He wanted to go home, and she felt a twinge of sympathy for him. She would still kill him if the opportunity arose, but at least now she could partly understand his motives. After spending thousands of years trapped and alone, was it any wonder that he was desperate enough to destroy everything if it meant he could be free?
The cell door opened, and two Rahain guards stood in the entrance.
‘Get up,’ said one, his crossbow pointed at her stomach.
She stood, her chains clanking against the floor. She kept her expression calm and serene.
‘Move,’ the guard said, and she walked forwards. They let her walk between them, then they prodded her back with their crossbows.
She walked down the stone corridor, lit by wall lamps every few yards, until they came to a steep set of stairs leading upwards. She went up, the guards close behind, her chains thunking on each step as she climbed. Up and up they went, past landings leading to other levels of the fortress, but the guards kept her to the stairs. She was tired, and her left arm was in agony, the steel band round her withered wrist was weighing it down, pulling on her fractured elbow. She kept her battle-vision working at a low level, all of it focussed on keeping the fiery pain from becoming too much to bear.
She reached the top of the stairs and emerged out onto the flat roof of a high tower. It was circular, with a four-foot high parapet enclosing its perimeter. In the centre was a low platform, and positioned around it were five metal posts, which had been driven into the flagstone roof. Surrounding them, the city was swathed in the glow of the fires raging through the streets. She gazed around. Apart from her and the guards, no one else was there.
Without hesitation, she shot her range-vision off the side of the tower, reaching a section of the Old Town wall close by. She pivoted her sight round, taking in the devastated streets. Ahead of her was the Kellach quarter, and her heart pounded at the thought that Karalyn was somewhere in the desolate and deserted district of the city. The fires in the quarter had been extinguished, and she could see soldiers patrolling the streets in numbers.
Despite her longing to see her daughter she paused.
I know you’re watching, she said in her mind. I know you want me to lead you to Keira. Truth is, I don’t know where she is, or if she’s still alive, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.
Her vision snapped back to her body as she felt her chains being pulled by a powerful force. She fell to the ground, her eyes opening. Standing over her was the Creator, his black armour blotting out the light from the fires. He dragged her by her chains across the roof, and she screamed in agony as her left arm was wrenched and twisted. He threw her down next to one of the five posts, and leant over. With one hand he ripped the post from the flagstone where it was embedded. He looped her chains around it, then drove it back into the solid slab. The stone seemed to grow soft and viscous as the post was rammed deeper, pulling the chains with it. He touched the stone, and it hardened again.
He stood by Daphne, who lay with her arms out-stretched, the chains swallowed up into the rock by the post. Without a word, he turned and walked away to the stairwell. Daphne lay still, her face clenched as the pain from her arm overwhelmed her. For a second she longed for death.
She heard movement around her, but the pain was all-consuming. Her name was called, or it might have been, she wasn’t sure. She withdrew into herself, her mind slipping between consciousness and oblivion. She heard her mother telling her to sit up straight, act like a lady, smile and, above all, always be polite.
A cruel laugh mocked her. She felt a surge of power ripple through her, and the pain vanished in an instant. She gasped.
As much as I enjoy watching you suffer, Holdfast, the Creator said in her head, I need you lucid, in order to extract the maximum life from you.
She opened her eyes. Around the roof in a circle, attached to the other posts, were faces from her past. Was she dreaming?
‘Hey, Daphne,’ said Shella, sitting on the flagstones a few feet to her left. Her hands and wrists were enclosed in large metal gauntlets, and her chains were sunk into the rock by the base of the post.
Daphne stared, her mind foggy and distant, despite the absence of pain. She could feel that her arm was still broken, and realised that the Creator had numbed her. She gazed round the circle. To Shella’s left was Agang, squatting by his post, his fists clenched. After him was Dean, the young fire mage from Slateford, and lastly, between Dean and Daphne, was Laodoc. He was sitting cross-legged by his post, gazing at her.
‘Are you alright, miss?’
Daphne sat up, and pulled her nightgown down over her knees. She cradled her left arm across her legs.
‘This is a right laugh, eh?’ said Shella, holding up her metal-encased hands. ‘What a bunch of dumb asses. The Emperor must be pissing himself laughing at us. I came all this way ready to fight him, and I walked right into a fucking cell.’
‘What did he make you see?’ said Agang.
‘My brother Sami,’ she said. ‘You?’
He bowed his head. ‘An old friend.’
‘Dean?’ said Shella. ‘What about you?’
The boy raised his head to look at her. His face was ashen, and covered in bruises. His fists were also bloodied.
‘Lilyann,’ he said.
‘Looks like you put up a fight, at least,’ she said.
He shrugged.
‘What about you, professor fork-tongue?’
‘Simiona.’
Daphne gazed at them. ‘He trapped you all with visions?’
‘Like distracting kids with candy,’ said Shella. She looked Daphne up and down. ‘Judging by your appearance, you went down fighting.’
‘He raised hundreds of dead peasants. They overwhelmed us.’
Agang stared at her. ‘He raised them?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘just after he’d killed them.’
‘Then he’s a true soulwitch now,’ Agang said. A tear ran down his cheek. ‘What else can he possibly want? He is the most powerful being in the entire world, and he rules it. What more does he need?’
‘He wants to go home,’ she said. ‘He told me.’
The others stared at her.
‘He wants to leave?’ said Laodoc.
She nodded.
‘And he needs us to do it?’ said Shella.
‘Perhaps the level of power required is of an order of magnitude greater than any one mage could achieve,’ said Laodoc.
‘It’s greater than many mages could achieve,’ said the voice of the Creator, booming across the roof. They turned to see him emerging from the stairwell. Rahain soldiers followed him, and took up position around the length of the parapet, surrounding the five posts.
‘Why do you think it has taken so many attempts?’ the Creator said, striding up onto the platform in the centre of the roof, Arnault shuffling after him. The Creator gazed at each of the mages. ‘This however, will be the final attempt. You each have enough in you that, combined with my own power, will be sufficient to trigger the collapse of this universe.’ He laughed. ‘And just in time. There are so few mages left in the world that it’s unlikely I would be able to assemble another group. Yours will be the last faces I see before I am free of this wretched world, and all of its miserable inhabitants.’
‘Hurry up then,’ said Shella. ‘So you can fuck off.’
‘Patience, my little amphibian witch,’ he said. ‘You should have stayed in Silverstream. Instead, you shall have the honour of being the only mage to participate in two rituals. I hope you told the others how painful it is to have your life force slowly drained from your body?’
‘Where’s Killop?’ said Daphne.
The Creator turned to face her, and she felt his vast power bore into her mind.
‘Where’s Keira?’
You’re going to fail, she said, pushing her words into his head.
He ripped his mask off and stormed towards her, his eyes red, his face blistered, and she flinched back against his raw p
ower. She felt her mind raided, and fell to the ground writhing as he scoured her thoughts, sending every nerve aflame. She screamed, her head feeling like it was about to explode.
‘You’re hiding something,’ the Creator cried, his rage seething above her.
‘Leave her alone,’ said Laodoc.
The Creator turned to face the old Rahain man, and Daphne felt his presence leave her mind. He stared at Laodoc. For a moment Daphne thought he was going to strike him, but he turned away.
‘In a short while,’ he said, striding back to the platform, ‘I will be laughing about this.’
Daphne pushed herself back into a sitting position, leaning against the post. Her pain had been numbed again, but she was exhausted.
‘I can see why you wore that mask,’ said Shella.
‘It is only Guilliam’s worthless flesh,’ the Creator said. ‘My powers may have disfigured his features, but my own body lies pristine, waiting for me to return to it.’ He turned to Arnault, who was standing in silence by the platform, his head bowed. ‘Shall we begin?’
The Lord Vicar looked up, his eyes glazed over and vacant. He clapped his hands together, and more soldiers filed up the steps, leading a row of chained prisoners. They were Kellach Brigdomin, and each had been beaten. They shuffled onto the roof, crossbows aimed at their backs, their shackles binding them closely together.
The Creator strode from the platform and approached them. He waved his hand and, grunting, the Kellach fell to their knees before him, as if a weight had fallen on their shoulders. He walked to the end of the line, and placed his hand on the forehead of a Kellach woman. Her face seemed to shrink into itself, and she choked, but her body remained frozen to the spot where she knelt. Her eyes melted, and blood flowed down from the sockets. The Creator lifted his hand, and she toppled to the ground. The other Kellach stared in horror, straining against the invisible force keeping them on their knees.
Daphne stared, unable to pull her eyes away as the Creator flung the body of the woman over the edge of the parapet and moved on to the next prisoner. One by one he drained them of their lives, and each time he seemed to grow a little taller, his shoulders and arms thicker and stronger, while sparks seemed to fly across the surface of his armour as he threw each body from the top of the Great Fortress. When he had drained the last of the prisoners, the Creator turned to Arnault.
‘You have been a most incompetent servant,’ he said.
The Lord Vicar raised his eyes.
‘Still,’ the Creator went on, ‘it would be a shame to waste your remaining vision power.’
He placed his hand round Arnault’s throat, and watched as the life was drained from him. The Lord Vicar’s body hung limp, his eyes hollow and empty. With a flick of his wrist, the Creator sent Arnault’s body flying over the rooftop parapet, where it disappeared into the darkness.
The Creator stood in silence, staring up at the night sky with a look of ecstasy on his face, his eyes shining.
Daphne glanced at Shella. The Rakanese woman was looking with disgust at the Creator, contempt dripping from her.
‘You’re a coward,’ Daphne yelled at him.
‘Fucking right,’ said Shella. ‘Everyone hates you. Why don’t you kill yourself, and leave this world to those who love it?’
‘You, love it?’ said the Creator. ‘You’re a cynical, bitter woman with a heart full of murderous deeds that you feel no shame or regret for.’ He gazed at the mages, ‘Each of you has been responsible for evil acts. Murder, torture, the death of children and the slaughter of innocents.’ His eyes stopped at Dean. ‘Except the boy here, but that is more due to his youth than to anything good within him. If he were a better fire mage, then no doubt he would have killed many by now.’
He shook his head at them.
‘This world was my mistake,’ he said, ‘and tonight, one year from when I came down to inhabit this material form, I will end it.’
He stood up onto the platform, and raised his hands.
The black clouds of smoke above the city began to swirl around, and everyone on the roof stared upwards as a tight whirling vortex was created.
Daphne felt a firm grip envelop her mind, as the Emperor entered. At once, she sensed the links reaching out from him to the other mages, and could see inside all of their minds at the same time. Fear, panic and awe rolled in waves through her from the others, and she could pick out the individual terrors that held them in his grasp.
He lowered his arms, and Daphne’s head fell forwards, released. She took a breath, and gazed around. The other mages were doing the same, and she caught Laodoc’s eye.
They looked up at the Emperor. He was frowning.
‘It’s still not enough,’ he said. ‘The three strong should balance out the two weak, but something else is missing.’
‘Might as well give up then,’ gasped Shella. ‘Break out the gin and call it a night.’
The Creator ignored her, instead turning to stare at Agang.
‘That thought you just had,’ he said. ‘Interesting.’
Agang widened his eyes.
‘A sparker and a thrower?’ the Creator said. ‘Very perceptive, Agang. Thank you.’
He turned to a soldier. ‘Have someone fetch Killop.’
‘He’s alive?’ Daphne said, her heart soaring.
‘Of course he is,’ said the Creator, as the soldier ran off to the stairs. ‘A little bruised, perhaps.’
‘You bastard,’ she said. ‘You’re going to fail.’
The Creator smiled. ‘My crippled little Holdfast, defiant to the end? I expected no less.’
He turned, and walked to the edge of the parapet, gazing down at the city. Daphne watched him, then heard sounds coming from below. Steel striking steel, and cries of agony filtered up to the roof. She drew on her reserves, and flew a line of vision to the top of the parapet. The streets below in the Kellach quarter were filled with movement. Imperial soldiers were battling a mixture of Holdings peasants and Kellach Brigdomin around barricades, and through the main square. She zipped her vision back to her head, and glanced at Shella.
‘There’s fighting in the Kellach quarter.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Who’s winning?’
‘Couldn’t tell.’
The Creator turned. ‘There are hundreds of soldiers inside this fortress, and no one has ever broken into it by force in all the years it has stood here. I have also wrapped the building in false visions, enough to blind anyone who gets too close, and also to alert me if a mage approaches. No one will be interrupting us, so calm yourselves.’
Shella smirked. ‘It’s not us who’s freaking out.’
There was movement by the stairwell. Daphne’s eyes narrowed as she watched a squad of Rahain carry Killop up the steps. His arms were trailing on the ground, and his head hung down.
‘Here he is,’ said the Creator. ‘The sparker. At times I almost forgot I made them, but now they prove their worth.’ He gestured to the soldiers. ‘Set him down, then leave the rooftop. All of you. Your presence is required below, to ensure I am not disturbed.’
The soldiers carried Killop onto the roof and put him down by the platform. They bowed low, then filed back down the steps, leaving the Creator alone with the mages.
Daphne stared at Killop’s unconscious body. His face had been beaten, and his leathers were torn and bloody. She felt for him with her dream-vision, and found his mind wounded but intact. She sensed where their daughter’s protections were already starting to rebuild scoured areas of his mind. A tear escaped her eye.
She re-focussed as the Creator raised his arms.
‘Goodbye,’ he said.
The clouds of dark smoke begin to rotate again, gaining speed as they whirled and spun. Flames from the burning city were sucked up into the vortex, which began to glow, the clouds on fire.
Daphne felt him in her mind again, clamping it down and holding her tight. She retreated to a safe space, from where she watched as his presence filled her body
from head to toe. Around her, she could feel the other mages bound to him as she was, and she sensed Killop too, his body possessed by the Creator’s spirit.
The Creator drew on them, and she felt her life being drained out of her. At the same time the vortex above them grew brighter, and spun faster, blurring in a circle of fire. Her eyes began to close. She tried to dream-vision out to Karalyn, heedless of the risk; her desire to see her daughter one final time over-powering her caution, but her energy was disappearing.
She was weakening, as were Killop and the others, and the Creator exalted in his power.
Daphne struggled, resisting with all her strength, fighting to the end.
Chapter 37
Hacked Off
Plateau City, Imperial Plateau – 19th Day, Second Third Winter 507
Keira kicked the chair where Kallie was sleeping.
‘Wake up, ya lazy cow.’
The Kell woman grunted, her red hair falling over her face. Next to her, Karalyn was sleeping on a low mattress, her form lit by the glow of a flickering oil lamp, hung against the damp walls of the deep cavern where they were hiding.
‘Get up,’ Keira said, kicking the chair again.
Kallie opened her eyes, grimacing. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Nothing,’ Keira said. ‘Just been sitting on my own for fucking hours, watching you two get yer beauty sleep. I’m bored.’
‘Why don’t ye get some rest?’ Kallie said, rubbing her face.
‘I cannae sleep,’ Keira said. ‘My head’s buzzing.’
Kallie shrugged. ‘There’s plenty of booze that’ll knock ye out.’
‘I cannae get wasted. Not when I’m looking after her.’
She flicked her eyes over to the sleeping child.
Kallie reached down and picked up a bottle. ‘Well, I’m having another one. My head’s splitting.’
‘No fucking wonder,’ Keira said. ‘Ye put a barrel-load away earlier.’
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