by Mike Wild
The flow stopped. Kali’s gaze turned to McCain, whose face was red with fury. The subject of his fury seemed to be behind her, out of sight, and so she had no idea to whom McCain addressed his next words.
“What,” the Overseer rumbled angrily, “is the meaning of this?”
A figure strode into view and Kali frowned. She wasn’t sure who she had expected miraculously to have appeared – Slowhand, perhaps, Aldrededor, Dolorosa or Moon – but the man she saw was a complete stranger to her. Tall, muscular, and garbed like a huntsman in leather britches and squallcoat sewn from irregularly cut pieces of hide, his stubbled face with its piercing brown eyes regarded McCain with some degree of contempt.
“The meaning of this,” he replied in a voice clearly used to having the last word, “is that your execution is over.”
As he spoke, he wound back into a coil a whip made of nine lengths of chain, clearly the weapon which had ruptured the pipes, and moved around to the front of the cage and released its door. He offered Kali a hand down and she took it silently, still assessing what the hells was going on here.
“On whose authority?” McCain demanded.
“The highest authority. That of the Anointed Lord.”
I wonder what the Lord of All would make of that? Kali thought.
It was clear what McCain’s opinion was. The Overseer narrowed his eyes and beckoned his bodyguards to the fore, where they placed hands on their weapons.
“Forgive me,” he said, “but you hardly have the appearance of an agent of the Anointed Lord, and I know, or know of, most of them. What is your name?”
“My name is Jakub Freel.”
“Freel?” McCain repeated, dismissively. “I have never heard of you.”
McCain may not have heard of him but Kali had, and she stood back slightly in some shock. She stared at her rescuer, her own eyes narrowed. Jakub Freel. This was the man whom Jenna, Slowhand’s sister, had married. Other than that, however, she knew little about him. As to his role here, she was as much in the dark as McCain himself.
“How is it that you carry the authority of the Anointed Lord?” asked the Overseer. “What office do you serve?”
“Let’s just to say that the office I occupy was once occupied by another, now deceased.”
McCain sneered. “And this other was?”
“Konstantin Munch.”
Freel’s answer gave the Overseer pause. His sneer disappeared and, somewhere beneath his jowls, Kali saw the man swallow, hard. That was hardly surprising. Munch’s remit in the Final Faith had been to tackle those jobs that might prove embarrassing in others’ hands, the head of a shady group whose powers, as a result, transcended the otherwise rigid structure of the Faith, allowing them to go everywhere and exist nowhere at the same time.
Kali found it interesting to note, however, that while Munch had surrounded himself with lackeys, Freel appeared to be working alone, and she got the impression that this was his preference. Whether that was because he was capable of single-handedly dealing with what the Faith threw at him or not, she didn’t yet know, but she did know that it was time to start getting her own handle on things.
“So, you’re Stan’s replacement,” she said casually, and nodded at the cage. “I like the new approach to the job. Getting me out of there was not something he’d have done.”
“Oh, he might. In these circumstances.”
“Which are?”
“I tracked you here because the Anointed Lord has need of your help. We need to leave for Scholten right away.”
Kali was stunned.
“You’re kidding, right? You’re here because Makennon needs my help? Again? This is the same Makennon whose arse I saved at Orl but who then sent me a map to a dwarven deathtrap as thanks? The same Makennon whose people nicked the plans for the Llothriall from my own tavern? The same Makennon whose skewed religion nearly got me fried alive just now? The same Makennon who... fark it, never mind.”
Kali turned and began to stomp towards Horse. “Tell her to go to the hells...”
“I wish I could,” Freel said, striding after her.
“Wish you could what?”
“Tell her to go to the hells.”
Kali span. “Look, at least Munch was an obvious nutter. Do you want to tell me what you’re talking about?”
“The hells,” Freel said. “We fear they have already taken her.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THERE WAS NO way that Kali could resist a hook like that, was there? She agreed there and then to accompany Freel, at least until she knew more about what was going on.
There remained, however, the small matter of Randus McCain, who refused to recognise Freel’s authority and thus to release her to him. Kali knew full well that it was little to do with authority and more with the bastard’s desire – stripping her whether she liked it or not this time – to get his fat hands on her again, and her immediate inclination was to stuff the Overseer in his own gibbet with a naphtha pipe up his arse. She sensed Freel felt the same – seeing through the pretence of procedure to recognise the tin god pervert for what he was – but while McCain himself would prove no obstacle if Freel chose to remove her by force, his goons about the town might. Not than any of them looked as if they’d stand a chance again him – it was just that, new to the job as he was, he might not wish the paperwork that would result from mopping up a town of his own people.
Freel suggested a compromise.
Kali would be returned to McCain if she failed to deliver the help the Faith was asking of her. To ensure her return, Gabriella DeZantez would accompany them where they needed to go.
“What?” Kali said.
Once again she began to stomp towards Horse.
And once again Gabriella DeZantez stepped in front of her, blades drawn.
Kali whirled on Freel. “Are you serious?”
Freel folded his arms. “It appears Sister DeZantez is serious.”
“But I already agreed to come!”
“Ah. But not necessarily to help.”
“I’m innocent, dammit!”
“That remains to be seen.”
Kali’s gaze snapped between the two of them, exasperated. What the hells was going on here? One minute this... enforcer was asking for help, the next taking her into his farking custody! Then a small wink from Freel mollified her. He had no intention of returning her to the Overseer, just getting her away from him without the need for bloodshed.
“It is better all round, do you not think?” Freel said.
Kali did think. Once again the enforcer had demonstrated an approach to the job that was different from Konstantin Munch’s and shown himself to be something of a manipulator in the process. It made a refreshing change from a punch in the face, but she realised she’d have to keep an eye on this Jakub Freel.
“Maybe it is,” she agreed.
Kali again moved to Horse, and this time actually reached him. She debated manually unshackling the various chains that had been wrapped about his body and legs but, having had more than enough of this town, snapped her fingers instead. Horse bucked, the chains exploded and links flew like rain.
“Good boygirl,” Kali said.
She began to check her saddlebags ready for the journey. As she did she noticed DeZantez emerge from rooms behind the church with a single, if fairly hefty, saddlebag of her own. She slung it over a dusty, chestnut horse, and the clank it made suggested it contained her armour.
Kali frowned. Gabriella was something of an enigma and she couldn’t quite work out how serious she was taking her assigned role as her custodian. Whether, indeed, she was aware that Freel himself had not been serious about it. Certainly, she had to keep up appearances for now, but the question was, were they more than appearances? Would she, if it came to it, return her to McCain if she failed to help Freel? Would she, even, cut her down if she tried to flee? Kali decided she might have to have a word with Freel once they’d left town, request that he make his little deception clear to DeZ
antez, because she appeared to be a soldier who followed orders to the letter.
Or... maybe not.
Kali watched as DeZantez returned to the church and emerged with its collection coffers. The gold inside was destined, like them, for Scholten, and it was a cardinal sin to remove it, but DeZantez had no hesitation in distributing it instead to the people of the town. She clearly thought it better used for the repairs Solnos would need.
Kali was about to move forward, tell her that was a kind gesture, but hesitated as DeZantez moved to the edge of the ruined graveyard and stood, staring in. Kali didn’t know why, but she sensed that had the graveyard still been intact the Enlightened One might have been a little more reluctant to leave. With its destruction, she had found an excuse for a decision that she had struggled with for a while; that it was time to leave Solnos, and whatever memories it held, behind.
After a while DeZantez turned and mounted her horse. Kali and Freel mounted up too. The three of them rode to the edge of town and then up onto the ridge where, for Kali, this whole affair had begun. They stared at the rotating machines. A rumble of thunder in the sky behind made them seem all the more ominous.
“I was going to find out what these bastards are,” Kali said to Freel. “Before you came.”
“Actually, Miss Hooper, you were going to die, screaming horribly.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean. And believe me when I say you are still going to get the chance.”
Kali snapped him a look, but before she could question him further, Freel spurred his horse on, and she and DeZantez had to gallop their mounts to catch up.
The enforcer kept them to a strenuous pace for most of the journey to Scholten, slowing to rest the horses – the bamfcat needing none – only infrequently. Kali could, of course, have had Horse make a few ‘shortcuts’ but there seemed little point in reaching Scholten before Freel. Still, she would have liked to see DeZantez’s face if Horse jumped right in front of her eyes. What would she do about returning her to McCain then, eh?
It was during one cooling off period – she and Jakub Freel riding side by side in silence, DeZantez lagging a little way behind, lost in thought – that she decided to tackle what had so far been unsaid.
“I know who you are.”
Freel simply nodded. “And I, you. In fact, I understand you were something of a thorn in my predecessor’s side.”
“More like an arrow in his head,” Kali said. “But, strictly speaking, I wasn’t the one responsible.”
“No?”
“No,” Kali repeated. “It was my lover. Slowhand. Killiam Slowhand.”
The mention of the archer, and her relationship to him, was careful and deliberate. She let both facts hang in the air. She hadn’t known how much Freel knew of her and Slowhand’s involvement with Jenna’s death in the Drakengrats, but got a notion now – a flicker in Freel’s eyes that went beyond recognising his wife’s brother’s name. It was obvious he knew full well that Slowhand had given the order that had killed Jenna.
“Killiam Slowhand,” Freel repeated. “A joke of a name. Not even his own.”
“He has his reasons.”
“That, then, is his role in your relationship? He is your assassin?”
“Assassin? No, of course not. He’s a soldier and...” Kali hesitated and decided that she may as well take the bamfcat by the horns. “Freel, you have to understand, what happened... it was Jenna or us.”
Freel pursed his lips, nodded slowly, but said nothing. Kali did not press him.
“Was it worth it?” He asked eventually.
“What? Was what worth it?”
“What you fought so hard to save? The reason so many died that day? The ship?”
The question threw Kali and she frowned. The fact was, other than generalities, she had no idea what role the Tharnak had yet to play. “Honestly? I don’t know.”
“Are you saying that it remains to be seen?”
“I guess I am, yes.”
Freel turned to her for the first time. “Then, Miss Hooper, if you are trying to discover what my opinions of your lover are, my answer is they, too, remain to be seen.”
With that, the conversation ended and Freel spurred his horse on. They didn’t slow again until they had reached their destination.
Scholten Cathedral. The last time two times Kali had trodden its supposedly hallowed halls she had been with Slowhand, and on both occasions she and the archer were intruders, either running for their lives or sneaking about in the dark. In either case they had been able to pay little attention to the details of their surroundings, other than to the whereabouts of Faith patrols. She wished she could say it made a nice change to be able to take a good look around but the opposite was true. Everything about the place – the grandiose architecture, the ceremony and particularly the smug faces of the cathedral’s Enlightened Ones, tending to their flock in exchange for donations – made Kali sick to the stomach. She wondered why she hadn’t, in fact, jumped away with Horse on the way here, as had crossed her mind.
The One Faith, The Only Faith, The Final Faith, she thought. Gods!
They were a blight selling the false dream of ascension to their followers, and she wished she could tell every one of those followers what she had witnessed done in the church’s name, just what it was that went on behind the gold-thread tapestries and hand-carved wooden doors – show them the real face of the Final Faith.
She, of course, bore scars both old and new to remind her of exactly what that was. The old scars on her ankles, wrists and neck had been acquired deep beneath these very halls, where Konstantin Munch had submitted her to the comforts of his ‘nail chair’ and the tender ministrations of Querilous Fitch. Though the scars had faded, her disdain for the Faith would never go away. The new scars were the red blotches that she now bore on her shoulders and neck: evidence, if any were needed, of these bastards’ propensity to burn first and not ask questions later, to immolate any who spoke out against their cause, as they had done in the thousands over the years.
It gave Kali no small pleasure, then, as, with the sound of the Eternal Choir fading in their ears, Freel led her and DeZantez down into the sublevels’, where it seemed the Faith had undergone some suffering themselves. The transition from the ornate cathedral to its gritty underbelly was always dramatic, but the signs of recent battle in the distribution and rail centre made it more so. Bodies had clearly been removed from within it, but cleaved or broken pieces of armour and torn surplice cloth were scattered here and there, some pieces of which still contained the odd chunk of severed flesh. And there was blood. A great deal of blood that had to have come from a great many people.
Something had hit the Faith and hit them hard.
The question was what?
“Come with me,” Freel said, wasting no time.
He led the two women to some kind of bunker that, judging by the crates of belongings waiting outside the door to be removed, had recently changed hands. Kali recognised some of the belongings, particularly a small trolley containing a number of needlereeds and vials of viscous liquids and a duplicate of her own gutting knife. This must have been Konstantin Munch’s hidey-hole when he wasn’t torturing poor unfortunates in the holding chambers below. But as they passed through the door, no further evidence of the dwarf-blooded psychopath could be seen. Freel had put his own stamp on the office.
Kali’s eyebrows rose. The bunker could have been an Old Race site, so much of their technology had been installed. Except that where most of the devices she encountered in such sites had been decayed and broken down, rotten after countless years of neglect, this stuff looked as if it had come straight out of the box. Amberglow light-panels illuminated an array of exotic machines of unknown purpose, security cages were sealed with runic arches and, most disturbingly, a raised platform in the centre offered views from a dozen Eyes of the Lord spheres, projecting goings-on in different parts of the Faith’s empire. These images were b
eing monitored by a handful of grey-robed men.
Gabriella DeZantez seemed discomforted in the presence of so much technology, as if it had no place in her vision of the church. Freel immediately dropped a few notches in Kali’s estimation, too.
“Seems like there’s a difference between my manipulating forbidden artefacts and your doing the same,” Kali observed, nodding at the spheres.
“Oh, those things,” Freel responded, “those weren’t my idea.” He signed a chit handed to him by one of his men. “The rest, though... well, the Faith has to move with the times. Even if, ironically, those times are the ancient past.”
“Still meddling with things you don’t understand,” Kali said.
Freel paid her little attention, his face darkening as another man entered and read out the latest confirmed casualties – supply workers Bogle, Krang, Rutter and Flank, and an Eminence named Kesar.
The latter name seemed to shake Gabriella DeZantez.
“Rodrigo Kesar is dead?” She said.
The guard looked regretful. “The Eminence was supervising a... volatile incense shipment when the assault began, Sister. Was the Eminence a friend of yours?”
“No,” Gabriella DeZantez said quietly to herself, and shook her head.
Kali looked at her, puzzled. The man had obviously been important in some way, but she had already said not as a friend. It seemed almost as if she had had some door slammed in her face. Maybe she’d ask her about it when she had the chance. For now, though, there were more important questions to be addressed.
“You want to tell me what the hells has been going on here?”
Freel guided her and DeZantez to the viewing area and, as he did, three other men joined them from across the room. “General McIntee of the Order of the Swords of Dawn, Cardinal Kratos,” he said by way of introduction. “And this is the developer of the Eyes of the –”
“I know who this bastard is,” Kali interrupted. “And I should have known. Hello, Fitch.”