by Tom Lloyd
A woman’s body lay discarded on the ground beside the crystal-studded artefact while the tiny form of Father Pallasane knelt before it, forehead pressed against the largest shard. ‘It does not take long, but only when we are twelve at least will we be strong enough to control what we have created.’
‘So you’re number twelve ?’
‘I am.’
‘Shit, we’re running out of time. I’ll take the teams we’ve got here and set up some sort of delaying action – at least the Stone Dragons followed the Lawbringers in. I don’t know what made them decide to act, but we caught a break there. Gives us space to …’ She tailed off and there was a moment of complete silence.
‘What ? What is it ?’ Jehq snapped, turning. He followed her gaze and faltered too. ‘Is that … ?’
‘Yes,’ Synter breathed. ‘The Gods come to claim us.’
A light blossomed beyond the courtyard wall, then a second and third. Synter looked left and right to see more bursts of light – encircling them. Directly ahead was an enormous man, bearded as she remembered from the temple worship of her childhood and dressed all in white. On his left arm was a silver vambrace around which the air glittered, describing a large disc shape in the air – Lord Shield.
Thirty yards to Shield’s right was a tall man with long dark hair and faintly glowing red eyes ; Lord Huntsman, a great spear of starlight in his hand. Away to the left was the cold porcelain face of Lady Archer, a burning arrow nocked, while beyond her was the more-familiar figure of Lord Duellist, hand resting on his fabled blade.
‘Well, there you go,’ Synter croaked, recovering from the shock first. She pointed towards Duellist. ‘Didn’t you want to have a word with him ?’
Jehq coughed in astonishment. ‘You make jokes, now of all times ?’
‘I ain’t dead yet,’ the woman declared, standing taller as she faced the Gods down. ‘And they’re not rushing in to stop us.’
‘But why ?’
‘They can smell what we’ve just done,’ she realised. ‘They heard the call go out and touch all the moon-born goshe – and they want it. Gods love power as much as any man, just they can take it more easily.’
‘But they’ve got competition from their own ? They’re facing each other down ?’
‘Aye – more important than anything, they can’t let another take it. They’re waiting for one to blink and take the first step. That one’s likely to be cut down by all the rest, but it could spark a war in heaven and none of ’em fancy that much.’
Jehq blinked and squinted forward at the darkness surrounding the shining Gods. ‘What’s that ?’
‘What ?’
‘I … I can’t see so well – the air’s …’
‘Oh seven hells !’ Synter exclaimed, blinking furiously. ‘That’s not natural – what is it ?’
The air had changed around them and a haze of tiny glittering motes began to overlay the island. Judging by the reactions of the avatars of the Gods, the same was happening everywhere – each one searched for the source of the disturbance but none seemed to find it. To Synter’s Starsight-blessed eyes it was as though the very air had frozen and each fragment of water vapour was now a sparkling ice crystal drifting on the breeze. Thousands upon thousands of tiny dots of light, filling the air around her and catching what faint light existed – eliminating any advantage of sight the Blessing gave her.
‘Someone’s levelling the field,’ she said, squinting out over the courtyard at the indistinct shape of Lord Shield. ‘Some sort of magic, blinding even those with sight better’n our Blessings. One of them, or the fox-spirits maybe – the Ascendants can barely see in this, same as us.’
She closed her eyes and concentrated, suppressing her Starsight for a while as she tried again with normal eyes. Now it seemed a thick fog covered the island – one heavy enough to obscure the light of the Gods above and all but a faint glow of the flames in the distance. Normally, her Starsight would penetrate even the worst mist, but if anything it was easier to see through the fog than the supernaturally glittering haze. The air shone like a sandstorm of silver, but barely moving rather than blowing on past.
‘They’re going,’ Jehq said, peering forward as far as he could. ‘Look ! Lady Archer – she just vanished.’
‘Whichever one’s created this, they’ve got a plan,’ Synter said, thinking fast. ‘Do they want us to succeed ? No, that makes no sense. The Lawbringers !’ she gasped. ‘That’s where they’ve been getting their help – some damn God’s sitting in the background. Shield or Lawbringer no doubt, they want this to play out and have that bastard Rhe deliver them the artefact without starting a war in the heavens.’
‘Then we’ve still got time,’ Jehq declared. ‘Get the Detenii out there – once the moon is risen, I’ll be able to gather your teams to the fold without you touching the artefact.’
Synter gave a start, unaware of that, but as soon as she’d opened her mouth she realised it wasn’t the time to argue. ‘Fine, we’re gone.’
The woman slipped her black mask over her face and she headed down the stairs, yelling for the Detenii. He watched her go as activity in the hall below continued, oblivious to the strange detente that had apparently been reached outside. In the centre of the pillared hall the last scraps of Father Pallasane’s tattered soul fled his body and the still-warm corpse flopped sideways to the floor. One of the goshe attendants hauled the tiny body away as the stout figure of Mother Eyote kneeled in his place. She looked out of place wearing goshe black, but Jehq remembered her in her younger days.
Athletic and strong, she’d shared his adventurer’s spirit and been one of the first to jump at the chance of an expedition. Warrior caste, Jehq recalled, his thoughts lingering on the nights they’d spent together – back in another age so it seemed – when he’d explored the scars and tattoos of her muscular body. Never a flicker of fear from her as they travelled the demon-haunted depths of Shadowrain forest, but now she was just as broad-hipped and careworn as any mother of grown children.
In Synter’s wake, half of the moon-born guards also left – minds linked and obeying her commands as one perfect unit. A dozen remained as sentries, walking the dark walkways overlooking the hall, and two dozen more were on the perimeter. The hall was lit by lamps set in high alcoves on every wall, oval archways leading to the wards that occupied most of the sanatorium’s bulk and justified the high walls around it.
Jehq spared one last glance in the direction of Lord Duellist before he too headed down. The darkness of the island was overlaid by a shifting insubstantial curtain that obscured almost everything. The God he had once met had vanished back to his lonely constellation in the heavens.
‘We will speak soon, my Lord,’ Jehq whispered to the night. ‘Soon we will meet as equals.’
*
Dazed and horrified, Rhe and Sheven followed in the wake of the Stone Dragons as the leper colony burned behind them. It was unclear whether there was anyone inside – only the nearer buildings were burning, but if the wind turned the flames could take the rest with ease. There were no cries for help however, no shouts or screams to alert them. Reluctantly, they had moved on, leaving a handful on the beach in case any innocents were caught up in the chaos.
‘This can’t be natural,’ Sheven declared, gesturing with his scimitar at the sudden fog that had enveloped the island. ‘You think it’s those demons ?’
Rhe nodded. ‘You saw the spirits moving round them like mist. They’re not so different from this. But it might be the goshe too. The Stone Dragons aren’t moving so fast, look. They’re not far ahead – might be they can’t see well either and are wary of an ambush.’
He had barely finished speaking when yells broke the air. Rhe heard the clatter of quarrels on armour and the ring of steel, then the Stone Dragons roared. Again, that great heave of breath split the air apart. The mist was torn open and Rhe saw figures smashed from the path of the Dragon’s Breath. Limbs were ripped away and clothes ignited. The sense of dre
ad in Rhe’s gut grew as the stink of burned flesh filled the air.
The Stone Dragons marched inexorably on. Groups of goshe threw themselves at them – Rhe guessed they were just as disorientated by the mist, for though they attacked fearlessly it was as an armed mob charging, not a trained army. The Astaren of House Dragon slaughtered those in each assault with brutal ease – drawing short wedge-like blades to wield with their free hands or using their lances as clubs.
Rhe’s sword was sheathed on his back now, his pistols holstered. The Lawbringers were a hushed and humbled column trailing along behind Rhe and Sheven. Prince Kashte and his Imperial cohorts kept close to Rhe, pride keeping them at the fore of the battle despite the blood and charred entrails scattered across their path.
Rhe walked with a stiff determination, fighting the urge to shrink down and be bowed by the oppression of death and entombing fog. The light of the Gods was hidden ; the scorched and torn ground as much their guide as the stone-bordered path that cut through the gorse-studded heather. The Stone Dragons were indistinct pale shapes behind a curtain of fog and Rhe found it easy to imagine they were the hungry ghosts spoken of in his people’s folklore.
He knew the demon-spirits now lurking elsewhere in the miasma overlaying the island were a more likely source of such stories, but he was an Eagle-hegemony by birth. At war with the neighbouring House Dragon more than a dozen times since the fall of the Greater Empire, it was more than possible that these killers of men had been glimpsed as they went about their brutal business.
Rhe found his hand tightening and forced himself to put such thoughts from his mind. I am a Lawbringer – a warrior of my House no longer.
He found his head bowing under the weight of it all.
Punish the guilty. That armour they wear is evidence enough to one of my birth, but there are boundaries to even the Emperor’s law.
He struggled on ; fighting back the hate with every step, reminding himself there was another purpose to leading his brethren there. They had at least several dozen dead already and the risks of this mission were great enough without foolishness on his own part.
But, one day, we will see even the Astaren answer for their crimes. One day I will see no man or woman above the law. Even the Astaren will be subject to it.
The resolve was a cold, sour knot in his belly, but it gave him strength and Rhe marched on.
One day. Until then, let Narin steal this prize out from under them. Let the great Astaren know failure.
Synter hunkered down in the fog, fighting to control her confusion. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out in the pitch black with only her normal vision to rely on. The air was close and chilly around her, shockingly dark, while every tiny sound she made was amplified to her ears. With her Starsight the fog had seemed to envelop her, glittering and swirling, but even now she could discern little through the gloom.
Ten yards away she could just make out the dark shape of another Detenii similarly crouched in the gorse. By the size, she could tell it was Kodeh. Only the pale Leviathan giant, Ushernai, had matched him for bulk – the pair a strange balance of light and dark.
But Ushernai’s dead, she reminded herself. Most likely it was these damn Stone Dragons who killed him.
She looked at the crossbow in her hands. The fat clay head of the quarrel gave it an awkward balance – they flew like a drunken firework, impossible to aim at any distance, but it was the only weapon they had against the Astaren. Nothing else would crack that armour or do anything but attract their attention.
Just as well I can’t see far in this crap anyway, Synter thought with a smile. With luck they’re as lost as me. If not, this is going to be the worst ambush in history.
She glanced up in the direction she hoped the leper colony was. It was impossible to tell exactly, but they’d used the path that ran to the beach as a guide. Ahead of her there was nothing, a ghostly curtain through which she could hear only fragments of noise. Voices and shouts, demon-cries and the roar of the Dragon’s Breath as it obliterated men and foliage with equal ease. Just coming out this way to lay in wait for the Astaren in staggered groups, Synter had been playing games with her fears. Shapes in the fog, drifting illuminations and whispering voices on the edge of hearing – she had no idea what was real now. Something had created this infernal, yet blessed, unnatural curtain of fog – hiding them all from each other, levelling the ground for the goshe whether or not that was the intent. Somewhere at the back of her mind was the whisper of the moon-born minds – not linked to her but a growing presence in the air around her and all the Detenii.
Some sixth sense prickled on her neck and Synter readied her crossbow. From somewhere off to her right there was a fizz and thunk as one of her team fired their bow. She was following the weapon’s sputtering path without thinking ; left hand touching crackling sparks to the clay head’s fuse.
She saw a faint light twist through the fog before the sharp crack as it erupted into light. An indistinct outline blossomed not far away, a massive silhouette in the process of turning just as she sighted her sputtering weapon.
Synter felt her guts lurch as the Dragon’s Breath coughed and a long lance of air distorted away towards the bolt’s source. While she pulled the trigger on her own weapon the luckless Detenii exploded into flames.
Leaning into the kick of the crossbow, Synter watched breathlessly as her quarrel darted forward, twisting through the air as Kodeh’s appeared an instant behind it. Then it struck and the air turned white as a double explosion split the air.
She flinched away from the blinding burst of light, intent on running in case a Stone Dragon was taking aim, but was dazzled and stumbled after a step or two. Synter let it turn into a roll, tucking her shoulder down and regaining her feet in a long-ingrained movement. The world returned with fitful trails of light and hazy details, but she kept moving – crouched low but going as fast as she could to get clear of the inevitable retaliation.
Inside, she crowed, wanted to howl Kodeh’s name and see the satisfaction on the brutal Dragon’s face. His countryman was dead, she was sure of that – the Stone Dragon had been hit by both weapons.
Somewhere behind there was a roar of rage and the whump of Dragon’s Breath tearing through the undergrowth, but Synter was well away.
Got you, fucker. Time for you to feel fear – you’re in my shadows now.
Enchei ghosted forward through the fog. The air was cool on his face, now exposed to the night. With his helm on he had been able to see almost nothing as a million tiny motes glittered all around him. The breeze had been stilled and the cold scent of fog overlaid a distant flavour of something else. Something that would have been all but imperceptible had it not stirred faint recognition in Enchei.
The Apkai, he realised with a chill. Should’ve known that demon would be keeping a close eye on me.
What allegiance the fox-demons might hold to the greater kin he’d invoked, Enchei couldn’t imagine. The realm of the supernatural was separate to all but a few Astaren, so remote and alien were the minds involved. A few were altered and trained to deal with demons and the avatars of Gods, but for the main they used the tools this unnatural side of the world provided and kept a healthy distance from its denizens.
There must be some threat out here, Enchei realised as he continued in a rough skirting of the sanatorium, leaving the more direct path for Narin and Irato. The Apkai must be slowing something or someone up – buying us time to stop the goshe. Not surprised ; if I was a Stone Dragon on standing duty in the Imperial City, I’d investigate all this just to stave off the boredom.
Almost from nowhere two shapes loomed suddenly in the fog. They were walking from right to left – a patrol, Enchei guessed. He levelled his baton and the air shuddered. First one, then the other, folded up and collapsed as limp as a corpse. The aging warrior grinned to himself as he stepped over their unconscious bodies. A man and a woman in goshe clothing, their spears abandoned on the ground.
Be
fore he’d gone much further he heard a voice cut through the pale night. On instinct Enchei crouched and slipped the hood of his silk-like cape over his head. Quite still, he peered forward, trying not to move as he identified where the speaker was. The voice was muted by the fog ; somewhere up ahead was all he could tell. He edged closer.
‘I tell you I heard something,’ insisted one.
‘What was it ?’
Enchei froze again, keeping as low as he could and trusting his cloak to hide him from searching eyes.
‘In my head – like a burst of noise, but far away.’
‘From where ?’
The first man grunted. ‘Don’t know, but I heard it.’
Enchei looked down at the baton in his hands. It was a simple tool, one that filled its victim’s head with sound and light normal senses couldn’t perceive – but enough to overwhelm the mind and cause them to black out far more effectively than a blow to the head.
So this link between them ain’t complete, he realised. He heard something, an echo of it, but has no clue what it was and there’s no God in his mind to figure it out.
‘Hey, who goes there ?’ one of the men snapped abruptly. ‘Stop where you are.’
‘Where’s Father Jehq ?’ replied a gruff voice – Irato. ‘Take me to him.’
‘Who are you ?’ the man repeated, a little uncertain now. ‘What Shure are you two from ?’
‘Do what I say,’ Irato commanded.
Enchei felt a slight frisson as Irato spoke ; a faint spark of something unfamiliar running down his neck. Whatever it was, the goshe’s attitudes changed in a heartbeat.
‘Yes, sir – he’s in the main hall. They’re in the middle of the ceremony.’
Learning all sorts now, aren’t I ? Enchei thought as footsteps began to lead away. Those demons have been rooting around in Irato’s mind – looks like they’ve found some toys to play with there.
Silently, he followed at as great a distance as he could. Narin had been quiet the whole time, acting subservient as he’d been ordered. Before long, the outline of the sanatorium’s high walls appeared in the distance and Enchei circled away from the men he’d been following. He didn’t want to go anywhere near the door they were heading for – his plan was a little more oblique.