Torstag surveyed the battlefield.
Ingar was sitting on a stone, not badly hurt, but rocking backward and forward sobbing, casting a long shadow in the setting sun.
Corpses littered the broken ground, each with its own dark patch.
11 slain. Notable loot includes one greatsword, cataphract armour, mailshirt, arrows for a horseman’s war bow, long knives, a sidesword, several shields. No surviving enemy.
The Tomb Bat was glowing ashes now and Brother Neutrality’s Screaming Skull was just a patch of embers. Black smoke billowed up the face of the rock spire. The entrance to the monastery’s portal glowed red. Nobody was coming out of that any time soon, and if they did they it would be the hard way without the use of Tomb Bats.
Torstag relaxed and started to feel his injuries press in on him: not just the cracked ribs, but a dozen bruises and scrapes he’d forgotten about. He should go to Ingar.
“You kissed me,” said the girl, her eyes alive. The thief catcher had left a red welt on her long neck.
“It…I’m ‘Marked’?” managed Torstag, taking a step closer, and suddenly she was the hidden horizon beyond the mountains that called for him, the home he’d lost that most likely no longer existed, the Untrodden Valley he’d yearned to walk.
Zahna’s eyes became beads of black amber. “Yes you are.” She took his hand. “Come.”
Her voice sounded different. Older.
Chapter 28: Lament for Angelica
“What the actual fuck!” said Ingar.
Torstag blinked into the glare of the everlight. It was dark and cold and everything hurt. He struggled to his feet. His ribs blazed white in his mind’s eye. The desert night prickled his bare skin.
“I must have fallen asleep.”
The girl groaned, sat up. A deep bruise marred her upper right arm, and another splotched her left hipbone. Her elbows were bloodied and scabbed.
She saw Ingar, yelped and bundled her kaftan to cover her breasts.
New Skills: Ascending Elephant, Rampant Butterfly 3/6, Cascading Mountain 3/6.
Vitality -2 of 5. 1 Wounds. 1 Fatigue incurred.
Hindrance “Wounded” restored.
Hindrance “Debilitated” and “Fatigued.”
You have superficial scratches on your back. You have abrasions on your…
“Stop!”
“Stop what?” asked Ingar. He was standing in the entrance the rocky nook with the pitch dark behind him. There was blood on his face, his arm looked scorched. “You’ve already stopped.”
“I was speaking to my Tempter,” said Torstag. He winced. His broken ribs didn’t want him to speak.
“She isn’t doing anything.”
“She,” said the girl, “has a name.”
The girl got her arms into her kaftan, buttoned it closed, then rolled over and messed with a tinder box.
“What the fuck are you doing?” asked Ingar.
“Making tea,” she said in a flat voice that could have hidden any emotion.
“Oh great,” said Ingar. “We literally murdered a dozen or so people. Now let’s have cup of tea. That will make it all better.”
“I suppose you know what they were planning for me?” said the girl.
The tinder caught.
Ingar’s glare bored into Torstag. “You don’t know it, do you? Her name.”
Torstag flushed.
“It’s Zahna,” said the girl. She reached for her britches, then seem to think the better of it. She wrapped the kaftan closed as she rose. Somehow she managed to fill the space with her presence. Her normally sharp cheeks dimpled. “Oh, you two aren’t lovers are you? I haven’t come between you? It was just business from a previous incarnation. It happens from time to time. Apparently.”
A stone formed in Torstag’s stomach.
“Nothing like that,” Ingar was saying. “Just that my best friend left me for dead. I came round in the dark surrounded by corpses.”
“We got carried away,” said Torstag. “Anyway, I knew you were all right. You’d just freaked out.”
“Yes, I think I may have done just that,” said Ingar his voice rising. “Let me see, was it the fucking disembodied head of my old teacher trying to eat my fucking face? Or perhaps having to whack some poor fucker in his head to keep you alive? You tell me.”
“You saved my life,” said Torstag. He reached for his robes.
“Why were you even in the fight?” asked Ingar. “It was none of our business.”
“He was saving me,” said Zahna. The everlight made the pale skin of her neck glow like marble.
The last hours jumbled through Torstag’s mind and his shoulders slumped. His past avatar might have been worthy of her, but not this one.
Ingar shook his head. “We were supposed to be escaping together.”
“We also have a common enemy,” said Torstag.
“Gronchard the Flayer,” said Ingar. “Not my enemy.”
“But we’re friends,” said Torstag.
“Yes we are. But I’m no killer like you. If this is your quest, count me out.”
“We should check the bodies,” said Zahna.
“I just did check the bodies,” said Ingar. “I didn’t want to get stabbed in the back when I was looking for you. And I can confirm that they are indeed bodies, as in ‘corpses of recently deceased persons’.”
“Um, great?” said Torstag. “Did you find anything interesting?”
“Oh yes, I almost forgot,” said Ingar. He fished in the pocket of his robe and brought out a glass orb. “My Tempter tells me this reeks of magic.”
“No!” said Zahna. “Put it away. Destroy it.”
“Exactly,” said Ingar. “If Gronchard can so easily hand out magic items like this, then you haven’t a hope of taking him—seriously what the actual fuck?”
There was a flash and a ghostly blond youth appeared, standing over the crystal ball. His light illuminated the little cove.
Ingar yelped and dropped the globe.
It struck the stone and rolled toward Torstag, taking the image sliding with it.
“You’re Gronchard!” blurted Torstag, rising. His chest muscles spasmed. He bit his lip to avoid crying out.
The giant phantom youth sneered down at him. He turned to inspect Zahna. “Angelica, I know you are in there, trapped in this…this harlot.”
“She’s Angelica?” blurted Ingar. “But I used to…” Was he blushing?
Zahna squared her shoulders. She raised her hand as if about to cast magic.
Torstag shifted to put himself in front of her.
“Please, queen of my heart,” said Gronchard, speaking over his head. “I have missed you so badly these centuries. Stay where you are, my people will come and bring you to me. I will flay away the uncouth soul-shells to free your True Soul to inhabit this not unpleasing body in love and kindness.”
Hence Gronchard the Flayer, realised Torstag, a dead memory stirring. This monster was going to erase Zahna’s current self to flay her soul back to somebody she once was.
“Over my burning corpse,” said Zahna, behind him.
“Be Silent…” Gronchard wrinkled his nose. “…Shell Person. I have waited lifetimes to be reunited with my true love. I can wait more. I know you’re in there Angelica! Please!”
“Holy Fuck but you’re a creepy little fucker!” said Ingar. He picked up the orb and hurled it against the gulley’s rock walls. Fragments of crystal tinkled on the ground.
Once again, only his swinging everlight illuminated the little cove.
“He’s dead,” said Torstag, with total certainty.
“Idiot!” said Zahna. “Of course he isn’t. Your friend smashed the projector, that’s all.”
Torstag shook his head. “No,” he said, “I mean I am personally going to kill him.”
Zahna cocked her head to one side, eyes twinkling in the everlight. “Because of what we just did?”
“No. On general principle.”
Zahna nodded. “Th
at’s exactly my plan.”
“How?” said Ingar. “He’s immortal. You’re completely fucking crazy. The girl has fucked with your head.”
Torstag put a hand to his forehead as if that would leave any tell-tale bumps. He already knew, however, he was “Marked”.
Zahna returned to her samovar. She rose and handed each of them an enamelled cup full of liquid that glistened behind a veil of steam.
“He’s a warlock like us, no more,” she said. “Drink.”
Torstag did as he was told.
A pair of molten iron hands seemed to reform his broken ribcage. He gasped but could not scream.
Vitality reset. 1 Wound healed. Hindrances “Wounded”, “Debilitated” and “Fatigued” shed.
Ingar staggered drunkenly. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
Zahna plucked the cup from his fingers. “Better?”
Ingar squeaked.
“So,” said Zahna. “Each time Gronchard dies, his followers kidnap the next avatar and flay back his soul to reveal Gronchard.”
“That’s…” Torstag couldn’t think of the right word. “Worse than murder.”
“Really fucked up,” said Ingar, speaking at the same moment.
Zahna nodded. “So help me defeat him.”
“Sure, since you asked so nicely,” said Ingar. “Oh wait a moment, he’s some kind of God and has his very own Flying Tooth Garden, whatever the fuck that is. You are insane. Come on Torstag. Say good bye to the nice lady. We’ll try to find you another one…you know, that’s not utterly barking.”
“How?” asked Torstag, ignoring his friend, which was pretty easy to do with Zahna standing before him like the kind of dream he used to have back in the monastery.
“To the Jungle Tomb of the Ice Queen,” she said. “The Ice Queen once repulsed Gronchard and his Flying Tooth Garden.”
“And that will help, how?” asked Torstag.
“I thought you might ask her how she did it,” said Zahna. “You are a necromancer, after all.”
Torstag chewed his lip. “I wanted to leave that behind.”
“Oh?” said Zahna. Her eyes twinkled. “You seem to have no problem creating dead people—how is talking to them so much worse?”
“I will do it,” said Torstag, “if that’s what it takes.”
“Fuck,” said Ingar. “Seriously?”
“As you said, it’s my quest, not yours,” said Torstag. “We can pick a place to meet up after.”
“Come with me,” said Ingar. “Between us we can live well.”
“Live well by burgling tombs, you mean,” said Zahna. “Why not start with this one? There will be treasure.”
“I…we…how did you know my Vocation?” said Ingar. “Torstag did you tell her?”
“No,” said Torstag. “We didn’t talk.”
Ingar glanced meaningfully at the bedding roll. “I guess not.”
“Treasure,” prompted Zahna.
“There’ll be treasure?” said Ingar.
“The Ice Queen will have her things buried with her to ensure reincarnation to a similar status,” said Zahna.
Ingar glanced at Torstag.
“I have to do this,” said Torstag, “and I need you.”
“Fuck,” said Ingar. “Okay. Just this once, then you’ll have to choose.”
“Sure,” said Torstag.
“Good,” said Zahna. “Now Gronchard is onto us, we don’t have much time.”
Chapter 29: Gronchard in the Manifestorium
Pain blazed behind Gronchard’s eyes. His fingers stung from the shattering of the manifestation egg. He rose to his feet, making the dragon eggs rattle and rustle. That noise seemed to break the dam of his emotions and he screamed at the top of his voice, “Angelica!”
The voice of the Saint Omnipresence rang out, “The Divinity is hurt!”
Eggs clashed and crashed as Seraphim plunged down the steps into the Manifestorium.
Gronchard thrashed his arms, causing painted eggs to fly free and bounce across the surface of the pit. “No you idiots. Get back! A blasphemer destroyed an Egg of Manifestation, that is all.”
The Seraphim halted.
A sob escaped Gronchard’s chest. “Curse this young body and its youthful humours!”
“Divinity!” said Saint Omnipresence—another old retainer, noted Gronchard—“You should rest.”
1 Vitality lost. 3 of 4 remaining.
6 of 6 Potestas remaining.
“Saint?” said Gronchard, tears drying. “Do you presume to tell me I am weak? Bring me the egg for the bounty hunters nearest the Broken Realm.”
“No, Divinity. Yes, Divinity.”
Gronchard shifted to sink back down under the surface. There was something comfortingly womb-like about the Manifestorium. The indestructible but light eggs enclosed and supported him, but without generating any pressure.
Only shock had worked to preserve his dignity during his manifestation. What other man had seen his true love in the arms of another, still dishevelled from her lovemaking? And yet, had he not manifested, he would not have seen her at all. Nor would he have any clues as to where she had gone.
Should he summon Saint Prescience to advise him?
No, he, Gronchard the Flayer had a thousand lives of wisdom to draw on. He did not need an old man knowing that he was a cuckold. He just needed to focus himself.
What had he seen?
Angelica half-dressed…
Yes that, but also two youths the same age as his own vessel, one naked, the other wearing a blood spattered habit like a monk’s…like a monk of the Order of the Grey Cortège.
A hand seemed to clutch Gronchard’s vitals. “No! That would be unfair. She couldn’t have…”
He stood up. “Forget the bounty hunters, bring me the egg for the Monastery of the Untrodden Valley.”
They fetched the egg and had a Lesser Angel fly it out to where Gronchard lay. Rather than an eye, this egg bore a simple number for identification.
Clutching it in two hands, he wriggled beneath the surface.
Using Manifestation Pit. 2nd Circle Spell. Cost 4 Potestas, 2 of 6 remaining.
Gronchard found himself standing in a deserted chapel at what could be dawn or dusk.
It was definitely his chapel: there was a triptych displaying three of his more prominent vessels, and an icon of the Sacred Angelica. However, the place was dusty, with old leaves on the floor. The candles had not been lit in so long they had cobwebs on them. Small wonder then there was no reservoir of Potestas for him to draw on, though Angelica’s shrine had at least the aura of having been worshipped properly.
He turned his attention to the gong.
Ringing Spirit Gong, cost 1 Potestas, 1 of 6 remaining.
The metal dish clanged sonorously.
At last, a youth came running in, saw Gronchard’s manifestation, yelped, then ran away.
Eventually an old man limped through the entrance.
“Abbot!” thundered Gronchard. “What kind of welcome is this for a God? Look at the state of my chapel!”
The old man regarded him unblinkingly. “Incense and candles, both, have been of too poor a quality, this year. To use them would have been an insult. Also, to my shame, the current cohort of acolytes are insufficiently pure for the work of tending to your Sacred Shrine.”
Absolute rubbish, of course, and the old man knew that Gronchard knew. Gronchard, however, had yet to regain his full powers and he sensed that his Cynosure Charismatic Presence would not work on this white-haired cleric.
“Are you,” he asked, “perhaps missing an Acolyte or two, Abbot?”
“What?” said the Abbot. “Oh, yes, now you come to mention it a couple did abscond last night. I’m sure we’ll catch them.”
“Which two Acolytes?” asked Gronchard. “By which I mean, who were they when they were dedicants?”
Some boys rushed in with candles and incense.
“Here, Deity,” said the Abbot, “let me makes some offerings to you.�
� The old man fussed around lighting candles and filling sensors.
Soon light flickered on clouds of fragrant smoke. There was no real devotion in it, but it did improve the interior and cast particularly good light on the icon of Angelica.
“So,” said Gronchard.
“Deity?”
“You were telling me about the two escapees and how one of them was Berotspan the Marshal.”
“Oh,” said the Abbot, “is that who they were? Thank you, Divinity. Unfortunately they caused a small fire on absconding, damaging our records. Had we known it was Nee Berotspan we would of course we would have informed you immediately.”
“Of course,” said Gronchard, “because I seem to recall that I previously gave Berotspan into your keeping when he was Lashton the Necromancer, and he would never have been able to defy me at Yinkesia had you managed to harvest him.”
The Abbot shrugged expansively, raising both hands. “What can one do, Divinity? Sometimes Warlocks have a destiny that cannot be denied. However, we did harvest him this time around.”
“And let him escape.”
“If he had not been a formidable soul, your Divine Providence would not have troubled to entrust him to us. Nevertheless, he will be recaptured.”
“When? He has kidnapped my Sacred Angelica.” That last came out as a whine. Gronchard blushed and hated his youthful body all the more.
“Soon,” soothed the Abbot. “We have a small army of skeletons, houndheads to do the tracking, and not inconsiderable magic granted to us by the Ineffable One.”
“With all that power,” said Gronchard, “it seems strange that you have not already recaptured him.”
“Unfortunately, the fire damaged our means of entering the Broken Lands—which is where they fled.”
Gronchard had a memory of entering the Monastery via a portal high up on a rock pillar. Which lifetime had that been? Angelica had been beside him, holding his hand, and there had been arcane flying machines. “He destroyed your Tomb Bats, didn’t he?”
“They will be replaced, Divinity.”
“But not any time soon,” said Gronchard.
The Jungle Tomb of the Ice Queen (The Flying Tooth Garden Book 1) Page 19