by Rob Bayliss
Realisation spread on Braebec Conziva’s face. “So it was a Sun Shard that cleansed the alchemist’s cell at Northport and this ruin we stand in, too, I should think.” Braebec’s face hardened as he addressed the sergeant. “I would like to meet this Tuan, this bush priest of yours … where is he, Sergeant? You know our history; we fought a long war against the Summerlanders and their heathen crystals. I could drag you back to Taleel for such heresy.”
“You could …” Tovey answered fiercely, “but it’s not going to happen, Lord Conziva.” There was a slow ringing of steel as the sergeant drew his sword from its sheath.
Braebec’s hand hovered near the opening of his cloak as he slowly backed away from the sergeant. Suddenly the young alchemist beside them broke the tension.
“He has come,” Morcan said, emerging from his trance and looking towards the entrance.
“Sergeant!” Cardich hissed urgently as he backed towards the others, his halberd held out in front of him.
There was a hissing rattle and the smack of webbed feet slapping the oozing mud as a vast dark shape entered the ruin.
“By the Fiery One!” Tovey exclaimed.
It was an abomination that advanced into the ruin. The natural order of the universe paused, suspended and forgotten by the hellish insanity that was once Lord Sheerak of Acaross. The only true humanity he retained was in his stature, walking with difficulty on his hind legs. His flesh was grey, with the wet texture of the salamander. His hands tapered into claws; his face was elongated and bestial.
“Stay back!” Cardich commanded, lowering his halberd with a mind to gutting the monster, but this was no mere, unthinking beast. Still it advanced. Cardich thrust his pole arm forward.
The creature’s body dodged the deadly point and Cardich found only air. Its claws swept at the halberds’ shaft, knocking it from the trooper’s grasp. The other clawed hand reached out, the claws raked Cardich’s breastplate with a piercing screech. Without his armour his vital organs would have been drawn from his body. Cardich jumped back against a pile of rubble.
The creature pursued him with frightening speed, raising its hand to smash the trooper to the ground. With a roar Sergeant Tovey leapt forward to defend Cardich, swinging his sword. The blade bit into the creature’s upper arm, causing wisps of shadow to fall from the wound instead of blood. The creature was not slowed by the cut, its unnatural flesh beginning to knit back together almost instantly. Remembering a skill from its past life the creature snatched up Cardich’s halberd and swung it at the sergeant.
Sergeant Tovey ducked as the axe blade cut through the air above his helmet. Almost instantly the creature swung a backstroke, this time with the armour piercing thorn poised to smash through Tovey’s helm. The sergeant desperately scrambled to dive to one side.
There was a sudden burst of light that split the darkness. The inquisitor held out his hands in front of the creature‘s face. A bright blue ball of flame lit the air before the inquisitor’s palms, causing the creature to stagger back, dropping the pole arm, as the light seared through its inhuman eyes into the soulless pit of its being. Its arms flayed wildly as if trying to extinguish the blue flame, its eyes tightly shut.
The inquisitor advanced, maintaining the ball of light before his palms.
“Back, monster, I summon Sheerak, the man hidden in your form.”
Suddenly the creature grew still; its breath rattled as its chest heaved and its head moved slightly from side to side as if listening, its eyes still tightly shut.
All around the ruin, torches flared into life as the squad of troopers moved to surround the ambush site. Captain Treal came into the light cast by the fire; at his side was Trooper Curnen, the best shot in Northport. His musket was primed and loaded, his match aglow.
The inquisitor took another step forward. “I repeat, I summon the man Sheerak.”
On hearing the inquisitor’s voice a clawed hand shot out and grabbed the Fire Priest tightly by the throat. The blue fire faded and died and the inquisitor fought for breath. The creature, Sheerak, pulled the inquisitor closer to itself. Its other hand hovered close to the inquisitor’s face, the claws crawling up the man’s cheeks towards his eyes. The creature looked up at the troopers gathered around; its mouth moved and a strange noise emanated from its throat as it struggled to find words and form speech from its inhuman mouth.
“Is the beast talking? What the fuck is he saying?” Captain Treal demanded.
Sergeant Tovey ran to the fire and hauled the cowering apothecary to his feet. “He speaks in your tongue, darkness take you, translate or I’ll feed you to him one slice at a time!”
The apothecary’s face was ashen; his head shook in disbelief at what he saw. He remembered the dying Lord Sheerak brought to the Lazaret, his face putrefied and infected as marsh fever had ravaged his wounds. There had been little he could do for him, but perhaps ease his passing, yet Lord Sheerak, a lover of cruelties and torture, a renowned warrior of Acaross, had feared death, choosing instead to yield his soul to the Messiah of Shadows and heal his fever-wrecked and disfigured form. The Messiah had accepted the trade and a bargain had been struck. Lord Sheerak would never know a mortal death, his soul forever lost in the dark sea of shadows that nourished the dark god of Acaross. The apothecary had been horrified by the concept back then and now the true horror of the terrible price paid by Lord Sheerak was only too apparent.
Tovey dragged the reluctant captive forward between the ring of troopers to stand before the abomination of nature. The apothecary’s legs shook. The beast noticed him, turning its head; its inhuman eyes regarded him, the light of recognition showing in them. The beast’s whole body shook, laughing as it looked at him. The apothecary felt the creature’s eyes strip away his flesh to look at his naked soul. He felt the warm trickle of his urine on his legs as his bladder emptied in fear. The beast that once was Sheerak clumsily spat out words in the tongue of Acaross.
“What does the monster say?” shouted Tovey, his hand tightly gripped around his sword.
“Lord Sheerak commands you to drop your weapons and leave his domain or …” the apothecary said, swallowing hard, “he will blind the Fire Priest.”
“No deal,” Captain Treal snarled. “It will be the last thing this creature does before we send him to his hell.”
“Wait!” a young voice shouted.
Walking up to the beast, the young alchemist, Morcan Tavili, showed no fear. He addressed Sheerak, his eyes looking unblinking into the monster’s, his voice showing no fear. “You will release the Lord Inquisitor immediately or I will inflict the utmost pain upon you. You think you’re immortal and immune to it? I will prove it is otherwise so.”
Morcan turned towards the apothecary, “Tell this foul abomination what I said.”
The apothecary translated the alchemist’s words. They were met with inhuman laughter and a torrent of guttural growls peppered with barely discernible words.
“I have the wolf, what threat is there from this mere pup?” The apothecary translated. “He dazzled me with his blue fire, I will take his eyes and let him walk in my world of shadows.”
The creature’s claws hovered above the inquisitor’s eyes. Through his strangled gasps for breath Braebec gave a sigh of despair, preparing himself to be consigned to the eternal darkness.
“Sondat ar rabicoum.” Morcan spoke clearly and calmly, his fingers outstretched, pointing toward the beast. The beast’s laughter ended abruptly. Its claws released the inquisitor as they clutched at its own head, its inhuman voice bellowing in pain. From its nostrils and tightly shut eyes wisps of steam and smoke arose, the foul smell of burning flesh mixed with the sweet aroma of the roasting venison.
Sergeant Tovey rushed forward, reaching down to grab the coughing inquisitor’s arm and hauling him a safe distance from the beast.
“Bring that foul fucking creature down,” Captain Treal commanded.
The beast Sheerak screamed all the more, as the troopers ran forward and rai
ned blows upon him with halberd shafts and musket butts. They only stopped when the creature was pummelled into silent unconsciousness.
***
“The beast stirs; put more wood on the fire, make it nice and hot. We have Fire Rites to perform and we have Lord Conziva, a seminary inquisitor, to commune with the Fiery One.” Captain Treal stood with his hands on his hips regarding the beast Sheerak, strapped to the wooden frame in front of the roaring flames.
Troopers hurled more fuel onto the fire. Their prey caught, troopers were now enjoying the roast venison, licking their fingers as the rich juices dripped from the meat they greedily tore at.
Sergeant Tovey was walking around those gathered, pouring measures of fire wine into cups with a smile on his face. It would help keep out the cold as the drizzle-sodden marsh night closed around them and loosen the inhibitions of the worshippers of the Fire God, although last year’s Summerlander recruits still held to their heathen ways. So far their mission had been a success; they had captured their quarry without loss to the 1st Cheamas. Meat, wine and a roaring fire; life could be good under the banners. This night their comrades who fell at the feet of this monster would be avenged. Tovey’s smile grew broader.
Braebec Conziva ran his hand around his neck; it was bruised and scratched by Sheerak’s claws. He had been most fortunate; were it not for the young alchemist he could have been blinded or throttled by the beast lashed to the framework before him. All things happen for a reason. He had taught his acolyte the ability to project fire during their voyage north and it was quick thinking on the young alchemist’s part, enabling the quick disabling of the beast Sheerak. Boiling the creature’s brains had been a brilliant idea! As was usual with shadow immortals its foul flesh was recovering, killing this soulless creature and extracting information from it would be difficult. He had doubted the beast Sheerak’s intelligence before; he would not underestimate his foe again. Sheerak had been a cruel and clever being as a man; such qualities still resided under the bestial flesh he now wore.
“Welcome to our encampment, Lord Sheerak of Acaross,” Braebec said. He looked at the apothecary and waited for him to translate.
The beast Sheerak merely looked down upon the inquisitor in sullen silence, trying to shift its salamander weight lashed to the framework. Its skin was drying out in front of the fierce flames, despite the incessant rain. The inquisitor found it satisfying that the heat was causing the foul creature to experience discomfort.
“Not talkative then, Lord Sheerak, for that is your name, is it not?” Braebec continued, his face a mask of malice. “No matter, you will be talkative soon, I assure you. For behold, here is a fire and I am a fire priest; you may cast long shadows but I shall shrivel them with the power of the flames.”
The apothecary translated. The creature snarled its response, all the time testing the bonds that pinned it to the framework. It looked at the inquisitor and then directed its ire towards the apothecary. Even without a clear knowledge of the creature’s speech, Braebec knew it was expletive laden. The face of the apothecary went white and he shook in fear.
“What did he say to you?” Braebec demanded.
The apothecary shook his head, backing away from the beast Sheerak.
“What did he say to you?” Braebec commanded again. The apothecary found his escape barred by the form of Captain Treal, his face grim, his dagger drawn.
The shadows seemed to draw around them all despite the roaring flames; their height seemed to shrink as the beast laughed its cruel laugh.
“What did I say to him, you ask priest?” Sheerak spoke in the common tongue, causing the troopers all around to gasp in disbelief, their celebratory mood dispelled. Silence reigned; all that could be heard was the crackle of the fire, which seemed to slow and weaken. Only Braebec looked unsurprised.
“So the charade is over then, Lord Sheerak? I thought it strange that Acaross would send one to conquer the Northern Holdings without the speech to command the conquered. What did you say to cause your fellow countryman such fright?” As Braebec spoke, his hand slipped inside his cloak, barely perceptibly, to emerge again hanging against his thigh, balled into a fist.
“Fellow countryman?” Sheerak spat. “He has betrayed his god and his people. His soul is forfeit. His soul will not join his ancestors in the grey lands beyond death. He will be consumed by the one beyond the stars. What remains of him will be defecated into the boundless abyss of oblivion.” Sheerak’s bestial mouth drew wide as he grinned grotesquely; his pallid flesh glowing red in the fire’s dying embers. “As will you all here, and all who oppose the Corpse Lord. You mere mortals are here but for a short time, but an eternity can be found in the stomach pit of shadows, an eternity, during which your souls are digested. This traitor is lost to the world of light already; let me free and you will be unmarked, for a time; you can live out your heathen lives until the Messiah of Shadows claims your souls at your deaths. There is no place for you after your meaningless lives; you are destined to be mere excrement in the darkest nothingness, to join the fate of all those you have ever loved.”
As the light of the fire shrank down the beast grew redder and loomed larger, while the shadows grew darker.
“Enough!” Braebec said, casting his hand over the fire and drawing symbols in the air. There was a crack like thunder and in the centre of the fire a ball of flames grew in brightness, twisting like a ball of fiery snakes as it concentrated. The hem of the inquisitor’s cloak flapped as the fire drew in air.
“Am I meant to be impressed? Parlour tricks, priest; that’s all you have, with your powders to colour flame and impress the gullible,” Sheerak said, speaking directly to the inquisitor. “I see you now, my lord knows you. Yes, the distinctive hair he gave you marks you out, your mask drops ….” Sheerak laughed cruelly. “Tell me, how fares your brother? Is it ten years since his mind was opened to the infinite glories of the deathly realms? Ten years! Time lost to one in the prime of manhood, such a shame; ten long years whereby his mind was broken and he was lost to you. Yet ten years is nothing to my lord, or indeed me now, but everything to a mortal such as you. As insects you are, desperately grabbing what experience and life you can in your allotted years. But all too soon you fade, wither and die. Like the fire, the light eventually dies and all that is left is ashes and darkness. The darkness is eternal.”
With that Sheerak stared at the ball of flame that Braebec commanded; it sputtered and hissed as if ice was encasing it, threatening its extinction. To the troopers watching, the inquisitor seemed to wither and quail before the mocking beast. The fire priest’s power was mere illusion, his authority a mask, nothing more. All that was real was death, shadows and eternal night.
The inquisitor’s breathing became laboured as he struggled to maintain the fireball. “Your master walks the earth again then? I heard he suffered a setback and was wounded and expelled from this very place … by the same one you faced here.”
“A momentary pause in his great plan, that is all. The one who did it will be punished, a thousand times over. I saw his face; he carried grief and regrets, the weak fool.”
“Great … plan? What do you … mean?” Braebec panted. Despite all his attempts, he seemed unable to maintain the fireball. His mask had dropped; his face was now contorted in the pain of effort.
All the time the shadows grew. The troopers were confused and fearful. Even Sergeant Tovey, remembering this stonehouse and the horror of the Corpse Lord months before, struggled to maintain his calm. They should let the beast go, let him haunt these woe begotten swamps, what did they care? All thoughts of vengeance seemed lost.
“You and your kind were a part of it, did you not realise?” Sheerak laughed. “Your conquest of these lands, your destruction of the power that reigned here and those that wielded it, a light diminished, a shield denied you, but the weapon will be ours and the shadows will stretch over the ocean and fall over Taleel. The Blackstone will be ours and then all your fires will be extinguished.”
Sergeant Tovey shook as he came forward. “Let this demon go, Lord Conziva, he speaks of Tuan, and we must warn him,” he pleaded desperately.
“Be quiet, Sergeant!” Braebec commanded.
Sheerak laughed, looking at the sergeant. “This mortal knows; he has seen my lord’s glory and smelt his mystic aura of decay.” The beast retuned his gaze to the inquisitor. “Why fight the inevitable? The shadows will prevail as they have on a thousand worlds, through billions of lifetimes. No magic can hold back the darkness forever, even stars die, and their bright heat turned to cold blackness. Your armies are doomed. Acaross is vast, its men numberless, and my lord gathers his children, my brothers and sisters, to his side. Your defeat is written, not in the stars, but in the darkness between them.”
The ball of fire spluttered and coughed, on the cusp of being extinguished.
Braebec’s head sagged in the lengthening shadows. “Yes, Lord Sheerak, I shall let you go … you have tarried on this world for too long.” Braebec looked up at the beast and smiled. “Thank you for the information, it has been most enlightening. My power is an illusion? Keep telling yourself that. No more masks, it is time for you to die.” Braebec opened his fist over the fire; a small amount of crystalline powder fell onto the spluttering fireball with a hiss. Braebec walked away from the fire, brought his hood over his head and drew his cloak around him. His eyes shone darkly, staring at the beast strapped to the wooden frame. His lips moved wordlessly in quiet incantation.
Sheerak looked at the fire as it began glowing bright once more, suddenly becoming concerned. He looked around wildly, his eyes fearful. His eyes found the apothecary, his voice commanding, speaking to the man in the tongue of Acaross. The apothecary looked behind him at the now smiling Captain Treal and back at Sheerak. His face betrayed his confusion.
There was a whirling sound, which grew louder. The fireball leapt into bright life. Sparks leapt from it, the wood catching aflame anew, crackling and snapping, the light and heat growing in intensity. Those who looked upon it squinted as the heat and light blazed. A circling spiral of flames formed a cone, its tapered end like a finger pointing this way and that, as if seeking something. Braebec’s hand emerged from his cloak. A single finger pointed to where Sheerak’s shadowed heart was. The flames shot out, searing into the bestial flesh. Sheerak shook and screamed as the fires burned through the knitted shadows of which he was made.