God of Night

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘I’m not your performing monkey, you know,’ he said.

  ‘We know,’ Deern called from the crowd. ‘That’s Lynx’s job.’

  Atieno took the fragment and held it up. Again, after a second of contact with his fingers the shard of the God of the Sun itself crumbled to nothingness.

  ‘There’s a burst of magic each time he does that, by the way,’ Sitain said. ‘A big one.’

  Despite her exertions and the late hour, she looked bright and alert. Eyes wide, grin broad and pupils large and black as though she was high on something particularly enjoyable. Toil took a look at Atieno as he nodded his agreement. The man also looked enlivened and ready for action.

  Never more handsome either, Toil thought, smiling inwardly. Gods, he’s almost old enough to be my father! Maybe the power of the gods lends a man an extra something?

  ‘How much?’ she asked. ‘Like you’re full to bursting or what?’

  Sitain shook her head. ‘Like the air’s full. It’s fading, drifting away as we speak, but …’

  ‘Think of it as a summer’s day,’ Atieno said. ‘You suddenly step out into a garden bursting with scents – flowers all around you, their perfume filling the air.’

  Toil did exactly that, pondering the image with a growing smile on her face. ‘Interesting,’ she concluded. ‘Could be useful that.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Leave that bit to me. I’m the brains, remember?’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Right – Sitain, you take one fragment, any one you like except Banesh’s.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cos I want you to have one. Hide it away. The rest we divide between two bags, just in case. I’ll take one, Safir, you have the other.’

  ‘Time to move out?’ Anatin said. ‘I only ask because, well, you know … I’m in fucking command, remember?’

  ‘Time to be ready at a moment’s notice,’ she corrected, ignoring his tone. ‘Hopefully we’ll hear the signal soon – if not, I guess we’ve got a fight come dawn.’

  The company fetched their kit while four Cards were sent to a nearby stables to ready the horses. Their arrival had been noted, of course. Even the most incompetent city guard would have spotted forty-odd mercenaries arriving with horses and baggage, but Toil wasn’t planning on coming back this way any time soon. Getting the blame for this little endeavour wasn’t going to hurt business. In fact, it was at least partially the point of the exercise.

  ‘Gunshots,’ Kas reported, trotting down a narrow stairway where the owner’s private quarters were. ‘Sounds like they took your invitation.’

  ‘Let’s not hang around to be thanked then,’ Anatin muttered, heading for the door with his mage-pistol drawn.

  Toil followed him outside. The rest of the Cards came grouped in their suits to impose some sort of order. The city remained quiet. Deep in the night she could hear the sharp crack of icers, distant across the cold, still streets, but nothing closer to hand.

  ‘Reckon we’ll be able to do them one more favour,’ she whispered to Anatin as they mounted up.

  ‘Without supplies or horses?’ he replied. ‘Some favour.’

  ‘If any group of people can survive the wilds, it’s mages. The Order won’t know which way to turn, which group to chase. We can’t wait for ’em, but they should benefit as much as us.’

  Anatin nodded and said nothing further as he signalled them to move out. It was a noisy procession through the streets despite their best efforts. Fifty horses simply couldn’t be quiet. It was probably only the sound of gunshots elsewhere that ensured they didn’t meet a patrol.

  Before long they were approaching the south gate to the city and Anatin reined in. He turned in his saddle and looked at the faces behind him.

  ‘Sitain, what state are you in?’

  Toil pictured the open ground before the gate. There was a large shrine to Catrac, God of Passion and Endeavour, right in the centre. Topped by a clocktower it comprised a dozen intricate contraptions that celebrated the skills of the Knights-Artificer.

  ‘It’s too far,’ she answered on Sitain’s behalf. ‘Not with the work she’s done already tonight.’

  ‘Bloody Grasiel all over again,’ Anatin muttered. ‘At least we’re better armed this time. Lynx, Haphori, Darm – load sparkers for anyone on guard. Reft, Aben, Varain – earthers to deal with the gate. Snow and Tempest watch our flanks, we move fast and hard. Sitain, give ’em a blast as we’re passing through so we don’t get it in the arse.’

  He gave the Cards a few seconds to replace the cartridges in their mage-guns then trotted out into the weak light of the skyriver. To everyone’s surprise there was a contingent of Knights-Artificer troops standing out in the open – heading away. Toil glimpsed a flash of red from the front of their uniforms as they turned to gape at the Cards, then it was lost as two sparkers were fired in tandem.

  The nearest man’s eyes exploded under the force of lightning. Jagged whips of light lashed the remaining soldiers, scorching flesh and cloth alike. Two fell dead, two more were hurled to the ground. The Cards picked up their pace. Anatin urged his horse forward as he levelled his mage-pistol. He shot the nearest, a woman with red flashes of rank on her shoulder, before she knew what was happening and Toil killed the other.

  Movement on the walkway above the gate prompted another sparker to tear through the night air. There was a scream and a gunshot as lightning claws surged left and right along the stone. The victim’s gun had gone off to punch a hole through the wooden roof above. Toil reloaded as fast as she could, keeping close to Anatin. The commander fumbled one-handed to do the same.

  ‘Reft!’ Anatin yelled.

  The big man towered over them all, riding something akin to a carthorse to bear his weight. He didn’t have to push to the front to fire. An earther tore over their heads and slammed into the thick square gate. It blew a hole in the wood, but managed to miss anything vital so the others fired. Aben struck the gate support and shattered a large chunk of stone, while Varain hit the base and blew out one hinge.

  Most of the Cards had their guns high, scanning for other guards above the gate or elsewhere on the wall, but Toil didn’t think it would be likely. They’d chosen Siquil partly because it was out of the way, well clear of the current turmoil engulfing the various Militant Orders. The security of the city had remained complacent. The new reality hadn’t reached these remote parts yet or the Cards would never have all been allowed inside its walls.

  Reft and Varain fired again from close range, neatly taking out another hinge of the gate. The gate was smashed to pieces, affording a clear gap for them to ride through and Anatin led the way at a canter. Toil glanced up as she went. The rattle-cage was still neatly stored above their heads. If an enemy had appeared outside the walls, they would have dropped that like a portcullis of olden times – ensuring a few earthers weren’t enough to clear the gate. It clearly hadn’t occurred to them it might be necessary when there was gunfire inside the city, however.

  ‘Shame we can’t drop that before we go,’ Toil commented as she went through the gate. ‘Block the way.’

  ‘Why not?’ a woman called from a little behind her – Estal, the company diviner. She held up something dark in her hand and with a start Toil realised it was a boomer, an earth-grenade. The mushroom-head pin wasn’t inserted yet so it was still safe, with nothing to push down to crack the magic-charged glass core.

  ‘Shattered gods! Just to close the door behind us?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got two of ’em!’

  Toil shook her head. ‘Oh sure, it was the waste of a good bomb that gave me pause.’

  ‘I’m just saying, it’s there if you want it,’ Estal chuckled.

  She was a stocky woman with prematurely white hair, thanks to an old injury, and an occasional crazed streak that Toil suspecteded had the same source. It was hard to be sure given the company she kept.

  ‘Do it,’ Anatin said. He waved Kas, now the company’s chief scout, onward to lead the way do
wn the south road. ‘Give us a lead if you can, but the first sound of troops you get from inside the walls, blow the gatehouse.’

  Estel nodded and broke from the line to bring her horse next to Anatin. Toil continued on, following Kas’s lead at a slow trot away from Siquil. Anything faster would be dangerous at night unless the skies cleared, and judging from what she could see on the horizon, the cloud cover would only thicken.

  ‘We’ll be walking soon,’ she said to Aben, her long-time lieutenant, as he urged his horse up beside her. ‘No light for anything else.’

  ‘Yeah, a long few days of travel ahead of us,’ he agreed. ‘Best we make the miles while we can.’

  Toil patted the bag of ten God Fragments that was tied securely to her waist. ‘More than a few days. They’ll not give these up easily.’

  ‘We’ve got supplies and arms,’ he argued. ‘They’ve got no more’n a company of cavalry here. That could catch us, but would be hard-pressed to win a fight. The numbers they need will take longer to assemble and will move slower.’

  ‘Never underestimate the will of a fanatic, my friend.’

  He gave her a strange smile at that comment. ‘I never do, Toil. But we only need three days of hard travel before we’re clear. Unless we come across some raiding force, they’re not catching us in time.’

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right.’ Toil gave a sudden bark of laughter. ‘And if you ain’t, we can always swing by Crater Keep, eh?’

  Aben almost choked at the suggestion. ‘Crater Keep? Woman, all your feminine wiles couldn’t persuade even Lynx to go there, let alone those of us with half a brain!’

  ‘I’ll shoot you myself,’ opined Kas from up ahead. ‘Fuck the mission, fuck our wages, fuck whatever the Militant Orders have got planned for the Riven Kingdom. I’ll take my chances with the fanatics and this new age of magic before I guide the Cards to Crater Keep.’

  ‘I was joking!’ Toil protested. ‘Honestly I was!’

  ‘If anyone’s crazy enough, it’s you,’ Kas replied, not looking back from the empty road ahead.

  ‘I promise I’m not. We went to look for ourselves once,’ Toil said, nodding at Aben. ‘Didn’t even get close before we realised it would be suicide.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Kas confirmed. ‘Just so long as we’re clear, though. I’d not even fucking pause before putting an icer through your face.’

  ‘Fine – I get the message. Now pick up the damn pace.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  Chapter 4

  Fire burned through his head. The taste. The stink. The heat. His skin screamed, his bones creaked, his mind howled. He knew it was a dream, but still he couldn’t escape the flames. It had burned too deeply inside him, scarring inside and out. Distantly, he heard the death-cries of his friends in the shuddering after-effect of the explosion and, impossibly, the mocking laughter of their killer.

  But it was a dream, not a true memory. He had come to amid the wreckage, burned and broken then dazed and stumbling. A man helped him away. Not one of his own but some faceless, scorched soldier in a torn Knights-Charnel uniform. They were both injured but despite the pain they had clung to each other in desperation, staggering towards safety with only the other for support. Head ringing, he’d not even known his own name, let alone asked his saviour’s.

  That hadn’t mattered for long. A stray shot had caught them as they escaped the firestorm. He’d not even noticed the battle raging, if battle was even the word for that chaotic fighting retreat. One moment they had been gasping cool evening air, the next his companion had spat a cloud of bloody mist and fallen.

  In his dream the flames reached out from the ruined arena to engulf him once more – claws of heat tearing at his throat. He sank to his knees, the terror a knife to his heart. Fire surrounded him, raging like a swarm of firedrakes. The fear wrenched his guts, but then a breath of cool air caressed his face. The faint breeze carried old smells, of stone and dust and damp. This was no gust sweeping down from the heavens but something ancient and deep instead.

  He felt her then. The imperious gaze he’d joked about more than once over the years – now somehow incarnate like a forgotten god who stirred once more. The fires dimmed and guttered as darkness stepped forward. Not shade, not night’s absence but something palpable and living. Invisible, impervious to light’s touch and only seen by the shape she described against the light.

  The figure wore a crown of jagged shards that cut the very night. Robed in elusive darkness, it – she – stepped forward swift and silent to claim him from the flames. He took her huge hand eagerly – fearful, all too aware of his own insignificance and her pitiless nature, but desperate to be saved. She drew him close, brought him within the folds of deepest black and then … then he saw—

  Sotorian Bade jerked awake, a whimper breaking from his lips. The pain of his face flared hot and sharp, contrasting with the cold sweat he felt elsewhere. A face loomed from the gloom and he recoiled, scrabbling back for a moment until he realised it was no cold goddess of the dark.

  ‘Wha?’ he croaked. ‘Who’re you?’

  There was a woman peering down at him. Round face with pale skin and large oval eyes. ‘Bad dreams?’ she asked. ‘You were calling out in your sleep.’

  Bade coughed and tried to collect his wits. A crinkled sheet of pain down the side of his face dragged his thoughts back to the dream. To the inferno that was the cause of both. His heart hammered in his chest and, when he didn’t speak, the woman continued.

  ‘Time to get up, you’re wanted.’

  ‘Eh? Get fucked.’

  The woman gave him a dangerous little smile. She was young, barely twenty he’d have guessed, but worryingly composed and unbothered by his scars. If anything she was interested by the twisted reddened flesh on one side of his face. Bade scowled and turned away. Belatedly he noticed one further detail about her. She was in uniform and no ordinary uniform either.

  Bugger.

  ‘Exalted,’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘What brings the likes of you down here?’

  He had a cell all to himself in the hospital wing of the Lower Temple Monastery, one of three sprawling Knights-Charnel communities in the city of Seiteil. The city had been built between two hills in the shadow of their holiest place, the valley of Seit-e-Veirolle. It was ruled almost entirely by the Torquen branch of the Knights-Charnel.

  The Lower Temple Monastery was one of the few parts of the city not explicitly given over to the Torquen, but Seiteil was the Lord-Exalted’s seat of power. Rarely was his will denied. Officially, the Defenders of the Torquen Temple’s Exalted Servants remained an advisory congregation of priests to promote the orthodoxy of Insar’s worship. Over the years that had translated into external intelligence gathering, internal policing, kidnapping, assassination and insurrection, plus a certain amount of looting city-ruins or anywhere else that might have God Fragments.

  ‘Like I said, you’re wanted. Now.’

  ‘Right.’ Bade rubbed his hand over the good side of his face, trying to scrub away the heaviness of sleep. ‘What hour is it?’

  ‘Half a bell past dawn.’

  He snorted. ‘For all that means this far north. Now I understand about all those old blood religions they used to have round here, mad tribes covered in warpaint and wolf furs. Sixteen bells of dark through the winter is enough to send anyone crazy.’

  ‘The light of Insar is with us, come winter or summer,’ she intoned.

  ‘Oh aye, cradle o’ civilisation these days, I nearly forgot. Anyway – pass my clothes and tell me who you are.’

  ‘I am not your servant. My name is Exalted Olebeis.’

  ‘Then good morning and fuck off, Exalted Olebeis. If you ain’t going to help me dress, you can wait outside or go find me something to help me think straight before I talk to your boss.’

  Olebeis sniffed. ‘You should wash too. And change those bandages.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice. Mine for you remains the same – scarper.’

>   To his surprise, she didn’t yell at him or even smack him around the head. An Exalted was certainly entitled to do that and more, but this one was no fool. She merely smiled again and left.

  Not afforded time to rest before being sent north, Bade’s injuries from Jarrazir were still not fully healed and the pain was almost constant. The burns somehow refused to scar properly, despite the attentions of several skilled doctors, cracking and weeping at almost every opportunity. When he slept badly, he moved more and disturbed the skin, so it wasn’t just the dreams that wrecked his mood.

  Bade cast around the small room, ignoring his clothes in search of something better. The cold remains of last night’s medicine was in a cup on the table, next to the reason he’d forgotten to drink it all. He knocked back the bitter tea, grimaced and followed it up with a slug of the brandy. A second slug went to keep it company and a third in case the first two got lost, then he reached for his shirt.

  Getting dressed was a slow and uncomfortable process: loose woollen trousers and a light cotton shirt under a long old-fashioned tunic that hung to his knees. He looked like some sort of elderly novice or hermit who’d wandered in from the wilds of the northern hills, but it was all he could bear. He’d been here for three days now, mostly keeping to the monastery’s grounds. Yesterday the weather had been fine and clear so he’d belted on his pistol and done a brief tour of the city to get his bearings.

  The renowned high valley pass had been clearly visible, a presence against the sky few could ignore. Gigantic statues of the Order’s founders loomed over a pair of great rounded towers, connected by the redoubt-studded earthworks that spanned the pass. Even from a few miles away he could make out the spindly shapes of huge trebuchets atop the towers. The elevation of the pass defences made the bare slope, up which a single road zig-zagged, a murderous slog of a prospect for any attackers.

  The burns on his body ran down the right-hand side of his face, down his neck to his shoulder and chest. They made bending forward especially painful. Rather than attempt to lace his boots or ask the Exalted for help, Bade pulled on a pair of fur-lined moccasins. While he’d lost everything in the rout at Jarrazir, possessions and crew too, Bade’s years of service had made him a wealthy man. Some of that was stored at his manor, far to the south, but a good amount remained on account at his employer-controlled bank. By the time they reached the north, he’d at least managed to gather a few comforts.