by A J Dalton
‘The will of a god cannot be understood by a mere mortal. It is beyond your capacity. But I will command you, Innius, as a mark of my favour. You have proven worthy of such command.’
‘Thank you, mighty Lacrimos, I am blessed!’ Innius gurgled in joy.
‘One of the leaders of the legions of death has been stolen from the field. That act alone challenges my will, so must have been brought about to serve one of my enemies; I suspect my sister.’
‘How may I serve you, master?’
‘His name is Balthagar. Certain spirits coming to my realm of late were dispatched there by him. They recall him both from a battlefield and an encounter upon a road, even if he does not seem to know himself. He seems to be heading for Accritania, Innius.’
‘For what reason, dread lord?’
‘Fool!’ spat the dead child.
The last drop bulged perilously. The priest’s eyes widened in fear. ‘Quickly, master! The child and time are passing!’
‘Even if he acts in ignorance, he can end up serving the purposes of my bitch sister. Just as his leaving the field challenges my will, so can the bargain be threatened. You know you must safeguard the bargain at all costs, Innius! It is the only reason I permit your continued existence.’
‘What form will the threat to the bargain take, master?’ Innius pleaded.
‘Idiot! The same form it always takes – an assertion and quickening of life. You must ensure death comes to all, Innius!’
Suddenly the drop fell and the child stopped moving. His eyes were vacant now. Innius grimaced as he saw he had knelt in a soiled area of the floor. He would burn his begrimed and gore-splattered robes later, but first he would need to check on the befuddled King above.
He left the small torture chamber beneath the palace and made his way towards the throne room. He met no servants, most of them having been pressed into the army years before. There were no torches lit for him to see his way by, but he knew the path well enough that he neither tripped nor missed a turning. He had trod this route for several generations, after all.
A lone sentry stood on guard to the throne room and hurried to salute as the King’s priest approached.
‘Good day, Gerault,’ Innius murmured, favouring the young man with a smile. ‘Has anyone been to visit His Majesty?’
‘No, holy Innius,’ replied the young man, ‘but men are starting to return home after the last push into Dur Memnos. It didn’t go well, apparently. A few officers have come to the palace and wait upon His Majesty’s pleasure. I thought it best to wait until you were available to attend.’
Innius feigned upset at the news of the defeat, released a ragged breath and then put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘You have done wisely, Gerault, for the King will take this news hard and I should be there to offer him support. Sometimes, you are all that stands between the destructive, irrational grief of the kingdom and the King’s resolve, purpose and courage. In a way, you are the kingdom’s salvation, lad.’
Gerault puffed out his chest proudly and nodded with shining eyes. Praise from Innius meant everything to the royal sentry. It wasn’t a surprise really, given that the priest had taken the single mother and babe-in-arms off the streets himself, found them a place in the palace and been the closest thing to a father Gerault had known. Gerault’s mother still worked in the palace kitchens – it was hard work but she always had a bed and hot food.
Innius had visited the mother and child every other week for years, sometimes bringing them treats, sometimes asking Gerault’s mother about gossip from the kitchens. When Gerault had become old enough to get under people’s feet, the priest had taken him on as a page, to fetch and carry meals, collect and pass on information, to clean, of course, and, most importantly, to learn to follow orders. Gerault had become very good at following Innius’s commands – quickly working out that the next tasks set him would be less onerous if he had done things exactly as prescribed, or that he would only get a sweet and a kind word if he treated Innius’s word as law.
Gerault had spent his whole life doing what Innius told him to do without question. When the other young workers in the palace had joined the army and gone off to war, Gerault had felt only a mild disappointment when he was informed by Innius that he was to join the palace guard instead. He had then accepted without demur Innius’s statement that it was a singular honour to stand sentry at the door to the throne room day after day and decide who should and should not enter.
‘Very well, show me in, Gerault. Conduct the officers in in, say, one ringing of the bell from now. That should give the King time to compose himself, wouldn’t you say, which would be seemly?’
‘Of course, holy Innius,’ bowed Gerault, opening the door for him.
The priest of Lacrimos stepped inside the dimly lit throne room and waited for the door to close fully behind him. His eyes sought out the monarch, who was slouched asleep in the kingdom’s seat of power, as was usual. Orastes was every day of his hundred and fifty years. Every day and every hour. His skin was an impossible, shrivelled and translucent tissue. Blood could actually be seen pulsing sluggishly through his veins. Children that were dragged into his presence ran screaming and shouting that the story was true, that the King was full of wriggling, blue worms. In a strong light, the old man’s skin quickly burned and his skull could be seen. The royal personage was wrapped in umpteen layers and robes, in a vain attempt to fight off the cold that had settled permanently into his bones. The vestments were probably all that gave him shape and form for as far as Innius knew the King had given up taking food or water years ago and his body must have wasted away. How long ago was it that the King had actually left this room, changed his clothes or bathed? Innius couldn’t remember exactly and didn’t really care, just so long as the will of Lacrimos was satisfied and the bargain safeguarded.
‘Your Majesty!’ the priest hollered as he approached the throne.
‘Whassat?’ Orastes whispered as gently as dust settling out of the air. ‘Innius, is it? How good of you to come see me. How is the Queen.’
She had died decades before. ‘Well, Your Majesty. The day of the happy birth approaches. I am sure she will bear you a healthy child. The people are excited and will celebrate for weeks.’
‘And my son, the prince?’
He had died in the war generations back. ‘He leads the main army and sends news of a number of great victories in the south. I think he will soon have this war won?’
‘Won?’ Orastes said with the same wonderment as ever. ‘What then of my bargain with your god? Will he no longer spare me death?’
‘Fear not, Your Majesty. My god will allow you time to savour your victory, as agreed. That may still be years off, however. Of course, your son’s army is irresistible with him to lead it, but the second army has been routed. In fact, soldiers from that army have come to the palace to throw themselves upon your mercy. They wait outside.’
‘Mercy?’ the wizened creature asked in tremulous confusion.
‘They fled the battle, Your Majesty. They are guilty of cowardice and normally expect to be executed. I suggest you see them just for the news they carry, but then dismiss them out of hand.’
‘Yes, that is what I shall do of course, Innius. Then I shall look merciful but strong. But I tire so quickly these days, so bring them at once. I assume they are guarded?’
‘No doubt they are surrounded by a troop of dead heroes, Your Majesty. Your policy of recruiting necromancers has gone well. Soon, you will have a new army at your command, an undefeatable army, an army of Accritania’s glorious dead!’
‘I did not know about this policy, Innius,’ the monarch croaked.
The priest smiled reassuringly. ‘It was a part of the bargain, Highness, do you not remember? And the policy has proven popular with the people. They love you for it and rejoice that the power of Accritania’s ruler extends beyond just this realm. You are close to conquering the lands of the dead and winning immortality for all of Accritan
ia.’
‘Well, a good King should listen to his people, Innius.’
‘Of course, Your Majesty. His Majesty is wise as well as strong. Of course, Dur Memnos must still be watched carefully. Word has come to me that they have sent one Balthagar to try to infiltrate the kingdom.’
Orastes looked fearful. ‘B-Balthagar? Have I heard of him? Does he come for me here in Accros? The borders are well-manned, surely? And the walls of Accros are secure! Answer me, Innius!’
There were hardly enough of the living left to guard the palace, let alone the border. And the walls of the city were no longer maintained. It was now time to start using the necromancers openly amongst the diminished population. ‘It is as His Majesty says. But a single man can always slip through a mountainous border. There may be secret ways into the city as well. Your Majesty need not be concerned, however, for the god Lacrimos will protect those who honour the bargain.’
‘Of course, the bargain! It protects Accritania. Innius, you will co-ordinate that protection and the strengthening of the defences of Accritania. Do not delay. You have a free hand. Now leave me, for I must sleep. You can deal with the soldiers who wait on me yourself.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty, if you would sign this order I had drawn up for just such a situation,’ purred the priest.
***
As Mordius had predicted, his horse had come back of its own accord. They had found it nibbling sorrel not far from Kate’s own horse, which was a hard-eyed stallion with powerful haunches.
‘No sign of your own horse then, Saltar?’ Kate called over.
Saltar shrugged and shook his head, helping the still shaking Mordius up into his saddle. ‘I’ll have to keep pace on foot as best I can,’ he smiled ruefully.
They headed through the forest towards the road, and finally broke through to it. There was a lively breeze, but the sky was fairly clear and the sun managed the colour of a milky cheese. The road was surprisingly clear which made Saltar wary of bandits, but Kate displayed no signs of concern.
‘Tell me, Saltar, what goods was Mordius trading that required a bodyguard? Surely the goods weren’t all being carried by your horse, that one that hasn’t come back? And no wagon? Or have the goods been sold and Mordius now has a full purse to protect? Or is he carrying money to buy something in Accritania? What has Accritania got to offer these days that is valuable enough for you to risk such a dangerous journey?’ quizzed the King’s Guardian.
‘You are very interested in other people’s business,’ the soldier replied gruffly, looking over at Mordius to see if there was any help coming. The necromancer had his nose buried in a small book he’d rescued from the house in the woods, however, and didn’t appear to be paying them any mind.
‘As I remember it, my surly friend, you promised to relate everything to me once I’d helped you with Mordius. Besides, I’m a King’s Guardian and it’s my duty to be interested in other people’s business.’
Saltar walked in silence for a few seconds as he furiously tried to come up with a sensible answer for the cursed woman. What had he been thinking to suggest travelling with her, when he couldn’t even deal with her first few questions? And what was it about her that made him so suddenly stupid? Did she have magic of a sort? He glared at her suspiciously. ‘Jewels!’ he said finally.
She smiled down at him and shook her head. ‘I know exactly what you are, you know.’
Saltar froze and Mordius’s head came up. ‘What do you mean?’ the soldier asked carefully, tensing.
‘Deserters!’ she said. ‘The way you handle yourself and the flashes of uniform beneath that shirt, Saltar, make it pretty obvious. And Mordius must be your man-servant.’
‘I’m afraid…’ Saltar began.
‘… you’ve seen right through us, ma’am,’ Mordius finished. ‘We’re just trying to get as far away from the fighting as possible. We’re not cowards or anything. To be sure, we’ve killed more than our fair share of men, but this last battle was the bloodiest so far and we need some respite. Are you duty bound to turn us in, ma’am?’
Kate looked up towards the sky as if giving the matter some thought. Saltar couldn’t read her, couldn’t tell if she was playing with them or seriously debating having them arrested. Fortunately, she did not maintain the façade for too long, and allowed a teasing smile to betray her. Saltar sighed with relief – and it felt like a genuine emotion – for he would not have wanted to kill her. Although she had tried to kill him with a crossbow and had proven as big a liability as Mordius when they had stumbled across the mandrakes, she… she was… well, she had her uses. Yes, that was it, she had her uses. True, as a King’s Guardian Kate would be a threat to Mordius if she were to discover he was a necromancer, but otherwise she served as extra security for their party. The episode with the Accritanian soldiers on the road had demonstrated to Saltar that he could not effectively defend himself and look out for Mordius at the same time, especially if Saltar was going to continue to be transported to foreign, unearthly battlefield every time he touched a weapon. Ideally the necromancer could be taught to defend himself convincingly, but until that time any extra help from Kate and her crossbow would be more than welcome.
‘Don’t worry!’ she winked. ‘If I were to turn in every deserter I came across, I would never have time to carry out my King’s more pressing orders. Besides, I am not totally unsympathetic to those who would avoid the war. As far as I can tell, only bad has come of it during the lifetimes it has been raging. However, it is probably impossible to avoid altogether. I doubt Accritania is any better than here. Do you have friends in Accritania? Where will you go?’
‘I have family outside Accros,’ Mordius said without hesitation. ‘Or at least I used to. I’m hoping some of them still remain. If not…’ he shrugged.
‘And you, soldier?’
‘I am weary and need somewhere to rest,’ Saltar supplied honestly. ‘But I am too well known within the army here in Dur Memnos. If I cannot find somewhere in Accritania, then perhaps there is the sea.’
Kate nodded, mulling over their answers and finding nothing implausible in them. ‘We should get you new attire when we pass through Holter’s Cross, Saltar. It is but a day away. And perhaps a weapon. I’m surprised that there wasn’t more to be had the necromancer’s house, but it would be unlucky to be fitted out with the property of the dead.’
Mordius quickly buried his head in his book again and Saltar allowed his face to fall slack, the closest he could get to a composed and untroubled look. He marched ahead and they continued in silence for some hours, as the world around them moved into the dark of evening.
Saltar had spied a group of trees off to the left that might offer them cover for the night, and was about to suggest it to the others, when he became aware of Mordius riding unusually close to him.
‘Saltar!’ the necromancer hissed, waving his open book so that it looked for all the world like some sort of albino bat in the dim light. ‘I think he was one of the six!’
‘Who? What are you thinking about, Mordius?’
‘The beast necromancer! This is his journal, judging by how recent some of the entries are. He mentions Harpedon as if he actually knew him. He must have been one of the original acolytes!’
‘Does it say where the Heart is? Or give us information about its nature that will help us find it?’
‘I haven’t found anything yet and it has become too dark to read more now. It’s slow going anyway, since the hand is ornate and the language is somewhat antiquated. He must have been centuries old. I wonder how he stayed alive for so long.’
‘And I killed him in a second,’ Saltar said dully. ‘Oh well, he got off lightly compared to those poor wretches in his garden. Mordius, I take it a necromancer can’t keep themselves animated beyond their death?’
‘No, I don’t think so. A necromancer gives something of their life-force to keep something animated. If the necromancer is dead, then there is no life-force to give.’
‘I
have another question. Before, you said you felt the Heart calling to you. Do you know from which direction the call comes? Do you know that it is definitely in Accritania? And do you think all necromancers can feel it or only particular ones, since you think each of you is different?’
Mordius’s brow wrinkled. He flicked his eyes towards Kate, to check that they weren’t being overheard, and then leaned forwards to whisper: ‘It doesn’t tug me in any particular direction that I can feel. I just feel its need for release, a need I guess that echoes my own personal desire for freedom. Maybe it’s that sympathy of feeling that connects us somehow. I doubt that that feeling is shared by all necromancers, so I doubt they feel the Heart in the same way. The beast necromancer certainly hasn’t mentioned anything like it in the recent entries I’ve read.’
Kate looked back over her shoulder and saw the two of them whispering urgently. What were they about now? She’d already told them she knew they were deserters, so what other matter did they have to discuss so secretively? She trusted them after a fashion, but there was something distinctly odd about the two of them. The bump at the back of her head felt funny whenever she pondered them. It told her they were trouble, which meant they were not what they seemed.
Saltar was certainly peculiar. He was a different person from one moment to the next. He would speak sternly and adopt an intimidating posture, and then do something considerate like saving her life. He would glare murderously at her from under lowering brows and make some solicitous inquiry about her comfort. It was as if he was possessed. Maybe he was just uncomfortable around women. Certainly, whenever she tried to get close to him, he would turn cold, as if affronted, frigid or… scared perhaps?
He was attractive in an unconventional way. Sometimes he looked like a slack-jawed dullard, but still had an intensity about him that was hypnotic. His body was lean and adamantine-strong, like a fine-bladed weapon that had been worked in the hottest of forges by a master smith. Even when supposedly at rest, there was still a dangerous edge to him.
‘What desire for freedom?’ Saltar whispered back, not capable of curiosity as such but still wanting to understand the defining concept within Mordius’s rationale. If he couldn’t understand this base element, he would not be able to understand any of it. ‘Freedom from what? Is this some romantic, self-deluded notion, Mordius? Are you sure the Heart is not just your own desire talking back at you?’