by Peter Oxley
Almost half a century earlier, a group of men had gathered in a house in Cato Street in London to plot the assassination of the Prime Minister and his entire Cabinet. However, the authorities had been tipped off and the house was raided by the police, the conspirators being arrested and either hanged or transported to Australia. I did not fancy the opportunity to learn the Almadite versions of those punishments.
Any further discussion was halted by the others joining us. “Another empty building,” muttered Pearce. “They’re selling us a dog, aren’t they?”
Andras held up a hand. “They are understandably nervous about whether we genuinely are on their side. We will have been watched every step of the way. If the Leaders and the Warlocks knew about the people we are trying to meet… well, not even the worst torture from your most hideous daydreams comes close to what they would do.”
We milled around the room, checking for anything that might offer a clue to our next move. Byron and I kept wary eyes on the exits, while Joshua was a study of quiet contemplation: we had asked him to keep himself ready to create a portal home at any moment, just in case.
“There you are,” said Andras after a moment, making us jump. We turned to see him addressing a shadow in the far corner.
“Who are you?” asked a female voice from the shadows. It had a sing-song quality to it that gave her old-sounding voice a youthful cadence. I strained to see the speaker but could discern little more than a dark, huddled form.
“I think you know by now,” said Andras.
“I wish to hear it from your own mouths.”
Andras looked round at us and I could see the indecision writ large across his face. If she were a Warlock then to speak our names could give her power over us, but our situation was desperate enough to warrant such risks: every minute that ticked by was a minute that Kate was in the demons’ hands.
“I am the Leader who was banished by the Four Kings many moons ago,” Andras said. “These people are travellers from a world that the Four Kings seek to enslave.”
“They are humans, and a Pooka.” There was a tinge of amusement to the voice. “I have not seen their like in a long time. They are very far from home indeed.” The shadowed form shifted and I fancied I could see her head turning and a finger pointing at Andras. “But I will have your names.”
Andras clenched his fists at his sides. “I am Andras, Sire of Var,” he said through clenched teeth.
The figure nodded. “Good. Why are you here, Andras, Sire of Var?”
“We seek to help you, and to acquire your help in return.”
“You could help us? With what?”
“To rise against the Warlocks and the Leaders and overthrow the Four Kings.”
“These are treasonous words you speak, Andras, Sire of Var. Why do you believe we wish such a thing?”
“I have been speaking with your comrades: Workers and Slaves who managed to escape and make their way to the humans’ realm, a place in which I have been trapped for more years than I care to remember. They told me that things have changed much in my absence, that those of you in the lower orders are becoming more and more dissatisfied with your lot.”
“No,” she said, the word making my heart sink. “In your arrogance, you have misunderstood.”
I looked at Joshua, willing him with my eyes to be ready to open a portal. He nodded and started mouthing words soundlessly.
The figure continued. “Things have not changed at all. We have always been ‘dissatisfied with our lot’, as you put it. During your rule, and those of your forebears, stretching back to when we were first cast into the Hell you all built for us, were you always so arrogant as to believe that we would meekly surrender to our stations in mind as well as body? I ask again: why are you here?”
“We wish to help you; to help you to be free.”
“What is freedom? What would we do with such a thing, that which many of us have never known? You may as well offer us the stars. I ask again: why are you here?”
“We offer our assistance in the overthrow of your current masters. We could distract them, split their forces—”
“We have not said that that is what we want, so why would you offer it? Tell me: why are you here?”
I sighed: the conversation was becoming circular. “A friend of ours has been captured by Warlocks and we have come to save her,” I said. “We seek your help to free her, and in return we will do whatever you wish us to do to help you.”
“Good,” there was a hint of amused satisfaction to the voice. “That explains the humans. What about the Pooka?”
“The person he speaks of is a friend of mine as well,” said Byron. “She is a brave soul who has done much to stop the Almadites invading their home realm.”
“And presumably you have taken refuge in their realm and do not wish to suffer yet another invasion?”
“That is correct,” said Byron. “My world was taken from me, my family enslaved. I will not lose yet more.”
The figure nodded and then turned back to Andras. “Then the question remains: why are you here, Sire of Var?”
“I have spent a long time in the humans’ realm,” said Andras. “It has changed me. The girl who is being held is an ally in the fight to save their realm. I do not want to see that place fall to the Four Kings.”
“No. Try again.”
Andras frowned. “I have experienced much. I have lived among them as a human for considerable time, experienced their emotions, been… contaminated by them. I feel guilt for some of the things I have done. I am no longer—”
“No. Try again.”
“I wish to help, to atone for what I have done—”
“No. Try again.”
Andras hissed in frustration and then exploded in rage. “I was usurped by the upstart Gaap and his simpering masters. I spent millennia trapped in the Aether, clinging onto my hatred of Gaap and the Four Kings. That rage was the only thing that kept me from turning into just another one of the ghouls that dwell there. I plotted what I would do when I finally returned, and when I did manage to escape the Aether I was instead trapped in the human realm, a primitive place where my magic was subservient to science, of all things.
“I tried damned hard to retain who I was, but too much has happened: I don’t even think I’d recognise myself from back then if we were to meet face-to-face. Do you want me to tell you I’m good or evil now? There’s no such thing. I am me.”
He stepped closer towards the shadow and the figure, to her credit, did not appear to show any signs of wanting to back away as he continued. “What I want is my birthright. I want to see Gaap and the Four Kings suffer the way I have suffered and I want to see every plan of theirs torn to pieces and pissed on. They will have a reason for taking the girl, and so taking her back will frustrate whatever plans they have. I want to take back Almadel from them and I don’t care how I do it, as long as they suffer.”
We stared at him in silence as he subsided, breathing heavily and glaring at the dark form.
“Good,” she said at last. “We finally get to the truth of the matter. But if we replace the Four Kings with you, what then? When you get your ‘birthright’ back, what are your plans for the rest of us? Leave us alone? Let us live our lives in peace while you preside over… what?”
Andras stared back at her and she laughed, clapping her hands together. “Amazing!” she said. “You have spent so long hating that you have lost sight of what it means to achieve your desires! You are like a child who lusts after a shiny object in a shop window just because it’s there, but with no concept of what you’ll do with it when and if you finally get your greasy hands on it.”
Andras snarled and spun away, marching to the other side of the room.
The figure addressed the rest of us. “Why do you ally yourselves with this flawed creature? You know all that it has done; why help it?”
“We find ourselves in an impossible place,” I said. “We need help, whatever form it might take. We have a sa
ying in our realm: better the devil you know.”
She grunted. “I like that, very apt. So your aim is save your friend?”
“Yes. Can you help us?”
“For a price, yes.”
“What is your price?” asked Pearce, his voice tight as he glared at the creature wreathed in shadows. I sympathised with him, as this exchange was like trying to draw blood from a stone.
“You help us to defeat the Four Kings. Once and for all.”
“Can such a thing be done?” asked Byron.
“It has not been done for a very, very long time.”
“But it has been done? It is possible?”
“When they were less developed, before the Warlocks created the Mages. You see, how can you fight an enemy that can stop you wanting to fight them?”
“But it can be done?” asked Pearce again.
“I like your persistence. In theory, yes: if you are stronger than them and the Mages are kept away from battle.”
“With your help it could be possible,” mused Pearce. “If you have allies then we could both attack them at the same time and split their forces—”
“And they slaughter my people so that yours can succeed?”
“Or vice versa,” piped up Byron. When I looked at him questioningly he shrugged. “I’m just saying: the converse could just as easily happen.” He turned back to the figure. “My people, the Pooka, have nothing left to lose. I would wager that the same applies to you and your people. The humans still have a world to fight for, a world lusted over by the Almadites. I wonder, what sort of army is more likely to fight hard: one with nothing to lose and everything to gain, with their backs against the wall, fighting for all they know and love? Or an army with everything already but which merely wants more and more just because they can?”
We held our breaths while the figure considered this. She nodded. “Your people have always been wiser than you at first appear.”
“Thank you,” said Byron, “I think.”
“But we still have the question of Andras,” she said, “the creature that no one trusts. What is your place in this grand scheme?”
Andras turned and shrugged. “You talk of creatures with nothing left to lose. What do you think I am? What do you think happened when I was banished to the Aether? What do you think I left behind? I had a family as well. You know what they did to them?”
“I do,” said the figure softly. A silence stretched between them, an agonising lack of information.
“What?” I asked after a moment.
“My Sire was a Leader and his before him,” said Andras. “My family was one of the most exalted in Almadel. Removing me would not have been nearly enough. Before I was banished, I was forced to witness the worst possible punishment. Even by my standards.”
I thought back to the slave market, the way he had darted around and grabbed at that Slave, trying to discern something in her face. Such creatures should have been beneath his notice unless he was trying to find people who could fight with us—but there was surely no one in that place capable of such an act? Unless…
“They turned them into Slaves, didn’t they?” I said.
Andras nodded. “So you ask what my place is, why I am here. I do not come just to conquer: I come to devastate. All of them, all of those who destroyed me and mine. Is that enough for you? Am I making myself clear now?”
The figure regarded him in silence for a few more moments and then nodded. “Thank you for the gift of your truth. I will help you.” She stepped forwards into the light to reveal a hunched old woman, albeit with the same angular features as Andras.
He nodded. “It is good to see that the rumours of your demise are as false as I had suspected, Mama.”
I gaped at him. “She is your…?”
He laughed. “No. That is her title. Or at least it was, before…”
“Before you turned me into a Slave,” she said. “But now I am useful to you once again it seems.”
“Yes,” said Andras. He turned to us. “You see, she serves in the Citadel.”
“So you can get us in there?” I asked.
“I can,” she said. “Whether you should want to go in there is another matter.”
I took Andras to one side. “Can we trust her?” I asked.
He shrugged. “About as much as you can trust me.”
“That little?” said Pearce.
Andras gasped in mock outrage. “Captain Pearce, you wound me. But seriously: beggars, choosers and all that. She is the only option we have, short of wandering over and knocking on the door or trying to fight our way in: neither of which will end well for us. Her way,” he gestured to Mama, “has a slightly higher chance of success.”
“Slightly higher?” I queried.
“We might not die,” he said.
Chapter Nine
The damp, cramped tunnel stretched on forever in front of us as we progressed at an agonisingly slow pace, the only illumination being the spluttering torches in our hands. Mama was leading us and as such we were forced to walk at her speed; while she was much nimbler than her hunched form suggested, the speed she kept was still slower than we preferred.
“Will we ever see the end of this place?” I whispered.
“In time,” said Andras. “Bear in mind that we are approaching from beneath: there is a lot of tunnelling to be done to get under the Citadel’s walls.”
“Are you sure that this is a safe way in?” asked Pearce. “Should we expect guards?”
“No,” said Mama. “This is just an outlet. They would never believe that anyone would be stupid enough to attempt to come in through here.”
“An outlet?” asked Byron. “For what?”
“For the Warlocks’ magical energy,” she said. “All of that power has to go somewhere, you know.”
“And we’re wading through it?” asked Joshua, looking around, his voice rising in panic.
“Don’t worry: they’re usually resting at this time.”
“Usually,” I repeated.
“I make no guarantees,” she said. “You’re more than welcome to turn and go back, but this is the only way you’ll get in without them noticing.”
“Maybe we should go a little faster,” said Joshua.
“Young man, you will go as fast as I wish,” Mama snapped.
Andras chuckled. “I’m actually growing to quite like her.”
I glared at him and then turned my attention back to picking my way through the darkness, my imagination painting all manner of strange beasts just beyond the dancing shadows cast by our torches. I tried to focus my attention on the way ahead, straining for any sign of an end to this interminable darkness.
After a while Mama stopped and held up a hand. We held our breath as we waited, trying to perceive what she had sensed. She edged forwards and then disappeared.
I looked at the others. Was this a trap? Had she abandoned us, having delivered us right into the Warlocks’ hands? Even Andras appeared on edge as we waited, tensed and ready for an attack. Then a shuffling sound came from ahead and she reappeared, thankfully alone. I realised that she had just gone round a bend in the tunnel, the lack of light having lent the illusion of her sudden disappearance. “All is clear,” she said. “It was just one of my comrades, cleaning out the entrance to the outlet. I have sent him away, so we are free to proceed.”
“What did you tell him?” Andras asked.
“Why, the truth of course.”
“Very funny,” he replied, then frowned at her. “You’re not joking, are you? You actually told him that you are bringing intruders into the Citadel and then sent him away! What makes you think that he won’t just alert his masters?”
“Because I know him. And besides, even if he did alert the Warlocks, what difference would it make? Do you really believe you will spend more than a few minutes inside the Citadel without being detected anyway? Speed will be your friend in either case.”
Andras grunted and then turned to the rest of us. �
��Best make yourselves ready.” He turned to me. “It might be a good idea if you were to turn into your superior form now, rather than wasting time later.”
“My superior form?” I asked.
“You know, the better looking one,” he said. “Less human, more demon? The fewer of us who are constrained by human weaknesses, the better.” He held up a hand to quieten any arguments. “You can all protest at my insults later, if we survive. From now on, time is of the essence. Now, if you don’t mind?”
I frowned and then drew the runic sword from the scabbard at my back, allowing the power to course through me and change me into that other thing. There was once a time I had feared and resented the changes that the sword’s magic wrought on me, but I had learnt to embrace them as a part of me, something that enhanced rather than corrupted. After all, whilst I might be a demon, I had chosen to be a demon on the side of humanity.
My senses sharpened as I transmogrified, the tunnel lightening around me such that I could pick out the rough-hewn walls as they curved around us and just in front. I could sense the power emanating from the building into which we were about to enter; raw, hideous power that made me want to tear at my skin to be rid of it. I took a deep breath to calm myself and then nodded at Andras.
“Good,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Round the corner we came to an arched gateway, a large grille swinging open at its entrance. Beyond was a dull half-light. We stepped through into what first appeared to be a cellar but upon further inspection revealed itself to be a trench-like construction at the base of the Citadel.
I looked up at the building. At first glance it seemed completely ordinary, a stone structure like so many others in our own realm. Just another castle. But then the reality of the scene shifted sickeningly and I reeled as the never-ending height of the creation stretched up and up to the clouds and beyond. I had the strangest feeling of vertigo whilst standing at ground level.
“You’re over-thinking again,” noted Andras, wagging a finger at me before turning to walk towards the building.
In front of us was another stone archway with a black placard situated dead centre above the open entrance. White text twisted and curled malevolently on the sign. “What does it say?” I asked Andras.