The Dead Gods

by Rob Bayliss

  “To carve this house from the cliff,” Klesh muttered, “it would take many hundreds of men generations.”

  Tuan nodded and stopped in front of his comrades, facing them all. “We must be on our guard here. If this is a hidden fortress kept secret for decades, I wonder at the Khan leading us here, knowing that we are on a mission for Dominar Broud?”

  Bronic stiffened, suddenly wary. His hands tightened, gripping Blissa. His eyes flashed this way and that, as if calculating their chances of fighting their way out.

  Tamzine saw his reaction and swallowed in fear, thinking of the Khan’s words and his wink at her. “He means to keep us here.” She continued quietly, “This place will become our prison.”

  Tuan held out his palm in a sign of peace. “Our journey does not stop here, I swear it.” His hand moved to his chest, to rest on the crystal hidden beneath his tunic. “The Khan wishes a favour of us and we will hear him out. In the meantime, we play this as grateful guests, yes?” His eyes rested on Bronic.

  Bronic’s face was stern and doubtful. He flashed a quick look at Tamzine, who understood.

  “Don’t you end up being too grateful … under the glamour of Princess Karla,” she said.

  Tuan’s lips pursed as he thought deeply. “Agreed,” he said eventually. “Of course, sometimes any sapper can be hoisted by his own petard.” He smiled.

  Klesh laughed and stood next to Tuan. “I trust the Startooth holder,” he said simply.

  Tamzine and Bronic nodded and together with their companions they walked towards the tower’s entrance.

  As the covered wagons of the Khan’s household approached the tower, the two huge bronze-covered doors that guarded the entrance began to swing outward. On the polished panels, in relief, was the symbol of the Khanate, the goddess of the Vines. The symbol caught the sun as the wagons were driven over the cobbled courtyard that stood before the gates, towards the torch-lit interior.

  Tuan and his companions stood back while Queen Shareen dismounted from her wagon. Her ladies-in-waiting fussed about, directing servants in their unloading of trunks and boxes. Despite himself, Tuan tarried, seeking a sight of Princess Karla emerging from the wagon.

  ***

  　The Khan dismounted from his steed and strode through the gates to be met by the castellan of the Fortress of Tiers. Stavor and Rufen closely followed behind their lord.

  Like the Khan, the castellan sported a long beard, but his was held in an ornate plait that fell over his shirt of brightly-polished steel scale armour. His thick forearms were clad in oiled leather with strips of engraved steel. He swept off his shiny spangenhelm and knelt on one knee before his Lord. His receding, greying dark hair was closely cropped, unlike his elaborate whiskers.

  “Welcome back to the Fortress of Tiers, great Khan!” the castellan said. As he spoke, guards that were lining the entrance room slammed the butts of their spears on the stone floor and bowed their heads in reverence.

  “Bryzal!” the Khan’s voice boomed as he walked through the bronze gates. “It is good to be back.”

  The Khan reached down and grabbed the castellan’s shoulders, hauling him to his feet. He drew Bryzal to him in a bear hug, slapping his back with his huge hands, before drawing back and scrutinising the castellan.

  “How have the eastern marches faired during winter, Bryzal?”

  The castellan smiled. “The passes have been quiet throughout the winter months, my Lord. There has been no repeat of the attempted incursion of last autumn.”

  “I am glad to hear of it. We will take the battle to the enemy now the SkyCrags are in thaw. At the same time we will reap a lucrative harvest.” The Khan stopped and looked around. “Where is my son? Is he still abed? Surely he could take some time from bedding wenches to greet his father?”

  The castellan’s face revealed his concern. “No, my Khan. Lord Kreshan has taken his command here very seriously. You displayed sound judgement in appointing him as lord of the SkyCrags. He has grown into the responsibility you gave him, commanding and manning the high walls. He is currently leading a strong reconnaissance force into the passes. He has been gone for eight days so far. He is due back tomorrow. We did not expect you back here so soon, Lord Khan. Come, I have some wine simmering by a warm fire.”

  “You are the mind reader as ever, loyal Bryzal.” The Khan smiled. They walked into the fortress. They turned right into a corridor that climbed gradually to the guardhouse, to the side of the main stair that climbed in an unrelenting broad helix up to the higher levels. The castellan’s offices and quarters were situated near where he could keep a watchful eye on those that entered the fortress from the Khanate.

  “We heard that you punished the slavers you caught?” Bryzal asked.

  The Khan grunted, his face grim. “We were not able to trap enough of the sea wolves, alas. Those we caught we crucified on the headlands as a warning to the scum that prowl the whale roads. Fortunately, General Broud in Northport turned the tide and defeated the enemy by land and sea. The threat has now withdrawn … for the moment.”

  Bryzal drew his head closer to his lord’s as he lowered his voice so no other could hear. “Lord Khan, I’m sure it was only a coincidence but the possessed men and beasts only started attacking the upper walls when you took your hearth troop back to the coast.”

  “As you say, pure coincidence, Bryzal,” the Khan said as he stroked his beard in thought. To think otherwise was madness … as mad as the unfortunate possessed. “There can be no intelligence there. I refuse to believe there is any intelligence there.”

  Bryzal nodded in agreement, but his eyes betrayed his doubts.

  “Now that Taleel has once more imposed her will upon the Cheama, the threat to our coasts has gone,” the Khan said, eager to lighten the mood. “Soon traders will fill the sea again. We will sell our wines to the vintners of Cyria, but I expect that with war against Acaross, the seminary will be in need of shade spore.” Despite himself, the Khan’s face showed concern. “Kreshan should have waited for my return before venturing into the high passes.”

  “Lord Khan,” the castellan replied thoughtfully, “your son cannot stay forever in your shadow. He has fought side by side with the garrison troops on the high walls throughout the autumn. He has shared in his troops’ hardships, as you taught him to, my Lord. He was merely going to check that the passes were open.”

  The Khan smiled grimly. “You best hope my wife shares my understanding of such matters, Castellan. She will be most put out that Kreshan is not here to greet her.”

  Bryzal protested. “How can I hold back your son in front of the garrison? He is your representative in the eastern marches, my Lord.”

  The Khan laughed heartily and slapped Bryzal’s arm. “I’m jesting with you, Bryzal. Come on, man, lead me to that warm fire and the flagon of wine that you promised. Tell me more of my son’s feats of arms while I have been away.”

  Bryzal came to a door and lifted the latch. Inside the large room were furs on the floor and a warm fire. Glazed windows looked out over the enclosure between the outer walls and the tower. The castellan found a stool and dragged it by the fire, bidding his lord sit himself near the hearth. Bryzal took a spouted covered pan from near to the fire and poured the warm, red contents into two mugs. The hot liquid filled the air with the pleasant aroma of spices. He passed a mug to the Khan and sat down beside him. The hulking forms of Stavor and Rufen, who had followed at a discreet distance, took their positions on either side of the door, ever watchful over their lord.

  The Khan shook off his fur gloves so as to feel the warmth of the wine mugs on his hands. Unnoticed by Bryzal, the Khan only took a sip of his wine after the castellan had taken a deep sup. The watcher was ever careful.

  The Khan licked his lips as he tasted the hot, sweet wine. “So Bryzal, you say the possessed attacked our upper walls soon after I left for the coast? I saw some blackened trophies on the gates.”

  Bryzal looked into the fire, the light reflected in
his eyes. “Yes, my Lord, any manner of beasts and men. Some had been under the influence for some time, judging from their deformities. For three days and nights they came at the walls in waves.”

  “I wonder what caused them to be pushed in our direction?” the Khan mused. “They spread like weeds, blown in our direction likes seeds on the wind.”

  The Kahn watched the castellan closely, who in turn looked down unhappily upon the wine sloshing in his mug before taking another drink, the crackle of the flames in the brazier the only reply to the Khan’s statement. The Khan placed his mug on the floor.

  “What is it Bryzal, old friend, what troubles you?” he offered over a long pause.

  The castellan sighed, his eyes fixed on his mug. “I know what I am about to say sounds as mad as the possessed but ….” He looked up, his eyes meeting the Khan’s. “I can only say what I saw, what we all saw. They came at us in such numbers, my Lord. Many of them were once desert tribesman from beyond the SkyCrags. Those ones carried muskets and even appeared to shoot at the men atop the walls.”

  “Just random shooting, surely?” the Khan said slowly, unnerved by the castellan’s seriousness.

  “That is what we first thought, but they were aimed, my Lord. We learned the hard way to take cover behind the battlements from their shooting. And not just that: possessed mammoths and other beasts attempted to ram the gates and pile on top of each other to climb the wall. Some got high enough to send tendrils over the walls. Those that they grabbed ….” The castellan shivered in the memory. “The horror of the change of those ensnared was too much for many.”

  The Khan reached down for his mug, noticing that his hand shook slightly. “Bryzal, are you are saying this was no stampede, but a coordinated attack?” he asked quietly.

  The castellan nodded. “I have served you here, have guarded the passes and fought these monstrosities for many years, Lord Khan, and yes this was not a random spread of possessed spawn; this was a serious attempt to breach our walls. It came very close to succeeding, too. It was your own son that kept the fight going, my Lord. You should be proud. He urged the men not to run, to meet every challenge the possessed presented to us, despite the need to kill our own, once infected.”

  The Khan took a sip of wine, concentrating on steadying his hand without success. “How long was it before the spore caused the dead to rise?” The quivering of his hand caused some wine to drip from his lips and down his beard. He brushed it off in irritation.

  The castellan’s eyes returned to the fire. “Very quickly. Within ten minutes they turned on their former comrades. It was hard to get the men to smash the base of the skull of those who moments before had been friends, lest they change. Those that fell to the earth seemed to root and grow into monstrous things. Our guns blew chunks of their altered flesh off them yet still they came. We had cleansing fires of the corpses and burned those who were once human in separate funeral pyres outside of the upper walls. We did not dare bury them.”

  “How many of our own did we lose, old friend?”

  Bryzal turned his gaze sadly from the fire. “We lost thirty seven in all, but I dread to think what would have happened if the fortress had not been here. All of the Summerlands could have fallen to the spawn plague.”

  “By the Goddess,” the Khan exclaimed, “so many! It has been a hard year on the Khanate, a hard year on the entire Summerlands for that matter.”

  The Khan stood up and walked about the castellan’s room, speaking his thoughts aloud.

  “What has happened to make them target us so? The plague has always been in that high valley of theirs, entrapping those who blundered in, taking their minds and bodies. It has long been known that the shade spore has magical properties and we have carefully harvested it for much profit. But it is just a fungus, a parasite. Occasionally a plague carrier would stumble into the Khanate, but a concerted effort to attack us? That would suggest that this thing thinks!” He snorted in derision.

  Bryzal poured some more hot wine into his mug. “My Lord, I can only report what I saw, and all I can think of is the incursion by Acaross. We were only attacked when you had been drawn back to the coast to deal with the pirates and slavers that accompanied the Acaross fleet in the Cheama. We can only count ourselves fortunate that your grandfather instigated the building of this citadel.”

  The Khan took his seat by the hearth once more, staring into the glowing coals, his voice subdued and reflective. “It was supposed to be a stepping stone towards pushing our influence beyond the SkyCrags. I see you have built a fire trap on the inside of the lower outer walls.”

  Bryzal nodded as he picked up the Khan’s mug to refill it with warm wine. “Lord Kreshan commanded its construction through the winter. He feared greatly what the thaw would bring after the probing attacks of late autumn.”

  The Khan sighed deeply. “It must have been bad, if Kreshan thought that necessary.”

  The castellan handed the mug back to the Khan, who nodded his thanks. “It was merely your son being cautious and wishing to buy the Khanate, and the Summerlands, as much time as possible, if the worst had happened. He ordered the digging of similar fire pits outside the upper walls, but that requires hewing into the rock itself.” The castellan paused, concerned about his lord’s change of mood from his good humour upon his arrival. “The Khanate’s destiny will be fulfilled, my Lord, now is the time; the Empire is not as strong as it pretends to be, if the tales we have heard of their humbling on the Cheama are true.”

  The Khan’s grim visage began to lighten. “Indeed, and the eyes of Taleel are fixed firmly on Acaross to the south, despite the near loss of their northern holdings. General Broud in Northport sent a delegation to discuss matters. I reminded our de-facto dominar that we are an ally of the Empire, no mere subjects.”

  The castellan smiled. “How will the provincial government in Northport take this news, Lord Khan?”

  The Khan turned from the fire to face the castellan, the dancing flames on the hot coals reflected in his sparkling eyes. “General Broud is a realist. The armies of Taleel are gathered on Cyria, and he has to work with us. Together we guard the Summerlands. Whatever he may wish, I intend to push the borders of the Khanate beyond the SkyCrags … in the name of the Emperor, of course.”

  “Absolutely, my Khan,” laughed the castellan. “We are loyal servants of the Emperor. However,” he said, pausing. “We must contain the plague first, upon your son’s return from his reconnaissance of the high passes.”

  “Indeed, loyal Bryzal,” the Khan replied. “But I am contemplating more than mere containment, more likely the near eradication of a troublesome weed. Of course we shall keep some alive for harvesting. The seminary pays us too well to turn our backs on the trade completely.”

  The castellan looked puzzled. “But how can we do this? Every time we fight the plague we lose men. To eradicate it would require us to go out in force to seek battle with it. We could lose our entire force, which would turn against us, dooming the Khanate.”

  “Do not fret, Bryzal,” chuckled the Khan. “Accompanying Broud’s delegation was an odd collection of companions newly called to the Imperial banners: one Turanesci, two Gewichas and a Flinter. They are travelling over the SkyCrags to the eastern lands beyond on a quest for General Broud.”

  The castellan looked confused. “A Flinter? I haven’t seen a Flinter since I was a boy. But how will this help us against the plague?”

  The Khan’s eyes gleamed as he took a deep draught of the warming wine he held in his hands. “The Gewichas trooper just happens to wield a Sun Shard.”

  “A Sun Shard!” Bryzal’s jaw dropped. “Wielded by the Gewichas, not the Flinter?”

  The Khan nodded in answer. Bryzal’s head spun; a Flinter and a Sun Shard wielder? The legends were coming to life. Truly the reign of Khan Chenkish was blessed.

  “If half the legends of such items are true,” the castellan said earnestly, “then such a sorcerer would be a great asset to the Khanate, great Lor
d, and you could carry the Summerlands with you, extinguishing forever the Fire God in our lands.”

  The Khan knocked his mug against the castellan’s in salute. “Good, loyal Bryzal, we think alike, you and I.”

  Bryzal did not immediately join his Khan in drinking; instead he stroked his long plaited beard in contemplation. “You say he is on a quest? How will you turn him from this and make him a subject and loyal servant of yours?”

  The Khan grinned. “My daughter is working on that!”

  Bryzal laughed out aloud and drained his mug. Poor bastard! He thought, picturing Princess Karla in his mind. Poor, lucky bastard!

  Suddenly a noise reverberated around the halls and passages of the citadel, the low sound of a horn that could be heard throughout the fortress and hung in the air echoing around the cliff face. Clouds of black, feathered birds were sent fluttering and squawking in alarm. Men ran from barracks in the courtyard, grabbing weapons to reinforce their comrades in the upper tiers.

  Bryzal’s mug fell from his hand to smash into clay shards about his feet.

  The Khan leapt to his feet. “What is it?”

  “The upper walls!” the castellan said, the fear plain in his voice. “The plague has come again!”

  Chapter 14

  Tuan and his companions walked calmly towards the imposing gateway to the tower in trepidation. The Khan had already entered, to much fanfare, and the covered wagons containing his household followed closely behind to unload their human cargo in the covered inner ward. While the Khan walked deeper into the tower in discussion with his castellan, servants busied themselves around the wagons. First to emerge was the elegant Queen Shareen and her handmaidens. Sentries and servants alike bowed in reverence to the mother of the Khanate. Unsure of how to proceed into the fortress, Tuan, Bronic, Tamzine and Klesh tarried in the inner ward. Klesh attempted to hide behind the huge frame of Bronic, the mute Turanesci giant, and wore his hood over his head to disguise his Flint folk features.