Shadowblood (Book Four of the Terrarch Chronicles)

by William King

  “You underestimated us, didn’t you?” said Tamara quietly.

  “Yes,” said Asea.

  “It’s not surprising. I did too.”

  “Who could have foreseen anything like this, on a world with so much less power available than Al’Terra?”

  “The people who planned it did.”

  “Yes. They managed to find something that would work even with the full power of their magic unavailable to them. They were devilishly clever.”

  “They had centuries to prepare,” said Rik.

  “So did we,” said Asea, “but we spent it building an Empire over the humans and fighting among ourselves, and our greatest foes have taken advantage of that. Then again, they always knew how to exploit our weaknesses, and why should they not, for they are just like us in many ways.”

  “Does that not mean that you should be able to exploit their weaknesses in return,” said Rik.

  “I hope so, for if we do not then civilisation as we know it on this world is doomed and a new age of darkness has begun.”

  “Can you close the Gate?” Rik asked.

  “I have done so once. I can do it again. I might even be able to destroy it, if I get close enough.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “I am hoping that you can show me the way.” There was a hint of pleading in the look she gave him.

  “I’ll need to think about it.”

  She nodded. “Don’t take too long. Every hour counts.”

  Rik lay in the gloom of the ruined building. Try as he might and tired as he was he could not get to sleep. Eventually, he rose and made his way up the old stairs to watch the moonlight turn the oily surface of the river to silver. A devilwing or perhaps a large bat moved across the face of the moon. All was quiet save for the rush of the water below.

  What was he going to do now? Asea seemed determined to throw away her life so he was about to lose his patron. The vision of wealth and privilege that had been so briefly dangled before his eyes evaporated like morning mist in the rays of the sun.

  The followers of the Princes of Shadow were going to take over the world, and use humanity as their cattle and the undead as their fist. He saw no reason to doubt that. It was what his father would have done, and Malkior seemed a not untypical representative of the Princes and their servants.

  He thought of the world wracked by plague, with humans raised to be devoured by a new generation of masters far worse than even the Terrarchs had been. It made him angry and the most frustrating thing was that his anger counted for nothing. It never had and it never would. The powerful would get on with what they wanted without any regard to the way people like him felt. It was simply the way the world was made.

  The anger burned in his gut, warming him like a potent spirit. For a moment, he thought he understood what Asea intended to do. She would defy fate and the Princes of Shadow and attempt to change the way history wanted to be written. Even though she knew she had very little chance she was prepared to take the risk anyway. The alternative for her as much as for him was to flee or do nothing, and she was choosing not to do either. It was admirable in its way, even if it was foolish.

  What was he going to do? Perhaps, he should go with her. She had helped look after him, and he should help look after her. He had nothing left to go back to.

  Did that really mean he had to throw away his life though? The truth was that his life was most likely thrown away anyway. He was known to be of Asea’s party and he doubted that the Princes of Shadow would be any more forgiving of their enemies than the usual run of Terrarchs. He could hide but the chances were that he would be run down eventually. Even if he was not, all he could look forward to was a lifetime of skulking and fear.

  At least it would be a life. Accompanying Asea would be suicide.

  Ah, but if she succeeded, he would be famous. What were the chances of that though? Vanishingly small, but he had succeeded against such odds before. Perhaps he could do so again.

  The thought began to take hold of him, although the voices protested. They did not want to lose their last toehold on life, terrible though it might be. Their whining pushed him in the opposite direction. He was tempted to go with Asea just to show that he was still master of his life, not their puppet and vessel.

  He told himself to sleep on it, make no hasty decision, but he knew that in some strange way his choice was already made.

  Sardec studied the compass then the angle of the sunrise. By his calculations if they headed directly south they would encounter the main road. They would also encounter the triumphant Sardean army and its outriders which seemed like something to be avoided at all costs.

  He looked at Weasel and the Barbarian. They had just come back from trapping breakfast. They brought with them a brace of rabbits and a bunch of edible roots and herbs and set about cooking them in their small military issue mess cans. Sardec was grateful for their skills. He could not have provided for himself with such efficiency, given the fact that he had a hook instead of a hand.

  Small droplets of rain kissed his face, and a drizzle began. A mournful wind blew through the tree branches that so exactly matched the expressions on the faces surrounding him that he almost laughed.

  “The heavens weep,” said Handsome Jan.

  “As well they might,” added Toadface.

  “We’re not dead yet,” said Sardec allowing a tone of warning to show in his voice.

  “And even if we were we might not rest easy,” added Weasel. He sounded more thoughtful than mocking.

  “We’ve got food, and vodka and some shelter,” said the Barbarian. “Things could be worse.”

  “We’ve got bullets and blades as well,” said Sardec, “and we know how to use them. Let’s be grateful for that.”

  “I’ll feel a lot more grateful when I’ve had some of that vodka the Barbarian is preaching about,” said Weasel.

  “Drink it down,” said Sardec, “and then get ready to move out.”

  “It’s my bloody vodka,” said the Barbarian.

  Sardec looked over at where the children slept. Rena lay by them, looking just as innocent in sleep. It was only now that he realised how exhausted she must be. All of them were. The defeat and flight had drained them more than the long march and the strange weather was making things worse. He had never known a spring this cold.

  What would become of them, he wondered? Would they ever manage to get home? Or would they all die on the long march? There was no way of knowing but they had to do something. Anything was better than simply waiting here for death to come.

  He took an inventory of his resources. There were about ten surviving Foragers, four of them veterans that he could trust: Weasel, the Barbarian, Toadface and Handsome Jan. There was Rena, Sergeant Hef's wife and four children. It seemed like they would only slow the soldiers down but Sardec was not going to abandon them. He smiled sourly. There had been a time when he would not have hesitated for a moment to sacrifice a score of human children to ensure the safety of one Terrarch, particularly if that Terrarch was him. Times had certainly changed.

  He looked at the sky. The clouds were dark and ominous and tinged with strange supernatural colours that that spoke of wicked magic being cast somewhere. He wondered where Asea was and Rik and Lord Azaar were. He could certainly do with their supernatural knowledge now, or even Asea's leadership to give him some clue as to what to do.

  The whole vast structure of the Western armies had suddenly vanished, leaving him abandoned and alone. He had led units before but always there had been the sure and certain knowledge that there was something to come back to and a hierarchy to give him guidance and orders. All of that had disintegrated, vanished overnight in the face of the ominous power of the armies of the dead. It came to him then that perhaps there was no one left to give him orders, that he was on his own and entirely responsible for the survival of everyone under his command.

  Was it all worthwhile, trying to be a soldier in an army that no longer existed?
Was he fooling anybody, pretending to be an officer now? Surely all the humans could see that he was part of an officer corps that had led them only to destruction and defeat.

  He studied the faces of the men around him and saw no trace of those thoughts there. They looked at him as if he was still in charge and as if they expected him to give them sensible orders. That seemed like a joke. How was it possible to give sensible orders in a world gone mad?

  He pulled himself to his feet and walked around. He checked to make sure that everyone had some rations and enough water to at least see them through the day. He got the men to count the number of bullets they had and tell them how much powder they were carrying, and he was shocked to find that there was so little. There was no Quartermaster here to resupply them, and no way of telling when they would next be able to refurbish their supplies. The situation looked pretty desperate but there was nothing he could do about it so he pushed the thought to one side.

  He made sure that the children had eaten and that the women got something too, and then he ordered everyone to their feet and told them that they needed to move out. He was not entirely sure where they were going to go but he knew they must get moving.

  It would be best to keep away from the road for a while. Less chance of meeting enemy scouts even if the march was harder. Rena came over and stood beside him. He was glad that she had not tried to hug him or take his hand. It would not do to show too much intimacy in front of the men. He smiled again. As if such things muttered under the circumstances.

  "Where shall we go?" she asked.

  "We'll head North and then eventually strike due West and aim for Halim. Hopefully we can join the garrison there and if we can't, we'll head for the mountains."

  "I'm glad you're still alive," Rena said. "I'm glad you found me."

  "I am too. You've no idea how much." He took her hand then, not caring who saw it or what they thought. For a brief shining moment, he felt happy, which he found strange considering that he was standing in the ruins of a world. For a moment he felt hopeful, as if something good might eventually come out of all this destruction, even if it was only his ability to show his feelings to the woman he loved. Then he thought about the huge army of undead monsters and the moment passed vanishing like the warmth of a sun passing behind a cloud.

  Weasel came over and stood in front of them. He showed no signs of having noticed the fact that they were holding hands. "I think we'd best be going, sir. I think I can see something moving along those ridges behind us and judging from the numbers and the speed with which their moving, I'm guessing it’s some deaders."

  "Thank you, Weasel. You're the Sergeant now. At least until we can rejoin the army." Sardec have expected Weasel to grin but he didn't. He looked solemn and his shoulders slumped a little as if the new responsibility pressed down on him.

  "Thank you, sir. You're showing a lot of faith. I'll try and not let you down."

  "I'm sure you won't. I'm counting on you to back me up. I'll need that if we are all going to get home alive."

  “I think we’re going to need more than that, sir, but we’ll do what we can with what we’ve got.”

  “That we will, Sergeant. That we will.”

  As the sun rose, Asea sorted out her gear. She set Karim to burying the things she could not take: the elemental flasks, the chests full of magical paraphernalia, the exotic weaponry usable only by a mage. Her hair she clipped short and she wore a soldier’s tunic and britches. She looked surprisingly convincing as a Terrarch officer. Such gear as she could carry she put in a holdall.

  “What now?” she asked Rik.

  “I am going with you.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “You will need someone who knows what they are doing to keep you out of trouble.”

  “I can see how your skills would be useful.”

  “I want to come with you as well,” said Tamara.

  “Why should we allow that?”

  “Because my knowledge of Sardea is greater than yours. Because I know how to get where you want to go. Because I have skills that will help keep you alive on your travels. And not the least because we are on the same side.”

  “Are we?” Asea asked.

  “We share enemies.”

  “That is not the same side.” Rik glanced between the two Terrarch women. Hostility bristled in the air, ancient and instinctive. They were not two people who could ever like each other. If Tamara could be trusted she would be an invaluable ally, for all the reasons she had outlined and more. She could teach him things about the powers he had been born with. And that might help keep him and Asea alive.

  “I think we should take her with us.”

  “I am not sure I trust her.”

  “She will be always within reach. You can kill her if she betrays us.”

  “I will not betray you.”

  “She might be recognised.”

  “So might you and she has the skill to conceal herself, and you too, should you choose to use it. I can testify that her talent for disguise is a formidable one.” Asea lifted an eyebrow, and Rik suspected that at some point he was going to have to explain that last remark. There was no help for it now. He wanted Tamara to come with them. She was a trained Shadowblood assassin. That had to be useful on a mission like this. “Her skills increase our chances of success. Given the odds against us, surely that is the most important consideration.”

  Asea appeared to consider this for a long time. Eventually she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Very well, but be warned, at the first sign of treachery, Tamara, you die.”

  Tamara’s smile was icy. “There’s a good chance I am going to die anyway.”

  Rik wished that he could disagree with that statement. He was sorry that she had made it. He was already having second thoughts about the wisdom of accompanying Asea but he was committed now. The voices screamed in protest. He told them to be silent. If things got really bad, he could always flee later.

  By then it might be too late, they chorused back.

  “You’ll have to remove these chains if I am to go with you,” Tamara said. “People might find the sight of you travelling with someone bound with truesilver a tad suspicious.”

  Asea considered this for a moment, then nodded to Karim. He opened the locks and they waited expectantly as Tamara stepped from her fetters. They stood frozen as if expecting violence.

  Tamara smiled and said, “When do we go?”

  “Now,” said Asea, and picking up her pack she set off towards the East.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rik sat by the roadside, his back against a tree-trunk. He felt exhausted and frustrated. Tamara and Karim sparred with their fists, both fast and deadly and seemingly well matched. Both were holding something back, he could tell. Neither wanted the other to know the full extent of their abilities. Still it was an education just watching them.

  Tamara had kept him practising her strange sorcery for hours as they marched eastwards through the deserted lands of Eastern Kharadrea. He never seemed to be able to get it quite right. Sometimes he felt on the verge of sensing something, a vague foreboding, the slightest of premonitions, the feather touch of some sixth sense that registered the appearance of a shadow-walker.

  Tamara feinted a blow at Karim’s head with the side of her fist. He ducked it and swept her legs out from under her. Tamara flipped back onto her feet, lithe as a cat. Beyond the pair Asea watched keenly, as if she might perhaps be able to divine the future in their ritual conflict.

  Rik thought about the exercises. They were dull but essential. Being bored under these circumstances was not really possible. He loved sorcery and he loved the possibility of learning some new form of it. He felt as if he stood on the edge of some great sea in and beyond which lay knowledge and power. Just being there and looking out at it was exciting in exactly the same way standing by the ocean was. Out there might be monsters but there was also adventure and possibly riches.

  Tamara laun
ched a kick at Karim’s midriff. The man stepped to one side, and launched a blow at her head. She caught his arm, and threw him, bringing herself around to land on top. He rolled to one side, avoiding the blow.

  Rik asked himself where he thought he was going with all this. He was slowly painstakingly acquiring a mass of knowledge for the possession of which the Inquisition would gladly burn him and which would cause most sane men to turn their faces from him if they suspected. There were times when he wondered whether he was sane any more, or whether he had gone mad a long time ago- when he had devoured the Quan or perhaps before. Not that it mattered much. He was determined now to walk this path to the end wherever it might take him.

  He was starting to think that if he could combine the knowledge Asea had given him with that which Tamara was teaching him that he might be able to create something new or find a way to walk his own path and be a power in the world. It was exciting and frightening all at once and it made him feel alive in a way that nothing else did.

  Tamara laughed and rose into a fighting crouch. Karim faced her, expressionless as always. Wary and coiled to respond to any threat, the two stood motionless as statues.

  “Enough,” said Asea. “Save your energies for the march.”

  Asea gestured for him to get up and start walking again. She seemed tireless as one of the walking dead, an automaton with but one purpose, to get them to their destination and confront their ultimate enemy. There was a wildness in her eyes that Rik did not like, but he was committed to helping her to her goal.

  He pulled himself to his feet, and began to trudge along the road.

  Sardec sat on the well-painted fence and surveyed the landscape around him. The sun shone brightly. There were no clouds in the sky and no sense of threat in the air. A little over a week after the defeat at Weswood, it was if the battle had never happened. Everything seemed utterly tranquil.