by A J Dalton
‘That’s what we all want deep down,’ Mordius said quietly. ‘That’s what my master, Dualor, wanted. That’s what you and I want really. That’s what drives me to find the Heart. That’s what I’ll make sure everyone has once I have the Heart.’
‘Yes, there seem to be two main choices – hiding from the world like Jered and Jenny or trying to win enough power so that you change it. I prefer the second choice because I don’t think anyone can hide forever. Kate and the King’s Guardians are similar to us in that, I think.’
Mordius nodded dubiously.
‘It’s getting dark, Mordius. It may have been an unnecessary risk staying in Huntsman’s Hollow, but at least you had a chance of a comfortable bed there. As it is, it’ll have to be a patch of ground under a tree or dozing in the saddle again.’
‘I don’t think I’ll really sleep after that welcome from the good people of Huntsman’s Hollow anyway. Looks like it’s the saddle again. At least it’ll keep us ahead of those cursed Guardians.’
Saltar gave him a look.
‘Except for Kate, of course,’ Mordius added with an apologetic smile.
***
The Scourge awoke snarling with renewed vigour.
‘It wouldn’t hurt you to admit you needed the sleep, you know,’ Nostracles opined sanctimoniously.
The Scourge ignored him and went to check on Kate, who was just beginning to rouse.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Hungry,’ she decided. ‘That’s a good sign, I’d say. But I must be hallucinating because that looks like fresh fruit over there, against the snow. And is that bread? And what’s that? Custard?’
‘It is from Her divine cornucopia,’ Nostracles said humbly. ‘It is the goddess’s gift to us.’
‘Yes, I seem to remember…’ Kate began uncertainly and then looked at the Scourge in distress as she remembered her conversation with the matronly goddess.’
‘What?’ he asked with a note of concern but also narrowed eyes.
‘Nothing. Strange dreams is all.’
‘She does that. Tries to get in your head and plant suggestions.’
‘Scourge! I really must protest!’ Nostracles interrupted.
The Scourge turned towards the priest deliberately. ‘Shut up. I am having a private conversation with one of my Guardians. You will not interrupt again, do you understand?’
Nostracles glared at the Scourge. The priest was taller than the Guardian and stood higher up the slope, but there was such menace emanating from the Guardian that it was the priest who broke the staring-match first and turned away. Besides, the Scourge’s hand had been resting on the hilt of his sword. It was not the way of a priest of Shakri to provoke situations that could lead to the loss of the holy gift of life.
‘Do you think you’ll be up to travelling once you’ve eaten something?’ the Scourge asked Kate.
‘I think so. Where’s Young Strap? He wasn’t… they didn’t…!’
‘No. We scared his horse away when the fighting started so that he’d be carried to relative safety. Hopefully he hasn’t gone too far. We might have found him already if Her Munificence hadn’t put us to sleep.’ With a sharp look, the Scourge challenged Nostracles to say anything to that.
Kate spoke up quickly: ‘We’ll need horses, though. I can’t get down this mountain otherwise, unless an avalanche were to carry me down.’
Nostracles cleared his throat. ‘I have already called our horses. They are close.’
‘Well, that’s… good,’ the Scourge conceded grudgingly. ‘You can’t call Young Strap’s as well, can you?’
Nostracles hesitated. ‘Sadly, no. It’s beyond my range.’
***
They rode in near silence, the Scourge and Nostracles refusing to acknowledge each other. Kate tried engaging them in conversation, but after monosyllabic and taciturn answers from each of them gave it up as a lost cause. For want of much else to do, they all ended up concentrating on the road harder than they normally would, and made good time as a consequence.
It had been dark for several hours when they finally overtook Young Strap. Nostracles had sensed his proximity and not long after Kate, who was riding up front, spotted the glow of a small campfire through the trees. The Scourge merely grumbled to himself, rather than complaining vociferously to anyone that would listen, about the young Guardian camping too close to the road and not masking his fire properly, by which Kate knew just how relieved he was to find his charge again. The older Guardian displayed an almost fatherly concern for the younger one sometimes. And it was only because the Scourge worried for Young Strap that he got so angry about things.
‘At least you were keeping a proper watch and didn’t let us sneak up on you and slit your throat,’ the Scourge allowed.
‘Good to see you too, Old Hound,’ Young Strap smiled, gesturing for them all to sit. ‘And you’re… Kate, isn’t it? Sorry, I wasn’t at my best when we first met. I’d almost forgotten we’d met, in fact. Would you like some tea? I think there’s some left in the pan, and it shouldn’t be too stewed.’
Kate thanked him.
‘And good Nostracles, how goes it?’ Then Young Strap’s face sobered. ‘I have news I must share with you, but I don’t know if you’ll thank me for it.’
‘Then best it be shared quickly, my friend, before your courage falters and my darkest fears have the chance to get a grip on my imagination. Come, speak on! In a way it will be a mercy to us both.’
Young Strap took a sip of his tea, nodded and then took a deep breath. ‘I was overtaken by these four fearsome creatures. My horse was spooked and threw me. They had me surrounded. They said that they had come across you and the Scourge previously. The largest of them called himself Brax and boasted… he boasted that he had murdered Shakri’s temple-master in Corinus. I am sorry, but I lacked the courage and strength to exact any retribution from them on your behalf! I am ashamed to admit that I was so unmanned that I fled as soon as they gave me the chance.’
Nostracles stared into the fire. The flames reflected in his eyes and created the illusion that he was some demon burning with inner passions and rage. Kate and the Scourge watched the priest and held their breath, knowing he would need the moment to master the pain and conflicting emotions such news inevitably brought. Young Strap sat with his head hung, unable to look at his friend, ready to accept whatever judgement was passed.
‘I will not blame you,’ Nostracles whispered. ‘You would not have had a chance against such unholy abominations. They would have murdered you too, if you had raised your hand against them, and that would only have added to my grief. It would have been a stupid waste for you to throw your life away in an empty gesture. Better to walk away and return once you are better armed and prepared. Better to return when you are sure that you can put an end to the blasphemy of their being allowed to walk this land once and for all.’
‘And I swear I will put an end to that blasphemy!’ Young Strap swore with the timbre of barely controlled emotion in his voice.
‘And I will hold you to that promise, my friend!’ the priest replied fiercely, his voice hardly sounding like his own.
‘I, too, would see the old priest avenged,’ the Scourge said to Nostracles. ‘Brax and his animals need putting down before they have a chance to visit further suffering on the innocent. I would do this for the old priest, for he was a friend of mine and we shared many a long conversation, and a certain understanding.’
Nostracles weighed the words of the Scourge and nodded. ‘Then we are agreed on what must be done. My grief sits heavily on me but I find a measure of comfort in the thought that our actions will ensure my master’s death has meaning. I would leave right away.’
The hairs were standing on the back of Kate’s neck. She experienced a deep sense of foreboding, though what its immediate cause and what was threatened were tantalisingly beyond her grasp.
‘It is the middle of the night,’ she said cautiously. ‘Is it only me who thinks it migh
t be wise to sleep the few hours until dawn?’
The three men looked at her in silence.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ she sighed and threw the dregs of her tea on the campfire.
***
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Due to weakness
Accros sat atop a crumbling promontory formed by the confluence of the mighty rivers Achon and Roshan. The waters of the two courses battled and raged where they converged, their snarling foment constantly eating away at the promontory's tip. It would only be a matter of time before their warring brought them to the foot of the city walls themselves. Then, the Accritanians would need to build their defences against nature, and not just man... or so the burghers of the city argued. Others, like the priests of Shakri, maintained it was futile, if not blasphemous, to attempt to hold back nature, and that the city would eventually need to be abandoned. More sober onlookers observed that, what with the war and everything, there might not actually be any inhabitants left in Accros when the water did finally reach the city, so it probably wasn't worth worrying about. No matter their opinion, no group seemed inclined to spend their money on any solution, so the debate was only kept alive by bored barflies and those whose calling it was to pursue all manner of academic and trivial issue, namely, the priests of Cognis. Since the latter two groups were avoided by the general populace of Accros, the city was entirely successful in ignoring that particular impending doom and preserving a defiantly positive outlook on life.
The people of Accros were naturally proud of their city and their determinedly happy way of life. They had not hesitated to march forwards in its defence and sacrifice their lives fighting the Memnosians. Ironically, that lack of hesitation meant that the city had never yet had the strength of its impressive walls put to the test. Those sober onlookers already mentioned observed that people seemed to have decided that it was more important that they protect their precious walls than it was for the walls to protect their precious lives. But then, Accros was the King's city and the King was as beloved by his people as the Accritanian way of life and the life of every Accritanian soldier combined. He was beloved because he allowed his people to be happy, even if that meant they ignored any obvious and approaching apocalyptic episode.
'I can't believe they let us through the gates unchallenged!' Mordius wondered in genuine bafflement. 'There's very little traffic coming in and out of the city and there are plenty of guards around. I thought we'd have to sneak in through a stinking sewer or culvert in the middle of the night. What made you think we could walk up to the gates so brazenly and get away with it?'
Saltar shrugged eloquently, having practised the gesture on many a night when everyone else was asleep. 'We watched the gates for a good while, Mordius, and not once was a wagon stopped and questioned, let alone searched. The guards clearly aren't on the look out for anyone. They probably rely on messengers from the border or the outlying villages for a heads up on anyone they should be watching for.'
'Then what use are these guards at the moment?'
'People do not do and say things simply because of what is of use. There are things like image, duty and expectations to be considered. No doubt, the people's taxes have paid for the guards, so they feel they're entitled to the guards, whether they are of immediate need or not. Added to that, the poor old guards probably need something to do, so they might like having to stand at the gates for a shift or two every day.'
Mordius shook his head. 'You're probably right. You'd make a good city administrator, Saltar.'
'Perhaps I used to do such work when I was alive and not fighting on a battlefield. But I still don't know anything more about who I really was, do I?'
Mordius adopted the guilty look he always used when this topic was brought up. Saltar fleetingly wondered if the necromancer practised the look in the same way as the animee practised shrugging his shoulders. 'I know, Saltar, I know! I promise you, we'll sort something out about that, even if it means we march up to the palace in Dur Memnos to demand some answers. For now, though, we're in Accritania, where either people don't know you or they only know you as the enemy. It's best we keep a low profile while we're here.' He laughed: 'I'm assuming of course we can't just march straight up to the palace here in Accros to demand the Heart. But the way we got through the city gates, perhaps we can. It would certainly save us a lot of trouble. Of the two of us, you seem to be the expert on human behaviour, so what do you suggest?'
'The palace will be better guarded than the city gates. We should try and get close to assess what we're really up against. Then we'll find an inn near the palace, to see what the locals can tell us.'
'Sounds good to me.'
Saltar led the horse through the narrow, cobbled streets of Accros, Mordius on the horse's back. The echo of the horse's hooves came back to them loudly since there were none of the normal sounds of a major city to compete with it. There were no hawkers proclaiming their wares, no brightly painted women trying to tempt passersby, no retainers shouting for the way to be cleared for some noble or other, no children laughing or crying, no neighbours wishing each other good day, no minstrel singing ballads for strolling lovers, bawdy tunes for carousing mercenaries, or stirring airs for sweating labourers, there was barely a growl from the occasional, slinking, stray dog. And the few people that they did encounter stuck to the shadows and hurried past with their eyes averted. Clearly it did not do well to tarry for too long on these streets and risk becoming involved in other people's business. The one exception they came across was a large servant man moving ponderously through the centre of a crossroads. He carried a basket of laundry, apparently on an errand for his master or mistress. As they approached him, they saw by the pallor of his skin, his slack expression and his vacant eyes that he was an animee.
'I've seen graveyards more lively than this place,' Mordius commented. 'Maybe they're all hiding or asleep,' he added without much conviction.
'How does it smell?'
'What?'
'I don't have much sense of smell as I am,' Saltar explained patiently. 'How does the city smell? Does it reek of human waste or effluvia?'
Mordius wrinkled his nose. 'No, not really. It's more... musty actually. Reminds me of something. Oh! It's musty like a dry, old corpse.'
'Well, there's your answer then.'
The necromancer's mouth hung open in horror. 'It's a city of the dead.'
'Yup, that looks about the size of it, apart from the few guards and odd person we've seen. Look, pretty much all of the houses are sealed up too.'
'The war must have been harder on the Accritanians than we realised.'
'I doubt any of that's really of too much concern to a Memnosian necromancer like yourself.'
'Saltar, that's not true! I'd never want this.'
'Then what is it you want? What is Dur Memnos trying to achieve by any of this? What do the two kings think they're playing at? No one can even remember the reason for the war anymore.'
'Maybe I can put some of all this right with the Heart,' Mordius considered.
'First good idea you've had in a while, I'd say.'
'So glad you approve. Look, those doors over there are open. It's a temple, I think.'
They crossed the street they were on to a humble building that for some reason stood apart from its neighbours. Where the other buildings on the street were crowded together and shared walls, the temple had a clear six feet around it, as if it was a pariah or, at the other extreme, something too holy to be touched by the common purpose of others. Apart from the detail of classic temple pillars to either side of the main portico, its design was fairly unremarkable and the plaster on its exterior walls was greying and cracked. Clearly, it had never been excessively wealthy, even when Accros was at its height.
'It's a wonder it's still in use,' Saltar commented. 'It can't get many worshippers. I can't see any sign indicating its god.'
Having tied up the horse, they took tentative steps through the doorway. Inside, they saw that the building was ju
st one big room and only had a ground floor, rather than the two that might be assumed from its height outside. The interior space rose impressively above them and was all but fully lit by the tall windows high up in the wall. The whole effect was at once humbling and inspiring. Anyone entering the temple could not help but feel dwarfed and insignificant, but at the same time privileged to be surrounded by its bright and immense majesty.
The walls of the room were lined with drab, empty pallets. The altar was on the far wall, opposite the entrance way, and consisted of a waist-high, flat-topped stone, upon which there was another pallet. In the pallet was a statue wrapped in light, linen bandages. An individual bent in attendance at the pallet, but he or she had their back to Mordius and Saltar. Little could be made out of the individual because they wore the same bandaging as the statue, from head to foot.
Mordius cleared his throat politely and waited as the individual raised their head, turned, and moved silently towards them. Neither from facial features nor body shape could Mordius determine their host's gender.
'Welcome to the house of Malastra,' said the androgyne gently. 'Choose any of the beds you wish and I will tend to your ills, be they physical or spiritual.'
'We are new to Accros. We have not heard of this Malastra,' said Saltar in his usual direct manner, causing Mordius to wince and smile apologetically.
The androgyne blinked slowly. 'It is not necessary for you to have heard of the female cousin of Shakri and Lacrimos. Indeed, ignorance is just one part of the sickness of this world and its sinners. Malastra is goddess of the sick, and offers her divine cures and medicines to the faithful.'
Saltar glanced round the room. 'Business doesn't look too good.'
The androgyne assumed a pained expression. 'Many have left the city to rush headlong into the arms of Lacrimos, it's true. But all those who survive have a sickness of some sort. Some seek out the house of Malastra only when their sickness worsens to a point beyond their bearing, while others come more regularly to receive treatment for their Shakri-bestowed weakness.'