by D. P. Prior
Dark shapes lumbered around the edge of the forest, every one of them connected to him by the merest thread of sentience. Excellent. A readymade army.
He drew upon more of Cadman’s memories—a winged creature named Ikrys, flashes of stories, faces, hints, clues, speculations. Cadman must have been an imbecile, he thought as the words of an epic poem played across his mind, the story of the Dreamer Huntsman coming face to face with his so-called gods.
‘Hybrids!’ Sektis Gandaw almost felt anger. He moved his jaw from side to side, grinding his teeth. Speaking with this body could take some getting used to. He saw an image of a tabletop mountain in a sprawling red desert. ‘So that’s where you fled to.’ The Dreamers had a name for it, that much he deduced from the poem…the Homestead. The place Huntsman had brought about the Reckoning.
He held up Cadman’s pieces of the statue and concentrated. Nothing. Not the slightest link with the missing fifth piece. Either it was shielded, or Eingana was still finding ways to hide from him. Maybe it was Nous, he scoffed. After all, it had been with the Templum fleet.
Another of Cadman’s memories insinuated its way into his consciousness. The bard had told Cadman the tale of Otto Blightey stealing the artefact from Aeterna. It had been concealed in the Ipsissimal Monas. What if that was still the case? What if the supreme ruler of the Templum was here in Sahul, a sort of last guardian of the statue?
With the power of the two pieces in his hands, and two more on Aethir, he knew he should have no trouble confronting the Templum force, especially with the backing of Cadman’s undead army. But he was used to certainties, and the fact that he couldn’t detect the last piece was evidence he’d been wrong, either about the statue or those who now held it. He hadn’t had time to look at all the variables. What if the Ipsissimus had some means of resisting him? He must have come all this way for a reason. Maybe Huntsman had a trick up his sleeve. Perhaps he’d underes timated them both. Sektis Gandaw didn’t know the terrain, didn’t know what forces could be arrayed against him. He was the one who should be calling the shots, not them. Maybe it was a mistake inhabiting Cadman’s body. He could have waited on Aethir; played his usual patient game. Too late to worry about that now. In for a penny, in for a pound. Where had that come from? Perhaps if he stirred things up at the Homestead, Huntsman would be forced into a desperate act to protect his gods. He might even persuade the ruler of the Templum to come to their aid. At least that way Sektis Gandaw could choose the site of any battle and plan accordingly.
‘Where is Ikrys?’ he asked.
‘Below,’ Callixus answered like a dutiful slave.
‘Fetch him,’ Sektis Gandaw said. ‘Tell him I’m going to need a bigger army.’
Much bigger, he thought. It never paid to take chances.
BREAKOUT
Shader’s anger trailed him like a cloak as he strode down the Domus Tyalae towards the templum. He wasn’t even sure it was anger, and if it was, he wasn’t clear who to direct it at. He kept telling himself he was furious with Lallia, but he knew that wasn’t fair. Whatever she was, however she chose to lead her life, he knew he was just using her as a scapegoat. Was it Gaston? His death? What he’d done to Rhiannon? Was he angry with Rhiannon for listening to Huntsman and wrecking whatever chance of happiness they’d had?
He stepped over a black-clad body lying in a pool of its own blood just inside the narthex. He resisted an urge to kick it and carried on down the aisle towards the sacristy. He stopped at the door, wincing and clenching his fists. For a moment he felt the shame of what had happened with Lallia and was overcome with self-loathing. Suddenly he had perspective on his life, saw it for the sham it really was. His fingers brushed the hilt of the longsword Dave had mysteriously returned to him. He was definitely made from the same mould as his father, a man of violence, bred to be a killer. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to hide that truth beneath a veneer of Nousian piety, the path of peace was beyond him. The monks at Pardes had known that all along, so why had they played along with the farce? Had they taken some sort of sick pleasure in watching him fail? Maybe Hagalle was right about Nousians. Maybe it was just some global cult of control…
Shader shook his head to put the thought from his mind. Nous wasn’t to blame for his weakness. The Templum hadn’t made him what he was. If anyone had shaped Shader, it was Aristodeus. But even the philosopher needed to be absolved as far as Shader was concerned. If the confessional had taught him one thing it was that you left all your excuses, your blame of others, outside.
He pushed open the door and passed through to the corridor that was flanked by the priests’ chambers. Frater Hugues was on his hands and knees scrubbing at the blood on the tiles. He seemed only to be diluting it, spreading stains of pink across the floor.
‘Where—?’ Shader started but stopped himself. His voice sounded too harsh.
Hugues looked up, his face set and hard.
‘Agna’s cleaning Velda’s body in readiness for the funeral. Mater’s doing the same for Gaston, and Dr Stoofley’s in with Cadris. He’ll be lucky to make it, what with a cut like that.’ Hugues looked Shader up and down as if he knew where he’d been. ‘Thought you might have helped,’ he said. ‘Had to drag those dead assassins outside by myself. There’s still one in the narthex, but he can wait.’
‘Have you alerted the militia?’ Shader asked.
Hugues put his head down and started scrubbing again. ‘I might not be as educated as you,’ he said, ‘but I’m not totally stupid. Who do you think would’ve sent the Sicarii? They certainly wouldn’t come here without a contract.’
Shader hadn’t had time to consider the matter. He’d just come because Dave had told him the priests were in danger. Nousians were always in danger throughout Sahul, but Sarum had been different…’
‘Hagalle,’ Hugues completed his thinking for him. ‘That’s who’s in charge here. I bet the Sicarii were his cleanest option, but he’s got control of the militia and the Imperial troops. It won’t be long before he sends them to finish the job.’
Shader’s cheek twitched. He set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. ‘Which room is Mater in?’ He needed to see Gaston one last time. Needed to lay at least one ghost to rest.
Hugues stood and opened a door for him. Shader slipped inside and leaned with his back against the jamb.
Ioana was stooped over Gaston’s naked body, wiping away blood with a damp cloth. Her robe was stained red, and she sobbed as she worked.
Shader kept still and watched her tenderly prepare Gaston for the grave. Ioana did not even show that she knew he had entered the room as she proceeded to dab the body dry like a mother with a baby. Finally, she retrieved Gaston’s surcoat and covered his nakedness with it. It was stained with patches of pinkish dampness where she’d obviously tried to clean it. She was pulling it up to cover Gaston’s face when Shader took a step away from the door.
‘No,’ he said so softly she probably didn’t hear him. ‘Mater, wait.’
Ioana inclined her head towards him, her eyes moist and bloodshot. She forced a smile for his benefit, but it did nothing to assuage his guilt. He’d made Gaston what he was. He’d offered the lad a new life, a new sense of purpose, and then he’d abandoned him.
‘What else could he have done?’ Ioana said, stroking Gaston’s hair. ‘He knew I disapproved and yet he fought to save us. Now I don’t know who was right or wrong.’
Shader moved to the bedside and rested his hand on Gaston’s shoulder. It felt cold and unreal, as if the lad were made of wax. For an instant, Shader had the sense that the body was nothing more than a shell, that Gaston had gone somewhere else; that he was at peace. Delusion, he told himself. There was nothing peaceful about any of this. And yet the feeling didn’t totally vanish.
‘He did well,’ Shader said, looking directly at Gaston’s face as if the lad could hear him. ‘Hugues says the Emperor sent the assassins.’
Ioana straightened up and felt behind her for a chair. She flopped into it
and sighed. ‘Who else? Zara Gen would never do such a thing.’
‘Not judging by his reaction. What do you suppose that was all about?’
Ioana smiled at some private recollection. ‘He’s one of us. Don’t you see? That’s why he’s always let us be. He’d been impressed by Bovis Rayn when he preached in the city.’ She smiled weakly at Gaston’s body. ‘We always wondered how Bovis got away with it, and why nobody objected to us being here. Then Zara Gen started meeting with me in secret, but he was finally accepted into the Templum by Jarmin the Anchorite.’
Shader’s jaw dropped. ‘And now he’s no longer in charge?’
‘The Imperial troops have the run of the city,’ Ioana said, ‘and it looks like Hagalle’s assumed direct control of Sarum. Either that or one of his stooges—most likely Duke Farian. Sarum is no longer safe for Nousians.’
‘But Mater, the Ipsissimus is here in Sahul with an army. I arrived with them at Dalantle.’
Ioana’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘His Divinity? Here? Oh my word! Hagalle’s bound to know about it. He has enough troops in the area for a full-scale war.’
Shader studied Gaston’s face one last time, golden hair surrounding it like a halo. He pulled the surcoat up to cover it and made the sign of the knot above the body.
Hagalle had tried to kill the priests, and he was responsible for Gaston’s death. There had been Imperial troops searching for Shader out on the streets too. What of the others?
‘Mater, have you heard anything about Barek and the White Order?’
Ioana stood. ‘Dr Stoofley is here tending Cadris. He said the knights were being detained at the old Imperial barracks. You should free them. I can’t bring myself to trust Hagalle’s justice.’
‘You would approve? If I get them out?’
Ioana looked up at him, dampness rimming her eyes. She nodded.
Shader turned on his heel and left.
***
The iron gates of the compound were flanked by a couple of militiamen. Behind them, through the bars, Shader could see squads of patrolling Imperial soldiers. The walls surrounding the enclosure were too high to climb, and the gates were no doubt locked as well as guarded.
He ducked back inside the porch of the tailor’s shop that stood opposite the barracks. Night hung heavy over the street, the stars wan and distant as if seen through a gauze. A few of the Ancients’ tall lanterns flickered with orange light that sprang from some hidden source, casting long shadows, but providing just enough illumination to see by.
Shader took another look at the two guards on his side of the gate. He doubted either would have a key. Most likely the troops on the inside were charged with letting people in and out. The militiamen were most likely there for show, to make it seem that Sarum still managed her own affairs. One of them wore captain’s stripes; his face was thickly moustachioed and he had the stiff bearing of a career soldier. The other was younger and looked utterly miserable, hugging his arms across his chest and shivering, in spite of the night being mild.
A direct assault would be useless. Shader would need to find some way over the wall to the rear of the compound, away from the light. Perhaps he’d be lucky and find something he could climb on. His hope diminishing, he stepped from the porch, but immediately pulled back as he saw a hunched figure approach the gates.
‘Who goes there?’ the captain challenged, drawing his sword. His young companion turned to call to the soldiers within the enclosure.
The hunchback walked right up to them and, with a sickening feeling, Shader realized who it was.
‘Praise Nous for such a beautiful night, gentlemen. Praise his glorious name.’
—Dave the Slave.
‘Now look here,’ the captain said. ‘We don’t want any trouble.’ He put a hand on Dave’s shoulder and turned him away from the gate, then started as he clapped eyes on Shader.
‘Ah, look,’ Dave said. ‘Nous’s right hand has come to the aid of the righteous.’
‘Who are you?’ the captain barked. ‘Show yourself.’
Shader walked towards them, pushing his coat back to reveal his swords. ‘Deacon Shader,’ he said. ‘I’ve come for my friends.’
The creak of old metal announced the opening of the gate. Half a dozen Imperial soldiers spilled through onto the street, shields before them, spears raised.
‘Captain Harding, City Militia. Look, there’s no need for any trouble here. The Emperor’s holding your friends merely as a precaution. Now, I’m sure if we could—’
‘That’s him,’ a bearded soldier said, pointing his spear at Shader.
‘Now wait a minute, gentlemen,’ Harding said, but already the soldiers were fanning out around Shader.
‘This is my city,’ Harding said. ‘Back off until I give the order.’
‘Get lost, Harding,’ the bearded soldier said. ‘We can handle this. Go catch yourself a thief or something.’
The young militiaman tried to draw his sword, but one of the soldiers pushed him in the back. As he tried to gain his balance, the soldier punched him in the face and the lad went down. Harding went to draw his sword, but a spear point to the throat stopped him.
‘Like I said,’ the bearded soldier growled. ‘Get lost.’
Harding backed away shaking his head.
In that moment, Dave snarled and leapt. The bearded man screamed as Dave clawed at his face. Shader caught the fierce flash of the hunchback’s eyes, the feral contortions of his face. The soldier toppled backwards and Dave followed, landing on top of him and mauling his throat.
The other soldiers surged forward, but Shader stepped in amongst them, both blades leaping to his hands. He turned the thrust of a spear and gutted his attacker with the gladius. His longsword clanged against a shield, which he spun around and elbowed the man in the jaw. A rush of air from behind made Shader duck, a spear-tip grazing his cheek. He turned to face the attacker, but Captain Harding charged into the man’s shield, bowling him over. Harding blocked another spear thrust and severed the soldier’s hand at the wrist.
‘Nous comes to liberate the just!’ Dave cried out, slipping through the guards and rushing into the compound.
Shader could see more soldiers rushing to the gate from within, but Dave seemed oblivious. Just before the soldiers were upon him, he vanished.
Harding and Shader stood side by side as the remaining three soldiers in the street levelled their spears and pressed their shields together, advancing with caution.
‘Run,’ Shader said. ‘This isn’t your fight.’
Harding shot him a look of disbelief, or disdain. ‘This is darn right unlawful,’ he barked loud enough for the Imperial soldiers to hear. ‘I’ll not stand for it.’
The young militiaman groaned and sat up, rubbing his face. He found his feet and scarpered as a dozen more soldiers emerged from the compound and encircled Shader and Harding.
‘This wasn’t quite what I had in mind,’ Shader said.
‘Battles never go as planned,’ Harding said, as if Shader were a rookie. ‘You watch my back, I’ll watch yours.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ Harding said. ‘Once this is over, you’re still under arrest. Orders is orders, but I’ll be damned if these thugs from Jorakum are going to behave like this in my city.’
The circle closed in, spears bristling. Shader’s blades were a blur as he batted aside two thrusts, slipped inside and stabbed a soldier through the chest. He backslashed another across the face and skipped away to avoid being impaled by yet another. Harding was breathing heavily behind him, the clang of steel on steel deafening as he bashed at the wall of shields and hacked at spears. He groaned and fell against Shader, blood spurting from his shoulder, but he immediately lunged, skewering his attacker, ripping his sword free and swinging at another, who jumped back out of range.
‘I’ll be damned if these milksops are gonna take me,’ he growled. ‘In my day I’d have killed twenty by myself.’
An
other spear came for Shader’s head. He swayed aside, hacked down on the haft and broke it. The soldier barrelled on behind his shield, but Shader spun out of the way and slit his throat. More soldiers spilled out from the compound and swelled the circle of attackers. Harding grunted as another spear took him in the side. Shader whirled, grabbed hold of the haft, and stabbed its wielder in the bicep. The man screamed and let go. A sound like an avalanche rose above the combat. Horses, Shader realized. It was all over then.
Harding staggered and pulled the spear out, blood gushing from the wound. He fell to his knees, panting. Miraculously, the wall of spears remained still.
‘Would have taken them ten years ago,’ Harding gasped. ‘Must be getting old.’
He sagged to the floor and Shader stood over him, swords poised to strike.
But no one moved.
Shader thought they were expecting him to surrender. Clearly they knew nothing of the Elect. But then the circle split apart as the soldiers pulled back. Behind them, Dave the Slave walked before a line of mounted knights who rode out onto the street to surround the Imperial soldiers.
‘Barek!’ Shader said, recognizing the sandy-haired youth in a mail hauberk and Nousian surcoat. He felt a rush of emotion swamp him. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but somewhere in amongst it all, he felt pride as he recognized some of the others: Gord, Solomon, Elgin, even Justin. Including Barek, there were only thirteen. How many had been lost along the way? These were the lads he’d trained, the lads he’d let down. In spite of his misgivings, in spite of his belief that they could be nothing without his lead, they came now to his aid when it was meant to be him rescuing them. He thought of Gaston, the most flawed and the most brilliant amongst them; thought of his waxy corpse looking more at peace than ever he’d been in life. Gaston, who’d done so much wrong, and yet at the last, even in the face of Ioana’s disapproval, had vindicated everything Shader had ever fought for. Tears spilled down his cheeks as the Imperial soldiers dropped their spears and were herded into the enclosure.