A Demon in Silver

by R. S. Ford

  He showed me of the time before the Age of Penitence. Of a land ruled by the Twelve. A race and creed known unto themselves as the Arkaons. Immortals all, who would perpetually battle one another for the right to rule over the hearts and souls of men.

  I saw their banishment to the land of Delnak, a vast plane they would eventually bring under their heel. I saw how some of them rose to become exalted, how others fell to become twisted things, and how fine the line was between those two extremities.

  All this and more I was shown by the Nameless, and when he had finished I was forever a changed man. For to know the truth of things is the only way to enlightenment, but with such forbidden knowledge will also come damnation.

  – An excerpt from the Archaeonomica, by the Mad Priest

  Amzan Fahoud El’Hazir, First Scribe of the Scorchlands

  * * *

  46

  ‘ARE you all right?’ Kaleb asked.

  She looked up, eyes boring into him. Kaleb took a waterskin given him by one of the Bloodguard and offered it to her. She glanced disdainfully at it then snatched it from his hand, gulping down the fresh water.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked again.

  She stared at him, the sea wind whipping her hair into a fury.

  ‘Am I all right? What do you bloody think?’ she replied. ‘I was almost free… we were almost free. Then you decide to drag me aboard this ship. I thought we were going to leave all this.’

  Kaleb felt a sudden shame, both for letting Livia down and for almost abandoning his mission.

  ‘It is my duty,’ was all he could manage to say.

  ‘To hell with your duty,’ she replied, rising to her feet. ‘And to hell with you. To hell with all of you.’ She turned to stare out at the dark waters of the Ebon Sea.

  ‘I had no choice,’ said Kaleb, trying his best to sound comforting. ‘But you should rejoice. You are truly blessed. When we reach Kragenskûl you will be revered. The Blood Regent himself will honour you. There is—’

  ‘I don’t give a shit about your regent or your Kragenskûl or any of that. I just want to be free.’

  He saw hate in her.

  ‘You will understand why you need to come with us soon. The honour—’

  ‘Fuck your honour!’

  He had no idea how to deal with this. Diplomacy had never been his purview. Kaleb was a fighter… a weapon. This was not his strength.

  He turned and left Livia at the ship’s prow, wishing he had the words to convince her this was the only way…

  But was it the only way? For a fleeting moment back at the dock Kaleb had been ready to run away with her. And for that solitary moment he had experienced his first taste of true freedom.

  Dantar was aft, dark hair billowing in the sea wind, eyes staring ever northwards. Kaleb came to stand beside his brother, seeing the look of satisfaction on his face.

  ‘You have done well, Kaleb,’ Dantar said. ‘I am ashamed to say it but no one really thought you would succeed. Me least of all.’

  ‘Thank you, brother. It was my duty,’ Kaleb replied. He felt little satisfaction in what he had done.

  ‘You have carried it out with distinction. And you have been rewarded in the process.’ Dantar glanced down at Kaleb’s renewed body. ‘Surely a gift from the Blood Lord himself.’

  Kaleb clenched his fist, feeling the restored muscle and sinew. He knew it was not the Blood Lord, but Livia, who had granted him this gift.

  ‘How did you know where we would be?’ Kaleb asked. ‘How did you even know I had the girl?’

  ‘The new Regent foresaw your arrival. He is young but oh so powerful. Never before has the Blood Regent been able to commune with the gods, but we are at the door to a new age. And that girl is the key.’

  Kaleb couldn’t bring himself to look back at Livia.

  ‘But why the keep of Kessel?’ he said, trying to change the subject. ‘Why would we not simply cross the Devil Sound and head to a port near Kragenskûl? Surely if Livia is to be revered it should be in our holy city. Not some forgotten outpost.’

  ‘Kessel is no mere outpost,’ said Dantar. ‘It is an ancient temple of the Qeltine Brotherhood. A place of holy sacrifice. A place of power. A conduit to the outer realm.’

  Kaleb felt panic suddenly rise within him. ‘A place of sacrifice?’

  ‘Of course.’ Dantar seemed to relish the prospect. Kaleb had never seen him so animated. ‘When she is gifted on the altar, the Blood Lord will rise anew. Kessel is a gateway, and that girl is the key.’

  Dantar stared across the ship at Livia, his wolf eyes hungrier than ever. Kaleb felt his heart sink watching Livia staring out to sea, oblivious of the fate that awaited her.

  He had brought her to this. He was the one who had told her she would be safe, revered even, and the truth was that she would not be treated as some new messiah, but as a sacrifice to the gods.

  Kaleb moved away from his brother, gripping the bulwark, unable to take his eyes from Livia, who stood silently at the prow.

  Why hadn’t he run with her when he had the chance? Why hadn’t he taken her hand and fled? If they hadn’t been interrupted by the man Livia knew then they would be gone by now, both of them free to go wherever they wanted. But that opportunity was gone, along with any fleeting ambition of freedom Kaleb might have harboured.

  For the rest of the voyage north, Kaleb could not bring himself to speak to her. What good would it have done to warn her, to tell her of her fate? Better she was ignorant of what awaited her. It was a burden he would gladly spare her.

  It was with dread that Kaleb awaited the sight of Kessel on the horizon. But when the headland finally came into view it was not the imposing black walls of that ancient citadel that made him balk.

  From the sea, the ship’s company could see the flat plain that rolled up to the coastline, and on it fluttered a thousand pennants. Filling the field were warriors in heavy bone armour, pushing siege machines and carrying their spears and axes aloft.

  Kessel was under siege.

  Dantar, Kaleb and most of the crew gathered on the deck, looking out over the grim sight. It seemed their entry had been barred by an army, and Kaleb felt a brief glimmer of hope. Perhaps Livia had her reprieve.

  ‘How do we enter?’ asked one of the Bloodguard.

  Dantar’s eyes scanned the battlefield in front of the great citadel. Arrow-peppered bodies lay rotting on the ground and the distant winds carried the sounds of men barking orders.

  ‘There is a way,’ he replied.

  Kaleb turned to him. Then saw what he was looking at. From the side of the citadel, two vast chains, each link as thick as a man’s waist, ran down into the sea. Kaleb knew the ancient tales of Kessel and its orgies of sacrifice. He knew the chains were connected to a vast platform within the body of the citadel. Centuries before, those chains would lower the platform with dozens of souls chained upon it, into the sea where the beasts of the Ebon would feast on the bounty of human sacrifices.

  ‘Brother,’ Dantar said, turning to Kaleb. ‘The honour should be yours.’

  Kaleb looked at Dantar but could not hold his gaze. Then he saw Livia, still at the prow, staring out to sea, no doubt dreaming of her freedom.

  What could he do? Refuse? Spurn his duty after they had come so far?

  ‘Very well,’ Kaleb replied, watching as the ship sailed closer to the chains.

  He silently stripped off his rags and with one last glance toward Livia, he slipped over the side of the boat and into the dark waters. The salt of the sea stung his lips but soon the cold of it had numbed him all over. Kaleb kept his strokes even and gentle, doing his best not to thrash in the water and attract every predator within a mile.

  He finally reached the nearest of the two vast chains, grabbing it, taking in deep gulps of air. Looking up he could see the black silhouette of Kessel on the cliff edge above. He had to climb perhaps a hundred yards of chain to reach it.

  Kaleb gripped the thick link, the iron rusted by sea
water, making the surface rough and easier to climb. Inch by inch, link by link, Kaleb began to make his way towards the citadel. When he reached the top of the chain, he paused, breathing hard.

  Inside the citadel there was no sign of life. Kaleb slipped in through the massive opening, past the vast mechanism that controlled the chains. Two huge cogs, each the size of a horse, stood side by side. The wheels that controlled the chain stood beside them. It took a hundred men to turn each vast wheel – bulls of men built of muscle, bred specifically for the task. Yet those wheels had not turned for a hundred years, and the men that turned them were long dead.

  In ancient times this chamber had been devoted to sacrifice and bloodletting. Hundreds would have been chained to the platform, their veins opened while ancient rites were observed and the gods revered. Before the victims’ lives seeped out through their open wounds, the platform would slowly be lowered, gifting the blood and souls to the sea. A feeding frenzy would then take place as every predator would make its way to the bounteous offering. It was why the coast around Kessel was so rife with sharks and other beasts.

  Kaleb moved further into the vast sacrificial chamber, onto the slabs laid out in their thousands – a vast pavement of man-sized granite, manacles at each corner. Each one was a testament to the thousands sacrificed, each one the scene of myriad horrors. Kaleb tried to put it out of his mind but he could not disregard the ancient signs of their use, for each slab bore the teeth marks and gouges from bygone beasts of the sea. The marks of their frenzy were clear to see in the dim light.

  An onyx stairway, worn smooth by the passage of time, led up from the chamber. Still there was no sign of life within the tower, and Kaleb began to wonder if the place was abandoned, if the army outside were battering at the iron gates in folly.

  The way ahead was suddenly illuminated, and any doubt was expelled from Kaleb’s mind. Two warriors walked forward bearing torches in one hand, naked blades in the other. Kaleb let himself breathe out when he saw they were Bloodguard.

  ‘Who goes there?’ said one of them.

  Kaleb stood to full height, naked in the torchlight. ‘I am Kaleb Ap’Kharn,’ he replied, using his full title for the first time in what seemed an age. ‘And I have brought a gift for the Regent.’

  The two warriors regarded him without suspicion, as though they had been expecting his arrival, then they moved aside. A small figure walked forward from the shadows. When he moved into the light, Kaleb could see he was little more than a child, hair shorn close to his scalp, body encased in a dark robe. He regarded Kaleb with curiosity before he slowly smiled.

  ‘A gift for the Blood Regent?’ he asked in a tiny voice. ‘Then show it to me, Kaleb Ap’Kharn.’

  47

  THE sail was blood-red, the hull painted in pitch, and Josten stood at the black prow as they cruised across the sea called Devil’s Sound. The three of them had scraped together enough coin to pay for their passage, Silver seeming the most eager of them for this journey to be underway. Josten knew he should have questioned her further, but Randal was right – they needed all the help they could get.

  The ship bearing Livia away had headed out on the Ebon Sea on a northern bearing. As much as Josten wanted to follow, it seemed that was impossible. Silver made it clear that if the Qeltine Brotherhood were heading north along the coast they could only be going to one place – a citadel known as Kessel. Not a single reaver captain would dare approach the place, so the best they could do was charter passage across the Devil Sound and continue their way on foot.

  Despite not being out on the open sea, they had lost sight of land some time ago. The waters that had once been calm began to churn and roil at their passing. More than once Josten spied things moving just beneath the surface as though an underwater predator were tracking the ship.

  ‘Do you think we can trust her?’ Randal asked as the day wore on.

  Josten looked across the deck at the silent woman. She sharpened her blade with a stone, staring at it as though it held the answer to everything.

  ‘What choice do we have?’ he replied. ‘You were the one who said we needed all the help we could get. Trust her or not, she’s still coming with us.’

  Randal peered over towards her, then shrugged, before looking back at Josten.

  ‘And can I trust you?’ he asked.

  Josten turned to look at him. ‘I think we’d be foolish to trust each other,’ he said. ‘We want each other dead and we both know it.’

  Randal smirked at Josten’s honesty. ‘You know, you’re not as stupid as you look,’ he said.

  ‘If I’m not stupid what the fuck am I doing here with you?’

  ‘You’re a good man, Josten Cade. That’s what you’re doing here. You’re a hero.’

  Josten almost laughed at Randal’s sarcasm. He’d never done a good thing in his whole damn life until now. And now he’d started it was most likely going to get him killed.

  ‘We’re neither of us heroes,’ he said.

  Randal looked out at the sea, like he was remembering his own past misdemeanours. ‘You’re right about that,’ he replied.

  A cry from the crow’s nest told them that a port was sighted up ahead. Men began to work feverishly on deck securing rigging and hoisting halyards.

  The ship’s red sail was furled and oars used to guide the ship into a small port. The place looked grim, a hive of dark domed buildings. Pennants were flying, but they were tattered by the wind and sands, their sigils barely visible. A sullen hush hung over the place, and all that could be heard was the ringing of metal as smithies made their wares.

  Silver was the first to debark, eager to leave the ship. Josten and Randal followed her, moving up the jetty and away from the pirates. Once on land Josten could see the smithies weren’t crafting horseshoes or weapons. Half a dozen shopfronts lay open and a row of burly metalworkers crafted chains and manacles of all shapes and sizes. Josten started to feel grateful the pirates who’d brought them here hadn’t just sold them straight into slavery.

  Silver led the way through the nameless port as though she already knew the way. Josten and Randal glanced at one another briefly before following her. She led a quick pace and Josten lengthened his stride to catch up.

  ‘Do you even know where we’re going?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Silver replied, not breaking her stride or offering him so much as a glance.

  ‘Should we not rest first?’ he said, looking towards the edge of the port, seeing only endless sand stretching as far as the horizon. ‘Looks like a long way.’

  ‘There is no time,’ Silver replied.

  ‘What about supplies? We at least need water.’

  Silver stopped, turning to him as though he’d asked something stupid. He could see the thought process on her face: annoyance, anger, understanding.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Food and water. But that is all. We must not slow our pace. Time is against us.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Josten. ‘You’ve made that pretty clear. But we’re no good to anyone if we all die in the desert.’

  Silver nodded, seeing the sense in it, and for the briefest of moments losing a little of the zeal in her eyes.

  It took no time to find supplies, and they paid with what little coin they had between them. As soon as they were stocked with food and water, Silver led them off into the desert.

  They soon lost sight of the port and Josten found himself completely disorientated. Silver seemed unperturbed by the lack of any landmarks, leading them briskly across the arid plain.

  As night fell they made a rudimentary camp. Randal was asleep first as Josten sat across their tiny fire from Silver. She stared intently into the flames, lost in thought. Josten was wary of the woman but it didn’t stop him questioning her.

  ‘You seem intent on finding Livia,’ he said. ‘What is she to you?’

  Silver was silent for some moments, and Josten started to wonder if she’d even heard him.

  ‘She holds great power within h
er,’ she said finally. ‘More than she could ever know. If that power is unleashed she will be in great danger. We will all be in great danger.’

  Josten had seen firsthand what Livia’s power could do.

  ‘How do you know all this? What is she to you?’

  Silver stared back into the flames. ‘We are bonded in blood,’ she said.

  ‘What does that even mean?’ he asked.

  A smile crept up one side of Silver’s mouth. ‘You would not be able to comprehend it if I told you. Ancient forces are at work here, Josten Cade. A war has been raging for millennia, it rages still, and if we do not rescue Livia Harrow this world will be in peril.’

  There was a glint of madness in Silver’s eye. Josten didn’t know whether to take her seriously or dismiss her as a wild woman from the wastes.

  ‘How do you even know where we are going? You seem sure of the direction we’re headed.’

  ‘I was born here,’ said Silver. ‘This is my home.’

  ‘You’re from the Ramadi? So, you’re a cultist?’ Josten grew even warier now. ‘The war you’re talking about is the one between the cults.’

  Silver shook her head. ‘No. There are battles fought in other places that are even more savage than those of the Ramadi cults. Best you are ignorant of them.’

  ‘Ignorant of battle is the last thing I am.’ Josten tried to give it the old mercenary’s bravado. Silver seemed unconvinced.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, Josten Cade,’ she replied.

  With that she rolled over as though to sleep. Josten doubted if she even needed sleep, but he took the hint and kept his peace for the rest of the night.

  The next morning Josten was woken by a sharp kick. He sat up, hand on his sword, to see Silver had already struck the camp. Even Randal was ready to go.

  ‘Time to move,’ said the tallyman with a wink.

  Josten didn’t offer him anything back. He’d have liked to offer the little shit a good kicking of his own, but that would have to wait.

  They began their trek through the wastes once more. Josten knew they were heading north from the position of the sun, but if he was honest with himself they could just as easily have been retracing their steps.