by A J Dalton
'What madness is this you talk?' the Scourge replied.
'Don't you see, Scourge?' Kate urged. 'If we can find this artefact, this Heart, we can finish the war and bring Saltar back. But we'll need a necromancer like Mordius to use the artefact for us.'
'It doesn't add up,' the Scourge decided with a shake of his head. 'If we can finish the war by using the artefact, then why hasn't whoever's got it done the same? Dur Memnos could have won the war ages ago if it really has this Heart. No, it cannot exist. It's too much of a paradox.'
Saltar spoke up. 'Mordius told me that paradox was at the centre of necromatic magic. And we suspect that whoever has the Heart does not want this war to end. We suspect that they continue to increase their power the longer the war wages, since the more people die the more come under the power of the Heart. It must be someone in the palace. A book we have names Voltar, he who has been King for longer than anyone can remember.'
'I will not have you speak ill of the King!' the Scourge said, but it was said with the speed of an oft-repeated phrase and without true feeling. 'The simplest way to end this war is to kill Orastes right here and now.'
'I have thought the same myself,' Saltar agreed, and Mordius nodded his head in reluctant confirmation.
The Scourge raised his eyebrows in surprise, and then nodded in return.
'You can't!' the unknown man said in shock. 'Look at him! He's a defenceless, old man. You butchers!'
The Scourge moved over to the throne and inspected its occupant by the magical light that had begun to fade with Siddorax's death. All that could be seen of Orastes was a shrivelled head resting on a pillow. The rest of him was lost amongst the blankets bundled up in the chair. His skin was so thin that it was all but translucent and the skull could be seen underneath it.
'Is it even alive?' the Scourge asked. 'It looks too old to be so.'
Suddenly, it stirred and they all jumped. 'How is the Queen? And my sons?' whispered the creature, trying to see with eyes long-since clouded over.
The Scourge looked at the unknown man for an answer. The man hung his head and shook it sorrowfully.
'Well?' the Scourge asked them all. Only Saltar would meet his gaze, and that was with the unblinking, lifelessness of an animee.
'Nooo!' rattled a torn voice from the corpse of Innius, sending the unnamed man dashing over to the Guardians for protection, even though he had to slip and slide his way through pools of congealing blood on the floor.
Mordius touched Kate and the Scourge on their arms so that they would let him through. They tacitly gave him their permission to talk on behalf of the group. 'Name yourself! We command it as those who slew the corpse you occupy.'
The corpse, laying face down, laughed. 'None may command me... Mordiusss!'
Mordius flinched.
'Yes, I know who you are!' the corpse chuckled with a voice that got stronger and vibrated with power. 'My servant Innius has told me about you and your companions, in between his tortured screams as I rend his soul. He failed me absolutely!'
The unnamed Accritanian cringed. 'It is Him! Holy Lacrimos.'
'Just can't get the staff, eh?' the Scourge called.
'Do you mock me?' thundered the corpse with a force that sent cracks shooting through the floor from where it lay. The cracks stopped just short of their feet.
The Scourge put his sword to Orastes's neck.
'Noo!' boomed the corpse angrily.
'No?' the Guardian asked. 'Surely the god of Death would welcome me killing Orastes, wouldn't He?'
'The ways of the gods are beyond the understanding of man,' Lacrimos boomed through Innius's body. 'It is enough for you to know that it is my will Orastes not be harmed. Know also that I am a god who rewards those who are obedient to my will...'
The Scourge opened his mouth for another caustic rejoinder, but Mordius glared at him and made a chopping motion with his hand. The necromancer spoke up: 'And what is your will, holy Lacrimos?'
'Here it comes,' grumbled the Scourge. 'You can't trust these gods, you know.'
'By the holy impatience of Incarnus, Scourge, let us at least hear it!' whispered Young Strap, causing his commander to throw him a dark look in answer, and Kate to hide a smile. Yet the Scourge was otherwise quiet.
'It is not Orastes you should be worrying at like wild dogs besetting an old stag. It is Voltar, for he has the Heart. Voltar defies the gods themselves with the Heart. He defies all the major gods. I cannot touch him or those he has raised. Wim is reduced to little more than the status of court jester next to Voltar. Cognis is effectively exiled from the affairs of mortals. Even the creation of my sister is undone and rebuilt to Voltar's design. Voltar does more than blaspheme – he threatens the fundamental order of existence.'
'Isn't he simply imposing a new order?' Kate asked.
'I will forgive your speaking out of turn, for you are ignorant,' Lacrimos allowed. The Scourge sent a taunting smile her way. 'There will be no order. There will only be Voltar's will. Now, there is order. The gods and mortals have their place, each limited in complex ways, each dependent on the other. But Voltar would end all that. There would be no structured order, only his whim. Meaning would disappear for all of us. There would be no balance. It is impossible to explain further using the primitive language and limited conception of mortals.'
'How are we to get to Voltar?' Young Strap asked before the Scourge could make on of his honour-bound defences of the King. 'He sent his Wardens after Mordius, Saltar and us. I fear we will be killed on sight should we re-enter Dur Memnos.'
The voice issuing from Innius became sly. 'You will have no need to fear, for not only will I be with you, but you will have an army of the dead behind you. Savantus will supply it, won't you, Savantus?'
The Guardians looked from one to the other and then in unison rounded on the semi-clad Accritanian who crouched in their midst. Discovered, Savantus looked up at them with a mixture of embarrassment and apology.
'You are a necromancer!' the Scourge accused him. 'I should have known.'
'More than that, Guardian,' Mordius supplied. 'He is one of the original acolytes of Harpedon, responsible for creating the Heart. It is my belief that Voltar was also one of the acolytes and stole it from the others. Other than Voltar, Savantus is probably one of the strongest necromancers alive. It is entirely feasible that the war came about because of the struggle for power between Voltar and the others.'
All three of the Guardians raised their weapons.
'No!' Savantus panicked. 'I am not responsible for the war. I have been in hiding here in Accritania since Voltar took power in Dur Memnos. I admit that I have built an army of the dead by way of raising other necromancers, but it was only as a means of defending Accritania against Voltar's ambitions. I put that army at your disposal and will march against Dur Memnos with you.'
'He cannot be trusted,' Saltar said. 'Mordius and I met a necromancer called Jered who told us of Savantus's murderous ways. I will stay with Savantus at all times, so that we may guard against his treachery. And it will give me something to do during the hours when the living tend to sleep.'
Savantus's face was suddenly transformed by a paranoid and sociopathic hatred of others, which betrayed the charade of the dazed and innocent courtier that he had maintained up until that point. He glared round at them all like a trapped, feral animal.
'Necromancers!' the Scourge spat in utter contempt. 'None of them should be allowed to live. We have no need of any of them. We do not need this Savantus. King Voltar will give me audience and listen to me as he always has. And we have no need of this Mordius and Saltar. Saltar, surely you know you were a King's hero named Balthagar when you were alive! You were loyal to Dur Memnos. You were sworn to the King. Even if this Heart did exist, even if you managed to wrest control of it and were then returned to full life, you would be appalled at how you had betrayed your oath of loyalty to the King. As a man of honour, for I sense that is what you are, you would be forced to end your life. I
t is pointless.'
'Your own King is a necromancer, man!' Kate shouted at the Scourge.
'I have no proof of that.'
'He has lived for too many generations!' Lacrimos roared. 'That is proof enough. Saltar is required because he is one of the few who can challenge the usurper Voltar. He is created of Shakri, a Battle-leader of my realm, reborn of Voltar and raised by Mordius. He cannot be controlled entirely by any one of those forces.'
'What do you mean, holy Lacrimos? Long have I had glimpses of what you say, but as yet I have found no answers,' Saltar said.
'You have fought for generations beyond counting, Saltar. As Balthagar you were a famous warrior even before Voltar usurped the throne of Dur Memnos. Although you were originally of my sister's making, you worshipped me and sent many from my sister's realm to my own. You only chose those who oppressed my sister's realm. She bore you no ill will. When Voltar came to the throne, you were already an old man, but you fought well for him. When you finally lost your life in battle, the usurper resurrected you, remaking you in the process. Whole lifetimes you then spent killing indiscriminately for him. You have the skills and experience to surpass any mortal in battle. Single-handedly, you did much to increase Voltar's rule, much to erode the barriers between the realm of my sister and my own. Often have you been seen in my realm since Mordius raised you. The two realms are becoming one, Saltar, and Voltar will reign over both if you do not stop him.'
They all looked at Saltar, each in a slightly different way. Young Strap's mouth hung open in surprise and horror. Savantus showed hatred but also traces of fear. The Scourge's features were clouded by mistrust and suspicion. Mordius's expression was one of sadness and pity. And Kate, her face shone with pride and passion. It was Kate who stopped him from seeing himself as a monster. It was Kate who wouldn't let him destroy himself. It was Kate who wouldn't let his sanity topple into the void and be swept away by the merciless winds of rage, emptiness and destruction.
The Scourge passed a shaking hand across his forehead. 'I cannot raise my sword against my own King,' he moaned, a look of defeat on his face. Some indefinable strength and purpose had disappeared from his face and he suddenly looked like a broken down, old man. His grip on his sword loosened and his faithful weapon clattered to the floor. 'I cannot.'
Young Strap looked frightened and put an arm around his mentor's shoulders. 'There is still much work to be done, Old Hound. We have Nostracles to bury yet. And I am with you in the destruction of necromancers yet. Voltar is one such necromancer and I will not rest until he is gone. It was Voltar who raised his sword against you and the people of Dur Memnos first. In raising your own sword, you would simply be defending yourself and the helpless innocents of Dur Memnos... and Accritania come to that.'
'Come, Janvil!' Kate smiled. 'That's what Nostracles used to call you, isn't it? The goddess still begs your help. She begs you, Janvil, not the other way round. Will you not help us put our kingdom to rights? Will you not help us restore all that was once good and civilised? We need your leadership in the times ahead, for without you I know we cannot prevail. You are the best of us. You are our commander still. Your oath is to Dur Memnos, not some usurper. And Scourge, I will stand with you come the reckoning. I know that now.'
'I am tired,' the Scourge sighed, 'so tired. Perhaps it is time I stopped fighting and took my rest.'
'I have a place waiting for you,' Lacrimos promised with some seduction. 'But Voltar stands between you and that place. Remove Voltar and then you can rest. And it will be a well-deserved rest, I promise you.'
The Scourge nodded dully, 'Very well, I will make an end to it.' Then his words became darker than the imagination of the most corrupted and bedevilled of souls: 'And I will show not a moment's mercy, nor heartbeat's compassion, nor mortal's tolerance to any that get in my way, be they man or god. Do you hear me, Lacrimos?'
The god of Death remained silent and the body of Innius began to rot.
***
Red storms churned across the black sky of his vision, pain like lightning flashing yellow. One of his eyes was lost, but in a way he still saw with it, just as anyone sees shapes and colours when their eyes are closed. A single, black mote, a speck, drifted across the lit sky, disappearing for a second but then re-emerging with the next play of electricity amongst the bloody, tempestuous clouds. What was it? It was so far away. Was it his sane, other self?
He heard thunder in his ears. Noise echoed and reflected around him, as if he was in a small, stone chamber rather than lost in the vastness of a metaphysical plane.
There were times when the noise suddenly dampened, as if he only had partial hearing or a bag had been put over his head. Then, everything was muffled although paradoxically he could make more sense of sounds during those times than when there was an unfettered booming in his ears.
He had a musician's ear of course, and was quick to pick up rhythms and patterns of intonation. There was an old man's and young boy's voice, from what he could tell. The old man's voice was a regular background rumble but the boy spoke rarely, and when he did it was in brief, rapid spatters like a startled bird that has sensed a shift in the weather and thinks to seek cover. It made Lucius wonder if the old man was speaking to himself most of the time or whether he made noise to reassure the easily spooked child.
Occasionally, Lucius felt gentle breath on his neck or cheek and sensed the boy was up close and staring at him intently. An instruction would come from the old man and then a thin broth would be dribbled into Lucius's mouth by the boy. It wasn't much and didn't taste very nice, but he managed to swallow it and it warmed him. It did his body some good too, if the increasing lucidity of his thought and sense of self was anything to go by.
He knew he was improving when he began to feel hungry and looked forward to his next few spoonfuls of broth. He could even smell it when it was being simmered.
'I see you're moving,' croaked the old man. 'Hold on, I'll wipe the crust from your good eye and you can try opening it. There you go. Boy, pull the rag over the window so the sun doesn't hurt him too much.'
Lucius struggled to open his one eye. He felt the eyelashes trembling on the top of his cheek as his body resisted his mental instruction. For one panicky moment, he thought he wouldn't be able to manage it and that he'd be trapped forever as a sightless, unmoving status, but then his eyelid came open and images swam before him.
There was a low, stone ceiling above him. The face of the old man loomed large at the edge of what he could see. The man sucked constantly on toothless gums as he regarded Lucius with beady eyes. The boy was out of sight.
'Good that you're finally awake. You been here far too long, but we wasn't sure what to be doing with you. You need to be answering my questions so as we can decide. Boy, give him some water so he can speak.'
A small, grubby hand holding a tarnished spoon came out of nowhere and poured a thimbleful of stale water down Lucius's raw throat. He choked but the pain eased.
'Who would you be then?' asked the old man. 'And why were you chained up? The Wardens have been asking around. What sort of trouble are you? Eh?'
'M-musician,' Lucius mumbled, and found that it had exhausted him.
'Musician,’ cackled the old man. 'Who's heard of such a thing! Did you offend someone's ear then?'
'Played for King and w-white sorceress. Name's Lucius.'
The old man was silent as he absorbed this, but he wasn't one for long periods of quiet: 'Trouble of a royal kind then, and the worst kind to boot. Not the sort of trouble we outdwellers want. And we don't have the food to spare to feed a man wanting to recover from his injuries. Besides, an indweller like yourself won't have much taste for the fare that's served outside of the city walls. We should probably return you to your own people. They'll know what to do with you.'
'They'll kill me,' Lucius said.
'No doubt, but that's not my concern. I'm Trajan by the way. I need to be looking out for the concerns of the outdwellers, you see, not getting
involved in the problems of indwellers. If they do kill you, that's the indwellers concern.'
'And his body will come back to us,' the boy piped up, though Lucius still could not see him. 'Can we eat him then, uncle? Can we? Why isn't it the same if we eat him now, uncle? Isn't it the same? It's just quicker, uncle. That's the only difference.'
Trajan sighed but did not look at the boy. 'He doesn't understand, you see,' he said to Lucius. 'He doesn't understand. Nor do most of the others, especially that Dijin. He's always hungry. I'm amazed Sotto managed to hold him off you long enough to get you here. But hold him off he did, for better or worse.
'Sotto should probably have left you there, but you asked for his help, and Sotto is the faithful kind. He's put us in a bit of a mess really, but I can't tell him not to be faithful, can I? If I started telling the outdwellers not to be faithful, there'd be no control left. They'd start attacking anything that moved. Then we'd have a full war with the indwellers on our hands.'
'I might die here, before you can return me to the Wardens,' Lucius wheezed.
'Indeed, and that would be the best thing all round, I'm beginning to think. We can show the Wardens your body so they know we're not hiding you. And that should put an end to any possible trouble between us and them. So if you could die, I'd be much obliged, and you'd be saving lots of lives.'
'So we can eat him now, then?' whispered the rat boy.
Lucius closed his eye. 'Is it possible to will myself to death? Or am I going to have to ask you to help me? Are you going to kill me while I lay here all defenceless? All I ask is that you make it quick.'
'Oh, no, no, no!' Trajan said in all seriousness. 'I can't be doing that. I'm trying to bring the boy up right. Trying to set a good example. Trying to teach him to be faithful. You see my dilemma. You'll have to do it yourself.'
Lucius didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of the situation. 'Then I'm going to have to disappoint you I'm afraid. I need to stay alive to help the white sorceress. Sorry to be such a nuisance.'