A Demon in Silver

by R. S. Ford

  Before he could turn his attention back to the ships, the last penitent stopped as the group passed them by. The white-robed figure peeled back his shroud with filthy fingers, revealing an old and withered face, with a lank matted beard. He stared at Livia, who took a step back toward the dock.

  ‘Be on your way, old man,’ Kaleb said.

  The old man ignored him, holding out a withered hand toward Livia.

  ‘It’s you,’ he said in a dry voice not used to speaking. ‘You have returned to us.’

  The rest of the penitents had stopped, turning to see what their fellow had been distracted by. Other folk on the dock were also taking an interest.

  Kaleb reached out to take Livia’s hand and pull her away when the penitent fell to his knees, arthritic fingers grabbing at her skirts.

  ‘You have returned to us,’ shrieked the old man.

  More penitents moved forward, dropping to their knees. Some sobbed, others chanted canticles in an ancient tongue Kaleb couldn’t understand.

  He grabbed Livia, dragging her away from the penitents, hearing the tear of her skirts as they desperately grabbed at her. They were drawing too much attention. They had to escape this place and worry about passage across the sea later.

  As they ran along the dock, someone shouted for them to stop. Kaleb glanced over his shoulder and saw the penitents following, but also a number of others, curious to know the source of the commotion.

  ‘Up here,’ Kaleb said, dragging Livia up a flight of stairs away from the harbour.

  He glanced over his shoulder again, seeing they were still being pursued. It would be impossible for them to gain passage on a ship now. Their anonymity was their greatest ally but they had been marked by the penitents. The whole city would want to know why.

  As they came out onto a narrow street, Kaleb stopped. The way was blocked by a group of warriors, bedecked in desert wraps. Every hand was on the hilt of a sword.

  ‘This is bad, isn’t it?’ Livia said.

  ‘No, this is very good.’ Kaleb allowed himself a sigh of relief. These warriors he recognised – Bloodguard of the Qeltine Brotherhood.

  They moved past Kaleb, barring the way behind, and as the penitents and pirates caught up they stopped short at the sight of the menacing warriors. Kaleb barely paid them any heed. He was too busy staring at the warrior left standing before them, his hair long and dark, face lacking emotion, immaculately attired in a black robe, crimson sash about his waist.

  ‘Hello, Kaleb,’ the warrior said with the slightest bow of his head.

  ‘Hello, Dantar,’ Kaleb replied.

  * * *

  Luckily for the people of the Cordral and Suderfeld, the old gods of the desert still hold sway among the disparate cults of the Ramadi. The memories of Byzantus, Qeltine, Mandrithar, Wraak, and the rest will not die so easily and, while they remain, the Ramadi will always be a feasting ground for carrion. For the warlord who could unite such a bloodthirsty and fractious place would have to be the mightiest the world had ever seen.

  – A History of the Ramadi Wastes, Sebastius Hoight

  * * *

  43

  IT had been an uneventful journey north but hotter than a demon’s dick. Josten had put up with the discomfort, not least because Canio’s men hadn’t complained one bit. Josten wouldn’t show an ounce of weakness in front of them.

  Randal had not felt the same.

  He was a whiner and no mistake. For miles, he complained about the heat and the hunger and the thirst and the ache in his feet. Josten couldn’t think of any man he wanted to silence more. If he’d had the opportunity to close his hands around the little bastard’s neck he could have done it too, but he never got the chance. Canio had briefed his men to keep Josten and Randal alive, and that clearly meant keeping them apart and unarmed. Not that lack of a weapon would have stopped Josten.

  He knew deep down keeping Randal alive, at least for now, was for the best. As much as he’d have liked to see the tallyman buried and gone in vengeance for Mullen, Josten realised they had strength in numbers. Though their journey through the Cordral Extent had been relatively incident free, who knew what awaited them the further north they travelled? No point killing Randal when he could be useful. Besides, there’d be plenty of time for a reckoning later. Murder could wait.

  Josten was reassured by the presence of Canio’s men. They were all in their thirties, grim-looking veterans with hard faces and missing teeth. The kind of men you wanted at your shoulder in a fix. Josten could only give thanks Canio hadn’t sent them off with green young lads.

  Not that the journey had been particularly hard. Apart from the odd band of roaming brigands, the Cordral Extent was trouble free. The same couldn’t be said of the Ramadi. Josten had been wishing they’d catch up to Livia and the cripple long before they got within a hundred leagues of that place, but it didn’t look like he’d get his wish.

  Their trail was easy enough to follow. Livia and the cripple weren’t trying to hide their passing and their sign was plain to see: she had a light tread and he had a limp. Anyone could have followed them across the dry earth if they’d wanted, and they led a trail straight north from Arethusa all the way across the Cordral. A trail that was uneventful, until the fifth day.

  It led them to an old monument, some kind of crumbling fortress. They’d approached it warily, a couple of Canio’s men going in first to make sure no one was waiting for them with ill intent. When they gave the all clear, Josten came closer. The smell of rot hit him first, then he saw the sight inside. Three dead men, killed quickly as far as he could see. From the trail, another had run off bleeding. It was normal enough for a place like this, finding dead men in the dirt, but the bird carcasses lying about the place were strange, like they’d dropped dead out of the sky. The weirdness didn’t end there.

  From the trail that led north from the place Livia hadn’t left with a cripple. Whoever she travelled north with now walked straight as an arrow, their footsteps measured and even, but there was no sign of the cripple’s body.

  It wasn’t something any of them could explain and Josten wasn’t too concerned with the whys and wherefores. All he knew was that Livia still lived, and he had to find her.

  They moved on quickly from that ruin. None of them admitted it but there was a sense of unease hanging over the place like a putrid stink.

  As they made their way further north, Josten began to get an anxious feeling deep inside. He’d not questioned why he was doing this, and now he had time to think on it he had to admit it was because he’d made a promise to Livia. He was all that girl had, the only one looking out for her. It was a strange and unusual feeling for Josten Cade, and one he welcomed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d acted out of loyalty to someone other than Mullen. Now Mullen was gone he was free of any allegiance, but there was something about this girl. Something that made him want to walk to the ends of the earth to make sure she was safe. Though he’d never have admitted it, he felt responsible for Livia Harrow.

  On the sixth day, the vista of endless sand was broken by a city. It was nothing like Josten had ever seen in the Suderfeld, where everything was constructed in blocks and triangles. Here minarets soared with twisting steeples and curving annexes, and pennants flew from every tower. As they drew closer they were met by the distant salt-stink of the sea. After all this sand he couldn’t wait to see open water.

  The sight of the city quickened their pace and the six men reached the gates by the time the sun was at its zenith. Black gulls cawed their welcome but the city guards seemed none too pleased to see them. Despite the grim looks, Josten was surprised when they were allowed entry without question; he guessed the bodies hanging from the gate lintel were there as a reminder to behave once you were inside – they served as a warning all their own.

  No sooner had they passed the threshold than Canio’s men stopped.

  ‘Here’s where we leave you,’ said Picket, the oldest of the veterans.

  ‘Here
’s where you what?’ Randal replied, eyeing Josten cautiously.

  ‘Canio told us to take you as far north as the Devil Sound. If you hadn’t found the girl by then we were to turn back. Besides, there ain’t enough gold in the whole of the Cordral would make us want to venture into the Ramadi. Once we buy supplies we’ll be heading straight back. Good luck.’

  With that the men headed off into the throng. Randal opened his mouth to shout after them but thought better of it. Josten just stared at him and the two men weighed each other up.

  What now? A fight in the street? Claw at each other like animals? Josten couldn’t get the image of Mullen out of his head. Couldn’t help but grit his teeth in anger.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Randal. ‘But trust me, it’s a bad idea.’

  ‘You’ve got no idea what I’m fucking thinking,’ Josten replied, but truth be told it was obvious he was thinking about murder. The only thing stopping him were the bodies hanging from ropes on the way into the city. If he’d been certain he could have got away with throttling Randal in the middle of the road that’s what he’d be doing. But he didn’t fancy being strung up for murder in the arse-end of nowhere because he couldn’t control his thirst for vengeance.

  ‘We have a difficult task ahead of us,’ Randal continued. ‘We both want the girl. It would serve us well to work together. Once we have her we can think about fighting it out. Until then I suggest we put our differences aside.’

  Josten felt his fists unclench and he let out a long slow breath, grasping the sense in what Randal was saying. He wanted this bastard dead more than anything, but if there was even a chance he was to get through this in one piece he knew he’d need help. And Randal was the only one around who’d be watching his back. It wasn’t much, but it looked like there was no other choice.

  ‘Livia,’ Josten said.

  ‘What?’ Randal replied, still looking uneasy.

  ‘Her name is Livia. And you’re right, if we’ve got any chance of finding her and getting out of this place alive we’ll need to do it together. Who knows, once we’ve found her maybe I’ll even let you live.’

  Randal gave a curt nod of the head. ‘And for that I’m sure I’ll be grateful.’

  Josten looked around the bustling city. The streets were busy with men and women of all creeds and colours but there was still an oppressive taste to the air, as though they were in constant danger.

  ‘So, what now? The trail’s gone cold,’ he said.

  Randal nodded. ‘It’s cooled, I’ll admit. But I’m not willing to give up just yet. Are you?’

  There was no way Josten was about to give up now.

  ‘Whoever’s brought her to this place may have had a mind to sell her on the slave market. I think we should check there first.’

  Randal nodded. ‘Good suggestion. Let’s hope we don’t end up on the ledger.’

  Josten hadn’t considered the state they were in. Both men looked like they’d been dragged most of the way across the Cordral Extent rather than walked.

  ‘Maybe we should get cleaned up first?’ he suggested. Randal agreed.

  It took them a little time and a lot of hand-waving and talking loudly to foreigners before they found themselves at a market. With a little reluctance, Josten pooled what coin he still had with Randal and they managed to purchase clean clothes. Yet more bargaining and they found a washhouse close to the docks where they could clean themselves.

  Josten hadn’t realised how much he needed a bath. The water was cool, if not completely fresh, but it was still cleaner than anything he’d drunk in the past week. As much as he wanted to make the most of it, he couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that plagued his mind.

  Finding Livia was going to be tough. Rescuing her from whoever had taken her even tougher. This would be the last bath he took for a while.

  Any attempt to relax was shattered as the sound of wailing drifted in through the window. Josten lay in the bath suffering the din for as long as he could before he climbed out to see what the commotion was about. He stood there dripping, looking down onto the dock below.

  Hooded men were kneeling in a circle, chanting. It was an odd sight, made that much stranger by the fact that passers-by seemed to pay them little attention. Josten was about to leave them to it, but before he could one of them stood up, arms to the sky.

  ‘She has come to us,’ said the figure from beneath his hood. ‘The White Widow returns like a herald from across the stars. We must purge ourselves, for absolution is near. Our time is near, brothers.’

  Deep in his gut Josten knew there was something more to this. Somehow he knew this had something to do with Livia.

  He pulled his fresh clothes on over his sodden body, hopping as he headed toward the door of the bathhouse while pulling on his boots. Out on the street the robed men were still kneeling, chanting quietly to one another as the crowds wandered past. Josten stood to one side of the men, suddenly feeling foolish, unsure of what to say.

  ‘You heard them too?’

  Josten turned to see Randal standing beside him – close enough to have stuck a knife in his side if he’d wanted to.

  ‘I guess I did,’ said Josten. ‘Good to know I’m not going mad. You think they mean Livia?’

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Randal replied, taking a step forward. ‘Holy brothers,’ he began. ‘We are pilgrims from a far-off land. And we too seek this White Widow.’ A couple of the hooded men looked up but didn’t reply. ‘We are simply seeking enlightenment. Perhaps you could tell us where she might be found?’

  The men had stopped their chanting now, every hooded head pointing toward Randal. It was clear his line of questioning was falling on deaf ears.

  ‘Fuck this,’ Josten said, grabbing the nearest of them around the neck and hauling him to his feet. ‘Where is she?’ he shouted, pulling back the hood. The head beneath was old and liver-spotted, bloodshot eyes staring in fear. ‘Southern girl? Hair black as pitch? Is that who you mean?’

  The old man nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She was taken.’

  ‘Taken by who?’ Josten demanded, giving the frail old man a shake.

  ‘By the Brotherhood. The Qeltine Brotherhood.’

  ‘Where?’ Josten barked.

  The old man shook his head. ‘We do not know. If we did we would follow.’

  Josten dropped the old man and turned to see Randal smiling at him.

  ‘Crude but effective,’ said Randal. ‘We might make a good team yet.’

  Josten thought about answering. Instead he walked away from the praying old men before they drew too much attention. Whoever this Brotherhood were, they were bound to show their faces sooner or later.

  44

  LIVIA stood in a dusty old storehouse that stank of fish and years of ill care. The masked warriors stood around like silent golems, lurking in the dark. She couldn’t even hear them breathing in the quiet of the ancient building. Kaleb and the one he had called ‘Dantar’ were the only voices. Their greeting had been curt, and now they were in the relative privacy of the old dock building they seemed no warmer to one another.

  ‘We leave in the morning,’ said Dantar. ‘There is a ship waiting to be supplied in the dock.’

  Kaleb seemed confused. ‘Supplied? For a journey across the Sound?’

  ‘We are not heading across the Sound. We will sail beneath the Bridge of Ancients onto the Ebon.’

  ‘We are not bound for Kragenskûl? But the Blood Regent—’

  ‘Instructed me to wait here for you,’ said Dantar. ‘It seems this girl is more important than we first thought. Seeing you confirms that.’ He regarded Kaleb’s restored body as though a miracle had been performed. ‘The Blood Regent waits in Kessel. That is where we will go.’

  ‘Kessel? But—’

  ‘No more questions, brother. We have all been given our duties to perform. And you have performed yours admirably.’ Dantar glanced across at Livia. She almost shook under that animal gaze. ‘Now you sho
uld rest. Your journey is almost at an end.’

  Kaleb said nothing, seeming to crumble at the mention of ‘duties’. It appeared he was as much a slave as she was.

  Livia was led up a flight of rickety stairs to the highest level of the old storehouse. There, a bare platform looked down onto the rest of the building. She could see Kaleb and the other warriors resting in the darkness. Above her she spied a window open to the night.

  As she lay her head on the bare, dusty boards she looked up at the stars beyond, her dreams of escape evaporating as she once again realised there would be nowhere for her to flee to, not even if she could sprout wings and fly from the roof.

  She closed her eyes, and for the first time since this had all begun she wished for dreams of bloody spears and howling demons, anything to take her away from this hell. Instead, Livia slept soundly for a time, settling into a deep and dreamless peace until eventually her eyes flitted open in the dark.

  It was silent in the storehouse, but she could tell someone was there. As she sat up, her shoulder throbbing from the hardness of the floor, she expected to see Kaleb sitting in the dark, watching her as she slept, her silent protector. Or was it captor?

  It was neither. It was a woman’s shape that hunkered in the shadows.

  Livia stared into the dark for as long as she could at the silent shape. All she could make out clearly were the woman’s steel-blue eyes which almost glowed in the blackness. When she could stand it no more, Livia opened her mouth to speak, but the woman raised a hand for her to be silent.

  Like a phantom the woman moved forward, silent as death in the dark. Livia could see the details of her face now. She was lean, almost gaunt, her hair shorn close to her scalp, but there was still a strange kind of beauty to her. Her clothes were dark like the shadows, plain and tight-fitting. She wore a single blade strapped to her side.

  ‘We must leave,’ she said.