The Dead Gods

by Rob Bayliss

  The Grand Mage clasped his arm and smiled, hiding the concern he carried for his friend in his mind. “Have no worry for your brother my friend, until we meet again,” he said, reading his friend’s thoughts and hoping his words would grow and yield fruit.

  Braebec’s eyes shone from within his hood as he released the Grand Mage’s hand. “Come Morcan,” he said, and strode through the gateway with purpose.

  It seemed that the only tradesmen currently at work were street hawkers selling breads, pies and cold meat delicacies. All other businesses remained shut, their shop fronts closed, doors and windows shuttered and barred. There were plenty of people on the streets but none sought the services of smith, carpenter or glass blower. Some folk staggered about, barely sentient after a night of revelry. As Braebec and Morcan walked the streets towards the docks of Taleel, the alleys became more and more densely packed. People crowded toward the Imperial Sea Road, a broad, cobbled highway that climbed from the docks and wound up the hillside toward the Senate beyond the seminary. As the two alchemists threaded their way through the milling crowds there were shouts and curses behind them. A squad of the City Guard came pounding down the street, their armour and weapons clinking as they jogged, shoving people to either side. The sergeant leading them wore a grim expression, swearing at the populace to move aside. The men he led wore looks of anxious concern, anticipating orders that would try their loyalties.

  “Quickly, Morcan, with those troopers!” Braebec urged, and the two alchemists ran from the side of the street to join the squad.

  “Sergeant!” Braebec called in a commanding voice, stepping in front of the man and throwing his hood from his head. The sergeant’s eyes narrowed up in anger as he prepared to swear and threaten violence to this impudent civilian, yet there was something about the inquisitor’s face and piercing eyes that stopped him in his tracks.

  “Sergeant, I am Inquisitor Conziva, and this is Alchemist Tavili. We must get to the dockyards, or we will miss our ship. We are on urgent seminary business. Do I have permission to join you?” Braebec asked, with an air of Imperial authority.

  The sergeant gulped. Here was an inquisitor, and he had been about to launch a tirade of abuse at him. They could kill with one touch, it was rumoured. “By all means, Lord Conziva. We can take you as far as the Wheel Road. You can access the shipyards from there.”

  “We are in your debt, sergeant,” Braebec said, his features displaying serenity and gratitude. “Morcan, get in the ranks with these troopers.”

  Morcan and Braebec joined the troopers. The men looked at them with a mixture of wariness, but also gratitude, as if the Fiery One himself had bestowed his blessings upon them through this chance encounter, even though they might end this day with the blood of civilians on their hands. It hardened their hearts, and they took on fiercely stern expressions, as if the inquisitor had taught them the skill of masks. Now, when the sergeant bellowed for the milling populace to clear the way, one look at the warriors’ steely intent was enough to gain instant compliance. Maintaining a steady jog with the squad meant that the two alchemists moved through the crowds much more quickly than they would have alone. Soon, they had traversed the crisscrossing lanes that followed the contours of the seminary plateau and joined with the Imperial Sea Road. They had to force their way through the throng of chanting people and a cordon of troopers to gain access to the road. It was along this highway that the procession of shame was making its way to the Senate steps, where the Emperor himself was due to pass judgement.

  “We’ll leave you and your companion here, Lord Inquisitor. Good luck on your journey,” the sergeant said urgently, as the noise of the crowd got louder.

  “Thank you, Sergeant. May the Fiery One guide your hands and judgement this day,” Braebec said, wearing a mask of solemnity.

  The sergeant was forming his squad into a spearhead formation, so as to help push the procession forward up the road through the gathering multitudes. The cordon was moving up, containing the procession. Morcan looked at the pathetic sight.

  Wearing rough sack cloths and heavily dusted with ashes came the recipients of the crowd’s hatred. They were Martekt Sligo’s aged parents, Lord and Lady Sligo, and the shamed dominar’s younger brother and sister. Behind them, the Lord Sligo’s servants carried sacks of gold coin. Every so often a handful of coins would be cast into the crowd in an effort to assuage their anger, but the only responses so far were insults and words of hatred. There were cries of “Treacherous blood!” and “Death to the enemies of Taleel!” Castration was threatened to the brother, while threats of rape and murder were hurled at the girl. Old Lord Sligo tried to march with dignity. He walked manfully, as rotten fruit and vegetables were hurled at him, colouring his ashen appearance so he seemed a blood-streaked ghost. Lady Sligo followed, the tears making rivulets through the ash on her face as she contemplated the end of their dynasty. Inwardly, she cursed her son for bringing this cruel fate upon them.

  Braebec’s hand fell upon Morcan’s shoulder, stirring him from contemplation of the cruel scene. He looked into Braebec’s sorrowful eyes; surely he could see this was wrong? How could these people be guilty when Martekt had betrayed the Emperor for his own ends, with no thought toward his family in Taleel? Braebec was an inquisitor, could he not do something?

  As if reading Morcan’s thoughts, Braebec shook his head sadly. He turned away to leave the cordon, moving through the less densely packed dock side of the road towards Wheel Road. Morcan looked back, praying silently to the Fiery One for mercy, before following Braebec, leaving the screaming and cursing behind him.

  They headed through the side streets and sloped snickelways of alehouses and food stores that served the dockside workers, fishermen, traders and sailors. Here, in a world dictated to by wind and tide, work carried on, regardless of events in the city. They had made good time in the company of the troopers, but Morcan’s stomach reminded him that he was yet to have breakfast.

  “Braebec, can we not stop here for some food and ale?” Morcan asked hopefully as they passed the entrance to The Tipsy Mermaid alehouse, the smell of bacon, sausages and stale ale wafting from its dark, smoky interior.

  “There will be food for sale on the Wheel Road. Have you ever been down there?” Braebec asked, leading a reluctant Morcan from the welcoming alehouse down some snaking-covered alleyway steps.

  “Now you mention it, no. I’ve never had a reason for going down Wheel Road, though I’ve seen the comings and goings in the Haven around Cannon Road from the seminary walls,” Morcan replied thoughtfully.

  “You are in for a shock then. Cannon Road is the naval wheelhouse and dockyard. You don’t see the commercial harbour and docks properly from the seminary plateau. This is the real heart of the Empire. Forget the fleet, forget the military encampments, forget the Senate, forget the Shrine of the Sacred Flame. Here is where the world and the Empire meet,” Braebec said, his eyes sparkling and catching the blindingly bright light that shone up from the opening of the alleyway a few steps below them.

  Emerging from the dark alleyway, Morcan had to blink to adjust to the brightness. The two companions stepped out onto a wide, cobbled plaza that was surrounded by buildings, which served as warehouses, store rooms, auction houses, money lenders and dormitories. To the south, the wide Wheel Road climbed up into the city. To the north, it extended out into the centre of the Haven and the massive aurochs-powered wheelhouse, which was capable of winding the spring engines of many ships at the same time. All the while, laden carts traversed from the docks. Some headed to the store rooms; some waited to climb Wheel Road when the road was clear; and others, carrying ores, stones or coal were unloaded near the spring elevator that hauled the heavy goods up steel rails to the city.

  Empty carts turned and travelled back to the docks while others, stacked high with fodder or barrels of water, were destined to help feed and water the beasts that powered the Haven’s wheelhouse. All around, street vendors cooked foods over open stoves. The ai
r was filled with the spice-laden aroma of different cuisines from the Empire. The shouts, curses and songs of different tongues and dialects shattered any semblance of peace.

  Braebec laughed when he saw Morcan’s dumbfounded expression. “Seven years in the seminary and you never ventured down here? In truth it is hidden from view, but welcome to the world, Morcan!” Braebec guided Morcan to a tall dark-skinned street hawker standing under an ornately patterned tarpaulin. He had a log-fuelled bronze oven on wheels and clay pots full of delicious-smelling foods, which made Morcan’s mouth water in anticipation.

  The food vendor grinned widely at Braebec, showing the gaps in his teeth. “Braebec my friend! You are boarding a ship? Had enough of prayers and incantations or escaping the procession in the city above?” he asked in the thick accent of Attana.

  “Indeed, Bagharum. I’m travelling north, to the Cheama Sea and the world beyond,” the inquisitor replied.

  “Is the world ready for you again, I wonder? Are you here for food? I have spiced lamb with apricots and almonds,” he said, lifting a clay lid from a bubbling pot.

  Braebec smiled as he saw Morcan breathe the aroma in deeply, looking at the food in interest. “Yes, Bagharum, I think my companion’s stomach has made our decision. Two portions please.” He reached for his moneybag, but his hand was stopped by Bagharum’s.

  “No, my friend, it is on the house. I and many others are in your debt. Although it may be long years ago, it was you who rid the Wheel Road docks of the city Alley Rats. They have never returned. The terror of fire is remembered, I think,” the vendor said, while ladling great spoonfuls of stewed lamb into carved wooden bowls. He grabbed two small breads that were keeping warm on the oven and put one in each of the bowls. He handed them to the two alchemists. Morcan blew on his bowlful to cool it, using the bread to spoon the food into his mouth. He tried the first mouthful hesitantly at first and then hungrily tucked into the food, with much relish.

  Bagharum thumbed at Morcan. “His first taste of Attana cooking?” he asked, winking at Braebec. “And now you take him to the land of boiled leeks and gristly mammoth!”

  Braebec laughed. “At least he will now have the memory of your cooking, Bagharum. It is as good as I remember.”

  “Thank you, my Lord Braebec,” Bagharum said, stirring at the pots and wiping his hands on his stained apron. He paused then, as if considering things. “But my friend does not take a navy vessel on seminary business? You seek a trader, or something less obvious?”

  “Indeed, Bagharum, something more … subtle. We are travelling forth without fanfare,” Braebec said, looking into Bagharum’s eyes as if trying to discern what he knew, or thought that he knew. “We are heading north on the Windsprite. Do you know it?”

  Bagharum began to chuckle to himself. “So that is Captain Horvine’s business is it? The Windsprite is an alchemist’s ship. I wondered how it is he keeps a crew and ship afloat and in coin, yet seems only to transport two-legged cargo and a few barrels of sacramental wine.”

  Braebec’s eyes narrowed. “Bagharum, my friend you may be, but you see too much.”

  Bagharum saw the seriousness in the inquisitor’s eyes, but he laughed all the same. “These eyes watch the comings and goings on the Wheel Road between sea and city. I tally in my mind the success or failure of each captain’s voyage. It passes the time while I stir my pots and chop meat. I need something to occupy my thoughts. I have never been one for philosophy. Besides, I need to know who among my clients I can extend credit to, for food between transactions. And also, who can supply me with rare … commodities?” He grinned. “I will be more forgiving of Captain Horvine and his crew between pay days from now on.”

  “Yes, you should be,” Braebec said, once more wearing his mask of friendliness. He scooped the last of the stew onto his bread and put it in his mouth. He handed the wooden bowl back to the dark-skinned Attani. “Delicious, Bagharum. Until we meet again, may your fires never grow cold. Come on, Morcan, finish up. We have a tide to catch!”

  “Farewell, Lord Braebec,” Bagharum said, taking the bowl from Morcan. He watched the pair as they strode down Wheel Road towards the berth of Windsprite. He smiled to himself, then returned to his pots, as sailors and traders milled around in the plaza. “Lamb stew! Lamb stew! A real taste of Attana, the breakfast of alchemists. Three bronze coins a bowl!”

  The two alchemists walked in silence, dodging the constant traffic that threaded up and down Wheel Road as they sought the Windsprite berthed at the Wheel House. It was Morcan who broke the silence. “Lord … Braebec ….” Try as he might, he could not get used to addressing the inquisitor by his forename. “What did you two mean by something more subtle? I would have thought we would have travelled north on a navy vessel, with a squad of inquisition guards.”

  Braebec sighed. “There is much for us to do in Northport and beyond. We are to have you accepted as General Broud’s alchemist, to reassure him that all is well and that he should remain as acting dominar in this time of uncertainty. By his actions and honour it is he, more than loyalty, holding the Northern Holdings to Taleel. The Senate has only the slightest of inklings as to how close we came to losing them to Acaross. We could have sent a full inquisition with Imperial decrees to Northport … but we need General Broud’s trust, to assure him that he is held in high esteem, that his loyalty is not in question. Amusing is it not? That he proved his loyalty by rebelling against Dominar Sligo?” Braebec paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. “Once ensconced, we are to investigate what Holwyn the alchemist was doing for Sligo. We will catalogue his books and manuscripts, as he stole some materials from the seminary library. Finding out what their dealings were may supply us with a clue. Somehow all this is interlinked: Holwyn, Sligo’s rebellion, the Acaross incursion and the presence of shadows on the Cheama.”

  Morcan shivered, remembering the events of the night before in the Grand Mage’s hidden chamber. There was magic in the world, certainly. Dark and dangerous magic.

  Lost in his thoughts, Morcan barely noticed the change in the background noise: from the general hubbub of hawkers, traders, auctioneers and sailors to the low grind of the wheel and the clack of gears and cogs in the wheelhouse ahead. There was also the clatter of a multitude of hooves on the cobbles, sound of shouts, and the cracking of whips and low bellows. The gangs of harnessed aurochs came into view, moving steadily around as they made another turn. The Wheel House was open to the elements, apart from the tiled roof that kept the rain off the beasts. Shallow channels ran from the building floor, taking the dung and urine out to be disposed of in the sea. Emerging from the roof was the engine house, fully enclosed apart from a window looking up Wheel Road. Inside were the gears, transmitting the power on long turning spindles and to spread out along the moorings, like the fingers on a hand above the causeways to the moorings in the Haven.

  Braebec took the second left, deftly skipping over a channel full of the filth of beasts. Above his head a spindle turned relentlessly. At each berthing, bay gears and cogs fed the energy to the moored ships along a turning axle. There was a steady ticking where the springs were being wound. The ones being wound sat heavy in the water, their holds full of cargo for Imperial ports on distant shores.

  Three ships along, the Windsprite was moored. Her crew were disengaging the powering axle, her spring wound and ready. She was a typical spring ship, not like the massive new ironclads that clustered around the Cannon Road Wheel House. Her spring was in the centre of her housing under bronze plates, a central mast and topsail protruding from the top. On either side were the wheels of spring-driven paddles with beams above them where port and starboard sails would open like the wings of a swan. She was similar to the old fashioned ships of war, but narrower, with only limited light cannon on either side. Her aft was covered and provided discreet housing for her human cargo. She had no great tri-guns protruding from her bows; she was built for speed, not war; an arrow to fly true across the windswept seas.

 
Captain Horvine met the alchemists as they walked the gangplank onto his ship. He bowed low. He was a thin man with a well-groomed black beard that was peppered with grey. His short-cropped hair would have been black once too, but had yielded to silver some years before.

  “Lord Conziva, it is an honour to take you across the ocean. Quarters are ready for you and your companion. We will set sail at once.”

  “Thank you, Captain. We will stay on deck as we cast off, as I wish to view Taleel. I know not when I will return,” Braebec said. Or if? Braebec stopped himself from following that line of thought any further. “Come, Morcan, you will have never seen Taleel from the sea before.”

  “Cast off! We have the tide!” Captain Horvine yelled to his crew.

  The gangplank was raised. The thick ropes that tethered the Windsprite to her berth were released by the dockhands, and hauled aboard by the ship’s crew. Her starboard side paddle began to churn slowly, grabbing great scoops of water and gradually taking her away from the causeway and her moorings. The Windsprite’s bows swung out to point into the Haven waters. Her port side paddle began to churn in unison with the other and she moved forward, picking up speed.

  Braebec and Morcan looked over the port side towards Taleel. Free of the forest of traders and vessels that clustered around the Wheel Road docks, the Windsprite passed the Cannon Road naval docks. Moored here were the pride of the fleet, the twenty new massive ironclads. They dwarfed the other, more traditional warships that were moored around, and the small Windsprite herself. They were clad in metal, the decks broad in the beam as they had three hulls, enabling them to enclose their paddles and protect them from shot and shell. They bristled with huge retractable demi-culverin tri-guns: three in the bow and four on either side, as well as other smaller calibre cannon. These leviathans had no masts; they were entirely spring driven. The empire had learned from the burning ships of Tahlinjin some ten years earlier.