by D. P. Prior
He lay there for a minute and then gingerly started to test his limbs. Nothing broken, but he was going to hurt like hell on the morrow. He rolled to his knees and carefully stood. His skull felt like it was being pounded with a thousand sledgehammers and he staggered and nearly collapsed. Shaking his head to clear it, he took a faltering step and tripped over the haft of his hammer. Strange sort of luck, Maldark grumbled internally as he lifted it. Arnochian granite. He patted the hammer-head. Must have kept Sektis Gandaw from detecting what was within. Whatever claims the Technocrat made about the creation of the dwarves, they had more tricks up their sleeves than he could account for.
Shouldering the weapon, he muttered a prayer for the others and stumbled in the direction of the river. He was sure he’d seen a tavern there. A drink or two to restore his soul and then he’d summon his boat and return to the ocean. Sektis Gandaw had the scent of him now. There was no point imperilling the others.
***
What is that fearsome clatter?
‘You drop something dear?’ Starn mumbled into the dirt.
What on earth was he doing on the ground? Last thing he remembered was opening a bottle of Shiraz out on the porch. Can’t have drunk that much, surely.
He covered his ears with his hands as a roaring tumult passed all around him. It sounded like a river bursting its banks, or the approach of a cyclone.
‘Ethna? Ethna, are you all right?’
He had to get back to the house, shutter the windows. Oh, where was Mrs Starn?
And then he remembered.
Starn sat up and watched the death-knights thunder past, pooling at the mouth of the southern alleyway and then filtering through two at a time.
Dalglish groaned beside him. ‘What’s that racket?’ he rasped.
Dalglish was lying in a puddle of blood, most of which seemed to be coming from his arm. Starn fumbled about in his pocket for his handkerchief and applied pressure the way the surgeons did. It was then that he noticed another wound—a bubbling slit beneath Dalglish’s breastbone. Dalglish’s eyes opened a little and his cracked and dry lips parted.
‘Shhh,’ Starn said. ‘They’re going, Captain, though goodness knows why. Just you lie still.’
Shouts went up from the eastern avenue and men began to stream into the square. Armoured men. Familiar men. Men of the Imperial army.
‘Here!’ Starn waved to get their attention. ‘Man down. We need help.’
Hundreds of soldiers advanced, teams of them going to secure the entrances.
‘Let them go!’ Duke Farian shouted above the hubbub.
As the Duke stood surveying the carnage the Emperor strode to his side. Farian said something and pointed at Starn. With that, Hagalle pushed his way through the ranks of soldiers and came to kneel at Starn’s side.
‘General,’ he said, voice thick with emotion. ‘Thank the gods you made it.’
There were tears in the Emperor’s eyes, and for a moment Starn thought Hagalle was going to hug him.
‘Dalglish is hurt,’ Starn said.
‘A surgeon!’ Hagalle bellowed into the mass of troops.
‘What’s happening?’ Dalglish said in a reedy voice.
‘Doctor’s coming.’ Starn smiled down at him. ‘You’ll be right as rain in a few days.’
Dalglish’s head rolled to the side, the barest of smiles touching his lips. ‘Think the Emperor will send me home?’
Starn looked at Hagalle. The Emperor’s face was drawn, the tears falling freely. Starn stroked the hair away from Dalglish’s face.
‘Course he will, lad. Course he will. And when you get there, tell Mrs Starn I said to make you some chicken soup.’
Dalglish gave a rattling sigh.
‘Tell her that from me, lad,’ Starn said. ‘Nice bowl of soup. Have you better in no time.’
But Dalglish was no longer listening.
SEKTIS GANDAW’S SHAMAN
As a child, Shadrak might’ve thought this latest turn of events was unfair. Against his better judgement he’d led a posse of prats into the Maze, almost lost his life in the process, and then ended up enslaved by the Technocrat of the Ancients’ world—a man who should have returned to the dust centuries ago. As if that weren’t enough, once he’d fulfilled his task to assassinate Shader and steal the statue, he’d been chased by some kind of ghost and then set upon by the crazed son of Bovis Rayn. To add insult to injury, he’d not only lost some of his best weapons in the fight, but he’d picked up some nasty bruises from the black-haired bitch along the way. And to think she’d seemed no more than a sad drunk that night at the Griffin. That fateful bloody night.
If he hadn’t been contracted to kill Bovis Rayn, he wouldn’t have been shot with his own weapon. If he hadn’t needed treatment from Cadman, he’d have never gone to the pub, never gotten involved with this Eingana business. If he hadn’t run into mawgs in the Maze, and if Kadee’s lingering influence hadn’t made him inform the Sicarii, he’d not have been sent back with the journeymen. If he’d listened to his instincts and run when he’d had the chance, he wouldn’t now be pressed in amongst a horde of mangy mawgs waiting to disembark.
The statue was bad news, he was certain of that. And there were things happening that were unnatural, to say the least. The shadowy presence of Sektis Gandaw, the dark wraith that had pursued him, and then, during the brief sea battle with the carrack, he’d seen the man he’d recently stabbed in the back staring at him across the waves. Shadrak dealt in certainties. His reputation had been built on careful planning, stealth, and making sure the odds were stacked decisively in his favour. Whatever was happening here, the child Shadrak would have definitely whined that it was unfair. But Shadrak was no longer a child, and if he’d learnt anything from adulthood it was that life wasn’t fair. You only had to look at Kadee’s slow death to see that. You only had to look at the scorn he’d endured growing up. Sometimes his victims would beg for mercy, and when they realized it was in short demand, they’d sometimes cry about it not being fair. Who says fair has anything to do with it? he’d say. The strong and the cunning survive, the weak perish. That’s just the way it is.
The mass of fur moved and Shadrak was borne along with it. For once he was cursing his strong sense of smell. “Shit” would have been doing the stench a disservice. It was far worse than that. Yellow eyes glared at him, hungry for his flesh, but the creatures displayed remarkable willpower. None of them touched him. Sektis Gandaw was clearly a master to be obeyed.
The throng parted at the foot of the gangplank and Shadrak took his body through a series of stretches. The heat was oppressive, a hazy mist rising from the jungle floor and lending the trees a dreamlike quality. The tangled vines and creepers almost seemed to writhe, the moss upon the bark shifting into patterns that could have been faces. Shadrak’s cloak was already heavy with damp, but he refused to remove it. Best be prepared for anything, he told himself as he checked his remaining weapons: the stiletto he’d stabbed Shader with, the thunder-shot, and half a dozen razor stars. No more exploding vials. He frowned at that. As soon as he got back to Sahul he’d need another trip to the hub of the Maze.
They’d stopped at a natural harbour, a widening of the estuary that was hemmed with roughly built jetties. One other boat was moored on the far side, a small fishing vessel by the looks of it. Shadrak squinted. There was a man sitting at the oars, casting nervous looks in their direction. A group of mawgs had noticed too and waded into the water.
A hulking brute lumbered towards him, rows of needle-like teeth protruding from black lips.
‘Take statue to village,’ it growled. ‘Give to Krylyrd.’
Shadrak held its predatory gaze. After a tense standoff the mawg looked down. Shadrak noted the backwards bend of its knees, the tough ened leather of its torso. The limbs were protected by thick fur, the face as rigid as an old saddle. Points of weakness: eyes and armpits. If the jaws were open he’d fancy his chances with a blade through the roof of the mouth. Tough bastards,
these mawgs. Always paid to know your enemy.
The mawg snarled and turned away, almost running on all fours as it rejoined the pack. There must have been a hundred or more entering the jungle, and at least as many still onboard the galleon. Barks and growls passed between the ship and those on the shore. Ropes were uncoiled and the gangplank was raised.
Shadrak was distracted by a chorus of yelps and the sound of splashing from the group who’d entered the water. They were swimming towards the fishing boat at an alarming speed. The oarsman half stood, teetered, and steadied himself on the side of his craft. He quickly set about untying the rope tethering him to the jetty. The instant he resumed his seat and lifted the oars, the mawgs capsized the boat and ripped into his flesh. Blood sprayed in a fountain, a dark stain spilling across the water.
When Shadrak looked back to the galleon it was already underway, drifting back down the estuary towards the ocean. Presumably a lift home wasn’t part of the arrangement. Still, if the mawgs had been ordered to kill him, they’d have done so by now. Evidently Sektis Gandaw had other tasks in mind for Shadrak.
He was about to start after the pack that had all but disappeared into the jungle when a dark shape flitted across his peripheral vision. Shadrak crouched down, pulling his cloak about him, but it was too late. He’d already been spotted.
Coal-fire eyes burned into him, and for an instant Shadrak froze. What could you do against an enemy that couldn’t be killed? Cold dread sluiced through his veins and his body grew weary and leaden.
What’s the point of despair? Kadee’s level voice commandeered his thoughts. Eingana will break the sinew when she’s ready, and there’s not much you can do about it. But she does expect you to go down fighting.
Shadrak clenched his jaw. That’s what Kadee had done: gone down fighting against impossible odds. Unfair, perhaps, but she’d never complained about it.
He fought back the trembling as the wraith soared closer, its rusted chainmail and age-yellowed tabard growing more substantial. A blade of black fire appeared in its hand.
Shadrak took a step towards the jetty where the fishing boat was moored, but the creature seemed to sense his intention and moved to intercept him. Plucking two razor stars from his baldric, he held them beneath his cloak and waited.
The wraith towered above him, a brooding shadow that shut out the sunlight. Its sword arm extended towards him, the black blade a hair’s breadth from his throat.
‘The statue you stole from the knight,’ the wraith hissed, holding out a spectral hand as if there were no choice but to comply.
Something grey sprang from the trees and the ebon sword swept down, slicing through fur and hide as if it were nothing but air. The mawg’s severed torso fell to the jungle floor amidst spurts of brackish blood.
Another mawg shoved Shadrak towards the tree-line and launched itself at the wraith, snarling and clawing. Shadrak hurtled through thick vegetation, the death cries of the mawg spurring him on. Thorns tore at his cloak and scratched his face. He hurdled a log, charged straight through a bramble bush, and swung across a patch of bubbling mud on a liana. Cold frost assailed his back and it seemed as though a black cloud pursued him. Chill air swirled about his neck and he felt the icy touch of a spectral hand. He threw himself to one side, flinging the razor stars one after the other. Both hit the mark, but passed through the wraith with no effect.
Scrabbling backwards, Shadrak drew the thunder-shot and pulled the trigger. There was a faint click, but nothing more. That’s why he always made such a fuss about being prepared. Should have gone back to the hub for more bullets before going after Shader.
The shadow-knight stalked towards him, making no attempt to defend itself. What would have been the point? The situation was hopeless. Nothing Shadrak could do would halt its progress. All his skill, all his training, and there was no chance. Life just wasn’t fair.
He backed away and tripped over a fallen trunk. Terror sapped his strength and despair flooded his heart. Shadrak reached into his pouch and withdrew the serpent statue. He held it out to the wraith, but the creature turned at a demonic screech from behind.
A ferocious looking mawg clad in crocodile hide and human bones snapped shut its jaws and shook a gourd in front of the wraith. A sharp rhythmic beat cut through the air and the mawg began to hop and gesticulate. Its face was contorted into a grotesque leer, its body taut, fingers clutching. The wraith drifted towards the mawg but was halted by a violent thrust of the gourd and a bloodcurdling scream.
‘No! You cannot stand against me! I am Callixus!’ the wraith cried as it swirled into a black mist and was sucked forcefully into a vortex above its head.
‘Ha!’ The mawg clapped his hands with glee. ‘Gone to the Void!’
Shadrak climbed to his feet.
‘I Krylyrd,’ it said. ‘Shaman of Sektis Gandaw. Come, you have what he wants. He be pleased with Krylyrd. You see.’
THE VILLAGE
‘Sail ho!’ Elpidio hollered from the crow’s nest. Podesta jabbed his rum bottle in the direction of the black galleon skirting the coast of the archipelago and then took another swig. ‘Seems our reaver knows her business.’ He let out a burp. ‘Coastal reef must have taken a thousand ships at one time or another.’
Shader clung to the forestays, swinging as the ship careened to starboard. They pitched into a deep trough and then righted, the bowsprit ploughing into another colossal wave. If Podesta hadn’t looked so blithe, Shader would have panicked and kept as close as he could to the longboat. On second thoughts, he’d have probably lashed himself to the mainmast and prayed. Maybe this once Ain would take pity on him.
Podesta could quite as easily have been strolling in a tranquil garden, the roiling waters affording about as much attention as a pleasing blossom or a passing butterfly. The finding of the boy aboard the Dolphin seemed to have settled him. It didn’t matter that the child wasn’t eating and had a raging fever. He’d hardly stopped coughing since they found him, and his skin was waxy and pale. It seemed he’d taken a few scratches, which had turned nasty. Sabas had been charged with caring for him. Podesta’s job was apparently done.
‘Don’t worry about the reef, my friend,’ he said. ‘I’m given to exaggeration. Can’t have been more than a hundred wrecked.’
Shader took scant comfort from that.
The black sails of the reaver bulged like swollen stomachs as they caught the wind.
‘Heading south into open water,’ Podesta said, squinting over the prow. ‘Not their usual hunting grounds.’
The Captain knitted his brows and gazed into his half-empty bottle. ‘Can’t understand why we’ve not run into more of them.’
Shader was well aware the Captain had been expecting trouble from the mawgs. The crew had been practising with more Aeterna-tech weapons—long slim barrels that blasted smoke and fired lead balls at frightening velocities. Cleto had been below decks pouring over the hand-written notes that had come with the shipment.
It seemed that the Templum archives had developed a leak, and it wouldn’t have surprised Shader if it had come from within. There had been pressure on the Ipsissimus for years to return the knowledge of the Ancients to the world, not least of all from his likely successor, Exemptus Silvanus. Shader couldn’t say he was too impressed with the weapons Podesta had procured. They took an age to load and sometimes exploded in your face. They also seemed ill-suited to fighting at sea. Cleto had made the discovery that the volatile powder responsible for producing the blast was rendered useless if exposed to damp. They’d have been better off with a couple more of the devastating weapons Cleto had used earlier; it might have only given them a single shot, but at least it had been a good one.
The Aura Placida sailed on past the archipelago and entered a strait between two larger islands. They tacked towards the northernmost shore and into a narrow estuary. All around the deck sailors scanned the shoreline whilst holding cutlasses, crossbows, and the Aeternam weapons.
The estuary broa
dened as they followed it inland until they entered a natural harbour fringed with mangroves. Jetties made from huge logs cut across the water. Podesta was frowning at them and tutting.
‘Don’t like this,’ he said. ‘Don’t like it at all. Where are they, uh?’
Shader spotted an upturned boat bobbing beside a jetty off the starboard side. ‘Doesn’t look mawgish,’ he said.
Podesta snapped open his spyglass and took a look. ‘It isn’t. That’s a Sahulian fishing boat, or I’m a teetotal landlubber. Now what the shog is that doing all the way out here, uh?’
‘And where’s the crew?’ Shader said.
Podesta’s face was grim as he looked to the helmsman. ‘Turn us into the wind, Mr Dekker.’
‘Aye, Captain.’
Podesta cupped his hands to his mouth and his voice boomed out. ‘Furl the sails! Ready the anchor!’
Shader gave him a questioning look.
‘Don’t want to be caught in the shallows, uh?’ Podesta said. ‘We’ll take the longboat. That way, if the reavers come, the ship still has a fighting chance.’
The air grew still and humid the further they got from the ocean, leaving the sailors sweat-drenched and complaining as they went about their tasks. Shader removed his armour and unbuttoned his shirt. He borrowed a cutlass from Podesta to make up for the loss of his longsword. Sabas filled a backpack with provisions for him, and there was just about room enough to cram the Liber in on top.
Podesta left Dekker in charge and then climbed into the longboat beside Shader. The near-invisible Osric drifted at the bow, red eyes smouldering at the lapping waves. Cleto was next aboard, shouldering one of the Aeternam weapons, a cutlass swinging from his hip. Two more armed sailors followed him, stripping off their shirts and taking the oars.
The heat intensified as they took a tributary river into the mangroves. Here and there the muddy banks were scarred with skid marks that led down to the water.