by D Murray
“You call that playing nice?” she hissed, baring her teeth. “Don’t imagine the king would be pleased to hear you beat me. Do you?”
Higgs took a sudden step forward, his gloved fist raised to strike. Evelyne stood up straight to meet him, standing her ground and eying the big man hard.
Higgs stopped, and grinned at her. “Just move your arses. Getting dark, and believe me, you don’t want to be on this plain at night. If the fire spit don’t get you, the ghosts will.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Selby wiped the spit at the side of her cut lip and straightened up.
“Move it!” Higgs stormed on in front of them, stepping into a cloud of steam issuing from a fracture in the ground.
“What does that mean?” Franny asked as she stepped on at the front of their chain gang.
Evelyne watched as the stinking steam swirled about the dark back of Higgs like sulphurous wings. She felt the heat rising from the ground. She walked on into the steam, and allowed the stink to fill her nose and mouth. Her stomach roiled, but not from nausea; from fear. Not her fear.
“Evelyne?” Selby asked from just ahead. “Franny asked–”
“I don’t know what he meant,” she replied in a flat, low tone. There’s an evil anger in this land.
As they walked on, the fractures in the ground grew more plentiful, and the steam rose about them like a miasma forest, twisting in growth and spreading stinking boughs into the darkening night sky. The wall around Hagra Iolach loomed out of the steam ahead of them like a black giant. Its dark surface rose taller than the walls of the High Command of Carte, and shone like obsidian even in the low light of dusk. As the first of the prisoners and troops made it to the wall the gate opened up into Hagra Iolach.
As Evelyne passed into the grounds of the fortress, the same rotting-egg stink wafted about her. She saw captives being led into two long-houses. The buildings were stone, with blue slate roofs and small windows sparsely positioned along the top of the walls.
“Not for you, missy.” Higgs smiled as he approached Evelyne. “You get a special place to stay. Very special.”
Evelyne looked at Selby and grabbed her in a quick embrace. She felt the weight of Selby’s hand dip in to the pocket of her cloak, depositing the Slowblood.
“Enough of that shit.” Higgs grabbed Selby by the shoulder and shoved her back a step. “Hands,” he snarled at Evelyne.
She offered up her manacled wrists, and her most hate-filled stare.
Higgs took her wrist and inserted a key. He leered at her, his long nose wrinkling from his grin. “Don’t give me those stinking eyes, or sweet Selby here will have a restless night.”
Fucker. I’ll cut your prick off and feed it to you. She let the hate wash from her face and adopted an impassive look. Selby nodded to her and offered a weak smile. Will you really be all right, little sister?
“There you go.” The manacles were dropped to the ground with a clank and Evelyne felt her wrists, gently rubbing at the marks about them. They were swollen and raw from the constant rub of the rough metal, and the callous cold. “Now, promise you’ll behave, and I’ll take off them chains about your feet.” Higgs hunkered down before her, the swollen pink notches of scars poking out of his shaven head below her. He worked the key into the locks about the manacles on her ankles, and tossed them. He stood up with a groan and leaned in to Evelyne’s face, his white- and black-stubbled face splitting in a smile. He stank of bad wine and decay. “You know, I’m too old for hiking in winter. Too damn cold for me. Takes a toll on my old bones, it does.” He looked back over his shoulder to Selby, then back to Evelyne. “You know what I need?”
“What?” Evelyne humoured the man.
“I think I need a nice long soak in a warm bath.”
“I can agree with that,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Now, now,” Higgs pouted, “no need to be mean. I think I’ll have Selby wash me. She could do with a wash herself, what with all of the–”
“Enough. You’re disgusting. Enough of your tongue! Take me where you need to take me and stop tormenting us.”
“Enough of my tongue?” Higgs’ mouth hung open and he waggled his sickly tongue at her. “That’s not what Selby will be saying tonight.” He stared at her for a moment, waiting for a reaction, then he grabbed Evelyne painfully by the shoulder and half dragged her towards the main body of Hagra Iolach.
“Let go!” Evelyne hissed. “You’re hurting me.” She looked ahead at the keep; it had been carved into the wall of the great cliff that ran down from the mountainside.
Higgs shoved her forward. “It’s not the hurting I’m doing to you that you should be worrying about.”
Evelyne could not help but marvel at the structure of Hagra Iolach. The facade carved into the front of the cliff gave way to a broad, low ceilinged central hallway lit by pine-scented oil lamps reaching out from the smooth carved stone pillars. She looked side to side as she followed Higgs onwards. Corridors radiated from the central hall at either side, with lamp flames flickering in the warm drafts of air that flowed around the spaces. Despite the scented oil, the smell about the place was musty and stale. Ravenmayne soldiers stood motionless, their expressions unflinching as she passed, as though they were themselves carved out of the mountain.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked Higgs.
“To your quarters. The king has somewhere nice for you.” He grunted a laugh. “Nice and warm.”
Nice and warm. “Where is this heat coming from? The sulphur outside – is this built on top of a volcano?”
Higgs stopped and turned on her, his big face twisted up in a mocking grin. “They dug deep. You’ll see. Now walk.” He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her ahead.
Higgs led her to a wide round space with four corridors leading off in opposite directions. Lining the wall was a spiral staircase leading up, and down. Higgs took her down, and a coil of fear snared about her belly. The heat wafted up with a stinking rush, causing her hair to play on the air. Lamps reached out on rust-splotched iron sconces at a distance of one per half turn of the staircase. It was enough to light her way, showing up the pink scars on Higgs’ head as they peeked out ugly and angry from his stubbly hair. They came to another round space, with corridors again stretching out from the walls in four directions. But they carried on down. Deeper down, to where the air grew more hot, dry, and stinking.
They had carried on down, winding their way deeper still, until they entered the fourth round landing. The air was so hot Evelyne could feel the sweat streaking down her back and beading on her forehead. Her head felt like a tight metal band coiled around it, and her stomach roiled with the fear. Panic burned in her belly, and a sense of scratching played about her stomach. A scratching to be free, to flee.
Higgs nodded towards one of the passageways. They walked toward the corridor and finally stopped in front of a pair of black doors. They were three times as tall as Evelyne, and reflected the oil lamp flicker with the same precise shine as the outer walls of Hagra Iolach.
“What is this?” she asked Higgs as he stepped to the side of the large doors and stood at ease.
“Best go in and see. Don’t you think?” He inclined his head to the door and grunted. “Go on.”
She stepped forward and placed a hand on the surface of one of the great black doors. She felt the heat in an instant, and in the same moment a fizzing pain shot from her belly to her hand. She pulled her hand away as a scream of fear rang in her head. She staggered.
“Wow!” Higgs said, stepping forward and catching her as she fell. His hand groped about her as he steadied her.
“Get off me!” She shoved his hands from her and scowled at him. “Don’t ever lay your stinking fucking hands on me again.”
“Mind that tongue, unless you want it to be tickling about my stones.”
She turned from him and stepped up to the door. Whatever was on the other side, it was better than spending another moment with that filthy bastard. The aw
ful sensation flared again as she touched the door, but she pushed on through. With a silent and smooth motion, the door glided open, and a waft of sulphurous air ghosted out. She winced and raised the back of her hand to cover her nose.
The room was long and dark. The high ceiling was supported by two rows of tall black columns with lamps burning from twisted metal sconces. Even darker shadows dominated the spaces between the columns. Evelyne’s skin crawled as she felt the eyes on her. At the far end of the room the space appeared to open up around an altar set several feet into the rough rock face. A tall black flame swayed in the recess of rock. The body of the flame was black, touched with blue at the edges as it danced. She walked towards it, drawn by a desire to get close, to touch it. As she approached, the fear flared within her, and she was conflicted. Step forward. Flee. The draw of it was too strong. As she stepped ever closer to the flame, she noticed the ground at the foot of the recess was spread with the sticky shine of blood. It had poured into grooves in the stone leading to the base of the flame. The desire faded within her, replaced with a scream of alarm.
Then she saw him. “Olmat!” He stood, set back to the left of the altar of flame. But something was not right. She began to hurry across to him when she realised what was wrong. He stood, arms set apart from his body, and his head tipped back on his thin neck. His feet dangled from the hem of his robe, with bare feet pointing toes-down to the ground. A foot off the ground. “What have they done to you?” She slowed, and walked towards where Olmat was at the end of the long, wide room. A red light seemed to undulate across the space around Olmat in waves that passed over something solid. Something crystalline. “Olmat,” Evelyne whispered. She closed the distance, seeing every feature of the old physician through the crystal encasing him. His wrinkles, the rough weave of his robes, the bushy white brows arcing up from his tilted-back head. A look of agony was frozen on his ancient face. She reached out with a trembling hand and touched her palm to the crystalline prison. It was ice cold to the touch. A pulse touched her hand and resonated up her arm. It stopped, then flared again. It was slow, rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Olmat’s heartbeat. Then she heard the scream once more in her head. But it was a different voice this time. It was Olmat’s voice. Let me die. She stepped away, her hands rising to cover her mouth as tears welled in her eyes, then fell down her cheeks.
“You see?”
The voice from behind caused her to startle. She turned with a gasp. Grunnxe walked in a lazy gait towards her. He was followed by a pair of black-robed Ravenmayne priests, and a man she recognised from the journey as being from Overn Station. A bright smile split Grunnxe’s thatch of beard.
“See?” He placed a meaty arm around the frightened man’s shoulder. “I’ve looked after him. Not so bad of me, eh?”
Her eye was all of a sudden drawn to the spaces between the stone pillars lining the room, whereas before she was in such a rush to see Olmat she had not noticed. The two girls of the Horn of Dajda were too encased within crystalline structures. “No!”
“No? No what?” Grunnxe replied, his shoulders rising in a questioning motion, not breaking his casual pace towards her.
The priests had stopped by the altar of flame, and forced the man from Overn Station to kneel before it. The priests stood behind him, muttering in their guttural tongue, heads bowed and hands spread out above their shoulders.
“What are you doing to them?”
Grunnxe’s face shifted into a look of bemusement. “Whatever do you mean? Your friend there, the old one you’re calling Olmat, well, he was about to die. I have preserved his life. The master god, Balzath, has given him life. He is ever generous in such ways.”
“He was meant to die.”
Grunnxe laughed. “Oh, I know that. But this way, he gets to live forever. As for your little choir birds,” his hand swept towards the crystal that housed the Horn, “their voices will sing naught but a silent song for their new master.”
“Their new master?” Evelyne felt the turmoil in her belly, the panicked scratching at her insides. Dajda fears.
“Why yes, and indeed, your new master too.” Grunnxe turned on his heel, raising his hands above his shoulders. “This is a cathedral to our new lord. Welcome to the home of Balzath.”
Evelyne’s eyes were drawn to the altar of black flame, then back to Grunnxe. “What are the priests doing with that man?”
The old king was grinning madly now. “This is why you’re here. To witness Balzath.”
“What? The flame is Balzath?”
Grunnxe nodded like an excited child, head bobbing in short, rapid movements. “Yes, you see him.” He turned and pointed over to the tall, black flame as it weaved and played on the warm, foetid air. “What you see before you is the spirit of our master god. You are truly graced to be in his presence. Truly blessed! Doesn’t it feel,” his eyes wobbled in his head, searching for the word, “doesn’t it feel intoxicating?”
Evelyne looked deep into the flame and felt the swell of terror within her meet a growing sense of giddiness, even excitement. She swallowed and shut her eyes, opening them again on Grunnxe. “I don’t want to be here any longer.”
“But, my dear, you’re here to see Balzath.”
“I’ve seen enough.”
Grunnxe’s face grew serious, “no. You’ve not seen nearly enough.” Grunnxe’s left hand closed over her shoulder with a firm grip and led her behind where the two priests stood. The villager remained kneeling before them, directly in front of the altar of black flame.
“No.” Evelyne turned her face as a long knife of polished and carved bone was drawn from the sleeve of one of the priests. “No,” she cried again as Grunnxe forced her to watch.
“You see,” Grunnxe’s ragged voice ground on, “for Balzath to gift life, he needs life. These people are going to serve him well with their blood. Soon he will be strong again.”
The second priest grabbed a handful of the villager's hair, and pulled his head back. Eyes wild with fear searched, seeing the knife, then finally resting on Evelyne. A plaintive and desperate moan escaped his mouth. The white bone knife was drawn slowly across the man’s neck, and bright blood jetted across the stone altar and into the black flame. The flame spluttered for an instant then burst to a bright and violent green light. Incredible heat wafted from the swollen conflagration, and Evelyne had to shut her eyes.
“Open them, and witness the power of blood.” Grunnxe pinched the back of Evelyne’s neck hard, and she was forced to open her eyes.
The man had slumped over, falling face first on the ground. His life blood welled out of the awful wound and drained into the grooves in the stone, pouring into the flame, giving it greater life.
“Do you see Balzath feed?” Grunnxe asked. “Can you feel his strength grow?”
Evelyne fought tears back from her eyes, and swallowed the urge to match the scream within her with one born of her own throat. But she could not deny there was a surge of power flowing out from this great fire, this spirit. “You’re going to kill them all?” she asked Grunnxe, the accusation thick in her voice.
“I am but a tool for the master god, and I do as he commands. Balzath has endured much to grant his gifts to those loyal to him. He must be restored, and this is how we restore him. It’s simple, really. Energy out, fuel in. You can’t really expect me to sacrifice my soldiers when we are in the middle of a conquest?”
“This is butchery!”
“I mean to do all my god requires so he may have all his gifts fully restored.”
“This is monstrous.” She turned around from the flame and faced Grunnxe. “This is an abomination.”
“Child,” Grunnxe’s tone became that of a teacher, “are you really so ignorant as to believe Dajda does not partake of such rituals as this? You are Tuannan, are you not? Don’t answer that, I know you are.” Grunnxe looked at a chipped fingernail. “Shit. I’m going to have to file that down.” He looked back at her. “Surely you know of such ways?”
Evelyne felt the squirming within her belly. Does Dajda call this a lie, or is this fear again?
“All gods must feed on blood. All of them.” Grunnxe held her gaze for a long moment, then his mood lightened, his stern face shifting to a smile. “Speaking of which, I’m starving.” He smiled at her politely. “I insist you join me.”
Seems I have lost my appetite.
“You must be starving?” Grunnxe enquired, his hands reaching out and cupping Evelyne’s, enveloping them with a tender touch that sent creeping shivers up her arm. “You’re cold!” he said, a look of shock on his face. “I can’t have that. You’re my honoured guest.” The change in Grunnxe’s personality, his demeanour, jarred her. “There’s been a hog roasting for some time. I’ve tried it, and it is most delicious. I’ll send you with Higgs to change if it would please you?”
The Slowblood. Play the mad bastard’s game. “If you don’t mind, I’m quite starving. I’d be happy to dine as I am, if that please you, Your Highness?”
The sides of his mouth turned up in a delicate smile, and he nodded to her. “It matters not if it pleases me, my dear, but that it pleases you. Of course you may dine in what you wear. I’m sure the rest of my guests won’t have changed from their travels. We don’t all have a wardrobe here.” He smiled. “You know I convalesced here after your man Kalfinar had me torn open?”
Her heart leapt at the mention of his name, and then it sank when she remembered he was dead.
“I’ve fond memories of my falling in love with Balzath here. Come.” He offered her another smile, flashing his teeth this time, and then hurried down the long hall and towards the heavy doors. “It is my hope that you too will find love with Balzath here, as I did.”
A shiver of revulsion clawed its way through her belly at the thought of it.
“Higgs,” Grunnxe called out as he swung the door open and strode on out, “bring Lady Evelyne along to my dining hall.