by A J Dalton
'It will be tonight,' Saltar repeated. 'They might not expect us tonight. The moon is knife-thin, there is no more than a whisper of light tonight. I would hope we could get to the base of the walls unseen.'
'I agree,' Constantus nodded, his support of Saltar settling the issue of whether or not they would attack. 'How many of my men do you need?'
'None. I will take a hundred of your dead with me, Savantus,' Saltar informed the Head Necromancer, brooking no argument. 'And have a thousand waiting in reserve. How many of your lieutenants will I need?'
'Just one, who in turn will command five other necromancers, each of whom then commands another five necromancers. Then come the non-necromancers.'
'In a pyramid of command?'
'Precisely. You must ensure my lieutenant and the five he commands next are protected as far as possible. Should just the lieutenant fall, then the whole thousand will be lost.'
***
They reached the base of the walls without an alarm being raised. Saltar put a hand to the nearest base stone and his vision jolted. All he could see around him were the wraiths of the undead. He knew he now stood in the deepest murk of Lacrimos's realm. A crag rose above him, where fire demons patrolled backwards and forwards.
As he'd instructed, individual wraiths braced themselves against the wall. Then others climbed upon their backs and stood on their shoulders. All of this was completed in silence and, of course, without complaint. Saltar was first up his human ladder, having superior co-ordination to all those under his command. He knew a number of the dead would be unable to scale the heights, but that could not be helped. They would have to wait until he had the gates open.
He stood on top of the crag unchallenged. They still had not seen him, since he had come up into one of the pools of darkness that existed between the torches that lined the top of the crag. The guards that walked the parapet did not have much night vision because they stood too close to the light. A few leaned at their posts and showed little sign of wakefulness. Saltar had deliberately ordered the attack for two hours before dawn, when men found it hardest to keep their eyes open.
A few of the dead made it up the ladder behind him and onto the parapet. They did not hesitate to throw themselves off the other side, to the ground far below. They would suffer in the fall but would likely remain intact. They would soon be on the guards at the gates. A challenge was shouted from out of the blackness at ground level. It was followed by a cry of surprise and pain. Abruptly, it was cut short. Saltar began to walk nonchalantly along the parapet. A fire demon turned to face him, its eyes blazing. Saltar smashed the butt of his staff into its maw, and stepped back as lava and magma cascaded from it. Cinders drifted on the air from the wreckage of its visage. Another swift blow to the head and the demon's light dwindled to nothing. Saltar threw its body over the side of the parapet to the dead waiting below.
Savantus's lieutenant was next to arrive. 'I am here!' it said in a scratchy voice.
'Protect this part of the wall until there are a dozen or so of you. It should not take long. Then make for the nearest staircase down to the gates. Make sure the gates are opened. If the staircase is blocked for some reason, do not hesitate to throw your animees down into the city below. Do you understand?'
'Yes.'
'You must protect yourself at all costs, as well as your five necromancers. Do you understand?'
'Yes.'
'Good. Once the gates are open, organise the roving bands we spoke of earlier and send them into the city to kill as many mercenaries and Guildmasters as possible. And when the gates are open, do not forget to send a messenger back to the Scourge to tell him to bring the rest of the army into the city. May Shakri and Lacrimos protect you, lieutenant.'
Saltar turned away and moved further along the crag, to where a tree had been allowed to grow within reach of the parapet. He threw himself into the embrace of its generous branches and slithered to the ground. He could have thrown himself off the parapet as the others had done, but a broken leg or two would doubtlessly have slowed him down, and the faster he could move into the city before the whole place was roused...
An alarm bell began to toll and was quickly taken up by clarion calls across Holter's Cross. Saltar cursed and broke into a rolling run through the ravines of the crag. The demons would be coming for him.
They came running from all directions, shouting incoherently and shooting flame. Saltar swept low to avoid fiery discharges, slashing with his staff to trip and dislocate. Then his heavy weapon was twirling high above his head, crushing and clubbing limbs and heads.
Several demons drew back from him so that they could work against him in concert. One used a maul and the other a flail. They lashed at him as a well-practised team. The flail licked out and cut his shoulder to the bone. He barely kept a grip on his staff as vital muscles were lacerated. The maul came crashing in and it was only a ligament-tearing twist of Saltar's torso that allowed him to slip past it unscathed.
He realised that if he could not close with them, the greater reach of their weapons would ultimately prove his undoing. He flipped his staff into a long grip and hurled it as a javelin at the demon with the flail. The creature had not anticipated the sudden move and had its jaw broken as the end of the staff punched into its chin.
The maul flew in again but Saltar easily side-stepped it this time. Before it could be raised for another strike, Saltar set upon the wielder and ripped his face open with his bare hands.
The Battle-leader wasted no time in retrieving his staff and chasing deeper into the bowels of the city. He could sense the heat of the furnace where the head demon was waiting ahead of him. The doors of the Guildhouse were sealed tight against the external chaos, but light could be glimpsed through its ornate, tinted windows. Saltar increased his speed and used his staff as a pole to vault and crash through the glass. He hit the marble floor inside on his back and went sliding past ranks of demons.
He was soon up and amongst them, the battle rage now upon him. He was the inferno that consumed them. He clawed eyes out, bit on dangling optic nerves, crushed windpipes, cracked temples, punctured the soft tissue at the base of throats and pulled vital organs out through unprotected flesh. And it wasn't enough. He cut faces open, stabbed into genetalia, ripped scalps from heads, dismembered limbs, swallowed gobbets of flesh and strangled creatures with the glistening coils of their own intestines. Until there were none left or they had all fled screaming.
Saltar bounded up the wide staircase. Large, ineffectual demons floated past him. They would have been Guildmasters in Holter's Cross in all likelihood. He kicked in the impressive doors at the end of the corridor and strode into the inner sanctum of the Guildhouse. The head demon squatted in its throne, cowering behind its old, wrinkled wings.
'Wh-what would you have of me?' it shrilled in panic.
'I have come for your answer, Grand Guildmaster. Will you accept our offer or not?'
***
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Or find nothing
In their wisdom, the Guildmasters of Holter’s Cross saw fit to contribute a mercenary force of two thousand souls to the cause of the Battle-leader of Dur Memnos. Remarkably, their conviction had been such that they’d managed to decide on this course of action without the usual, day-long convocation of all the Guildmasters. Of course, the fact that an army of the dead occupied Holter’s Cross and a number of Guildmasters had moved on to Lacrimos’s realm during the night only increased Grand Guildmaster Thaeon’s will that matters be expedited as quickly as possible. He had not wanted to delay the righteous progress of the Battle-leader’s army any longer than was necessary.
The fighting had been fierce at first, the mercenaries of Holter’s Cross having survived and won more conflicts than most. However, they’d soon found that they had little stomach for fighting an enemy that simply refused to understand it was dead. Many a warrior had buried his blade up to the hilt in a zombie’s stomach, only to find that it did nothing to trouble the undead foe
and allowed them to get close enough to tear out the throats of the living. Even worse, many of the mercenaries reflected, they were not even being paid for this fight. Lastly, most had the experience and strategic awareness to know that they could not hope to repel the opposing force once the gates had been lost. A ragged cheer actually went up amongst the mercenaries when Saltar emerged from the Guildhouse carrying Grandmaster Thaeon in his arms and ordered the surrender of the forces of Holter’s Cross.
As a sign of good will, the Guildmasters of Holter’s Cross had also agreed to bear the costs of the expeditionary force of two thousand themselves. The mercenary captains had then readily signed their bands up to the invading army, some of them even having to be turned down so that the enclave could retain a credible standing force of its own.
‘You do realise the old crow will start building up his forces and defences before we’re even over the next horizon, don’t you?’ General Constantus said equably to Saltar as they readied themselves to march.
‘Of course. He’s not about to send a force to harry us from behind though. They wouldn’t stand a chance against us, and he knows that the next time we won’t be so forgiving in our treatment of Holter’s Cross. Let him build his walls up as high as he likes. It’ll only be of any issue to us after we’ve won this war, if we win this war. No, my only real concern is what orders he’s given the mercenary captains. If the fighting goes badly for us, are they under orders to withdraw or betray us? You and your men will have to watch them closely, General, since the mercenary captains will be reporting directly to you.’
Constantus sighed. ‘More people to watch! The necromancers, their dead, mercenaries and…’
‘And me, General? No, don’t deny it! I know how things stand, and I am glad that there is a sensible and cautious man marching with us. We are entering a time when few will know up from down, friend from foe, the living from the dead. It will be almost impossible to know how to act, what the consequences will be, what should be saved and what should be damned. How can a man make a judgement when there is no book of law, no agreed code of conduct, no moral consensus? Where is sense, what is sensible, where are our senses?’
‘Stop it!’ Constantus said instinctively, rubbing his hand across his troubled brow as if he could magically smooth away the wrinkles of doubt and fear there. ‘Alright, I can see what you’re saying. Just your words make me feel nauseous. How can we judge? Tell me! I’m used to dealing with everything with my sword, but it sounds like that won’t be enough.’
Saltar gave him a shrug. ‘I’m hoping we’ll know when the time comes.’
‘Shakri preserve us!’
‘I doubt she’ll be in much of a position to help us either.’
Constantus knew mortal terror for the first time in his life. He’d faced death a hundred times and never flinched, but this was worse than that. There was no meaning left. There was no place of honour or damnation waiting for him in Lacrimos’s realm anymore. The gods themselves were close to undone from what Saltar said. Just nothingness. It made him want to go and hide, but he couldn’t trust the strength in his legs just to put one foot in front of another. How could he be a general of men, a commander of thousands, when he couldn’t even trust himself anymore? They only followed him because they were desperate to believe in something. They put their faith in him because they had nothing else, because there was nothing else. But what did he have?’
‘I will follow you!’ the General pledged to Saltar.
Saltar rested his hand on the General’s shoulder and stared with his dead eyes into the other man’s. ‘I understand, General. But I must ask something of you in return.’
‘Anything!’
‘You must remain sensible and cautious for me. Can you do that? If you cannot, then all will be lost.’
‘I-I will try.’
‘You must place your faith in your humanity, General, for that is all we have, all we are and all we should ever hope to be. It is that faith that Voltar lost so long ago when he slew his own master.’
‘Yes! Yes, I see it. Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me yet, General, for I may still prove to be our undoing. Remain cautious and sensible. Remember, I am one of the dead and do not have all that humanity that we require. I am a monster. I have killed thousands with these hands, including people you have no doubt known and loved. I could well have killed your son.’
Constantus took an involuntarily took a step back, the revelation he had experienced a moment before dissipating like a morning mist beneath a newly risen sun. ‘How do you know of my son?’
‘I cannot say. I simply do.’
‘What madness is this? What manner of creature are you?’
‘I told you. I am a monster. But enough of that: tell me how the army stands. Can Savantus travel?’
The Accritanian blinked, still at war with himself and the world. He stammered for a while until his military training finally took over and he could report. ‘He-he has been vomiting all night and has not been able to keep liquids down. He has not slept and looks about as healthy as one of his own dead. It appears that the loss of just a few dozen animees takes a serious toll on him. I have organised for a litter to be built. It should not slow us. Now if that is all, I must see to my men!’
Saltar nodded. ‘Are you not concerned that Savantus will fail us once serious battle is joined?’
General Constantus sneered and spat. ‘Curse all necromancers and their works, for it is they that have brought us to this! The Scourge is right. They must all be hunted down and destroyed.’
Saltar smiled. ‘Necromancers are men and women. It is the heart of Man that you curse, for it is the heart of Man that is at fault.’
Constantus looked angry and as if he was about to argue, but then his face went as blank as Saltar’s. A strange humour possessed him. ‘Perhaps Man does not deserve to survive then. Perhaps we should not concern ourselves then with whether Savantus fails us or not.’
Saltar could see that Constantus was hardly himself anymore. The man had been sure of himself, sound of military judgement and consistent when they had first met. Now, he was quixotic, quick to anger, suggestible and insecure. Magic, the world and its characters were all unravelling, fragmenting and ceasing to be. He just hoped that his companions could hold themselves together long enough to get to Corinus. ‘We will see, good General, we will see. In the final analysis, I suspect it will be the heart of Man that is tested. All will be won and lost by it. You say that heart is cursed, and perhaps you are right. Voltar is certainly the curse of this human realm that threatens to destroy us all. And there may not be enough humanity left to us to say him nay. But we will see, we will see. Go to your men, General, and order them to lead us out.’
***
After another long day on the road, Saltar and Kate finally had five minutes to themselves alone in a small tent. Saltar had spent half the night listening to reports from scouts and settling arguments between fractious groups of mercenaries anticipating battle. If it hadn’t been for the Scourge shouting at everyone that he needed to get some sleep and that he was sure their petty disputes could wait until the morning, Saltar might never have been able to get away.
‘How are you?’ Saltar asked her gently.
‘My arse is saddle sore, my eyes are full of grit and my throat is raw from the dust of the road,’ she complained tiredly.
‘Great to be alive, eh?’
She laughed and leaned over to kiss his cold lips. ‘Did you even feel that?’
‘Of course!’ he lied. ‘And how is Mordius?’ he asked quickly, keen to change the subject.
‘He travels at Savantus’s side mostly, but the Head Necromancer has been in a swoon the whole day, so I don’t think much had passed between them.’
‘Hmm.’
‘You’re worried by their closeness?’
‘I’m worried by Savantus. He’s dangerously insane and seems to have some strange hold over Mordius. Who knows what magicks he has
at his command!’
‘Maybe there’s some way we can keep Savantus unconscious. His lieutenants still seem to be following your orders, so why allow Savantus to become compos mentis?’
Saltar thought it through. ‘Well we can’t be whacking him over the head every few hours to keep him unconscious. That’d quickly kill him. What about drugs?’
Kate smiled conspiratorially. ‘I’ll see if anyone’s got any valerian root. It’s often used in small doses to dull the pain of injuries, but in larger doses can put a pachyderm to sleep for days. I bet one of the mercenaries will have some.’
‘Good. That’s one problem sorted. That just leaves us with the small matter of taking the most powerful city on the continent.’
Kate smiled mysteriously at him. ‘The Scourge may know a way in.’
‘Might he? Do you know what it is?’
‘What, do you just expect me to tell you? Where’s the fun in that?’
‘This war is no laughing matter. Tell me!’ he attempted to command her, but finding it impossible to be either convincing or angry with her.’
‘You’ll have to do better than that to persuade me,’ she said, starting to unbuckle her leather armour with a wicked smile on her lips. ‘Pretend I’m your prisoner of war and that you have to torture the information out of me.’
***
Kate soon fell into an exhausted sleep, leaving Saltar feeling trapped and alone in his permanently wakeful state. These were often the worst hours of the night, when the whole world was still and peaceful. There was absolute silence, as if everything had just stopped. It was only his soul that was unable to find rest, only his soul that knew the torture of constant struggle without hope of relief, only his soul that found itself caught in this limbo. What if he stayed like this forever? What if the world never woke? What if it stayed silent like this and things didn’t start again? What if this was the last night and the dawn was never going to arrive? What if this night was going to go on for all eternity?
He realised he was experiencing the irrational fears of a fully alive person, but somehow that failed to cheer him: the more alive he became, the more the realms of Shakri and Lacrimos were collapsing, the closer the end was. Maybe he was only speeding their doom in attempting to come alive. Maybe he should just stay dead and ensure he stayed that way for the good of everyone else. No, he admonished himself, Voltar would never let his shade fully depart.