A strange smell came from one side of the complex of chambers. This arterial architecture, so typical of this ancient city, meant it was difficult to locate at first. Such was the design of Dartun's home, each room prompted a sudden self-awareness so you felt as if you were exploring some aspect of your own mind and not just another room.
When she found the source of the smell, she wished she hadn't.
She called more of her followers to her side, standing in a large room with a curving, tiled ceiling, as if it was a cellar. The temperature seemed as cold as the snow outside. More lanterns were brought into the room, and as each extra light arrived, there was an audible gasp.
The room was fifty paces long, around twenty wide, and at the far end against the wall were the partially decayed remains of human beings, all shackled by an iron ring around the throat. Laid out on tables in two rows before these dead were crude shapes covered in cloth.
Papus stepped forward and, one by one, revealed what lay beneath.
'By Bohr…' someone whispered.
Mounds of flesh were heaped in metal containers, glistening under the torch in her hand. Bones jutted out from some of them, as did an array of metallic instruments that she assumed to be some kind of relic. Her vision drifted across each container in awe.
'Shit, it's moving!' she gasped, and gestured with her torch at one particular lump of flesh. As more light was brought to the table it was clear for all to see that the flesh-heap was rising and falling like some half-asleep beast. Vaguely hypnotic, utterly disgusting, the mound suddenly rolled over to reveal human organs underneath. Everyone groaned in revulsion. What she took for a mouth opened and closed cautiously, with a crepitus noise as if always taking its dying breath. Blood skimmed in intervals just under the surface of some strange, flaring epidermis.
Behind her, a man vomited.
What the hell was Dartun doing? This atrocity had to be immoral, in any age, in any society.
'What d'you think it is, Gydja?' one of the younger girls of her sect enquired. Her dark, slender features displayed a helpless fear and confusion.
'It's obviously some life form, although nothing I'm as yet aware of. I'd be interested to see if the banshees recognize this thing as a living organism or not.'
Comments were passed back and forth, theories offered, then dismissed. There was nothing to be certain of except that Dartun had been working on a horrific project. He was utterly insane.
'I want at least two of you here at all times monitoring this,' she instructed, staring at the nearest mound of mottled flesh. 'We'll examine these relics that Dartun's been using. I want to know everything that's gone on here, everything that bastard has planned.'
She headed back through the corridors, deep in thought. At times, feeling faint, she closed her eyes, paused to lean against a wall, just one thought in her mind disturbing her.
The difference between life and death isn't all that great.
If Dartun had the power to reassemble life, that put the whole of the Empire at risk. For the greater good, no cultist should monopolize that knowledge.
He had to be stopped immediately.
*
The next evening, from the depths of her order's headquarters, Papus directed that the remaining members of the Order of the Equinox be tortured. Having been stripped of any hidden relics, they were left shackled in holding cells beneath Balmacara. After she had managed to persuade the men and women of Villjamur's Council to allow the city's most skilled torturers to apply their talents. The Inquisition was only too happy to oblige, eager for the knowledge that would be shared.
Their methods would be brutal in this case, but were merited to try to discern whatever evil Dartun was devising.
Of the forty-three prisoners, seven men were tortured in front of the women. They were stripped naked, and bound spreadeagled across a stone plinth, awaiting the Pear of Anguish to be inserted. An ancient tool, this was a metal pear-shaped device inserted into the anus, and, with the touch of a tiny lever, it unfolded like the most cruel of petals in bloom.
Papus watched this, utterly unmoved. The men were crying and screaming, and they froze, then jerked as the metal pears were inserted.
Perhaps it was because the members of the Order of the Equinox had become accustomed to a comfortable lifestyle that the confessions came quickly and efficiently.
One by one, they told her all, the confessions spilling forth in their eagerness to oblige. It was the degree of Dartun's knowledge that shocked Papus initially. How a cultist could know so much about the occult world was unheard of, even by her own advanced standards. The information revealed about him was alarming: he was immortal, had lived for hundreds of years, had uncovered the key to longevity. She now had to discover this for herself by searching his headquarters more thoroughly.
At one point she asked, 'Does he have anything to do with the so-called draugr sighted on this island?'
Yes, he created them. Yes, he could raise the dead. To breed an army, they explained, enough of a safety net to deter those who might stop him. Also, to protect himself from whatever lay in the other realms beyond.
That brought them back to the subject of the Realm Gates.
She marched back and forth in agitation in front of the remaining prisoners, the facts underlying everything were coming to a head: the things Verain had warned her of were true. She felt extremely naive in her ignorance.
*
'This is indeed a serious business,' Chancellor Urtica whispered to Papus later, as they stood in a corridor of Balmacara. 'You tell me all these things about dead creatures walking, and then you warn that he will allow such dangers to spill over into our Empire. I'm not quite sure I completely follow what you mean, but I understand there is a risk. Therefore, do what you feel necessary to stop him.'
Papus nodded, but kept silent. They paused whilst a patrol of city guards marched past them. She glanced awkwardly at Urtica, who now leaned against the wall opposite whilst the guards said the Sele of Jamur. Shortly after, a stream of servants walked by with food dishes for some of the councillors.
'Fucksake.' Papus then drew a gold-coloured aldartal from her cloak. Urtica looked on surprised as she then triggered the dial on the device.
Servants paused in mid-stride still holding their trays, guards froze in mid-step. Even the flames on lanterns were stilled. A time-delay relic, and she and Urtica were now in their own separate time system. She said, 'We've not got long.'
He looked around at the people in suspension, then raised an eyebrow. 'Impressive.'
'If you want Dartun caught,' Papus said, 'I'll need military transport – longships, sleds, that sort of thing.'
'Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you want, just ask.'
'We'll be leaving the city immediately.'
'Right, wait here a moment,' he said, entering one of the clerks' rooms nearby. He returned with a document bearing his personal seal. 'This should be all you need.'
'Thank you, chancellor, I'll not stop until I find him.' As she took the document and slid it into a deep pocket, the stilled figures in the corridor came to life, blurred at first like in some kind of smeared painting, and then they continued performing their errands and routines in real time.
THIRTY-SEVEN
It was the flutter of wings that woke her, a faint sound at the periphery of her senses.
Tuya pressed herself up, pain shooting along her arms, muscles spasming unnaturally. Why did everything suddenly ache so much? She brushed her hair from her eyes, squinted into the light that fell upon her face through the partly open window. Through blurred vision she could make out a blue shape hovering up by the ceiling. A freezing breeze exploded into the room, spiralling leaves and snow over her arcane patterns.
'Who's there?' she asked, her voice alarmingly weak. She was a strong woman and wasn't used to feeling so helpless.
There was no reply. Street noises drifted up to her window from outside, chants of traders busy in the irens. It was obviously
well into the day, but she felt so disconnected from time.
As a blur of blue shot down towards her bed, she instantly recognized one of the images she had painted several weeks ago. The bat-like creature stared at her, the size of a child, and as far as could be judged from its furry features, she saw pity in its glossy, dark eyes. She had no idea it had survived this long, seldom giving much thought to what became of her many creations. She was touched it had returned to her side.
At that moment, as a sudden revelation, her current predicament rushed to the front of her awareness.
Tryst had not only beaten but also drugged her too, the bastard.
Escape was the priority. Tuya stood up, then she immediately collapsed. The muscles in her legs would barely function, and it was as if she needed to re-learn basic movement. The creature waddled down from the bed, holding its arms and wings out wide. After it helped her up, she sat down weakly on the bed.
'Why have you come to help me? How did you know I needed help?'
It seemed unable to speak. Could it even understand her?
After she composed herself, she limped around her room to pack some belongings. She got changed with a frail caution. When she had taken what she needed, she tried the door to discover it was locked. She couldn't find her keys anywhere, and struggling with the door proved futile.
Again her strange blue creation came to her side and she backed away as it contemplated the solid wooden door. It extended its wings, and with a down-thrust it rose into the air, hovered and then circled, flooring ornaments and antiques, before hurling itself at the door.
Wood and metal shattered simultaneously into minute blue sparks.
The door and the creature were no longer there. Tuya gaped in disbelief at this strange self-sacrifice by one of her creations. Sadness overwhelmed her. This was, ironically, the most love any creature had ever shown her.
But this was not the time for pathos. A bag of her belongings in one hand, she stepped out to commence her escape.
She needed to clean herself up, to get her head into some sort of order.
Who could she turn to?
THIRTY-EIGHT
Longships banked towards the east, cautiously navigating the complex and treacherous sheets of ice north-west of Villiren. Brynd looked out across the water, checking to see where the wind blew strongest past the jagged outline of the coast, the ice, the limestone cliffs. As soon as they were through the darker waters, the ship's sails snagged tight as skin, and the vessel suddenly lurched under gathering momentum. But the crew of the ship had also anticipated this, adjusting her sail accordingly. There had obviously been ice breakers out earlier along the length of this coast.
Then it presented itself, Villiren, one of the largest cities in the Boreal Archipelago, one of the most lawless places in the Empire. The city's harbour was perched between two wide cliff faces crawling with birds and pterodettes. A few renegade garudas were about, shadow communities of them living deep in the cave systems.
Villiren was the commercial hub of the Empire, strategically located between several mining islands like Tineag'l, where ore was auctioned and taxed and distributed. Traders of Villiren had made a fortune providing the Imperial armies. The people of Villiren had been 'rewarded' with democracy, even though they voted for someone who served the Council directly – not Brynd's idea of what democracy was. The city had expanded rapidly in recent years under the new portreeve, and this was often at the expense of labour rights. Many of the poor had been cleared from their homes in the face of Imperial progress, and were left with no choice but to work in mining communities further north.
An immense citadel loomed over the harbour. Turrets dominated every angle of the walls, and aside from the immense archways made from bone and the Ancient Quarter, the structures tended to be flat and featureless, a drab and endless latticework of streets, not at all like the grandeur of Villjamur.
As their longship navigated through the ice-plates, Brynd noted an alarming number of small vessels close to the harbour walls.
Apium joined him up on deck. 'Well, here I am, back at this shithole. Still, maybe a fat purse will compensate me for the lonely nights ahead.'
'Anyway look at that-'
Brynd interrupted his reminiscences, gesturing towards the hundreds of boats packed into the harbour, many left untied as if their owners didn't care about them any longer.
Apium came and put his gut on the side. 'What d'you suppose has caused that?'
'Either escaping the Freeze,' Brynd frowned, 'or something to do with the killings on Tineag'l.'
*
It could've been merely smoke from the fire with some spices sprinkled on it for extra aroma, but Brynd just knew that wasn't likely. This was the chamber of Fat Lutto, Portreeve of Villiren, after all. The haze was intense, making him feel drowsy. Brynd couldn't put a name to the drug he smelled, but it was close enough to arum weed. Probably some new variety that Lutto had nurtured for a little extra kick.
Bizarre sounds came from the middle of the chamber, which was decorated richly with purple cushions and silk hangings.
Brynd approached the source of the commotion, shouting, 'Lutto, is that you?'
'What? Who? Who goes there?' A mound of flesh pushed itself up from the tangle of bodies, grasped for a sword lying by the cushions. 'I'll have you, getting in here like that! I am well connected with gangs!'
'Portreeve Lutto, it's Commander Lathraea.'
A perspiring brown face leered through the smoke, a wedge of a moustache dominating it. Two bright blue eyes fixed themselves upon Brynd, before widening in recognition. 'Commander Brynd! What a pleasure! Just give me a second.' He abruptly dismissed the three naked rumel girls, a brown-, a black- and a grey-skin. They threw on their robes, and scampered out of a door to one side. The gust of air let in began to clear some of the smoke.
'That's better.' Fat Lutto waddled towards Brynd with all the grace of an old lady wading though shallow water with her skirts hitched up. He now wore a silver silk robe that billowed around him like a tent. 'And how's my favourite soldier these days? You bless Lutto with your presence with no warning. How kind. Or perhaps he comes to save Villiren in her time of need!'
'Rumel girls?' Brynd asked.
'Indeed!' Fat Lutto smiled, clasping his hands together. 'Tough skins, you see, and there's little chance of little Luttos coming forth.' He stroked his moustache thoughtfully. 'Has my favourite warrior come to help us in these troubled times?'
'Everyone seems to be talking about troubled times,' Brynd observed. 'Yes, we're here to investigate the incidents on Tineag'l. And at your request, I believe.'
'At last! This humble city can't put up with all these exiles for much longer. No, sir.'
'Exiles?' Brynd said. 'Why didn't you mention that in the message you sent to Villjamur?'
'Um… I hadn't enough details.' He held his arms out wide in despair. 'There were too few details then, but now I'm burdened with too many!'
Brynd said, 'I hope you haven't been neglecting your duties?'
'Would Lutto consider such a thing at the Empire's expense? I am, after all, her most loyal servant.'
It was almost as if Fat Lutto was trying to convince himself that he was honourable. 'What more can you tell me of the situation?'
Fat Lutto gestured for Brynd to sit on some cushions, then began to describe at length what had happened over the past few months.
At the start they had come in ones and twos, the refugees, in small and optimistic groups. Some came for the opportunities Villiren presented with the Freeze clamping down on their livelihoods in the wilds. But then people started to arrive in volume, families crammed on hazardous vessels, not a few of them drowning in the ice-cold waters.
Their stories were all the same.
The Claws, or the Shells. That was what the invading race had been labelled by locals. Either way, the news was the same: entire families, then hamlets, then towns, and more, wiped out in the course of just a night.
Large numbers of people had gone missing. Some were killed, with their skins ripped off. It seemed only the young and old were spared capture, but ended up dead. The invaders were hideous to observe: walking crustaceans that showed no regard for life. And no one knew where they had come from.
Brynd listened to these stories in silence, vaguely aware of the irony that many tribesmen had once spread similar tales of the invading Imperial forces through the ages.
But this was a crisis far worse than he could have imagined. This threatened not just the Empire, but all human and rumel life indiscriminately.
'All you're telling me,' Brynd said finally, 'this is absolute truth. None of it's your usual exaggerations?'
'Exaggerations?' Fat Lutto affected to look mortified.
'Well, there's the time you spread gossip that some of the Kyalku had sailed across from Varltung to merge with the Froutan and provoke a rebellion on the Empire's shores – all so that you could charge protection money throughout Villiren and Y'iren? Remember that?'
'Such accusations! Lutto is hurt!'
'So why didn't you send any further messages?'
'To be honest, no messengers dared leave the city.' Lutto placed a fat hand on Brynd's shoulder. 'You may think it isn't often I show anxiety, but I have never seen such a crisis. We've already accepted a few hundred into our city, but more are waiting on Tineag'l, trying to make their way across the ice sheets. More will die.
'And within months the ice sheets will be too much to disperse. A path will be formed directly between Tineag'l and Y'iren. Leading right to this city. What then?'
Brynd said, 'I'm surprised you haven't made a run for it already.'
'You joke, of course, Commander Brynd! But, there is safety in these walls. This is a fortress city, after all, with many skilled fighters.'
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