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Necromancer's Gambit (The Flesh & Bone Trilogy Book 1)

Page 23

by A J Dalton


  ‘What do you mean?’ the Scourge demanded. ‘Who are you? That conniving and wretched god Lacrimos? Honestly, you’re as bad as your sister!’

  ‘Pass on my regards the next time you see her.’ With that, the soldier fell flat on his face in the snow. The Scourge wasted no more time on him and span to the aid of Nostracles. He hewed limbs and spattered them both with gore, but that was small price to pay to break the death-grip at the priest’s throat. Nostracles’s face gradually changed from a blotchy purple colour to a more normal colour.

  The Scourge hoped Nostracles’s throat wasn’t too sore and swollen to utter the words that would release the last of his energy. But when the Guardian looked up, he saw it was too late anyway. They were surrounded. There were Accritanian soldiers and the dead on all sides. They would be hacked and torn to pieces.

  ‘Drop your weapon!’ a soldier with sergeant stripes on his arm ordered.

  The Scourge complied but kept his hands near a pair of concealed knives he kept hidden about him. A filth-infested woman clutching her neck came up behind the group, sneered at the Scourge and rasped, ‘Kill them!’

  As a group, the mindless dead came at them, some with jaws hanging slackly, some gnashing their teeth and some smiling eerily. Nostracles shouted an incantation and scintillations of green energy danced prettily around them in the air. One animee stumbled and began to lose cohesion, but the other didn’t break step at all. The priest slumped to his knees, spent. The Scourge drew his knives and sank one into a nearby eye-socket, but he knew it would not be enough. A creature grappled with his other arm and he elbowed it viciously, but he was pulled back strongly and he lost his balance.

  He swore at them as they tore him down uncaring, unlistening, unthinking, unanything, just un. This was the end. There were hands in his face gouging at his eyes, clawing into his ears with filthy fingernails to try and tear his eardrums, scratching at his cheeks until they were nothing but ribbons. He opened his mouth to scream and fingers crammed inside trying to tear out his tongue. He bit at them, but the fingers were uncaring and almost crowbarred his teeth out. His jaw creaked and began to dislocate. He whimpered like a child, a child who had watched the same happen to his parents from where he cowered under the family bed.

  Something barrelled into them and the world turned upside down. He seemed to be flying through the air, but that couldn’t be right. Was this how it felt when the spirit broke free of the body? Crash! His body hit the earth hard and he banged his head against something. Dazed, he tried to make out what was happening.

  Where was Nostracles? Was that him amongst the legs of the giant men smashing into the soldiers and animees? One of the giants grabbed the necromancer, ripped her head off and crushed it in one hand like squeezing out a sponge. The necromancer’s body was still on its feet, but it was grabbed by its ankles and used to batter the other animees.

  There appeared to be five of the giants. The largest of them was taking perverse delight in biting pieces off a soldier while still leaving him alive to keep fighting. The poor man had lost an arm and fingers off the other hand already. The giant was clearly trying to get a leg next.

  For a brief moment, it looked as if the giants might be held back by the soldiers. Three men attacked one giant with practised and co-ordinated skill, delivering enough serious cuts and blows to bring it to its knees. But even as it succumbed, one of its massive paws lashed out and crushed the legs of one of the soldiers. Then the biggest of the giants landed in their midst and quickly disposed of the other two soldiers.

  ‘Braaax!’ the giant roared at the dark sky and mountain, the latter echoing the powerful self-acclamation. The remaining three giants hooted their praise of their leader and then fell to feasting on their kills.

  Terrified they would all be eaten by these bloody giants, the Scourge started to crawl towards the bodies where he’d last seen Nostracles. He was nearly there when the lead giant threw himself into the air and landed with a foot on either side of the Scourge. The monster blocked out the moon entirely and meant that the Scourge was now in a putrid pool of absolute darkness. Brax lowered his huge, dripping jaws and sniffed at the Scourge.

  ‘Ha! The little King’s Scourge. Brax h-is the strongest. Say h-it!’

  ‘B-Brax is the strongest!’

  ‘Good. The King’s Wardens h-are more powerful than the Guardians. Say h-it!’

  ‘The King’s Wardens are more powerful than the Guardians.’

  ‘Yes. Now h-apologise to Brax.’

  ‘I apologise, Brax. I was wrong. I see that now.’

  The giant growled in the back of its throat, but as there was no snarling the Scourge took it for a noise of satisfaction. ‘Good, good. H-I will not h-eat you, h-after h-all. There h-is h-enough meat here. You will return to King h-and tell him Brax h-is stronger h-and more powerful. That Wardens will find necromancer h-and bad hero h-instead h-of the Guardians finding them.’

  ‘Of course. Whatever Brax says.’

  ‘H-I not like you, though. You weak.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes. Good.’

  ***

  The head necromancer Savantus screamed and dropped his glass of wine. He pressed his hands to the sides of his head, clearly in great pain. Innius jumped back in disgust, worried that he would get splashed by the fermented liquid that came from putrescent, rotting fruit. Pieces of glass span lazily on the stone floor, unconcerned by the drama going on around them.

  ‘One of my necromancers has been extinguished!’ Savantus cried, rocking in his chair with his eyes squeezed shut.

  Innius enjoyed the discomfort of his co-collaborator. Only a priest of Lacrimos could truly appreciate the divine blessing such pain promised. It was suffering, loss, diminishment and a step closer to death. ‘Where?’

  ‘Near Worm Pass, I think.’

  ‘I see. Do you know if it’s them?’

  ‘There’s no way I could tell that. Wine!’

  Suppressing his contempt for the necromancer’s psychological and bodily weakness, Innius poured a fresh glass, stepped around the wine-contaminated area of the floor and handed it to Savantus. ‘It must be them.’

  ‘Yes, or an invasion. Maybe a Memnosian army is on its way here,’ Savantus postulated.

  ‘Unlikely. Our spies haven’t reported anything of the sort. And although they got the better of us in the last engagement, they were hardly left in any fit state to launch an invasion. No, it must be Balthagar and whichever agency raised him.’

  ‘My necromancers will watch for them.’

  ‘That hasn’t done any good so far, you fool! ‘Good, good! Meanwhile, there are other precautions I must put in place, so if you will excuse me, my friend?’

  Savantus was caught by surprise. Never before had the priest hurried him out. And Savantus did not feel that he had yet had sufficient quantities of Innius’s excellent wine to recover fully from the necromancer being extinguished. He drank his glass down in a single draft for fear he would forfeit even that to the priest’s impatience.

  Innius went with Savantus out of the room, closed the door behind them, bid him a good day and began to stride off down the corridor in the other direction.

  ‘Innius, wait! I must just ask you what you think this Balthagar hopes to achieve here in Accritania, when he can have only minimal support.’

  Innius paused. ‘An individual can often slip through a perimeter unnoticed where an army cannot. As to what he hopes to achieve, well he is Memnosian after all. They seek to destroy Accritania. I suspect that Voltar has sent Balthagar to assassinate our King.’

  ‘Our good King Orastes!’ Savantus gasped. ‘It’s only thanks to him that our kingdom is still as it is; a safe haven for my kind. Were he to fall, with no heir to replace him, Accritania would tear itself apart.’

  You mean you would attempt to take power, but are not sure of the loyalty of the army generals. And you know you would then have to negotiate with my master. ‘I agree that is likely. He must be
safe-guarded at all costs. Otherwise, we risk what you have described. And if Accritania were to be further weakened by internal struggle, Dur Memnos could march in, finally win this war and proceed to hunt down and exterminate all necromancers. Were that to happen, I’m not sure how much my master could do to save you.’

  ‘Is it not… in Lacrimos’s interests to… aid my kind?’ Savantus asked tentatively.

  Innius stared at the head necromancer for a long, tense moment. The temerity of the man! This almost bordered on blasphemy. Surely Savantus was not aware of the covenant that existed between Orastes and Lacrimos? Savantus was potentially smart enough to have worked it out for himself, of course. He couldn’t have turned Gerault into some sort of informer, could he? Was the necromancer simply testing his theory with a question or did he know more and was actually seeing if Lacrimos would offer him the same deal if he were on the throne? ‘My friend, mortals such as ourselves cannot know or fully comprehend the divine. My work as a priest is simply to guide the faithful in appropriate forms of worship and obedience.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Savantus hurried. ‘It was not my intention to suggest otherwise. I simply wondered if your faith had given you insight with which you could guide me.’

  ‘You should pray to holy Lacrimos for guidance. He may choose to answer you. I shall pray for you as well, my friend.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you. Good day then and please pass on my best wishes to His Majesty for his continued good health. If I might be of any assistance, my friend…?’

  ‘I will. I go to see to his further safety right now.’

  And to rid myself of your potential informer, Innius thought to himself darkly as he stalked away. He moved swiftly along the unlit corridors of the palace with nothing but hate and fury in his heart. Woe betide anyone who got in his way right then! He’d cut them down with every natural and supernatural power at his command before he’d even take the time to recognise who they were, no matter if they were some scurrying underling or the King himself.

  He knew that if he didn’t bring his anger under control, it would continue feeding on itself until he was fatally incandescent with it. Should that happen, he’d be transported to the nether realm before he’d seen his master’s design carried through.

  He hurled himself against the nearest corridor wall and scuffed along it until it dragged him to a halt. He’d taken the skin off the palm of his hands and one cheek, and his robes were covered in dust and cobwebs, but he felt himself beginning to regain some control of his mind and equilibrium. He’d been perilously close to hyperventilating or exploding his heart but had managed to wrestle his body back from the brink of the infinite abyss. Trapped as Innius was in a body of Shakri’s creation, Lacrimos could not save his priest from a physical death. Sickeningly, Innius has to bow to his master’s nemesis, Shakri, when it came to remaining a part of this realm and creation in order to ensure his master’s will was made manifest.

  He brushed himself down meticulously and that helped him further feel in control of himself and the world around him. He wiped the foulness of sweat from his brow and began to move in a more composed fashion towards the throne room. He found Gerault at his usual post outside. Innius favoured the young man he’d all but raised himself with a smile. Gerault smiled back happily, devotion obvious in his eyes. No, Savantus could not have turned this one, unless Gerault shared information with his mother, and his mother then passed it onto someone else. Innius frowned, and was gratified to see Gerault’s face quickly fall and show concern.

  ‘These are troubled times, my son. Are you still loyal?’

  ‘Of course, holy Innius!’ the guard avowed, clearly upset even to have been asked.

  ‘Very well,’ Innius decided and lowered his voice to a confidential tone. ‘Then I may tell you that enemies of our beloved King are in Accritania as we speak and may be on their way here. They may already be in the palace!’

  Gerault’s eyes widened in alarm and he instinctively looked up and down the corridor for any signs of unwelcome intruders. Then he firmed up his jaw and tightened his grip on his sword. ‘They will not pass me, holy father!’

  ‘Good, I knew I could count on you,’ Innius nodded, resting a paternal hand on the youth’s shoulder. ‘And I will help you. I will arm you with the holy powers of Lacrimos.’

  Gerault tried to look brave for his benefactor. ‘If you think me worthy, holy Innius.’

  ‘You have proved that you are, by your constancy, obedience and courage, my son. But these are matters of the divine, which are not entered into lightly. You will need to follow my commands quickly and without hesitation. If you can do that, then you will be safe, I promise you.’

  ‘You have my trust, holy father.’

  ‘Good, then come with me now. We must act before our enemies can descend upon us.’

  There was a moment’s indecision in Gerault’s eyes as he realised he was being asked to desert his post, but his first loyalty had always been to Innius, so he followed the priest without any word of protest. Innius led him to the stone chamber beneath the palace and ordered him to lay on the iron frame on the floor. Again, the guard obeyed without question. Innius strapped Gerault’s arms and legs securely and raised the frame above the ground by way of an iron chain and winch.

  Gerault’s eyes drifted towards the wicked array of blades and tools lined up on a shelf against the far wall.

  ‘Do not be concerned, my son. I will not kill you, but I must let some of your blood to use in the ceremony. All is designed to imbue you with the god’s power so that you may better defend the King. Do you consent to this?’

  Gerault nodded, clearly not trusting himself to speak.

  ‘Good. Things will go easier on both of us if, when you feel yourself coming free of your body, you do not resist. Once you are free of it, the nature of your body can be altered without impediment. I will make it stronger and more glorious than anything you have ever known. Now, open your mouth, for I must gag you. The words I will speak must not be interrupted, so we cannot risk you calling out if you become light-headed and disoriented.’

  The guard accepted the gag without complaint and made no noise when Innius ran a sharp blade along the young man’s forearm and started draining blood into an unadorned, black chalice. When the vessel was nearly full, Innius cut one of his fingertips and added a few drops of his own blood. Then he smeared some of his own blood into the wound on Gerault’s arm.

  He stepped back and started to chant in the daemon-tongue. Next, he poured a continuous circle of the blood on the floor, to encompass the area where Gerault hung, making sure not to splash any of the liquid on his robes and that he stayed outside the circle at all times.

  Then he summoned the demon Siddorax by name, a being he was familiar with from his time as the sole acolyte in the lost temple of Lacrimos. The fact that he had encountered the demon before did not make it any more reliable or trustworthy, but it might mean it would not immediately waste itself in challenging his power, since it had learnt to obey him on occasions in the past.

  He watched as a whirlwind developed within the circle and raced around the inside edge. It buffeted the iron frame, which began to jump and spin crazily. Gerault’s eyes were wide with fear and sought reassurance from the priest. Innius checked to see that blood still dripped from Gerault’s arm into the air and then shouted:

  ‘Fear not, Gerault! All is as it should be. It will not be long now.’ He then switched back to the daemon-tongue to call: ‘Siddorax, my blood prevents you from leaving the circle. There is a living body there for you to occupy. It lies on a frame of iron and is hung by a chain of iron. You cannot leave the blood circle, therefore, save through the corporeal means of the body. The victim has consented to this and will offer little resistance. Possess the body and serve me, or return to the nether realm that spawned you.’

  The wind howled like a tormented beast and then everything fell suddenly still. Even the frame hung straight and unmoving.

/>   The colour of Gerault’s eyes swirled and his skin rippled. Surely Siddorax had entered in. And once inside, the demon was trapped by the blood Innius had smeared into the cut on Gerault’s forearm. But the demon was quite capable of trying to trick him. He dared not enter the circle yet. Instead, he took up a small throwing knife and hurled it into Gerault’s thigh.

  Gerault’s eyes flamed red and he snapped a restraint on one of his arms. Innius allowed himself a smile of satisfaction.

  ***

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: And protect us from ourselves

  He’d had nightmares that weren’t his own. He’d seen things he did not understand, heard things, almost felt them. He remembered having been in the stables of the Only Inn, but the next thing he knew he was in the throne room in Corinus listening to pretty music. King Voltar spoke to him, pinning him with an inescapable look, as a lepidopterist would treat a moth… or a necrodopterist would nail up a dead exhibit for display.

  Then there was another presence possessing him, a presence that made him feel infinitesimal, a presence that wiped away all thought and personality in an instant. He’d spoken in a voice not his own and demanded obedience and death. The pin was finally removed and he fell to the floor as if dead.

  He lay on top of something that was warm-blooded and moved. It supported him, kept him up. Young Strap opened his eyes and found the side of his face resting against the back of his horse’s neck. He’d had his mouth open and managed to drool into the colt’s mane. It was cropping at some green shoots sticking out of the snow. As a consequence, Young Strap was half upside down, the blood had rushed to his head and the veins at his temples were throbbing painfully.

  Fortunately, his arms were not tied to the horse, so he managed to reach the reins and pull the colt’s head up. It blew clouds of hot breath into the cold air like a disgruntled dragon.

 

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