by Tom Lloyd
Narin wanted to vomit, but managed to force himself to turn away and take a few steps. Suddenly he was filled with a need to escape the deed and he broke into a run again, racing blindly through the fog with the hot stink of terror in his nose.
The crack of wood rang out from somewhere on his right and Narin veered left, almost falling when he saw a huge shape loom up ahead. Unable to stop he stumbled away from it and thumped into the bare stone of a jutting lump of rock. The rough edge snagged his sleeve and he heard the cloth tear as he was jerked to a halt. Narin groaned as the impact sent a shooting pain down his sword arm, the weight of the weapon suddenly dragging his arm down.
He cast around for anything that might tell him where he was, but aside from the broken-topped rock he could see nothing. He stood and gasped for breath, working his shoulder in a circle to try and get some feeling back. As his panic increased, he yanked the goshe mask from his head and gulped down the cold night air, trying to make sense of where he was going. Skirting the rock, he turned in a full circle, but all he saw was the air tear apart some twenty-odd yards away and a path of yellow flames leap up from the ground. In its wake a man shrieked, clothes alight and flailing fruitlessly against the terrible fire, before collapsing to the ground and falling silent.
He started off in the other direction, trying to move stealthily to avoid the attention of whatever terrible weapon had done that. After a few yards he stopped, seeing pale shapes in the fog – waist height and still. He edged closer and realised it was a woman crouching, wearing just a thin white shirt and skirt. She was crowned with a halo of bright mist and as he neared her it began to move and swirl through the air.
Narin raised his sword but the woman did not rise, only turned her head towards him. Her eyes shone in the darkness, lambent orbs inside her head, and with a lurch Narin realised she was not goshe, but some native of the Imperial City. The shining mist, he guessed, was a fox-spirit possessing her and, as though to confirm that, her hand awkwardly rose from the ground and beckoned him forward.
He found himself obeying, almost relieved at the sight of a fox-demon out in the darkness. Irato had said there would be others on the island, secreting themselves on the boats of fever-struck, but Narin hadn’t realised until then they had also taken over the minds of people. He headed towards her, sword brushing the low twists of gorse that covered the ground, but before he could reach her there was a sudden rush of bright mist away from him.
The woman barely had time to turn her head before the fox-spirits had abandoned her and a searing path of fire tore through the fog. It struck her with the force of a God’s punch, smashing her backwards as her hair and clothes ignited. Unlike the previous victim, though, the woman fell without a sound and didn’t move again as the flames hungrily consumed her.
‘Hello precious,’ whispered a voice in Narin’s ear.
He tried to turn and bring his sword to bear, but was struck a terrific blow on his shoulder. It jerked the weapon from his hand and a kick sent him sprawling on his back. Dazed, he looked up at a black-masked goshe who held a crossbow in hands that crackled with trails of lightning.
‘Miss me ?’ the woman said.
Narin’s stomach lurched as he recognised her ; Synter, the woman who’d captured him at Coldcliffs. Rage and terror clashed in his mind as Narin scrambled for a weapon, but Synter just laughed and darted forward with unnatural speed. She grabbed his wrist and twisted his knife from its grip, tossing the weapon off into the darkness. Shoving him back down again, Synter retrieved his sword and threw that after it.
‘Now keep quiet or the bad man will get you,’ she hissed, raising her crossbow.
Narin looked past her and blearily made out a faint shape in the fog – visible only because it was huge and as pale as bone. Slung under one arm was a long, fat weapon of some kind – not a spear, he realised after a moment, but shorter and with a blunt snub tip. The figure turned towards them as the air around Synter’s crossbow cracked for one fierce moment and some sort of fuse ignited on the quarrel.
She fired and dove for the cover of the rocks Narin had just left. He glimpsed a corkscrewing trail of light race towards the giant before the air above where she’d been standing was ripped apart.
A great wash of heat slashed down onto his skin, causing Narin to cry out and wrench his protesting body away. Mere yards away the undergrowth blossomed yellow and orange, then a crack split the sky and a fiercer light exploded around the giant – a Stone Dragon, Narin realised as he rolled through the blessedly cool, damp grass.
When he looked back up, Synter was nowhere to be seen but the Stone Dragon was still standing. It stormed towards him with weapon levelled, casting around for the goshe. Its armour was flame-scarred and cracked, Narin saw – blackened down one side of its torso with a fissure running down the all-enclosing armour that looked more like porcelain than steel. A broad-bladed short-sword was in its other hand ; almost as long as Narin’s but stubby in the fist of the Stone Dragon.
It closed on him rapidly, but Narin realised one leg was moving more stiffly than the other. Synter had hurt it, but it was far from dead. Closer still and Narin could see the faint contours of nose and jaw in the shape of the helm, while large almond-shaped indentations indicated its eyes. The Stone Dragon’s gaze paused only briefly on him, just long enough to confirm he was no threat and return to the rocks where Synter was hiding. It moved obliquely, searching for others while it hunted her. Narin could see no more of the Astaren, but he knew there would be others. House Dragon was not in the habit of using anything but excessive force.
From behind it, Narin heard the clatter of running feet through the gorse bushes. The Dragon was already turning, its weapon casting a blast of infernal heat across the ground. Three figures of flame appeared in the dark, while a fourth reached the Dragon only to have its spear-thrust turned with contemptuous ease. Narin blinked in shock as he watched the fat blade drive into the attacker and rip out their side with a casual flick. The goshe fell dead, but in the next moment a second spitting quarrel flew through the night and exploded into blinding light a few yards shy of the Stone Dragon.
The terrible weapon carved a path across the ground as he turned after Synter, but then a bigger goshe burst up from the ground with an enormous flanged mace. Moving with the unnatural speed of the elite, the goshe swung the mace down against the Dragon’s arm and managed to force it off balance before lunging forward with the spiked head. That smashed into the Stone Dragon’s damaged side and something erupted in the breach with another great flash and crack of thunder. This time the wound was greater and the Dragon was thrown backwards, staggering while the goshe batted away the heat lance. Then Synter was there, the air filling with crackling light as she darted in to drive a knife into the wound and up into its body.
The Astaren dropped, groggily trying to break its fall with its sword, but its arm folded under the weight and it crashed face down, dead. Synter’s companion – broad enough to be of Dragon descent himself – made sure with one overhead blow. That done, the goshe dragged at the heat lance attached to the Astaren’s arm trying to tug it free.
At first it was stuck fast but he persisted – driving the top spike of his mace into what appeared to fix it in place while bursts of lightning raced from his hands. Under such assault the clasp popped open and the goshe gave a triumphant shout as he hauled it clear and held it up.
‘Careful,’ Synter warned him, ‘who knows what it’ll do if you try to use it.’
The big man nodded and lowered the weapon. ‘Time to play later,’ he agreed.
The two of them approached Narin, still lying dazed on the ground. His cheek prickled hot from the near miss by that heat lance and his legs were incapable of supporting him, so Narin could only watch them come.
‘Think you’ve got something of ours,’ Synter said. ‘I felt the ritual be interrupted and from the shape on your back, you’ve got something that belongs to me.’ She cocked her head. ‘Time to kill you I th
ink. You’ve been enough of a pain right now and your Astaren friend here ain’t going to help you now.’
With one practised movement Synter sheathed her knife in favour of a pair of hatchets and resumed advancing on Narin. The Investigator scrabbled backward through the scrub, gorse bushes dragging at his clothes and scratching his back. He tried to stand and run but his legs failed him and before he could try again the other goshe had circled around him. The man gave him a hefty kick in the side ; enough to knock him back down and leave him wheezing at Synter’s feet.
‘Now’d be a good time for any last words,’ she commented idly. ‘Anything ?’
‘Yes !’
That seemed to surprise her and Synter lowered her axe a touch. ‘Oh. Yes ?’
‘I, ah, yes,’ Narin gasped. ‘He, ah, he wasn’t my friend.’
‘No ?’ She glanced back at the Astaren. ‘Well he’s dead now, so either way you’re fucked.’
The other goshe gave a grunt that Narin took to be agreement, but then the man unexpectedly lurched forward and almost toppled on top of Narin. The man staggered a few steps before straightening, one hand clasped to his forehead as though dazed by a blow.
‘What was that ?’ Synter demanded, turning.
‘His friend,’ called a voice from the gloom of fog.
A dark, ghostly shape drifted forward – then seemed to tear apart as Enchei raised an arm and his cloak opened. Narin only heard a deadly zip through the air and the repeated thwacks of something striking. He saw nothing part the fog, but the goshe Dragon shuddered under the impact and gasped in shock and pain. He stood a moment longer, frozen to the spot, until a second flurry of Enchei’s darts cut through the night and felled him.
Synter had already dived away from the path of the shots and rolled back to her feet, kicking onto the attack in the next instant. Enchei let her come until the last possible moment, jerking to one side to avoid a blow and stepping in to batter his shoulder against the goshe’s. It deflected her momentum and he turned gracefully away, content to let her come again. She obliged him, slim axe-heads slicing through the air with remarkable speed as she wove a path towards him. Enchei carried his short-sword and baton, but seemed unconcerned about the goshe’s lightning-swift slashes. He backed steadily away, weapons low and merely flicking at the strokes that came sufficiently close.
‘Fight, you fucking coward,’ she yelled, only to have Enchei step abruptly forward and drive a boot into her midriff.
It didn’t knock her over, but she reeled under the impact and afforded Enchei space to level his baton at her. Synter was rocked back by some invisible impact, one hatchet falling from her hand as she sank to her knees, too weak to stand.
‘You want to kill her ?’ Enchei asked. ‘Reckon those Dragons are getting close so we don’t have much time.’
‘You’re not a Dragon agent ?’ Synter croaked before Narin could make up his mind. ‘Then you’re just as dead. You’ll never get off the island, not with the artefact. You know once you’re out of this fog the Gods or Dragons will find you in a heartbeat. Give it to me and you can still get out of this alive. When the moon rises, we’ll be strong enough to see you right.’
Enchei gave a snort. ‘Reckon I know what brought this mist down ; that gives us a fighting chance.’
Synter straightened. ‘Kill me then, just, first – tell me why ? You’re not working for any of them, you’re not loyal to the Gods – what’s in this for you ?’
Enchei turned to Narin as the Investigator struggled to his feet. Before either could speak Synter exploded into movement, chopping forward at Enchei and catching his arm a glancing blow. The next missed, the third tore through his cloak. Though she kept coming close, Enchei remained a step ahead of each movement of that savage flurry. At last an opening came and he hooked her axe, hauling Synter off balance. He brought his baton up at her chin in the next moment.
She tried to twist out of the way but it cracked against her black face-mask and rocked her back. A downward stroke from his sword severed her wrist but the killing stroke came from Narin. He’d taken a long-knife from the dead goshe and drove it into her kidneys as Enchei’s cut fell. The goshe arched, a howl of pain breaking her lips before shuddering to a halt.
‘Why ?’ Narin snarled in her ear. ‘Because of a little girl called Emari – for the thousands you’ve poisoned and robbed of their minds. You don’t get to just do that.’
A huff of pained breath was Synter’s only reply. Narin realised he felt nothing now. The horror of killing he’d felt previously had gone, and now he was just cold and numb inside. He held her, pinned for a drawn-out moment, then jerked the blade from her back and let her fall.
‘They’re coming,’ Enchei said, glancing over his shoulder.
He levelled his left arm and Narin caught a flash of movement. Tiny darts thudded into Synter’s mask, one bursting her eye apart. With one final jerk she stilled.
Enchei went over to the other goshe and hefted the heat lance that he’d pried free. ‘We’ve got our prizes, time to move.’
Narin let himself be shoved away and the chill night folded in behind them.
Chapter 29
More successful than heroes of folklore are the brazen rogues. In a world of Gods and demons, monsters and superhuman warriors, cunning is the normal man’s last defence. To insult such beings is to invite a swift death – to outrageously demand to their faces that the entire world submit to one’s will might yet see a man through when all options are exhausted. History is silent on how many attempt this and fail, however.
From A History by Ayel Sorote
Lawbringer Rhe followed the screams and stepped over the corpses. Dozens of goshe had thrown themselves at the Stone Dragons, but few had even got close enough to be cut apart by their brutal blades. In the wake of the Astaren’s advance, his ragged corps of Lawbringers, Investigators and Imperials had trailed without resistance. The fires of the leper colony raged unabated behind, an orange glow through the unholy curtain of fog.
Explosions echoed across the island, accompanied by dull flashes of light. How many goshe elite with those terrible crossbows there were, he couldn’t tell, but the reports of their fire-bolts came from all directions. The Stone Dragons had proceeded up towards the sanatorium strung in a line, but all order had been lost as teams of elites launched attacks from all directions. Each Astaren was an island now, a fortress of destruction amid the sea of fog that confounded them all.
He judged they were close to the sanatorium now. As Rhe began to imagine the horrific final slaughter to come, a faint outline of its walls appeared ahead. He looked to his right where Law Master Sheven walked and realised he could make out more figures beyond the man than earlier.
‘Is the fog easing ?’
‘This is no fog,’ Sheven growled in response. ‘It’s some demon’s spell to hide them from the Stone Dragons.’
‘But is it waning ?’ Rhe persisted.
The white-bearded Law Master stopped and looked around, grunting in acknowledgement. ‘It is,’ he said. ‘Are the demons driven off ?’
‘Something has happened.’
Rhe looked up and at last saw the distant pinpricks of the Gods above. Lord Shield’s constellation was almost directly overhead, the whole Order of Knight gradually reasserting their divine light once more. A gust of breeze swept down to wash over his face and continued the steady erosion of fog. When he returned his attention to the sanatorium walls he saw figures there, but they vanished from view almost immediately – retreating from the sight of a pair of shadow-scorched Stone Dragons.
‘It’s over,’ he realised dully, ‘they’re not defending it.’
‘And now ?’
Sheven got his answer from up ahead. As the fog melted away around them, one of the Stone Dragons levelled its heat lance at the walls. A great roar cut though the night, the air ripped apart and flames exploded over the surface of the stone wall. A few moments later its comrade joined it and the crack of stones bu
rsting apart rang out over the island.
The wall blackened and groaned fearfully. Ear-splitting crashes echoed from deep inside and the wall visibly shuddered under the assault. Satisfied, the Stone Dragons broke off their assault and one marched up to the wall, punching its blade straight into the weakened stone. Once it’d hauled that out again it stepped back and kicked forward with one massive armoured boot – stamping forward into the stone to knock out a whole section of wall.
Off to the right, Rhe saw another Astaren emerge from the darkness like a vengeful avatar of the Gods – spitting flame at the gate, which caught in moments. Red blades of fire leapt up into the sky and Rhe felt a sudden chill. This was too arbitrary to be merely dealing with the fighters. They were going to kill every last one of the occupants – goshe and fever-stricken citizens alike.
‘No !’ he yelled and broke into a sprint. Before he really knew what was happening he had run up to the wall and stood between it and one of the enormous Stone Dragons. ‘Stop – withdraw !’
The carved face stared impassively down at him, but Rhe could sense the hatred in the Dragon’s stance. Though he was a Lawbringer and part of the House of the Sun now, his face marked him clearly as from a house within the House Eagle hegemony – House Dragon’s long-standing rival and enemy.
‘Step aside, Eagle,’ the Astaren rumbled – his deep voice unmuffled by the all-enclosing armour he wore.
‘I will not,’ Rhe declared, staring defiantly up. ‘There are innocents within and criminals I intend to arrest. I will not let you slaughter them.’
‘Criminals ?’ roared the other Stone Dragon, turning to face Rhe and pen him in against the wall. That close, Rhe could feel the heat from the stones as clear on the air as the mounting anger of the Empire’s most volatile warriors. ‘Your law does not apply – these goshe will answer to us for the forbidden arts they have used.’