Revenant

by Bevan McGuiness

‘That wasn’t hard,’ she muttered. Maida stopped walking, sheathed her dagger, held her hands out from her sides, and waited.

  It did not take long before the watcher decided she was indeed waiting for him and he stepped out of hiding. He was a filthy, wiry man with a mop of tangled black hair atop a hard face, wearing battered leathers. In his right hand he carried a rust-splotched sword while his left gripped a Warrior’s Claw. Maida threw back her hood and held his gaze steadily.

  The man advanced cautiously. From the way his eyes darted to a spot over her left shoulder, she realised she was being watched from behind. His eyes flicked to her right, focusing more on a spot closer to beside her than behind. A footstep sounded close behind her. Another watcher. She was surrounded and at risk.

  Nothing unusual there.

  ‘You’re new,’ the lead man said. His accent was pure old Apros. Even in two words, he declared his heritage. Maida sighed. She had been hoping to not run into any of the old Apros gangs — their vindictiveness was known throughout the world. But it was a risk she had run.

  ‘Just arrived,’ she said.

  The man sniffed ostentatiously. ‘You’re not attope,’ he concluded.

  ‘Attope?’

  ‘From outside the wall, the peasants who live and die in the mud, hoping to swell our numbers,’ he said dismissively.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why do they clamour to enter? Safety, why else?’

  ‘Safety from what?’ Maida wanted to keep him talking, to keep him from making a quick decision about her. The longer his eyes roamed over her body, the better her chances were of survival, even being accepted into the giardicatta, the tightly knit Apros criminal world. She would have to pay for her entry with sexual favours, but she had done that before.

  The man stepped back, as if to appreciate her curves the better. Maida folded her arms under her breasts, to emphasise them a little.

  ‘Who are you?’ the man asked.

  ‘Maida.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Maida of Tusemo?’

  Maida allowed herself a tiny smile as she nodded.

  ‘Ice and wind,’ the Apros man hissed.

  ‘You know of me?’ Maida asked.

  ‘Your lover, yes.’

  ‘Keshik is in the city,’ Maida assured him, allowing hope to enter her mind. Casual rape might yet be avoided.

  ‘What brings the Northern Reaver to Apros?’

  ‘Ship,’ Maida said. She had never heard Keshik referred to by any name like that before — especially given he had never been to Apros — but it did not surprise her.

  ‘I am Paraskavios,’ the man said. He raised his Claw to cover his face in a gesture very similar to one Maida had seen Slave make. ‘Are you speaking as a representative of the Reaver?’

  ‘Always,’ Maida said.

  ‘Why are you here in Apros?’

  Maida paused before answering. In truth she did not know what to say. She did not know why they were in Asnuevium, or why Keshik had left the ship. What she did know, she was not sure she wanted to tell this filthy criminal.

  ‘I asked you a question, Tusemon witch,’ Paraskavios snapped impatiently.

  ‘Witch?’ Maida said. ‘Have you even seen a witch? A Midacean witch? A Tusemon witch? How about a Mertian Eye?’

  With each example Maida gave, Paraskavios flinched visibly. Maida took a half-step forward, pressing her advantage.

  ‘Did you know there is a Mertian Eye in the city as we speak? In fact the Blindfolded Queen herself is here as well.’

  Paraskavios spat on the ground as Maida spoke. ‘Did you travel with them?’ he asked.

  ‘I did. We have come from the Hidden City.’

  ‘So why are you here?’

  ‘The Revenants.’

  Paraskavios made a coarse noise of disdain. ‘The Revenants,’ he growled. ‘Fish mongers’ tales.’

  Memories of the brutal engagement on the Tusemon plains where the Revenant had torn apart hundreds of its own people as well as slaughtering a small army of Tulugma warriors before surging into the sky to battle Slave and Myrrhini flickered through Maida’s mind. She heard again the screams of the dying, saw the bodies scattered on the cold sands of Tusemo. She could not suppress the shudder of horror that ran through her body.

  ‘I have seen a Revenant,’ she said. The images of Myrrhini rising through the air alongside Slave pursuing the hideous thing above the carnage sent new shivers through her gut. ‘I have fought it,’ she whispered. She saw in her mind again the Revenant spiralling out of control, heavily damaged, spraying black fluid from its wounds, roaring and bellowing in inarticulate rage as it plunged downward. Maida knew she would never forget the scene, especially the moment before the Revenant hit the ground, when a brilliant silver rent appeared in the fabric of the world, dragging the monster in, away from this world, leaving no trace.

  She knew she was the only one to have seen it disappear and she had not told anyone about it. The knowledge that the thing was not dead, but simply somewhere else, terrified her.

  Paraskavios looked as if he were about to respond, but something in Maida’s expression made him hesitate, seemingly uncertain.

  ‘You’d better come with me,’ he muttered.

  With a jerk of his head, he gestured at the others surrounding Maida before stalking away, deeper into the labyrinth of dark passages and winding, narrow alleys. Maida followed, taking care to pay attention to their path, just in case she needed to escape quickly. Around her, the sounds and smells of humanity filled the air, not over-poweringly, but ubiquitously. There was always a low murmur of muffled conversation, the smell of sweat and decay. She knew Slave would have been able to tell her exactly how much of what was rotting where and the nationality, age and sexual preference of the owner of every voice, but to her it was simply the evidence of too many people, too close to her.

  The thought of Slave and his unnerving abilities, possibly exaggerated a bit by Keshik’s stories, made her nervous. He was somewhere in this city with Keshik and Myrrhini, doing ice knew what. Why had he left? Why had Keshik not even spoken to her before he left with them? And since when could Myrrhini fly?

  Maida had seen Myrrhini rise through the air with Slave, it was true, but in the madness that was the battle, she had been willing to accept that there was magic all around, making the impossible happen. But to see the young woman rise to the top of the sheer wall, lifting from the deck of the Haven of Couatl like some magical bird, was something else entirely.

  ‘In here,’ Paraskavios said abruptly. He stepped aside to indicate a low doorway.

  Maida followed his direction and pushed the door open to reveal a small, dank chamber. Inside it stank of old incense and animal dung. Another man stood guarding a door opposite. He fixed Maida with a hard stare that only slightly faded when Paraskavios waved Maida in.

  ‘She needs to see the Gielden,’ Paraskavios said.

  The other guard made a sound that might have been a word, but his mouth was badly misshapen by an old scar that tore across his jaw. It seemed that most of his bottom lip had been ripped off, leaving him with a hideous, leering grin that revealed his lower teeth and most of the gums. Drool dribbled over his chin to drip onto his bare chest which was covered in the remnants of an intricate tattoo mostly destroyed by what looked like an old burn.

  He slurred something again as he moved aside to allow her entrance. Maida stepped across the room quickly to push open this second door. Paraskavios did not follow her as she started down the steep staircase beyond. The door was closed behind her, plunging her instantly into darkness.

  Maida stood motionless, straining with every sense to detect anything — movement, sound, smells — anything to give her some bearing, something to anchor her mind to. Her heart beat wildly.

  What am I doing here?

  A light danced ahead of her. A flame? A trick of my eyes?

  Whatever it was, she decided to follow it. Sliding her foot forward, she found the edge of the step and co
ntinued down. Slowly, with exquisite care, Maida followed the stairs. The dancing light ahead appeared to move away from her as if leading the way.

  The light came to a halt, its dim glow reflecting off a closed door. Maida descended the last of the steps to find herself on a small landing about two paces across. The tiny light bobbed and danced, casting a soft yellow glow over the old, iron-banded wooden door. Maida rested her hand on the wood, feeling the smoothness of extreme age, the cool of underground.

  She pushed against the door and it opened slowly, as though grudgingly, to reveal yet another room. This one, however, was warmly lit and furnished. A table with two chairs dominated the centre of the room, while tapestries hung on every wall, softening and warming it. To one side was a low couch and on the other was a closed door. The room was also inhabited. A dark-skinned woman with fair hair and green eyes looked up from her book as Maida entered.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded. There was neither fear nor concern in her voice, merely interest.

  ‘I am Maida, I was brought here by Paraskavios.’

  The woman put her book down and closed it, looking Maida up and down with a professional eye. Maida sensed the battle preparedness in the woman, noting the strength in her arms, the breadth of her shoulders and the heavy knife resting on the table, close to her hand.

  ‘Maida,’ she said, tapping her chin. ‘Maida. Now why do I recognise that name?’

  Maida said nothing, happy to wait the woman out as long as she made no move towards her knife.

  ‘Keshik,’ the woman said. ‘You’re the woman Keshik drags around the world on his nefarious activities, aren’t you?’

  Maida took a guess as to what nefarious meant and nodded. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘And I am here with him.’

  ‘Really,’ the woman said, feigning great surprise. She rose to her feet and pantomimed looking around her room, as if expecting the fighter to be hiding somewhere. ‘I can’t see him.’

  ‘I’m in the city with Keshik,’ Maida explained.

  A serious expression returned to the woman’s face as she sat down again. ‘You may be here with him, but he is not with you, is he, dear?’

  Maida felt her anger begin to rise, not just at the woman’s patronising tone, but also at the truth of her words. Keshik had left her on the ship to come into this stinking ancient city and that rankled. She went to speak, but the door to her left started to open. Reacting instinctively, she drew her dagger and dropped into a fighting crouch.

  ‘I am with her now, Bai,’ Keshik said as he walked in.

  Bai laughed, a cheerful, liquid sound totally at odds with the situation. Maida rose from her crouch and sheathed her dagger. Her mind raced as she watched Keshik. He was unharmed, looking relaxed.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ Maida snapped.

  ‘Probably the same as you,’ he replied evenly.

  ‘No grunt, Keshik?’ Bai added. ‘You are mellowing in your old age.’

  The name Keshik had used suddenly struck Maida. She turned to regard the woman more closely.

  ‘Bai?’ she said slowly. ‘Adrast said you were dead. Your daughter said you were dead.’

  A momentary flicker of sadness crossed the Gielden woman’s face, but she recovered quickly with a smile.

  ‘You’ve met my lovely Li?’ she asked.

  ‘We have. She’s very skilled.’

  ‘Of course she is.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘The day she thinks I died.’

  ‘Why did you leave?’

  ‘None of your concern, Maida of the Tusemon,’ Bai snapped. ‘You forget that you are in my city, in my home, surrounded by my men. I do not answer to you.’

  ‘Don’t threaten her,’ Keshik said flatly.

  His tone, redolent with venom, made Bai look around as though she had been slapped. Her eyes widened and Maida saw real fear in her expression. Bai gave a slight movement backward as Keshik flexed his shoulders a little, just enough to give the sense that he might be about to act. It was a masterful move; only a trained fighter would have even noticed it, and in noticing it, would have realised how dangerous Keshik was. With that one movement, Keshik established that no matter how good Bai was, he was better. And armed, and too close to escape. Any hint of old friendships giving her advantage over him was irrevocably gone.

  ‘No threat, Keshik,’ Bai said.

  Keshik grunted dismissively.

  ‘Ah, the grunt. I have missed that,’ Bai said with a hint of whimsy.

  ‘What do you want?’ Keshik said.

  ‘Last night, while you were skulking around, the Blindfolded Queen with her lap dog, Zhan Tien, made representation to the Georgiades. One that, in his wisdom, the fat old fool had no choice but to accept. As we speak, the army of the Queen and the Tulugma force with her is being unloaded. They should be arriving in the city very soon.’

  ‘Good.’

  Bai shrugged. ‘More mouths to feed in a siege, but a fighting force that should make the army at our gates pause for thought.’

  ‘What army?’ Maida asked. ‘I didn’t see any sign of an army.’

  ‘And that’s the problem — no one knows whose army it is, or what it really is.’

  ‘How can that be?’ Maida asked.

  ‘They only attack at night, and then irregularly, and their fleet stays too far out to sea to be observed closely. Nothing that leaves the city gets far, and nothing ever comes back. By land, they are letting in almost anything. At first we thought this made them stupid, but it soon became apparent that they were just starving us by letting in more to eat our food. No matter how many and what quality the fighters are, without food, no one fights well.’

  ‘But no one wins a long siege,’ Keshik muttered.

  ‘I thought so, too, but it depends on what winning means.’

  Keshik frowned for a moment before his face took on a new, troubled expression. ‘We don’t know their aims, do we?’

  Bai shook her head. ‘If it was simple conquest, they would have marched in and overrun us with a two-front attack, land and sea simultaneously, but they haven’t.’

  ‘They’re waiting for something.’

  ‘It could just be they are waiting for us to starve.’

  ‘But reinforcements — surely they are on their way?’

  ‘There has been no word of anything on the move anywhere.’

  ‘No word got out before the siege started?’

  ‘We only knew we were under siege when our fishing fleets did not return. And then the farming peasants started to turn up at the gates.’

  ‘Has anyone seen the army, or the fleet?’ Maida asked.

  ‘You are the first ships they have let through, but the word from the peasants that are allowed in each day tell the same stories of monsters that devour their prey, of unnameable horrors that stalk the night. Usual sort of superstitious nonsense.’

  ‘What if it’s not nonsense?’ Maida asked.

  ‘Of course it’s nonsense,’ Bai almost spat.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be.’ Maida faced Keshik. ‘Think about the army of the Revenant. They were mindless fighters, just fodder to use up any fighting force in a straight battle. It was the sort of army a general with no concern for casualties would want. It fits with the old stories about the Scarens: great fighters who fought without regard for casualties. The Mertians are more remembered for sorcery. An army run by a magical leader would use magical means. Monsters — real or illusory — would be its normal way, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Mertians?’ Bai mused. ‘Interesting. I hate the Mertians. Any Mertians I meet, I kill. And if that army out there is Mertian, I hope they get inside.’ She fixed Maida with an inquisitive look. ‘You have intelligence. How does that go with him?’ She jerked a thumb at Keshik.

  Maida was about to answer when there was a shout from outside. Bai rose from her chair and moved quickly to the door through which Maida had entered. She threw it open to reveal the horribly scarred man from the
top of the stairs. He slurred and drooled his way through a series of unintelligible — at least to Maida — sounds. Evidently Bai understood him because when he had finished, she spoke a few quiet words and sent him back up the stairs. Bai began to follow the man up the stairs, but hesitated, turning to face Keshik and Maida before she left the room.

  ‘Whatever they were waiting for, it’s happened. There is word from the guards on the walls. The army is on the march.’

  Maida shot Keshik a look. ‘Myrrhini?’ she asked.

  ‘Who’s Myrrhini?’ Bai demanded.

  ‘The Eye of Varuun,’ Keshik muttered. ‘She’s travelling with us.’

  ‘A Mertian witch? The Mertian witch? You brought that thing into my city?’

  Her sudden savagery, the irrational vitriol, shocked Maida. She had never heard such vehemence, such pure hatred, in her life. It was as if this woman had been taught since childhood that everything evil in the world was the fault of the Mertians. Which, Maida thought, would follow if Bai’s people were indeed Scaren.

  Bai spun on her heel and ran up the stairs without waiting for a reply, disappearing into the darkness. Maida was about to follow her when Keshik’s hand clamped onto her elbow.

  ‘Wait,’ he said.

  Maida stopped and turned on him. ‘So now you are talking to me?’ she snapped.

  Keshik let go of her arm. ‘I had to act quickly,’ he said. ‘I could not find you.’

  ‘So where’s Slave then?’

  ‘I don’t know. He lost us as soon as we got into the city.’

  For some reason that she neither knew nor understood, Maida was pleased, accepting this as fair recompense for him leaving her behind. She put her anger at his desertion behind her. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  ‘There is something wrong in this city — something dark is happening.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shapeshifters.’

  ‘There’s nothing dark about shapeshifters.’

  ‘There is in this city.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think the thing I released from Vogel is here, turning people into shapeshifters.’

  34

  Everything was different now. The time he had spent free — walking the world like a man, fighting when he had to, running when he wanted to, sleeping when he was tired, eating when he was hungry — was gone, finished like a dawn. Snuffed out like a candle. Slave knelt before Sondelle, his master again, his master always, unaware of anything but his failure, his weakness, and his disloyalty to the man who had raised him, fed him, clothed him and taught him. The power of the sorcerer’s mind overwhelmed his consciousness, reminding him of the truth of his life. He would not even be alive but for Sondelle.