The Traitor God

by Cameron Johnston

  My jaw dropped as the hole in his chest writhed with reforming flesh. “Shadea,” he spat. “You survived our little pet then. Perhaps nex–”

  Light stabbed out from her eye, burning holes through his chest and neck.

  “–t time we will find somethi–”

  A sphere of blue fire coalesced around Harailt, so hot it drove us all back, the stone melting and sparking around him.

  The flames burst apart. Harailt casually dusted off charred ends of clothing. “–ng more worthy of facing you.”

  “There is a god inside him,” Shadea hissed. “Harailt is gone.”

  His face twitched into a sneer. “Not at all, elder. I am very much alive and in control. We three great powers, magus, god and Scarrabus, work hand-in-hand for our great cause.” He waved to the looming bulk of the Magash Mora coming towards us. “You cannot kill us and you cannot stop the coming glory of the reborn Arcanum. Join us, elder, and we will rule this world entire, as we should, devoid of all restriction and petty politicking. Think of what you can learn from us.” He glanced at me. “Him, we must kill.”

  She smiled, a horrific sight even when she was whole. “You are deluded.” She flicked a finger towards him and Harailt was yanked into the air, screaming as he disappeared into the distance. Somewhere across the city a building collapsed from the impact.

  Martain looked to the titan awaiting its sacrifice, then to me, and finally to Shadea, a question on his lips.

  “No,” she snapped, spraying flecks of blood.

  A carpet of flesh now flowed through the streets nearby, gnashing canine mouths and wailing human cries, grasping fingers and horse hooves all crawling towards us, the nightmarish main body of the creature looming dark and terrible behind it.

  “Speed is now the essence of victory,” she said, hobbling towards the titan. “As I think young Edrin here might say, I am no longer a dog in this fight. We fight where and however we must.” She let the metal snakes swarm her, hollow heads burying in her withered flesh and lifting her off the ground towards Lust’s mouth.

  She gasped in pain. “Fight in my stead, tyrant. Share my wrath. Kill that traitor.” Her eyes flashed with furious hope, “Destroy that traitor god.”

  I gave her a single nod as they drew her back into the depths of the titan. Harailt was exposed and the collusion of a god confirmed. It had to be this newly ascended Hooded God who had protected those shard beasts and shadow cats from Setharis’ corrosive influence. Had the god’s newfound power driven him mad?

  Nathair, Thief of Life, where are you when I need you, eh? He stood for freedom and independence, everything that Harailt despised. I’d half expected him to rise from the earth and rip the life from our enemies. What use were gods if they didn’t protect their people? Bloody gods, leaving me to clean up their messes again.

  Again? My mind shuddered.

  Beneath my trembling hands, Artha’s skin is hot as a furnace.

  The god’s face twists in agony, “Cut deep and cut now.”

  An eerie song shivers through me and I press down, Dissever cracking bone and plunging into his heart…

  I scrambled for the knife and clutched the foul weapon to my chest, letting its flood of hunger drown the memory. I killed a god – was this why the Hooded God wanted me dead? Because I was a threat to his insane ambitions? I had killed Artha and that meant there had to be a way to kill the Hooded God too.

  Martain was dazed and despairing. He no longer cared to fight me and didn’t think to try to shut down my Gift again. We collapsed beside the foot of the great war-engine, waiting in silent dread to see what manner of horror would be unleashed.

  Chapter 30

  It was all very anticlimactic. Minutes dragged by with no sign of life from the titan. We waited in tense silence for a while, then looked at each other and shrugged.

  “What now?” Martain said. He put an arm round the young sanctor’s shoulders, “I am so sorry Breda.” Her shoulders shook with great heaving sobs.

  I swallowed. “Guess it’s up to us.”

  “Oh, dear gods,” he said. “We are all doomed.” It was a sentiment I wholeheartedly echoed. Then he cleared his throat, staring at his feet. “It did not sit well with me.”

  “What, trying to murder me?”

  Charra shifted so she was behind his back, hand on the hilt of her sword. Layla tested the edge of a knife. He didn’t seem to care.

  “Yes.” At least he wasn’t hypocritical enough to try to couch it in prettier terms. “The Archmagus instructed me that a sacrifice might be necessary for the greater good. Whatever sort of degenerate you are, you did save us in the Boneyards. I apologize.”

  “Worthless,” I said. “We both know you’d do it again in a heartbeat. Take your apology and shove it up your arse.”

  “I see there is no reasoning with you. I shall not persevere.”

  “Finally,” I said, mocking a cheer, “some good news!” Something prickled my senses, a vibration on the air. “Hsst – do you hear that?”

  “Is that coming from Lust?” he said, brow furrowed.

  A muffled whine from the titan’s insides grew into a thrumming shriek of barely-constrained power.

  “Er, perhaps we should move?” Martain said, staring at the thing. By that point Charra, Layla and I were already in full retreat.

  A heat haze shimmered around Lust. It rose with a hiss of steam and clank of metal, looming above the tenements. Massive as the war engine was, it was dwarfed by the mountain of flesh and bone flowing towards us. Undaunted, it tore its massive sword from the earth and took a single ponderous stride towards the Magash Mora, testing its balance, and then another, each step a small earthquake. It picked up speed and began ploughing straight towards its target, carts, bodies and buildings crushed beneath anvil tread.

  Without the terror of battle to distract me, the waves of agony radiating from Lynas’ mind were threatening to pull me into madness. All I wanted to do was claw my eyes out to get to the source of the pain and tear it from my skull. I’d thought I was prepared for it this time. I was wrong, but with the thrill of magic singing through my body it had become a perverse union of pleasure and pain that proved bearable. Just.

  We followed the trail of devastation left by the titan. If killing that fleshy abomination wasn’t the only way to ease the pain, the only way to let Lynas rest, then I might have laughed at myself. Me, acting like a sodding hero. Ha! Even if I made for a poor one, it was ludicrous. In the end it came down to a simple animal truth: fight or flight, and I’d had a gutful of flight – ten long years of it.

  Martain drifted closer to me. I brandished Dissever and glared. He got the message. He looked cast adrift and confused, and rightly terrified. “What now?” he said, voice lifeless.

  “We let Lust tear it a new arsehole, and if needs be we ram ourselves up there and cut out its heart.” I hoped the titan would do all the work for us but I never relied on anything as ephemeral as hopes and dreams.

  Whatever else I thought of him, Martain didn’t whine and snivel or try to run. Perhaps it was loyalty induced by the Forging, but to my chagrin I suspected that it was just a man making a hard decision. The right decision. If the titan failed then nobody else would be mad enough to try to save this dark and dangerous cesspit of a city by diving in to headbutt death.

  The other magi were doing their best to incinerate chunks of flesh and bone but it was nowhere near enough. With the creature’s resistance to magic they couldn’t hope to destroy such a vast bulk while the strongest artefacts the Arcanum possessed were buried deep below the ruins of the Templarum Magestus.

  Lust crashed straight through an already-listing tenement and waded deeper into the warrens. Shoals of terrified people parted before it, fleeing their homes. Packs of armed looters and Skallgrim infiltrators were overwhelmed and trampled underneath the feet of the terrified mob. The shattered bodies of a dozen families who’d hid behind barred doors lay amongst the ruins, blood winding in little rivulets th
rough the dirt. A dog with a broken leg whined and licked a dusty hand jutting from a pile of broken beams and stone. I lowered my head and ran on, avoiding tendrils of warped flesh that wormed through the debris. The dog yelped once and then fell silent. I shuddered and detoured to avoid another questing tendril.

  Earth and sky burned as the Arcanum assault reached its climax. We passed through a ruined intersection choked with bodies. Breda ceased her sobbing.

  Martain held her close. “Are you well?”

  The girl’s eyes were bleak. “I am well enough to do my duty,” she said. “For my brother.”

  Martain’s reply was blotted out by a droning horn blast from the titan, louder than a thousand trumpets.

  The massive sword began cranking upwards as the ancient war engine closed on the Magash Mora. Outlying worms of flesh latched onto metal feet and began crawling upwards. The titan didn’t shudder to a stop, drained of all magic; instead it looked down and the seething magic in its eyes bubbled over to blast the ground with liquid fire. Flesh that ate the Arcanum’s magic charred and died, smoke and ash billowing into the air. I was shocked, was this ancient Escharric magic? Or was it artificer alchemy beyond anything Setharis had ever dreamed of? The titan resumed its advance, leaving flaming footprints in its wake.

  “Breda, stay close,” Martain said, holding her tight. “Can you do that for me?” The girl was terrified, but she fought it down, loosed a shuddering breath, and nodded. He patted her on the shoulder. “Let us watch the titan end this.” His words lacked conviction.

  The five of us chased after the metal giant, the sanctors in the lead. All around us the Magash Mora’s appendages burrowed through debris and crept through windows. The closer I came to Lynas’ flesh the greater the pain in my head became. It sizzled like a red-hot nail in my skull.

  Charra limped beside me, barely keeping pace as I puffed and panted down a ruined alleyway. Layla had no such problems, eyes darting to every window and doorway checking for threats. She gaped in amazement at the armoured bulk of the titan ahead of us. “I had thought those old stories about the statues were just stupid legends.”

  Old? I guessed most adult Docklanders lived, what, into their thirtieth or fortieth year? That would make it about eight or nine generations since the titans had last walked. An age to them, but not so long to the mind of a magus. The gulf between them and me widened.

  “Would you care to explain why are we running towards that monster and not away?” Charra said.

  “You don’t get to come,” I said. “There is nothing you can do to hurt it.”

  “We can kick your head in, old man,” Layla replied. “You fight like a drunken oaf so don’t dare try that with us. I could take you both at once so it should be me that goes. I have trained for years to fight and kill. What is the point if I run away from this, when my skills are needed most?”

  “I’m not going to kick it in the head,” I said. “You two will be in our way. Layla, if I needed somebody offed I would ask you in a heartbeat, but only magi can fight something like this.” And more importantly, I need to keep you both safe.

  Layla shook her head. “But, I–”

  “I don’t have time to debate,” I shouted. “Cut your way out of the city if you can, or hide deep underground if you can’t. There is an entrance to the catacombs below the Collegiate if those tunnels survived the collapse of the Templarum Magestus. Gather what food, drink and oil you can find and stay down there as long as you can.” Charra started to protest but I cut her off and rattled out directions. “If you don’t go now then I’ll force you. You know I can do it.”

  We locked gazes. She was seething. “You swear to the gods that we would be of no use?” she said, looking up, and up, at the mountain of flesh. It was close, and the smoke was thin enough to make out individual faces amongst the revolting mass looming over the Warrens.

  Charra should have known better: I didn’t give a toss what the gods thought of me and I’d quite happily lie to their faces if I could get away with it. “May the Night Bitch rip my balls off with rusty tongs if I lie,” I said. “Even if the titan falls, and we fail too, it might just delay that thing long enough for both of you to lead people to safety. You need to go. Please, I can’t trust anybody else.” Charra gave me a terse nod, grabbed her daughter and sprinted back the way we had come. She wasn’t one to hesitate. A weight lifted from my heart. Whatever else happened, they would survive, and a little bit of Lynas with them.

  The titan’s horn blasted again, footsteps thundering as it picked up speed. The Magash Mora’s babbling voices wailed as it surged to meet it with a vomit-inducing liquid slurp. The magical bombardment from the Arcanum slowed as magi strained their Gifts to the limit, pushing themselves close to succumbing to the Worm of Magic. An army of twisted magi without any restraint would be worse than anything the enemy could ever imagine, but Krandus would never allow that to happen. Any that succumbed would be immediately reduced to ash by the Inner Circle.

  “Hurry!” Martain shouted. “It’s about to begin.” He pulled ahead and turned a corner to get a better view of the fight. I ignored my burning leg and the tightness in my chest and ran faster.

  Docklanders streamed in the opposite direction through the narrow alleys: mothers and fathers clutching wailing infants, wide eyed priests muttering desperate prayers, gang-marked youths carrying the old and infirm, and even a handful of bloodied wardens helping to direct them and keep everyone calm. Each and every one of them looked at us like we were cracked for running towards the monsters. It was a fight for the likes of gods and elder adepts or legendary heroes, not for mere mortals and shitty little magi like us, but the gods were missing and we were fresh out of heroes. But then, perhaps every hero was just a desperate fool who did what needed to be done, and the songs and stories washed off all the blood and muck, the fear and the pain. Maybe someday a bard would write a song about me, one without all the swearing and drinking and pissing myself in terror.

  Ash fell like grey snow, and with it the fleeting thought of corpse dust drawn into mouth and lungs. I felt cut off from reality, sunk in a fever dream of darkest insanity. The number of people on the streets dwindled.

  The titan approached Bardok the Hock’s shop, destroying everything in its path. The greedy old man was still there, red-faced and heaving at a bulging sack too stuffed with gold and goods to possibly fit through his doorway. He looked up in time to scream as Lust’s foot fell, crushing body and business both to a flattened paste as it advanced on its foe.

  A towering club of bone, claw and hoof, rose straight up from the Magash Mora, spiked tip lost in the smoke. The club listed, then it fell like a toppled oak, crushing buildings beneath the trunk before smashing into the chest of the titan. Lust shivered like an enormous gong, the shockwave of impact spraying living shrapnel, shredding everything nearby.

  We ducked into doorways as fragments of bone and nail ricocheted down narrow alleys. My heart hammered as I stared at a splintered human femur embedded in the wall only a hand span away from having torn off my face. Breda hissed in pain, a line of red welling up across her cheek.

  As Lust resumed its march, the sanctors charged ahead and I followed. Bardok was slippery and squishy underfoot and I didn’t dare look down. The titan staggered, steam hissing from cracks spider webbed across its torso. Armoured feet stamped down as it righted itself, leaving craters. Flesh sucked and squelched as the Magash Mora drew back and reformed the club for another blow. An enormous metal gauntlet plunged into the remains of the club and took hold, metal and muscle straining in a contest of monstrous strength.

  With glacial slowness Lust was dragged towards gnashing maws and spiked tentacles. The titan’s sword cranked higher for another blow, shearing through the club’s trunk. Separated from the main body, the fleshy weapon the size of a block of tenements exploded from the inside. It crashed to earth and slumped in on itself, spreading like a landed jellyfish.

  The Magash Mora’s throats howled in pain,
stump flailing like a headless snake, hot blood raining clear across the city. Something that huge had to have thousands of human hearts pumping a staggering volume of blood under a pressure that only flesh strengthened by stolen Gifts and foul magic could possibly withstand.

  Lynas’ agony burned in my mind and everything went hazy. I slumped against a blood-slick wall and tried to regain control. We were so close, and the sanctors waited up ahead, unsure of what to do next.

  Another volley of burning rocks fell from the sky like Elunnai’s fiery tears. They exploded into the creature’s gaping wound. Scattered cheers erupted in the distance as idiots clambered onto roofs and walls to watch the battle. Sheets of flame roared from the titan to immolate more.

  The flailing club-stump ceased spewing blood, and bones slid through the skin to form another spiked maul. Huge red bulges appeared on the thing’s body, swelling up like boils desperate to burst. It convulsed and thick ropes of muscle and bone hooks burst out to snare the titan. Its bulk surged forward, a thousand limbs grasping.

  I wiped its blood from my face and stared at my red-smeared, fragile hands. Even Dissever seemed tiny and useless. I’d taken leave of my senses to think we could get anywhere near the core of that thing, never mind hope to cut it out! My heart pounded and my hands were slick with sweat and blood. I couldn’t bear the thought of being absorbed into that thing – not like Lynas. I backed away.

  “Walker!” Martain said. “What is wrong?”

  What had I been thinking? I was no damn warrior. I turned tail when things got difficult – that was me, the pathetic coward.

  I thought about running, but couldn’t take a single step. My retreat was blocked by a ruined figure limping towards me.

  Chapter 31

  The figure wore half-melted siege-breaker armour, sword dangling from a limp arm and scraping along the ground, while the other hand was fused to the remains of the cuirass. Their hair was burnt to stubble and the left side of the face was a mottled mess of black and red, cheekbone exposed, teeth showing through burnt flesh, the eye socket a charred and empty pit. The other side was almost as bad, skin broken and weeping, what was left of the cheek twisted into agonized grimace, but one pretty green eye was intact – and I recognized both eye and the iron will behind it.