by D. P. Prior
Clambering out onto the roof he walked to the edge of the parapet and gazed at the waning moon. Even that looked like a spectral skull leering at him from the heavens.
He frowned at the driver sitting stoically down below in the driving seat of the carriage. Cadman felt a deepening of his familiar chill as he recalled the maniacal cackle, the eerie effect of the moonlight on the driver’s back as they drove from the templum. It was the first time the man had shown any sign of life. Cadman shuddered. It had seemed like a veil had been ripped aside to reveal something beneath reality; something altogether more sinister and frightening than anything he’d ever imagined—and that was saying something. No sign of it now, though. The man was as lifeless as the zombies Cadman controlled. An empty vessel waiting for an animating intelligence. Numbers started bobbing up from the depths of Cadman’s mind. He tried to let their patterns lead him from his worries, but a niggling thought slipped through the net: unless his own subconscious fears had somehow been reflected in the driver’s uncharacteristic behaviour, someone, or something else must have entered him. Either that, or the man had been acting dumb all along.
His fingers fell to the pieces of statue the same way his thoughts turned to counting. Pulling out the fang and the eye, he brought them together. Warm amber light wafted from them like stardust. Cadman was about to put them away when he glimpsed something pass across the face of the moon. The tatters of his heart thrashed about wildly in his ribcage. Had he just spied the presence that came whenever he used the statue?
He rubbed the pieces between his thumbs and forefingers. Can’t run forever, Cadman, he told himself. He’d already come this far, taken so many risks. In for a penny, in for a pound.
He focused his thoughts through the glowing amber pieces. Just a trickle of power. Maybe it won’t be noticed.
Cadman’s mind called to whatever it was that had crossed the moon. He waited for the feeling of being watched, but there was nothing. Nothing but the chatter of his own disquieted mind.
And then he caught a scent, which struck him as odd as he’d smelled nothing for centuries. It was a sweet smell, fresh and deeply evocative. It was the smell of a pine forest. And then he heard laughter. Not heard exactly. It was as if his thoughts laughed with a mirth not quite their own.
The flapping of leathery wings startled him and he looked up to see something spiralling down to the parapet. Some kind of creature, humanoid, in the loosest sense, but grey and gnarled like a gargoyle. Its head was angular and horned, the face a jutting beak edged with cruel fangs. The eyes were swirling pools of oil.
The creature lighted on the guttering and leered at him, a barbed tail rearing over its shoulder and swaying like a charmed snake.
‘Are you following me?’ Cadman said with as much command as he could muster.
‘Not you exactly,’ the gargoyle said, fixing its eyes on the glowing pieces of amber.
Cadman thrust the fang and the eye into their respective pockets, but didn’t uncurl his fingers from them. His mind sent out a dark thread and felt a reassuring compliance. Abelard was on his way up.
‘You’re not the first,’ Cadman said, drawing the illusion of fatness around him. ‘It seems everyone who’s anyone is drawn to the statue.’ Like flies to ordure. He tightened his grasp on the pieces and sent Abelard a mental kick up the posterior.
The creature shifted its weight from foot to foot, its black eyes widening at Cadman’s change of form.
‘You have grown wary of using the statue,’ it said. ‘You have endured great pain rather than risk drawing attention.’
‘But you found me,’ Cadman said.
‘I’ve been watching you for some time. I’ve also been watching the other watchers.’
Cadman felt an icy thrill run through his bones. ‘Who?’
‘I think you know.’ The gargoyle sat on the edge of the parapet and held its chin in its hands.
‘Blightey?’ The name fell from Cadman’s mouth like a dread augury.
He half expected a comet to streak across the sky, or the skull of the moon to descend and devour him. He whirled around at a clamour from behind and then steadied himself with a string of counting. It was only Abelard emerging from the trapdoor.
The gargoyle rolled from its perch and stalked forwards. At a click of Cadman’s fingers Abelard stood in its way and glowered through his one remaining eye, the other dangling uselessly over his cheek. The gargoyle cocked its head and grinned. Its tail whipped out and the barb pierced Abelard’s breastplate. Cadman gaped in horror as the death-knight stiffened and then fell to the floor in a shower of dust.
The gargoyle stepped up close to Cadman, bending its head towards his ear.
5,4,3,2…Oh, crumbs!…1, 0, -1, -2…
‘Shhh,’ the gargoyle hissed. ‘He might hear your thoughts.’
Cadman took a step back, accepting the warmth of the pieces of statue and glancing at the malevolent face of the moon.
‘No, no.’ The creature wagged a taloned finger. ‘The other one might see.’
‘What other one?’
‘The Technocrat of Aethir.’ The gargoyle gave a clacking chuckle. ‘Sektis Gandaw.’
Cadman was starting to feel like a flightless bird cornered by feral cats. ‘Anyone else?’
‘Besides the Dreamer shaman, the Archon, and a philosopher who thinks he can outwit fate, I think there is only one other, but you need not concern yourself with him yet. He is a patient player and has pursued Eingana for an eternity.’
The more Cadman heard the more he wished he’d never become involved. Maybe he should just give the pieces to this creature and have done with it. After all, what was oblivion compared with the horrors of the Abyss?
‘Not everyone means you harm,’ the gargoyle said. ‘Just those with more power. Think about it. If you find the rest of the statue, you’ll be top of the heap. You’d be able to crush them on a whim. You’d even be able to destroy Blightey.’
Now there was a thought. A world without Blightey. A world where Cadman didn’t need to hide away in anonymity. A world without fear.
‘But if I use the statue, they’ll find me,’ he said.
‘Only Sektis Gandaw draws near. Blightey has barely a whiff of Eingana, and he’s not all that interested.’
Probably bogged down with the day-job, torturing his way through the poor folk of Verusia in the hope of experiencing the tiniest spark of life.
‘Sektis Gandaw is your greatest threat,’ the gargoyle said. ‘Like you, he was once a pupil of Blightey’s, but he has far outgrown the master. You know what he plans for the statue? The Unweaving. It has always been his obsession—to unmake the cosmos and begin again. He seeks perfection; the sort of perfection that won’t include you or me.’
Cadman walked to the parapet and looked out across the dark forest. What should I do? Back out now? Do I still have a choice? ‘What are you?’ he turned to the creature. ‘How do you know all this?’
‘I am the slave of two masters. My name is Ikrys. I am a child of the Abyss.’
Cadman stiffened.
‘Not everything that comes from the Demiurgos is bad,’ Ikrys said. ‘And besides, I have not seen my home for centuries. ‘He has kept me here,’ Ikrys’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘The same one who haunts you. I am Blightey’s unwilling servant. I must be seen to do his will, otherwise you know better than most what fate I can expect.’
Cadman nodded. ‘So tell me, what should I do?’
Ikrys folded his arms across his chest and stretched out his wings. ‘Gather the pieces. Make the statue whole. Take charge. I will help you, if you work quickly. Blightey will expect me back in a few weeks. You will need the full power of Eingana by then.’
Cadman snatched off his pince-nez and squinted at the gargoyle. ‘What’s in it for you?’
‘I get to go home,’ Ikrys said. He shut his eyes and held up his hand for silence. ‘Armies are gathering,’ he said. ‘There will soon be a great battle for the statue. We
must make ready. You must summon more dead.’
‘But I can’t,’ Cadman said. ‘That would involve so much power from the statue that everyone from Aethir to Verusia would come.’
‘Use your necromancy. I will act as a channel. You will experience no more pain.’
‘You can do this?
Ikrys grimaced. ‘If I must.’
Cadman felt a tug at his consciousness. He followed a black tendril of thought to the trees surrounding the tower. This cadaver was a strange one—something of a loose cannon. He felt its grudging obedience, but he could also sense its self-loathing, its desire to pass fully from life. Cadman probed deeper. It was the priest, Limus, whom he’d commanded to find someone close to Shader. Someone he could offer to the Dweller upon its return.
‘Who have you got for me, Limus?’ he asked silently with his mind.
‘A friend.’ The priest was tormented, his thoughts almost strangled.
He was strong, this Limus, but still he had no choice. His corpse was Cadman’s, nothing more than an automaton. The fact that he retained the flickering awareness of consciousness was more of a curse than a blessing.
Ikrys was watching Cadman attentively.
‘This friend,’ Cadman spoke the words aloud for the gargoyle’s benefit. ‘Is it someone close to Shader?’
‘Yes,’ Limus sobbed in Cadman’s mind. ‘Her name is Rhiannon. She once loved him.’
A HARMONICA IN THE NIGHT
The rumble of distant thunder woke her. It was dank and cold, the air thick with must. Rhiannon winced at the thumping in her head that kept time to the regular drip-drip of water upon the hard stone floor. Her throat felt bruised and constricted. She coughed to ease it, gingerly touching the skin and wincing at the pain. Judging by the stiffness in her back and hips she had been there for some time. She forced herself into a sitting position and swept her hair out of her eyes.
The last thing she recalled was Pater Limus pulling her away from the ghoul. She’d been shocked at his strength, the easy way he ripped the creature limb from limb. She’d been frozen, rooted to the spot as he slung her over his shoulder and carried her off. She’d struggled against his cold, ungiving grip, the skin of hands waxy and tinged with blue. He’d set her down so that he could throttle her with icy fingers, a single tear leaving its trail down his bloodless cheek. She’d tried to scream as her vision blurred and then darkness had taken her.
Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw that she was in a circular room with an uneven floor. Puddles of inky water collected in the depressions and damp climbed the windowless walls. A wooden ladder led to a trapdoor in the ceiling.
A muffled sound —was it a harmonica?—reached her from outside. She tilted her head at each successive note, recognizing the lilting melody of the wedding jig she’d been forced to learn as a child. The music stopped abruptly. There was a creak and a thud, footfalls from above. The trap in the ceiling rattled and a crack appeared allowing dirty yellowish light to filter through. Whispers were exchanged and then the trap opened fully. A young woman backed down the ladder, her arse sticking out like it was on display. She turned and squinted at Rhiannon, a mass of chestnut hair framing a sultry face. She was dressed in a starchy white blouse and dowdy pleated skirt. Both were stained with sweat and dirt. An overpowering perfume wafted in with her.
A man clambered down behind her. He was wearing a black leather jacket with the faded emblem of a lightning bolt on the back. There was no mistaking the lank greasy hair, the spindly legs clad in patched denim.
‘Elias!’ Rhiannon rasped. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed glass.
The bard held a finger to his lips and squatted down beside her. ‘Ol’ fatty’s upstairs. I kid you not, every time he came to the window it was like an eclipse.’
The woman with the chestnut hair was glancing from Rhiannon to the open trap. ‘Can she move? We need to go.’
‘Course I can move.’ Rhiannon forced the words out through the pain. She pushed herself to her feet and swooned. She would have fallen had Elias not caught her.
‘What the clanging bell is that?’ Elias peered at the back of her neck.
Rhiannon touched her fingers to an egg-sized swelling and winced. ‘Buggered if I know,’ she said. ‘Where the shog are we?’
‘Dead Man’s Torch.’
‘The old beacon tower? But that’s miles from Sarum.’
‘Ah,’ Elias said, ‘but it’s nothing when you have wheels, eh, Lallia?’
The woman winked at him and then sneered.
Rhiannon gave Elias a questioning look, but didn’t bother pursuing it. She was too tired and in too much pain.
‘That’s a point,’ Lallia said. ‘How are we getting her back? There’s only room for two.’
‘Strong girl like you,’ Elias said. ‘Walk back will do you good.’
‘Funny,’ Lallia said. She started up the ladder, but then stopped and craned her neck. ‘I heard something.’
Elias pulled out a harmonica and gave a broad grin. ‘Still got the ol’ magic,’ he said. ‘Even without the statue. Nothing like a bit of the ol’ bardic charm to quieten the restless dead.’ He helped Rhiannon to the foot of the ladder and followed her up to a mildewed room stacked with crates. The iron-banded door was slightly ajar. ‘There’s a bunch of those Nousian zombie-knights outside. And your mate Limus.’
‘Limus?’ Rhiannon said, her heart lurching. ‘I thought he’d come to help me, but…’
‘Sorry, love,’ Elias said. ‘Poor bastard’s one of them now.’
Rhiannon rubbed her throat and tossed off a quick prayer to Ain, for all it was worth.
As they left the tower Elias began to play a haunting lullaby on the harmonica. In the shadows of the courtyard, mounted shapes began to sway and then grew still. Rhiannon looked up at the tower. Something was perched on the roof, a hunched gargoyle with wings drawn up on its back.
‘Hurry,’ Lallia called as she dashed into a thicket on the far side of the courtyard.
Elias continued to play his lullaby whilst nodding for Rhiannon to follow her.
Cadman appeared in the tower doorway, black vapours radiating from his fingertips to touch the mounted undead. Their limbs jerked, and red flared from their eyes.
‘Follow Lallia,’ Elias said. ‘And just keep running. I’ll draw them off.’
Rhiannon stumbled into the undergrowth and was pulled roughly to the ground.
‘Keep still,’ Lallia whispered. ‘Wait for Elias, and then we run. If you can’t make it, that’s your problem. Clear?’
Rhiannon was finding it hard to lift her head, never mind make a run for it. She fancied her chances better just curling up in the thicket and going to sleep.
‘This way!’ she heard Cadman shout. ‘Over here you ignorant bloody corp—’
The roar of thunder cut him off.
‘Ready?’ Lallia said, rolling to her knees.
The thunder came at them in a rising wall of noise. Rhiannon peeked out of the brush and saw Elias astride a red and silver two-wheeler speeding towards a clutch of skeletal horsemen. The din was incredible, the speed even more so. The death-knights raised their swords and charged. Elias skidded in a wide arc and sped away with half a dozen horsemen on his tail.
Rhiannon turned to Lallia for an explanation, but the woman was gone. She pushed her way through the brambles and stood. Her head rushed again and she staggered before taking her first lumbering step towards the trees.
A flapping from behind caused Rhiannon to turn just in time to see the gargoyle from the parapet hurtle towards her on leathery wings. Talons gripped her shoulders and a vicious barbed tail lashed out to stab her in the back of the neck.
***
‘Come on baby!’
Elias hunched over the petrol tank and let rip with the throttle. The wind tore at his hair as the Spitfire streaked across the clearing. He could see the undead riders in his mirror, feel the icy terror at his back, but he knew he could make it; knew
the ol’ girl wouldn’t let him down.
Up ahead he could make out Cadman’s grotesque bulk seeking to cut off his escape. No matter, Elias thought, he’d run the fat git over.
Something large fluttered down beside Cadman and dumped its load on the turf. As Elias sped closer he saw it was a body—Rhiannon’s body—and that only made him madder. He pulled hard on the throttle and roared straight at Cadman.
Rather than run, as Elias had expected, Cadman stood his ground and raised his hands to the sky. The winged creature at his side pulsed with dark light and a column of black fire erupted from Cadman’s fingers. He threw down his arms and the flame struck the earth. A split ran across the clearing and widened like an immense maw. Elias swung the bike around, but it careened and skidded towards the crevasse. With a last desperate scream, Elias plummeted into the chasm, the Spitfire tumbling after.
***
Cadman looked over the edge of the crack and allowed himself a satisfied grin. The dark magic was flowing once more, and this time without the pain, the terrible warping of his own body. He looked up to where Ikrys was depositing Rhiannon atop the tower. The creature hadn’t lied about its abilities, but he still trusted it just about as far as he could throw it. Too late for second thoughts, old chap, one inner voice said. I know, said the other, but it never pays…You know what I’m going to say, don’t you? Cadman thought he heard a sigh from somewhere between his ears.