Embrace of the Medusi (The Overlords Trilogy Book 2)

by Toby Andersen

  ‘Agreed,’ said Chrysaora. ‘Watcher temples generally are.’

  ‘We aren’t going to hear anything standing out here,’ said Aurelia. ‘You coming Nepheli? Or are you too scared?’ For once she felt like the child she still was, daring another into doing something they really shouldn’t. Neither knew the possible dangers inside.

  ‘And you’re saying the culprit’s in there?’

  Aurelia nodded.

  ‘I’ll bite,’ said Nepheli, letting her curiosity win again. ‘If only so that I can tell Faibryn who killed his father.’

  Aurelia had no appropriate response to that and turned instead to Chrysaora who was opening the brittle latch. It was wedged in among some overgrowing ivy and vines that covered the entrance. Chrysaora shoved and the door scraped open with a sharp screech. They all held their breath but when nothing happened for a long minute they relaxed.

  ‘Come on,’ said Aurelia trying to lead, but Chrysaora insisted on taking point.

  ‘You are still my charge, and I will not have you hurt if I can help it,’ she whispered.

  ‘I appointed you myself,’ Aurelia muttered.

  ‘Your wisest moment.’

  The inside was a dark burned out worship space, husks of pews lining the sides of a large hall. There was an altar at the back; not much was left but Aurelia could make out the statues of Medusi in the blackened stone, bulbous bodies with trailing tentacles beneath. The only surviving window depicted a Celestial in the clouds.

  ‘So, this is a Watcher temple?’ whispered Nepheli.

  ‘You forget in places like Argentor and Theris,’ said Aurelia, quietly, ‘but people used to worship Medusi all across the continent. Especially the Celestials. On the fringes of the old Therian Empire they still do, far to the west or east.’ Or North, she thought, remembering the story of the Andromedans Faibryn had told her at the closed checkpoint.

  ‘Barbarians,’ was Nepheli’s considered opinion.

  ‘They are no better than the Order,’ added Chrysaora. Aurelia had never asked her about her aversion to authority and organised religion, but she’d gleaned that it had to do with the Watchers.

  At the back, behind the altar, Chrysaora found what they were looking for; the floor opened underneath a trap door and steps led away underground. It was dark in the draughty hall, but in the hole, where you might expect it to be darker still, there was some kind of light.

  Blue light.

  Aurelia swallowed, looking at Chrysaora. In response, the thrall warrior brandished a sharp sturdy piece of wood she’d found and sighed with purpose. She began to descend the steps.

  ‘I’m not going down there,’ said Nepheli quietly.

  ‘You can’t bail on us now. Can’t you see this is important? Someone is down there, the person who killed the Duke.’

  ‘How do I know it wasn’t you?’

  ‘We’ve been through this. Come on.’

  Aurelia began down the steps and after a moment Nepheli followed shaking her head. Aurelia turned back to her. ‘Swear to me from here on, on the life of your father, you will be silent.’

  Nepheli nodded. ‘I swear.’

  ‘They could be dangerous. We don’t want to get caught.’

  ‘I swear, alright.’

  Blue light meant only one thing and as Aurelia reached the doorway at bottom of the steps and took the space opposite Chrysaora, they could see, deep in the large chamber beyond, the source. A small Medusi connected to a young human, who knelt on a raised dais. To Aurelia they looked like a sacrifice on an altar. Elsewhere, the bare stone chamber held a bed and cupboards; it was possible the person was living down here.

  The Medusi was the same small species as Cassandra’s; Aurelia had seen it enough times while her sister lay comatose. A Cephea. Which made the figure a Cephean. They were deep in the room, and it was hard to make out for sure, but Aurelia was quite sure they wore the same black sexless uniform as the other Cephean, making it hard to tell if they were male or female.

  Nepheli crouched just beside Aurelia, hidden by the stone frame of the door. She looked up at Aurelia, questioning. Aurelia told her to be quiet with her eyes, and watch.

  Another figure, this one clearly a young man, strode out from one of the small side rooms into the light. It was Faibryn Argentor. No mistake.

  Aurelia clapped a hand over Nepheli’s mouth as they watched and listened.

  ‘Well, is she ready yet?’ said Faibryn, impatiently. His voice echoed in the stone chamber.

  ‘She is ready to speak to you,’ said the Cephean.

  ‘Repeat what I say, Cephean,’ he demanded.

  ‘Our Goddess can hear you directly,’ said the thrall, sounding not a little put out. The voice was definitely female.

  ‘My Queen of Darkness,’ he said slowly, his voice echoing in the stone chamber.

  ‘Give me your report, Faibryn,’ said the thrall. Aurelia guessed it was really the Medousa’s words.

  ‘I have done as you instructed, Goddess. The Duke is dead, poisoned slowly so as to not bring attention to me.’ Nepheli jerked in her hands as if slapped. Aurelia couldn’t blame her. She felt the same; she was watching the first man she had ever truly begun to like, maybe even love, admitting to killing his father. And that was before you unpacked that he was talking to the Medousa herself through the Cephean. Each one was part of a larger hivemind that could hear everything the others heard; the Medousa had used them as spies in the Houses of the rich and powerful across Argentor and Theris; now she used them to send messages across the continent and communicate with her agents on the ground in an enemy city.

  ‘The nobles are in disarray,’ Faibryn continued, ‘the army undeployed. Rumours of the Medusi massing in the valleys have been kept quiet, but they continue to spread as rumours will.’

  ‘You have done well,’ said the Cephean, repeating the words of the Goddess. Aurelia was grateful they couldn’t hear her directly, remembering the powerful voice in her strange dreams. ‘Your work is almost done. As the new Duke, make sure your nobles do not act without your authority. Report all plans for any war effort to me so that we might ready countermeasures.’

  ‘Yes, my Queen.’

  Aurelia caught Chrysaora’s eye across the doorframe. She was gesturing back the way they had come, up the stairs. Her meaning was clear; they’d heard enough already. They did not want to get caught here. That would destroy the plan. She motioned Nepheli that it was time to leave.

  ‘What news of your courting of Aurelia?’ said the Cephean. Aurelia stopped just as she was turning to leave. They all did, Chrysaora and Nepheli obediently already halfway up the stairs. Faibryn had been faking everything, but somehow the fact that he had only been pretending to like her hurt the most. Collude with an ancient Sorceress for the downfall of humanity all you want, but play with my emotions at your peril.

  Faibryn huffed a short laugh. ‘That has taken a funny turn. Aurelia has fallen for my charms and is confident I will give her control of the army in time to stop the assault. But due to her own meddling she has managed to reveal the poisoning-’

  ‘What?’ The Cephean/Medousa was shocked.

  ‘-and implicate herself in the Duke’s death. She had been sentenced to execution. Don’t worry, I am covered and beyond suspicion.’

  ‘She is to be executed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The thrall seemed to consider this. ‘Let me know the moment it is done.’

  Aurelia felt Chrysaora tugging on her shoulder, pulling her up the stairs away from the lies and the betrayal and her Faibryn. She was too stunned to fight it. The conversation continued on behind her, but the words were lost to distance. They were back on the surface, out of the derelict temple and a few blocks back towards the centre of the city before she could think straight. Nepheli was talking to her.

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘I said I witnessed something evil in there. Everything you warned me about was true. The thralls, the Order, all o
f it. And the Medousa, she was talking through that creature somehow, wasn’t she?’ she barely paused for breath. ‘The Duke was killed by his own son, I heard it from his own lips. We are about to be invaded by Medusi. And he’s helping them.’

  Aurelia stopped and beckoned the other two into a small alley.

  ‘Should we go back and kill him?’ said Chrysaora, guessing her intent.

  ‘No, we can’t kill him.’

  ‘I can. It would be as easy as sliding a knife across his scrawny thro-’

  ‘Why not?’ This from Nepheli. Aurelia hoped it meant the girl had been convinced, but only time would tell. The next two days specifically. After that it would no longer be her concern.

  Aurelia suddenly realised she could leave now with Chrysaora. Why go back to the palace? She wouldn’t get executed if she wasn’t here. But she would also have to abandon everything she still hoped to achieve in Argentor. She knew that for her plan to work, she had to be there to see it through. To succeed, she had to risk her own execution.

  ‘Because we need him alive to lull the Order into complacency.’ She turned to Nepheli and put her cards on the table. ‘I need you now, Nepheli. Everything you promised me when I first arrived. Your connections, your network, I need it now. Remember when you said you could help me.’

  Nepheli nodded, blinking as a light rain began.

  ‘You must make good on that promise,’ said Aurelia as gravely as she could. ‘I’m trusting you. My life depends on it, but so does the survival of the entire city.’ She had to hope Nepheli came through, because if this gamble didn’t work, these were going to be her last days.

  ‘I will try,’ said Nepheli, soberly. ‘I have lots to do. Oh, and remind me to get your meals reinstated.’

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Nausithorn

  There were four of them. Four elite thralled Cephean guard, trained for years in every conceivable martial art, most involving deadly weapons. Not the worst odds I’ve ever faced, thought Nausithorn, but not the best either. The androgynous guards advanced into the room, two left and two right; they slid between the stacks and bookcases, quickly disappearing from direct view.

  At least in the darkness I can still keep track of them. Four distinct blue glows weaved across the chamber, their Medusi giving away their positions. The first to reach him brandished a staff in a loose grip.

  Naus had always wondered how they fought with their Medusi floating just above them; how did the tube not get in the way while they twirled that staff round? Did it hurt if they accidentally whacked their own Medusi? He’d never kept one of his around long enough to find out.

  Meeroth was watching from the door and Naus made sure he could hear him. ‘You know I’m not even armed, right? This is hardly fair.’

  ‘Are you going to fight fair, Arcturus?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘I didn’t think so.’

  Naus had a second to wish Totelun were here to back him up, before the guard was on him. Male, female, it didn’t matter anymore, he could at least be certain they wanted to cave-in his skull.

  He ducked cleanly under the first sidelong swipe, stepping inside the guard’s reach and punched them in the visor with everything he had. He had the satisfaction of knocking the guard’s mask and visor off, finding underneath grey skin and a scattering of freckles on the face of a young woman. She wheeled backwards, and hit him with the back of the staff before he could get out of the way, knocking him sprawled across a reading desk. He recovered quickly enough to dodge a brain-splattering downward strike that split the sturdy wooden table in half, and sprayed fireflies in all directions.

  He hadn’t planned it, but winning was all about taking advantage of a situation. I did say I wasn’t going to fight fair.

  The woman reacted to the light of the fireflies; just like Cassandra and her aversion to bright light, she reared back, eyes tight shut just for a moment. But it was a moment too long.

  Naus tripped and disarmed her in the same move and before she’d even hit the floor, he’d knocked her out with a swing to the temple with her own staff. His new staff. When he looked up, he was surrounded by the light of the other three Cephean. He ripped the pole round in a large arc, keeping them at bay and dropped into a quarterstaff fighting stance he thought he’d forgotten centuries ago.

  ‘One on one wasn’t fair,’ said Naus brazenly, looking at the three of them. ‘At least this way you might have a chance.’

  He didn’t wait for the laugh, whipping the staff over his head and twisting it in the air to catch the closest Cephean across the chest, knocking him into the stacks beyond and upsetting more fireflies. Though the room was dark beyond, the little circle they fought in was bathed in flickering, twinkling light.

  The second guard swept in low with a thin sword blade at Naus’ shins. Naus stepped back quickly, taking the third one’s downward staff attack on his own. He blocked a second attack and then a third, before the sword wielder could get in close enough to take another swipe.

  By then the first had leapt back in and got in their colleague’s way, stopping a thrust that was coming for Naus.

  These three are just going to get in each other’s way.

  He blocked twice more and sure enough, as he backed away, the third assailant’s sword was knocked aside by that of the first. They took the brief pause to glare at each other; Naus took it to wallop one of them across the head, putting them out of the fight.

  The Cephean with the staff had lost his mask but not his visor; a male jaw with a few soft hairs that showed his young age. He threw himself into a kata he probably knew better than he knew his mother’s name. Naus knew it too and on the third block, knocked blood and teeth across the room with the base of the staff just as the first attacker had tried on him.

  With one left, Naus dived for the floor and came up with the thin blade he’d seen. Much more my style, he thought, as he caught the slash of the last Cephean. Two more clashes of steel and Naus had another opening for fighting dirty; he punched the guard in the face. They reeled back, but as they ducked forward to attack again, Naus had already plunged the blade through their stomach. The last Cephean slid off the blade onto the floor, and Naus raised the blade at Meeroth.

  ‘You’re no bard,’ spat Meeroth from the entrance.

  ‘I am actually,’ said Naus, advancing toward the door, ‘just a bard whose had a lot of practice with unappreciative crowds.’

  ‘You’ll die here.’ Meeroth turned and slapped a panel on the wall. There was too much ground to cover, the chamber too big for Naus to get there before the door slammed shut in front of him with a final clang.

  Naus yanked at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He was sealed inside. He’s probably going to get reinforcements, thought Naus. And next time there really will be too many.

  He heard something, a sound like stone rolling over stone and gears turning. He looked around carefully. It wasn’t the door, it was coming from the walls. The light of the agitated fireflies was dazzling, but they cast a glow into the dark crevices of the room; Naus could see a strange porthole on one of the walls opening, then another, and another. Shelves slid aside and further holes were revealed. As the stone covers scraped apart, instead of holes darker still, they were bright with a blue that Naus knew all too well.

  Within moments, glowing Medusi began to float into the chamber on all sides, pouring in from the walls. Each would emerge, bell shaped body sliding out first, its tentacles dropping down below as it cleared the opening. More would follow after it, each pipe discharging Medusi like a gelatinous hose.

  Naus shouted so that Meeroth could hear him outside. ‘Who rigs this kind of trap in a library?’

  Through the door he heard Meeroth shout back. ‘It’s rigged in every chamber of this temple.’ He should have guessed.

  Naus shook the doors again but they were stuck fast.

  He was going to die here.

  He took in the scene; thirty, maybe forty Medusi, all sh
apes and sizes converging on him from every side. The fireflies light was lost, and so was he. Forty against one was way more than he could manage. He remembered facing up to thousands before, but he hadn’t prevailed. He had the crazy idea of re-enacting that feat – rush in and get himself thralled, then when they were no longer interested he could kill the rest and escape.

  The flaws in that plan were magnificent; he could get thralled by more than one, he could get polyps laid inside him, he would likely black out for some time – wild Medusi thralling was not painless – and while he was unconscious, Meeroth could return with more Cephean. And it just hurt, dammit. Dying to get it removed was something he’d already done three times too many.

  Naus took the first one to float near as it reared its tentacles up and shook at him, thralling tube vivid and present; he sliced straight through it, leaving the Medusi in two squishy halves on the ground. The scent of gel flesh suddenly permeated the air, brine mixed with decay, like the smell of rotting fish. It only served to attract the rest.

  Naus slashed left and right, sending Medusi down on all sides. His hands were stung by wayward tentacles as his blade slid through bodies and dumped creatures on stone and tables. He had taken about five out of the fight, when two came at him from behind; one stabbing at him with its sharp thralling spear, the other wrapping his wrist in a tentacle and pulling him off balance. Thankfully it wasn’t his sword hand; he met the spear on the blade, whipped it back and hacked through the mass of tentacles now trying to break his arm, leaving a sleeve of blue tubes and a shrieking Medusi lurching away.

  Behind it, he could see yet more piling into the chamber through the pipes. There were more now than when he’d started fighting back.

  He wasn’t going to make it, fighting fifty, sixty jellies. Not at his age. He was slower than he used to be and there were more still spilling in. He’d been jumped and almost killed by ten of the creatures not that long ago, and that was with Totelun’s aid.

  There had to be another way.

  He ducked as a whole clutch came for him, rolled, came up and made a break back to where he’d started; it was the only pipe that had stopped dumping Medusi into the room. He ducked and sliced, taking out two quick ones that went for his head. My neck, more likely. The book on the origins of the Order was on the floor beside the bodies of the slain Cephean guards. He grabbed it and shoved it into the pipe; it was far too small to block the entrance, but that wasn’t the aim of his desperate plan.