
His fingers closed around his cheese-cutter. Fat lot of good it would do, but he readied it just the same. If nothing else, it had the familiarity of an old friend.
The hybrids paid no heed to the plummeting demons. All their focus was on the charge of the skeletal horses that was gathering speed with a cacophonous pounding of hooves on rock. Thindamura hopped from foot to foot; Baru growled and beat his chest, and Mamba thumped his fists together, his snake eyes glaring and venomous.
Albert rolled out of the way of a diving woman with bat's wings. He caught a glimpse of sickle-shaped eyes and fangs like daggers. He hit the ground and came up, wrapping the cheese-cutter around the creature's throat and pulling. He expected the others to crash into him at any moment, but he meant to take at least one of them with him.
Lightning arced through the sky and flesh smouldered. As the demon thrashed out its last, Albert saw dozens more plunging to their deaths, trailing wisps of smoke. The others banked up and then swooped below the ridge of the mountain.
Just before the horses collided with the hybrids, Albert ran like the clappers, seeking the cover of rocks near the edge. A huge battle was raging back the way they'd come, the legions of undead fiercely engaged by heavily armoured foot soldiers. He glimpsed a cluster of white-garbed knights skirting the edge of the melee, their leader in a broad-brimmed hat and long coat.
Albert skidded to a halt and flung himself behind a boulder, his eyes flicking all around in case the demons returned.
As the death-knights impacted with Mamba and Baru, toad-headed Thindamura bounded high into the air and came down upon a rider. With preternatural swiftness, he twisted the knight's head off and tossed it aside. He sprang onto the next horse and did the same to its rider.
Impossibly, Baru and Mamba met the charge with great clubbing sweeps of their arms and remained upright as the first horses disintegrated with the force of the collision. It was as if the hybrids were rooted to the rock of the Homestead; as if they were rock themselves. The riders encircled them---there must have been one...maybe two hundred---and began baiting the hybrids with bristling blades. Mamba and Baru fought back to back. The crocodile-man's jaws tore through helms whilst his fists pounded skeletal horses to dust. Mamba unleashed gouts of venom that ate through armour and bone like acid.
A sword pierced Baru's side, but he roared and crushed the rider's helm with a sledgehammer blow. Another blade took him in the hamstring and he went down on one knee, twisted, and ripped off the horse's head with his jaws. Thindamura dived from horse to horse, wreaking havoc. His tongue whipped out dragging a rider from the saddle and then he somersaulted to avoid a scything blow that would have decapitated him.
A hoof took Baru in the head and he swatted the horse aside. Another blade lanced into his shoulder and he fell. Mamba stepped over him belching venom and clubbing riders and horses with bleeding fists.
Baru forced himself upright, hopping on his good leg, and Thindamura vaulted a horse to stand with his brothers.
The knights drew back, and for a moment Albert thought the hybrids might prevail. But then he saw what was happening. The bones of the fallen were scuttling across the ground searching out their other members. With the patience of the dead, the knights waited for their colleagues to re-form.
Albert had seen enough. There was nothing he could do, and he couldn't say he even cared. This wasn't his fight, and his debt to Shadrak was more than repaid. As he slunk towards the edge of the tabletop mountain, he saw the man in the long coat charge to the aid of the hybrids with a handful of white knights in tow.
Good luck, my dears, Albert thought, as he started to climb down.
He could see the black demons spiralling away to the east, regrouping and preparing for another pass. At least they weren't in his way.
He found some good handholds and clambered down to a broad ledge that tapered at one end and wound around the top of the Homestead. He took a step towards the edge---and hit his head. He fell on his backside, more stunned than hurt. There was nothing there! How could he have---?
And then he realized. It had to be the plane ship.
\*\*\*
Rhiannon stepped away from Huntsman as lightning danced around his skin. The Dreamer's hair stood on end like a crown of thorns as he discharged another bolt of sizzling energy into the sky. More black shapes fell smoking to the ground. The rest of the winged women rose higher and then swooped beyond the edges of the Homestead.
She strained to see Shader or Barek through the confusion of the battle. Swords rose and fell, blood spurted, and screams tore through the air. She saw the odd flash of white, the shimmer of steel, but could no longer tell if Shader was alive or dead. She saw no sign of Barek either, nor even Justin Salace.
General Starn's infantry had forced an opening, and the rest of the combined forces spilled through the portal. General Binizo relayed orders through trumpets and drums, the Templum troops seeking order amidst the chaos. Hagalle rode a black destrier among his own soldiers, sword raised, yelling commands. Imperial archers formed disciplined lines and covered the skies, but so far the winged women stayed beyond their range.
Sammy held the portal open by himself, green light flaring from his fingertips. The last few soldiers stepped through and Sammy sagged, dropping his arms. The portal contracted, but just before it vanished a scruffy hunchback lumbered through flicking holy water from an aspergillum over the troops. He carried a bucket in his other hand, presumably containing water for his sprinkler.
Rhiannon caught Sammy before he fell, cradled him in her lap. The boy was ashen, a cold sweat beading his skin.
'You did it Sammy. You held the portal by yourself.' Pride swelled in the pit of her stomach. She gazed with raw affection at his begrimed face, stroking his matted hair, and losing all sense of the battle that surrounded them.
'Ranny,' he said. It was the first real acknowledgement he'd given her, the first indication that maybe he wasn't lost to her entirely. Rhiannon's eyes misted over.
'Yes, Sammy.' My sweet, sweet Sammy. 'It's me.'
'Mum and Dad!' Sammy's eyes widened as if he'd awakened from a dream only to realize the nightmare was in the waking world. For an instant he was utterly lucid, totally present, but as quickly as it had come the clarity sank back beneath the mire of forgetfulness.
Rhiannon clutched him tight, tears rolling down her cheeks and soaking into his hair. The roars of soldiers, the moans of the undead, retreated from her awareness like a haunting memory. Rhiannon rocked Sammy and cried. In that moment nothing else mattered.
Sammy started and sat bolt upright. 'Eingana!' he cried, looking out over the masses on the battlefield.
Rhiannon followed his gaze. On a ridge above a rocky outcrop on the far side of the Homestead, a trio of figures stood watching. It was impossible to make out features at this distance, but the one in the middle raised its arms to the sky and columns of amber flame spewed upwards. They met hundreds of feet above the battle and, where they touched, the sky began to part. Grey-blue light spilled through the rent, widening into a broad rupture through which thousands more dark shapes poured. At the same moment, another vast cloud of winged demons rose above the eastern ridge of the Homestead and soared towards the centre of the conflict.
'Dreaming!' Huntsman cried. 'He brings more aid from Dreaming.'
Sammy stood and glared up at the cobalt heavens. 'Look,' he pointed.
Giant silver eggs were raining down in between the swarming demons. Rhiannon counted six of them plummeting towards the joined armies of the Templum and Sahul.
'Sammy,' Huntsman said. 'Can you---?'
'Yes,' Sammy answered, raising his hands to the heavens.
Streaks of green light shot from his fingers and struck the aperture. Its edges shimmered and then the opening began to collapse in on itself. Sammy was shaking and dripping with sweat. His eyes rolled back into his head, and froth spilled from his mouth. As the tear began to knit, the silver eggs halted in their descent, altered course, and sped towards Sammy.
'Huntsman!' Rhiannon screamed, putting herself between Sammy and the eggs.
They thudded to the ground in quick succession, each bigger than a man. The Dreamer turned to face them, lightning rippling from the tips of his fingers. One by one, the eggs peeled open like metal flowers and enormous silver men pounded forth, creatures of living armour a head above the tallest men on the battlefield. Each had a single roving red eye with which they scanned the combatants until they picked out Sammy. In unison, they raised gleaming metal arms that terminated in wide barrels.
Rhiannon glimpsed the white robes of Ipsissimus Theodore amongst a unit of Elect foot soldiers. The Ipsissimus had seen the threat to Sammy and gesticulated wildly. A dozen men raced towards the metal beings, one of which broke away to face them. Smoke poured from its tubular arms and the ground exploded, flinging soldiers into the air.
The other five ran straight at Sammy, heavy feet sending up shards of rock where they struck. Huntsman unleashed a barrage of lightning, great forks that leapt from one to the other and sent them shuddering and crashing down. The remaining metal man spun round and fired--- straight at Sammy. Huntsman screamed something and leapt in front, his body instantly swelling and changing into a gigantic spider. Rhiannon pulled Sammy down and covered his ears against the concussive blast.
Blood and flesh rained down upon them amidst a shower of fine ash.
'Huntsman!' Sammy cried.
Rhiannon dragged him to his feet and pulled him along as the metal man swung its arms towards them, its terrible red eye running back and forth across its face. A storm of arrows clattered from its armour, forcing it to turn to face the new threat. Fire erupted through the ranks of Templum archers, and the metal man took a lumbering step towards the white-robed form of the Ipsissimus.
\*\*\*
Shader and the surviving knights of the White Order slammed into the left flank of the Lost, shattering skeletal steeds and hacking down their riders.
Their horses crunched across a carpet of bones, all still rolling and clattering together as if some invisible model maker were reassembling his toys. A huge black man with a snake's head---it was the being who'd rescued Sammy from the Lacunae---powered into the undead, pulverising them with hammer blows from his fists. A smaller creature with the head of a toad leapt from horse to horse snaring knights with its tongue or breaking their necks. Another lay prone on the ground, trampled beneath the hooves of undead steeds.
No sooner had they cut the death-knights down, though, than they began to re-form. The handful of white knights was quickly surrounded and they backed their horses into a circle defending for all they were worth. The snake-headed man took a sword through the shoulder and blood gushed from the wound to mingle with the scores of other cuts he had sustained.
Shader parried a rusty blade and drove his longsword through the visor of a helm to exit at the back amidst a shower of skull fragments. Barek was flailing around blindly, his blows lacking strength, his sword arm clearly numb. Justin's horse reared and crashed its hooves into the head of a skeletal steed. Solomon was hard pressed by a couple of death-knights, parrying for dear life and being battered into submission. Elgin dispatched his own attacker and swung to help Solomon, but fell from his horse with a sword in his side. Shader blocked another slash and took the rider's arm off at the elbow. On the ground below, limbs were still re forming and grabbing at the legs of their horses. Solomon screamed and slumped in the saddle, blood gushing from a neck wound. Justin turned a blow meant for Barek's head and then groaned as a sword thrust into this back and exited through his chest.
Shader dropped from the saddle and drew his gladius, drawing energy from the Archon's blade. He struck a re-forming knight with the longsword and impaled another with the gladius.
The clamour of hundreds of hooves beating against the rock momentarily arrested the combatants. The death-knights looked about and then howled in rage---or perhaps it was shame---as a tidal wave of Templum Elect crashed into them.
Shader threw himself from the path of the charge, rolled and came up as the last of the Elect thundered past sweeping the dead before them. More fallen death-knights rose from the ground behind Barek's horse even as the lad sighed with relief at their salvation. Before Shader could react, a hunched shape was among them sprinkling water from an aspergillum.
'Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...' Dave chanted one of the oldest passages from the Liber, and where his water fell, the dead became dust.
The snakeman bashed his way to Shader's side as the death-knights crumbled all around them.
'Thank you---' he said, but then saw something at the edge of the main battle. 'That man in white...'
'The Ipsissimus,' Shader said.
'He holdsss the last piece of Eingana and one of Sssektisss Gandaw'sss metal men advancesss on him.'
Shader grabbed the reins of his horse and swung into the saddle. Barek turned his mount to follow him.
'No, Barek, you've done enough. Stay with the Elect.'
Shader sped back towards the main melee, knowing he'd never make it in time. The silver man stalked towards the frail figure of the Ipsissimus, blasting aside seasoned troops by the dozen. Shader rode like the wind, his heart sinking with the realization all was lost. Something bounced over him and, with a speed that should have been impossible, leapt from head to head of the combatants, gaining ground on the metal man.
\*\*\*
Ipsissimus Theodore watched in horror as the silver colossus pounded towards him, bashing aside his surviving archers as if they were annoying insects. The Ipsissimal Guard swarmed around it, shoving with their shields and striking useless blows with swords that may as well have been twigs. It pivoted, discharging two more missiles into their ranks. Smoke and flame gushed into the sky along with bits of bodies and the cries of the injured. Ignatius Grymm stepped in front of Theodore, shield held high, sword extended.
'Flee, Divinity!' he cried.
It was the first time Theodore had seen him panicked. Nevertheless, Ignatius stood rooted to the spot. Theodore looked all around---there was nowhere to flee to. There was fierce fighting everywhere, legions of walking dead wearing down the combined might of Aeterna and Sahul. Oh, Ignatius, my old friend. My stalwart protector.
The metal man swung its arms towards the Grand Master, but before it could fire, Ignatius sprang forward and rammed his shield into it. There was a concussive roar that shot Ignatius back over twenty yards until he struck boulders in a spray of blood. The metal man tottered away, desperately trying to right itself. Theodore wanted to pray, but couldn't take his eyes from the monster. He fingered the Monas on its chain and stared wide-eyed as the metal man steadied itself and came straight at him.
A squat shape bounded above the heads of the surviving Ipsissimal Guards who were regrouping and running towards Theodore. They would be too late, and even if they reached him in time, what could they do?
Long-barrelled arms took aim at his chest and Theodore experienced an almost disinterested calm. He even found himself wondering whether the blast would destroy the Monas. At least that would constitute some kind of victory. He became aware of a low whirring sound rising in cadence and snapped back to the moment, paralysed by the realization of imminent death.
But then the squat shape bounded one last time and struck the metal man on the head with its feet before springing away. It was enough to topple the monster, which fell to its back discharging both barrels into the sky. The squat creature landed before Theodore, bulbous eyes rolling atop a toad-like head, its tongue flicking and retracting.
A dozen Ipsissimal Guards reached the metal man and began to pound it with their swords and shields. It thrashed about and then emitted a pulsing beep that began to accelerate.
Toad-head grabbed Theodore and leapt, carrying him over thirty feet and then covering him with its own body. A colossal explosion threw the Ipsissimal Guard hundreds of feet into the air amidst a billowing black cloud shaped like a mushroom.
'Ain!' Theodore gasped as he struggled to his feet.
As the cloud started to disperse, he saw a lone shape winging its way towards him from the far side of the Homestead, and a shadow drifted through the combat with eyes like burning coals.
Toad-head lifted Theodore again and jumped further from the fray, but still the shadow came on as relentless as time. Its eyes flared and it drew a great black sword that was wreathed with dark flames. A woman and a boy ran from the cover of some rocks. The boy stumbled and fell, but the woman raced on towards Theodore, a white robe flapping in the breeze. The woman who'd been with Huntsman...
The Toad-head turned to face the approaching shadow, but suddenly arched his back and screeched as a barb punched through his chest.
Theodore fell back, gasping as the winged creature he'd seen in the sky whipped its tail back out and Toad crumpled to the ground in a pool of blood.
\*\*\*
'Hold tight!' Starn yelled, his voice muffled within the testudo.
The Heavy Foot bunched closer together, those in the middle of the square holding shields overhead to ward off the dive-bombing demons, and those on the edges guarding against the pounding undead. They shuffled blindly in what Starn hoped was the direction of the ridge where they'd seen the skeletal figure with the amber flames. The battle might be lost, but if they could get a crack at him---
The shield roof buckled as dozens of the demon-women hit. Starn thrust through a gap with his sword, but found only air. Someone screamed to his right and the shield wall parted. It was only a momentary breach as a soldier skewered the invading corpse and plugged the gap.
They walked over a carpet of the dead, many of them in Nousian white. With the uneven ground and the relentless pounding, Starn knew it was only a matter of time before the testudo collapsed, and that would be the end of them.
Where were the reinforcements? Surely the Emperor was still alive? The hoplites had stood back from the melee, held in reserve. And where were the Templum's vaunted pike?
The testudo rocked again and Starn tripped on a corpse. He looked down to find secure footing and saw the body he'd struck wore a red jacket and white breeches. General Binizo. Poor old peacock.
'Steady!' Starn shouted. He knew the men were already doing everything they could, everything he'd trained them for, but it wasn't going to be enough. It struck him as rather an apposite epitaph for his military career.
Demons struck the shield ceiling with a succession of thuds and a number of men dropped beneath the weight. More screams came from the perimeter and then a cheer went up. The demon-women were screeching and flapping furiously, and blood was showering down through the gaps in the shields. Starn made another thrust with his sword and then shifted his shield to peer out.
Massive pole arms were ripping into the demons from beyond the edges of the testudo whilst squads of hoplites surrounded the undead on three sides, thrusting with murderous precision. Hagalle circled the fray on his destrier, sword waving in the air as he barked commands in a voice hoarse from shouting. The dead fell away from all but one side, but even there they were turning to assault the pike men.
'Testudo!' Starn bellowed, confident his unit would obey with absolute precision. 'Phalanx to the left.'
Shields were brought down, admitting the glare of the sun. With practised discipline the soldiers pivoted until they faced the left in a square eight ranks deep.
'Heave!' Starn shouted, and the phalanx slammed into the backs of the dead, driving them onto the blades of the guisarmes.
\*\*\*
Shader saw the shadow advancing on the Ipsissimus and bent low over the mare's neck as the wind flared his coat out behind him. One hand held the reins, the other gripped the hilt of the gladius, the only chance he'd have against Callixus. Soldiers threw themselves from his path and undead were trampled underfoot as he closed the gap. Something swooped from the sky towards the Ipsissimus, and for a moment Shader took his eye off the wraith. The horse whinnied and reared and Shader flew from its back, pitching heavily to the ground. Callixus must have turned and spooked the horse. He loomed over Shader with his black blade raised and red eyes glaring as the mare galloped away.
Shader shook his head and tried to clear it. Panic ensued when he realized he'd dropped the gladius. He tried to rise but his legs were jelly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the glint of the shortsword, scrabbled about for its hilt, but when his fingers closed around it, Callixus had turned from him and was rushing towards the Ipsissimus.
A surge of energy from the sword drove away the fug from his mind. He rolled to his feet, new vitality coursing through his veins. The sword was purring as if it knew what was at stake.
Shader broke into a run, but something barged into his side. He lashed out with the gladius, striking rotting flesh. More cadavers lurched at him and soon he was fighting for his life. Drawing his longsword, he fought with both weapons, weaving and cutting, thrusting and hacking, forcing a path. When he broke through, he was still fifty yards away. A grey creature with the wings of a bat and a tail like a scorpion's had cornered the Ipsissimus. And---Ain!---Rhiannon was tearing towards them like a crazy martyr willing to give her life for the Templum. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not with so much left unspoken.
But all Shader could do was watch in despair as the creature grabbed at the Monas around the Ipsissimus's neck and Callixus moved in for the kill.
\*\*\*
'ain, help me,' Callixus prayed over and over again. 'Ain, help me.'
He rushed towards the Ipsissimus with the thoughts of Sektis Gandaw echoing through his mind. 'Kill him! Bring me the Monas!'
Ikrys had got there first, but still Callixus was compelled. How could Ain forgive him for this? How could he atone for the slaying of the ruler of the Templum?
Ikrys ripped the Monas from the Ipsissimus's neck and raised his tail to strike.
'Ain, help me!'
'A cigarette, a cigarette, a cigarette...'
'Doctor? Is that you?'
'Callixus?' said the voice of Cadman. It sounded thin and wispy. 'Gandaw must be distracted. Good gracious, I can see through your eyes! I thought I'd never see beyond this test tube.'
'Doctor,' Callixus said. 'I need your help. Please!'
'I think he's noticed me! There's so little time. Find me, one day, if you can,' Cadman pleaded. 'It's dark here and I'm afraid. Once more, Callixus, I release you. Remember me...' Cadman's voice receded like a distant memory and suddenly Sektis Gandaw's resumed. Only, he didn't seem to have realized what Cadman had done.
Shackles fell away from the former Grand Master and he sped straight for Ikrys. As the creature's tail darted towards the Ipsissimus, Callixus' black sword swept down and severed its barb. Ikrys screamed and dropped the Monas. With savage fury, the gargoyle pounced at Callixus, talons cutting where no mortal weapon could harm the wraith. Callixus tried to make room to swing his sword, but Ikrys was too fast, too ferocious. The gargoyle grappled with him as if his body were flesh, bit into his neck with venomous fangs. Callixus screamed and his sword fell to the ground. Ikrys's hands fixed on either side of the wraith's helm and forced Callixus to gaze into swirling black eyes.
'No!' Callixus cried as a molten river appeared around him.
'Taste the Abyss, spectre,' Ikrys said. 'For that is your new home.'
Flames gushed from the magma, which squelched like quicksand, tugging at Callixus' spirit.
'No!' he screamed again.
But then the flames consumed him.
\*\*\*
Rhiannon snatched up the black blade and swung with all her might. The gargoyle screeched and flapped into the air, gouts of black blood spilling from its side. The Ipsissimus stood petrified, his face the colour of death. He merely stared at the gilt Monas lying at his feet. Rhiannon lunged for it, but the gargoyle was quicker, slapping her aside with its wings. She thrust with the sword, but it swayed away and raked her shoulder with its talons. Her arm went cold and she switched the sword to her left hand. She couldn't let him take the Monas. Not now. Not after all the sacrifices.
The gargoyle made a play for it, but Rhiannon jabbed it back. Still the Ipsissimus did nothing. Footsteps were pounding up from behind, but Rhiannon didn't dare to look. The gargoyle swiped at her face, she ducked, but then its other hand grabbed her sword arm and shook the blade from her grasp. She spun and aimed a punch at its head, but it twisted her wrist and threw her to the ground. With one hand it claimed the Monas, and with the other it gripped her throat, forcing her to stare into its hellish eyes. Rhiannon twisted her head to the side, but it tightened its grip. She was choking. Choking---
Something cannoned into the gargoyle, knocking it to its back. Rhiannon rolled and saw Shader atop the creature, trying to find a way through its flailing hands. It smothered Shader with its wings, knocking the gladius from his grasp. Shader threw a punch that snapped the gargoyle's head back, but the creature dislodged him with a whack from the stump of its tail. Rhiannon picked up the black sword again and took a swipe as the gargoyle flapped into the air. It tucked his legs out of the way of her blow and sped off towards the far end of the Homestead.
Shader was up in an instant and retrieved his gladius. With fury in his eyes he turned on the Ipsissimus.
'You did nothing!' he raged. 'Nothing!'
Rhiannon tried to touch him, tried to share in his despair, but Shader shrugged off her advance and ran towards the ridge where the liche that had once been Dr Cadman awaited Ikrys with open arms wreathed in amber fire.
There were tears streaking the Ipsissimus's face, but Rhiannon couldn't go to him; couldn't risk another rejection of her touch.
Something tugged her robe from behind and she turned to see Sammy gazing up at her, his face filthy, eyes blank and distant. He must have dragged his way to her even though he was exhausted to the point of death. She stroked his cheek and then pulled his face to her chest, running her fingers through his matted hair and hoping the end, when it came, would be swift.
\*\*\*
Even the undead turned to face the figure on the ridge as the gargoyle landed and offered it the Monas.
Shader continued to run, weaving in and out of the stationary combatants strewn across the battlefield. The men looked too exhausted to move, too overcome with despair. The cadavers just seemed forgotten, and lacking volition of their own they simply stood there. A few surviving demons spiralled into the east, but all else appeared frozen in time.
Shader barged through a cluster of undead and sprinted for the slope leading up to the ridge.
Just before Sektis Gandaw's hands reached the Monas, the gargoyle drew it back. Amber flared from it, lancing skywards, searing a hole in the firmament. The skeleton that was Sektis Gandaw threw its arms up and then watched as the clouds were sucked towards the hole. They swirled and coalesced, forming a pattern like a gigantic skull.
Still Shader ran, knees burning as he fought his way up a scree bank.
'Blightey!' Sektis Gandaw cried out as the skull turned towards him, the eye cavities filling with a bloody hue. Whilst he was distracted, the gargoyle sprang at him, reaching for the pieces of the statue that bathed his hands in amber light.
Shader reached the overhang leading to the ridge and had to sheathe his gladius to find hand holds. He swung a leg over the edge and then rolled to the top. Drawing the gladius once more, he dived straight at the gargoyle's back. The creature must have sensed the attack as it squawked and flapped a few feet into the air, carrying Sektis Gandaw with it, dangling by the wrists. Shader skidded beneath them, rolled, and came up with the sword ready.
The amber in Sektis Gandaw's hands flared and the gargoyle released its grip. As Sektis Gandaw floated slowly down beside Shader, an aperture opened above him admitting cobalt skies that washed away the apparition of the skull. The gargoyle flapped its wings furiously as a gigantic black fist soared through the opening and struck it full in the face. The gargoyle went into a spin, dropping the Monas. Sektis Gandaw snatched it out of the air as the black hand gave the gargoyle an almighty slap, sending it into a tumbling spin. With more frantic flapping, it righted itself, but saw the hand racing in pursuit. With a screech of utter horror it dived for the edge of the Homestead and disappeared. The black hand wavered for a moment, as if searching for its prey, and then retreated to the aperture.
'Kill him! Kill him now! Kill him for Nous!' Dave the Slave clambered over the lip of the ridge, eyes burning with zeal, lips drawn back in a feral snarl.
Shader raised the gladius to strike Sektis Gandaw's exposed back, glanced at Dave as the hunchback climbed to his feet, shaking his fists in anticipation---and hesitated.
Sektis Gandaw turned, amber fire snaking about his body and striking the ground. A shockwave rolled across the ridge and Shader tumbled from the precipice. He clutched the edge with one hand and clung to the gladius with the other. Pain lanced through his shoulder and his fingers began to slip. Dave threw himself to his belly and grabbed Shader's wrist.
'No!' he yelled. 'No! You must not fail!'
The cobalt hole in the sky widened as a figure seated upon a throne came through. Shader looked into the frenzied eyes of Dave the Slave, watched the movement of his slavering jaws, and recoiled in horror.
'Hold on,' Dave growled. 'I am the voice of Nous. You must not fail!'
'No,' Shader said. 'No!'
He slipped through Dave's grip and tumbled down the scree bank with the hunchback's screams in his ears.
Shader's head cracked against stone and he lay supine, gazing helplessly at the figure on the throne holding out the serpent's body of the Statue of Eingana with a single amber fang blazing like lightning. The liche that had once been Cadman accepted the statue even as Dave slid down the slope to Shader's side.
'Get up!' he cried. 'Get up before it's too late.'
It was already too late. Shader watched the liche slot the other fang inside the mouth of Eingana and then press home an eye. Too late for him, too late for the Earth, too late for Nous and all his damned creation. The liche clawed at the Ipsissimal Monas, prised the second eye free and inserted it in the head of the serpent. It raised the Statue of Eingana above its head, amber bursting from it with scintillating luminosity. The man on the throne stretched out his arms and the liche started to back towards him, the glare from the statue so intense the two figures were just silhouettes to Shader. The liche shook the statue in triumph and turned to face the throne, but then its skull shattered into a thousand pieces and a thunder-crack shook the ridge. The liche fell, pitching the statue to the earth.
Shader tried to rise, but his head was pounding. A small figure holding a long smoking tube appeared above the far edge of the ridge. He dropped the weapon, vaulted to the surface, and sprinted for the statue with a black cloak billowing behind him.
Shadrak! Shader rolled to a sitting position and tried to screen out Dave's shouting.
The assassin dived for the statue as the man on the throne stood. The air rippled and some invisible force struck Shadrak, hurling him back across the ridge. The man stooped to pick up the statue and held it like a parent with a newborn child. The light faded enough for Shader to see he was dressed in a tunic and trousers of grey, with polished black shoes and perfect hair. The face was waxen and bloodless, the eyes cold and clinical. He caught Shader looking and glanced down at the remains of Cadman's skeletal body.
'A host body, no more, but it served its purpose.'
'Gandaw.' Shader struggled to stand, but slumped back down again. 'You don't have to do this.'
'Oh, but I do, you pathetic little insect. I've waited a long time for this.'
Sektis Gandaw resumed his place on the throne and the aperture sealed, leaving only clear skies in its place.
'You have failed Nous!' Dave screamed. 'You are cursed forever. You have doomed us!'
Shader's skull was a nest of stinging insects. Coppery blood was on his tongue, and his heart ricocheted around his ribcage, threatening to burst from his chest.
Voices. He could hear voices---Dave snarling, Barek telling him to back off. Someone was calling his name.
'Rhiannon, is that you?' His own words were a drowning mush. Their sloshing echo passed deeper and deeper into the heart of a black abyss, met with a rising stream of speech, coiled about it, became as one.
'Not good.'
'Aristodeus?'
'Not good at all.'
THE STORY CONTINUES IN...
Shader has failed and Sektis Gandaw now holds all the pieces of the Statue of Eingana. Despair hangs like a pall over the battered armies of Sahul and Aeterna. It's now just a matter of time... A sliver of hope comes in the form of Shadrak the Unseen who has the means to travel to the source of the coming cataclysm, the black mountain at the heart of the Dead Lands on Aethir. But Shader, Shadrak, and Rhiannon discover that Aethir brings a new set of challenges: the Sour Marsh---an oozing malignancy from the nightmare realm of Qlippoth; an arrogant Senate that seeks to appease rather than fight; and a volatile secret at the heart of the ravine city of Arx Gravis, a dwarf with no name who could prove the most stalwart of allies...or the deadliest of foes. Old love has turned sour and regrets run deep. Shader is sick of killing, but can see no other way. Rhiannon's last defense against all she has lost is a self-destructive rage; and Shadrak's niggling conscience is causing him more trouble than he needs. Loyalties are called into question, yet all three must bury their differences if they are to find a way into Sektis Gandaw's impregnable base and prevent the Unweaving of all things.
COMING SUMMER 2012
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About the Author
Photograph by Theo Prior
D.P. Prior read Drama, Classics and History at the University of Wales, Aberystwyth. He studied Mental Health Nursing at the University of Sussex and read Theological Studies at the University of Notre Dame, Western Australia. He is the founder of the online discussion community Mysticism Unbound. He works as a freelance editor and author.
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The Unweaving(coming summer 2012)
The Archon's Assassin (coming winter 2012)
Rise of the Nameless Dwarf (coming summer 2013)
A Dark Perdurance (coming winter 2013)
REVIEWS OF THE Chronicles of the Nameless Dwarf
"...this is a masterful peek into Prior's style and the world he has created. I recommend it to all fans of fantasy fiction."
Five Stars
--M.R. Mathias, best-selling author of the Wardstone Trilogy
"This book has a wonderful plot, some great fights, twists and turns plus interesting characters; and maybe most importantly a main character with a dry and cynical sense of humor...a couple of laugh-out-load moments...I can hardly wait for future installments."
Five Stars
--Ray Nicholson, Top 1000 Reviewer Amazon.com
"...strong and leads the reader on a chase to the ending. There is something for everyone in this tale: some violence, some venality, some bonding of characters and some comic relief. I found this an easy and fast paced read and quickly devoured it. I will be sure to follow Nameless through his Chronicles."
Five Stars
--J.L. Chase, Red Adept Reviews
"The Ant-Man of Malfen is steeped in the tradition of good old-fashioned swashbuckling fantasy, reminiscent of Robert E. Howard...Prior writes in a style that is both fearless and entertaining, and gives each of his characters a unique voice. This novella was my first foray into this unique universe, and by the end, I was wanting more. Very good read."
Five Stars
--V. Daniels, best-selling author of The Interstellar Age and Fallen Angels series
"D.P. Prior has a talent for characterization...The plot of this book is dark, filled with sorcery, brutal fights, and more than a few monsters... I also saw just a tad of humor. Prior is a master at imagery. His pen paints a vivid picture of the realms and the characters...Fans of science fiction and fantasy will enjoy The Ant Man of Malfen."
Five Stars
EXCERPT: THE CHRONICLES OF THE NAMELESS DWARF
"Told you," Nils hollered from the top of the ridge. "Malfen."
Silas struggled up beside him and looked down the escarpment to where flaming torches hung from sconces around high walls running like a curtain across the pass at the foot of the Farfall Mountains. The mountains rose like gigantic steps into the receding distance, never sheer, their gradient long and gentle, as if the Farfalls had been poured like molten sludge upon the plains between Malkuth and Qlippoth.
"Look down there," said Nils pointing at the immense gate.
Silas squinted. It was more of a portcullis than a gate, probably of wrought iron and virtually impregnable. Shadowy forms passed back and forth behind the grill. It seemed that Malfen never slept, and that it was going to be impossible to enter discreetly.
"What will you do?" asked Nils.
Silas was tempted to march right up and demand a meeting with Shent, but something told him that wasn't such a good idea. His optimism had deserted him, and the scene below was unnerving.
Malfen looked like a clump of warped and twisted structures that had been randomly thrown together. The alleyways between houses were narrow and winding, giving the whole place the appearance of a spider's web. Shapes crept through the dark spaces and a reddish haze hung over the town like a cloak of blood.
Not for the first time, Silas wished he'd never clapped eyes on Blightey's grimoire. If it hadn't been for the entry about the planting of the Liche Lord's staff in a secret place in Qlippoth, nothing would have dragged him within a hundred miles of Malfen. That, and the uncovering of a poem by the foppish Quintus Quincy who'd claimed the Ant-Man knew of every incursion into Qlippoth and had captured anyone lucky enough to escape the lands of nightmare and wrung their secrets from them. Silas had caught up with Quincy in The Wyrm's Head in New Jerusalem. The old soak had talked like a gossiping housewife once Silas had stood him a few rounds.
Quincy said the Ant-Man was just a nickname fashioned to terrorise the people of Malfen into meeting his demands---the usual sort of things: protection and extortion.
Quincy's source had been the journal of some gold-digging chancer called Noris Bellosh who'd spent a year and a day in Qlippoth before falling into Shent's hands. Bellosh had served Shent for almost a decade and he believed the Ant-Man knew more about Qlippoth than anyone alive. Shent, he said, had an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the geography of the nightmare lands pieced together from the agonised testimonies of his victims. Bellosh had claimed Shent literally was an ant-human hybrid, but Quincy attributed that to the man's sensationalism. Bellosh had been offered a small fortune for publication of his journal but hadn't lived to capitalise on it. He'd eaten poisoned walnut and date bread---his favourite repast---and the journal had disappeared. Quincy had bought it from a man named Albert in one of New Jerusalem's flea markets.
Silas shook his head. It had started as a playful quest. He had rummaged around in libraries, visited the most ancient sites of New Jerusalem. He'd spoken with wizards and even flown on a mysterious air-raft with the mad mage, Magwitch, looking for the ancient portals that Blightey's grimoire stated existed between the worlds. All a wild goose chase, Silas had concluded, but still the book urged him on.
Finding out about Blightey had proven more or less impossible. As Silas had learned from the diary portions of the book, Blightey was not from Aethir. He came from a place called London, so he claimed. From what Silas could gather from the later entries, the place had subsequently changed names many times. Blightey had later ruled the country of Verusia, where he'd fought valiantly against the despotism of an evil Empire known as 'Nousia.' At some point, Blightey had trodden the paths of the Abyss and he'd eventually emerged from one of the gorges of Gehenna into the land of Qlippoth. He'd left his staff there, planted in the loam of nightmares to await the coming of someone Blightey called The Worthy.
Throughout all his research, Silas had been sceptical; but nevertheless, the more he learned, the more he wanted to know. He studied assiduously, and if he didn't read through the brittle pages of the grimoire until his head was ready to burst, he couldn't sleep. He thought of little else, and whenever he was deprived of the chance to dip into the tome he'd find himself irascible, bordering on frantic.
"Well?" Nils's nagging voice cut through the fug of Silas' pensiveness. "I can't stand here all day. I got you to Malfen; now you need to keep your side of the deal."
Silas sighed and started to weave his hands through the air when he spotted something off to the left at the foot of the slope.
A few hundred yards out from the town wall, the blackness pooled in a circle.
"What's that?" Silas asked, pointing.
Nils took a step forward and yelped as he slid on the scree. The slope shifted behind him and he was caught in a great tide of slate and rock that carried him all the way to the bottom.
Silas trudged down after him, surfing the scree in fits and starts, flapping his arms for balance. He hopped off at the foot of the slope and offered a hand up to Nils.
"Great!" said Nils. "Shogging great! Now I've gotta climb---"
Silas held up a hand for silence as something emerged from the circle of blackness. It was the size of a horse, but with a segmented body and thin articulated legs. Antennae twitched upon a bulbous head and twin eyes the size of saucers shone cyan in the pale moonlight.
"What is it?" Nils fumbled with his sword and tried to back up the slope. The way the scree slid under his feet it may as well have been a waterfall.
Another creature darted from the aperture, mandibles clacking like shears. Silas' heart thumped in his chest as scores more poured forth and scuttled towards them.
"Ants," he said with as much awe as fear.
Nils was looking frantically to left and right but there was nowhere to run. Silas put a calming hand on his shoulder.
"Let's just hope the stories are true this time," he said. "For if there are giant ants, maybe there's also an ant-man to command them."
The ants were so close that Silas could hear the clicking of their mandibles. They stopped mere inches away, their antennae twitching, front legs pawing the air. Nils was trembling so much Silas thought the lad was going to faint.
Behind the wall of ants, two men approached. Moonlight glinted from the blades of twin daggers the smaller man carried. The other, a big man with a hooked nose, brandished a long knife and swished a net before him. The ants parted to let them through and the small man spoke.
"Trying to sneak in under cover of darkness?"
"Absolutely not," said Silas in his most innocent voice.
"Shut it!" the man snarled. "We ain't stupid here, whatever you civilised types might reckon. And we ain't rude neither, are we Venn?"
The man with the net flashed a crooked smile.
"No, we're most hospitable, Carl. That's why we came to greet you."
Silas didn't like the look in Venn's eyes: it was calculating and full of threat, like a crocodile poking its head above the surface of a swamp. He reached into the depths of his mind clutching for some strand of magic he could use.
"You the Ant-Man?" Nils asked in a tremulous voice.
Carl laughed, a ghastly guttural sound.
"No, I ain't the Ant-Man, boy, and neither's Venn here."
Silas closed in on a black misty thread at the edges of his awareness and let its puissance start to blossom.
"That," said Carl, turning to look over his shoulder, "is the Ant-Man."
Silas froze at the sight lumbering towards them. He hardly noticed the burgeoning magic slip from his grasp and disperse back into emptiness.
A hulking man lurched past Venn and Carl. Only it wasn't a man. It stood on legs that bent backwards, with spines jutting from the shins. The torso was a thick carapace like a black breastplate, and the cuneate head was dominated by the same saucer-like eyes and clacking mandibles the ants had. Knotted muscular arms---human arms---folded over the chitinous chest.
"Shent?" Silas whispered.
With a rush of air Venn's net smothered Silas and something heavy crashed into his skull. As he was buried in blackness he heard pleading, as if it came from a fading dream.
"Please! I brought him to you. I'm your friend."
Nils, thought Silas as awareness left him. You little---
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Table of Contents
THE RESURRECTION OF DEACON SHADER
THE PRISONER OF ARNBROOK HOUSE
SHADER NEWS AND UPDATES ARE AVAILABLE FROM

