by R. S. Ford
A legionary spat in his face as he carried on walking, but Laigon ignored the insult. The massed ranks up ahead knew he was coming, but instead of barring his way they made room, a guard of dishonour for him to pass through.
Did they think he had changed his mind and decided to pledge himself to the Iron Tusk? Were they keen to see him fall to his knees in supplication, or did they merely wish to witness him executed at their warlord’s hand? Laigon had no idea, but he walked on regardless through what remained of the Tinker’s Gate, through the Chapel Gate until he came to the final courtyard.
Word had already reached them of his approach. The yard was lined with warriors standing behind their shields, presenting him a channel right up to the gate.
In front of it stood the Iron Tusk himself.
‘You see,’ proclaimed the warlord, as Laigon approached. ‘Our brother has returned to us. Turned to the right path. We were wise not to abandon our faith in him.’
Laigon stopped in front of the brute. The immortal warrior whose wounds had healed before his very eyes. He looked up, drinking in the stink of him, the size of him.
‘Kneel before me, Laigon Valdyr.’ The Iron Tusk’s voice cut through the silence, filling the void like the words of a high priest. ‘Pledge yourself to me and we will become conquerors.’
‘It is over,’ Laigon said. ‘Your reign is at an end.’ As he said the words, he believed them. Despite what he faced, Laigon’s faith did not waver.
‘You disappoint me again,’ said the Iron Tusk. ‘And for the last time. If you will not kneel in fealty, then kneel for your execution. I promise I will make it a swift one.’
‘If you want to take my head, you savage bastard, then go ahead. But it won’t be easy.’
The Iron Tusk laughed, discarding his huge sword and letting it fall to the ground with a thud. He hefted his axe in both hands, raising it for the final swing.
Laigon felt the figurine of Portius burn hot in his hand once more. This time he gripped it tighter, letting the pain course through his flesh. As the Iron Tusk swung the axe it was as though the warlord were moving through tar. His attack was laboured, like an old man was swinging that weapon and not an immortal overlord.
The axe swept past Laigon’s head, inches from his face. The Iron Tusk grunted as he missed his target, and Laigon picked his moment to strike. He lunged forward, gripping the figurine of Portius like a dagger, plunging it into that one baleful eye. It struck true, and Laigon grasped the horn protruding from the Iron Tusk’s head with his free hand, shoving the figurine in deeper, hearing the warlord’s laboured scream of agony as he did so.
With a bellow of fury, the Iron Tusk shoved Laigon back, sending him sprawling in the sand. Laigon looked up to see the warlord gripping his eye, trying to pull the figure of Portius free. But it was stuck fast.
Then, with a sudden flare of light, it burst into flames.
The Iron Tusk’s screams filled the courtyard as he fell to his knees. His head within that helm was burning like a funeral pyre, the eyeholes flaring bright, the metal glowing white hot.
Laigon leapt to his feet, pulling a sword from the scabbard of a stunned legionary. Then he rushed in, his form perfect as always, striking at the Iron Tusk’s neck. It should have struck the head from the beast, but instead it merely hacked a divot in the flesh. The Iron Tusk bellowed louder, swinging his huge blade blindly at his attacker. Laigon leapt aside, the axe whistling past his head. He rolled, coming up on his feet as the Iron Tusk thrashed about him, hacking that axe into the ground but finding no target.
With a final burst of energy, Laigon leapt again, raising the sword high. He screamed, a feral roar, and the Iron Tusk turned his head, axe sweeping back to hack Laigon in two. But he was not fast enough.
With a final hack of the blade, with all his strength and hate, Laigon struck the head from the Iron Tusk. He landed, hearing the warlord’s huge body collapsing to the dirt.
The courtyard fell silent. Laigon was panting heavily as he stood over that hulking corpse, the charred helm lying next to it. All around him were the legionaries of the Shengen. Men of every Standing looking on in awe.
Then, one by one, they fell to their knees and bowed their heads before him.
35
THE scream was more an animal howl than anything that might come from man or woman. Livia turned away from Durius, whose face had been contorting into myriad different expressions, to see Hera kneeling next to Mandrake. The warrior woman gripped her lover tightly. His face was serene, eyes staring vacantly. As Livia watched in growing horror, his flesh began to decay, body crumbling like ash from a burning log and floating away on the breeze.
Hera desperately tried to hold onto him, tried to keep the crumbling body in one piece, but it simply fell through her fingers. There was nothing she could do to stop Mandrake from vanishing before her eyes.
Livia ran towards her, but she was already too late. Mandrake had drifted away on the wind, leaving nothing but wisps of ash in his wake. All she could hear was Hera screaming, raging like an animal. For so long she had tried desperately to save her lover, but now he had simply disappeared before her eyes.
Hera looked up at Durius. ‘You did this,’ she spat. ‘You killed him.’
The little man shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Armadon had to be stopped. You have to understand—’
‘Understand what?’ Hera was on her feet now. Livia could see her gripping the handle of her sword as though it took every fibre of her body to stop her from drawing it. ‘That you’re all the same? Gods, Archons, whatever you want to call yourselves. You don’t care about us. We are pawns in a game. What happens when my turn comes? Will you just stand there and shrug your shoulders then?’
‘What have you done?’ asked Livia. ‘What’s going on?’
Durius shook his head. ‘With Armadon’s defeat, and his earthly body vanquished, Mandrake no longer has a link to this plane or the mortal one. He has simply ceased to exist. His pain is finally over.’
‘Did you know this would happen?’ said Livia.
Durius made to answer, but he stopped as a high-pitched keening sound emanated from the Heartstone. Livia watched in horror as something squirmed within. Something vile was roiling within the mist, like a giant leech in the centre of the jewel.
As they watched, it grew, limbs sprouting from the amorphous blob, head forming, mouth open in a woeful scream. Livia could see with increasing revulsion that the thing was taking shape, a horned head, cloven-hoofed hindquarters, spindly arms. It was like some foul by-blow of man and goat.
With a ghastly sucking sound, the Heartstone spewed out the creature as though retching up a maggot. Stinking ichor and birthing fluid were thrown out with it, as the beast flopped onto the marble floor of the tower. It lay helpless, mewling like a newborn lamb, eyes blind, limbs flailing in the muck.
‘What…. the hell… is that?’ Livia asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.
‘His mortal body destroyed, Armadon has been banished back to this realm.’ Durius said. ‘As you can see, it’s quite a disgusting process.’
Hera stepped forward, drawing her sword and glaring down at the bantling beast. ‘This. This is what took Mandrake from me?’
‘Wait,’ said Durius. ‘You cannot kill it.’
‘Watch me,’ Hera replied.
Livia stood helpless as Hera raised her sword, but the killing blow never came.
In an instant, the blue sky that surrounded them turned iron grey, plunging the platform into darkness. Hera stayed her hand as the sudden chill enveloped them all. An ominous wind blew through the tower. It heralded the most majestic beast Livia had ever laid eyes on.
With a beat of leather wings, another gust blew through the tower. Livia turned in time to see a huge winged reptile approaching. Clawed feet gripped the edge of the platform as it dipped its long and ancient head beneath the lintel. Cruel, reptilian eyes surveyed them – Durius, Hera, Livia, Armadon – before the serpent
transformed. Its wings folded and shrank, vast head becoming humanlike, clawed feet turning to slender human legs. In an instant a woman stood there, the most regal figure Livia had ever seen; gown of green and purple swaying about her perfect form, hair arranged in intricate braids about her shoulders.
‘Durius.’ Her voice was silk and honey. ‘You were warned.’
‘My dear Mortana,’ said Durius, bowing low. ‘I can explain everything.’
She gazed down on the foundering form of Armadon. ‘Yes, I’m sure you can.’
There was a noise from down the winding stairwell. A click followed by a shuffle. Another figure appeared, this one as old and wizened as the mountains. He laboured up the stairs, aided by a long and ancient staff. His back was hunched, and to all intents he resembled an ancient tortoise as he shuffled along, head like beaten leather poking forward to survey the room with glassy eyes.
‘Don’t start without me, Durius. I’d like to hear this too,’ he said, voice rumbling and phlegmy.
‘Of course, Hastor, my old friend.’
Durius bowed again, and Livia began to get the feeling she ought to as well. Not that these newcomers had even acknowledged her presence.
A flash of lightning momentarily blinded her, and the rumble of thunder that followed made her heart pound. When she opened her eyes again, standing in the centre of the tower was a sight that had previously struck her dumb with fear. The burning king stood tall and proud, a flaming crown atop his head, his armour cracked and molten and constantly shifting. The pungent reek of brimstone filled the air around him as his vast head moved to scan the summit of the tower.
‘Ekemon, my brother,’ Durius laughed nervously. Ekemon chose not to reply, if indeed he could speak at all with no mouth.
No sooner had the burning king appeared than yet another majestic winged form drifted onto the tower’s platform. This time it was on white-feathered wings, porcelain flesh perfect in every way, a seraph of the utmost beauty, but for the blood-red eyes housed within that exquisite face. He was naked, curling his wings around him as he landed softly. The tousled, white hair atop his head was perfectly styled, as though this being were more sculpture than man.
‘I hope you weren’t planning on leaving me out?’ said the seraph, glancing around the room. His gaze paused on Livia for a moment and in that instant she almost fell to her knees to worship in front of this paragon. The creature was undeniably beautiful, but at the same time he had an aura of wickedness she found impossible to resist.
‘Kastion,’ said Durius. ‘Always a pleasure.’
Durius seemed to be growing more and more agitated with each new arrival. It was clear he hadn’t expected so many Archons to make a personal appearance.
There was a deafening caw, as a huge corvid figure swooped down to perch on the edge of the platform. This huge beast had a human torso, armoured in intricate carved iron, but its head and wings were those of a giant raven.
It cawed once more and Durius nodded in greeting. ‘Badb, so good of you to join us. And yes, of course I will make this as quick and painless as I can.’
‘Do we think there will be any more?’ asked Mortana. She moved languidly, in a way that reminded Livia of a giant lizard in the sun, but she was the most beautiful woman Livia had ever seen.
‘Who cares,’ said the seraph Kastion. ‘Let’s get on with this.’
‘Of course,’ said Durius. ‘Now we’re all gathered it might be a good time—’
‘What are you up to, Durius?’ asked Hastor. The ancient old man’s rheumy eyes narrowed in suspicion.
‘I… Well, I’m ensuring our covenant is upheld. Look.’ He motioned to the squirming form of Armadon. ‘Duly returned to the fold.’
Mortana walked forward and stooped to pick up the mewling creature, seemingly oblivious to the fact its slimy body was ruining her magnificent gown. She cradled the newly birthed Archon as she might her own infant. ‘And these?’ she said, glancing at Hera and Livia.
‘Mortals,’ Durius replied. ‘In my care.’
‘In your care?’ said Kastion. ‘Since when did we care for mortals?’
‘Some of us have always cared,’ Durius answered.
The ancient Hastor stepped forward, staff clicking on the marble floor. He regarded Livia with suspicion. ‘This one is powerful,’ he said.
Livia felt a swell of fear under the Archon’s attention but she dared not move.
‘That is of no matter,’ Mortana said, as Armadon reached up with a child’s hand and grabbed one of her ringlets. ‘We must decide what we are to do.’
‘Siff has vanquished Armadon and returned him to us,’ said Durius, failing to mention his own part in Armadon’s defeat. ‘She will do the same with Innellan. We have to allow her the time to accomplish what she set out to do. Then order will be restored.’
‘The Heartstone is here, restored to its original form,’ said Kastion. ‘We can use it. We can travel through and take back the mortal realm. Or we could remain here and force them to worship us as the gods we are. We can be returned to power. Why don’t we just—’
The great crow head of Badb interrupted the seraph with a mighty caw. Livia couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or not.
‘I agree with Durius,’ Mortana said. ‘Siff must be given time and allowed to destroy Innellan.’
Hastor nodded in agreement. ‘Mortana is right. Once Innellan is brought low, Siff will return and we can once again render the Heartstone useless. It was agreed. We have had centuries of peace because of it.’
There were rumblings from the other Archons but no one disagreed. No one but Livia.
If Innellan was vanquished wouldn’t Livia suffer the same fate as Mandrake? She would cease to exist, her form in this place floating away like petals on the wind.
‘No,’ she shouted.
As every Archon turned at her outburst she instantly regretted it. These were gods, and now she had brought their attention down upon her.
‘No?’ said Mortana. ‘You think to bray at us like an animal?’
‘I– It’s just—’
‘Durius, let me eat this sow,’ said Kastion, his wickedness clearly matched only by his appetite.
Durius stepped in the way. ‘My apologies. She doesn’t understand.’
But as the Archons continued to bicker, Livia realised she did understand. This was a game to them. One they had been playing for millennia. She was merely a passing diversion, just like every mortal they had ever influenced.
She felt the Heartstone pulse once more. It called to her as it had done once before, only this time it didn’t merely want to show her the way home… it wanted to take her there.
Right now, floating like a spectre in the mortal realm seemed far preferable to being made a plaything for the gods.
Livia took a step closer to the huge gem. It pulsed at her presence, and for the briefest of moments she saw something beyond the glittering veneer. There was a way through and… a mortal body awaited her. Unsuspecting, innocent, perfect to host her in its mortal flesh.
She understood now; she could not return to reclaim her body from Innellan, but she could still inhabit someone else. The notion repulsed and excited her all at once.
Another step closer and she heard the caw of the raven Badb. The Archons had noticed her now. They had seen what she was doing. Knew what she was thinking and spotted the danger.
There was no choice. It was now or never.
‘Livia, no!’ Durius shouted. ‘You cannot. It is forbidden.’
But she was already gone.
Livia Harrow stepped forward, and let the Heartstone take her.
36
SHE could hear them screaming. Calling out in alarm, their raised voices muffled but still unmistakable. The Archons had gathered about the Heartstone, their call passing through it, travelling the infinite distance between the ethereal plane and the mortal realm.
As Siff heard them she knew she was running out of time.
The Arch
ons would not wait forever. Their covenant was held together by a gossamer thread. If just one more of them were to submit to temptation and pass through to this realm it would spark a new war. To avoid that, Siff had to defeat Innellan as swiftly as possible.
But how? Innellan had already carved out an empire in the desert but that would never be enough for her. Armadon had been stopped, but Innellan was much more cunning. She would not simply attack head on. She would already be preparing her conquest and if Siff didn’t act soon, all would be lost.
As she made her way through the fort of Dunrun, the militia were still shifting bodies, carrying them out to a mass grave just beyond the fortress walls. Makeshift gates were being built for each of the vast archways. The sound of saws and hammers echoed through the fortress courtyards. Someone was even painting pitch on the scorched walls of the Eagle Gate as she approached it. This was the most industrious the place had been since she arrived.
Out through the gate and along the Skull Road to the east, Siff could smell embers still burning in the morning air. The Shengen had cremated their warlord in the night and the flames had burned almost to the peaks of the mountain pass, filling the valley with fire. It had been beautiful, and now all that remained was a blackened pyre. As Siff approached it she saw the battered and bruised figure of the new Shengen emperor standing and watching the fire dwindle to nothing.
She stood beside Laigon for some time. His face was a mass of pulped meat, yellow and black flesh fighting for dominance, but still he managed to look every inch the noble leader. He stared at that pyre, at the body of the warlord he had vanquished, but Siff could tell his victory had been a hollow one.
‘I know what you are,’ Laigon said eventually, without turning to look at her.
Siff had no doubt. Laigon had communed with the Archons, or at least one of them. He knew their power now. In all likelihood he could sense her true nature.