by Tom Lloyd
Kastan Styrax’s son was no coward. The young white-eye roared a challenge, slipping from his horse, and swung both axe and sword at Isak, who lunged forward, using his own weapons to deflect Kohrad’s. He hit Kohrad, only a glancing blow but it drove the smaller white-eye back, and a bolt of lightning crashed down between them. Kohrad howled and attacked again, feinting high then cutting at Isak’s legs. He tried in vain to knock Eolis from Isak’s grasp, but the Farlan lord dodged and smashed his shield into Kohrad’s face. Kohrad rode the blow and slashed at Isak with both his weapons, bearing down so that Isak was forced backwards, but he caught the blows on his shield and lashed out with Eolis, a volley of cuts that had Kohrad defending desperately until a blast of thunderous power gouged a great furrow in the ground between the two, forcing them apart.
Isak turned and saw a wyvern leap forward over the heads of the cavalrymen who had been watching the fight in stunned silence, too awed to intervene in this clash of giants. The storm suddenly focused and lightning began to target the black-armoured figure atop the winged beast, but Kastan Styrax held his white hand above his head, projecting a steel-grey shield of magic. Though the lightning thrashed ferociously about the shield, it was to no avail -but it gave Isak all the time he needed.
He drew deeply on the Skull and sent wild tendrils of energy in all directions, before suddenly concentrating them on Styrax himself. Under the assault, the air between them seemed to distort and rip. He heard the mocking, exultant laughter of the Reapers in his shadow, and the groan of the Land itself as he let loose more magic than he could ever have even conceived of.
Styrax twisted his shield down, somehow fending off the attack once again, and the wyvern disappeared behind a curtain of blinding sparks.
Now barely able to see, working entirely by instinct, Isak loosed his hold on the magic, tightened his grip on Eolis and abruptly turned. He swept back the sword, and in one smooth motion, he threw Eolis…
… and the sword, moving as if in slow motion, pierced the incandescent chaos…
… and struck its target dead-centre…
Isak’s legs gave away underneath him and he crumpled, falling almost simultaneously with Kohrad as the force of Eolis smashing into him made him stagger backwards before he fell to the ground.
In the next moment the storm of magic disappeared and pain engulfed his body. Isak forced himself to one knee, almost shrieking with pain. His lungs were wheezing agony, his throat a ball of flame inside his body.
Distantly he heard an animal cry of grief.
‘Kohrad!’ someone screamed, and a black-clad figure raced past. Isak lurched almost drunkenly, unable to focus his eyes, his body twitching in distress. He tried to turn his head, but his body refused to obey. More shouting, then a blow to the side of his head that laid him out, face-down in the ruined earth.
Hands grabbed him and dragged him upright, pulling the helm from his head. A face appeared, contorted with rage and hatred, shouting something, but he couldn’t understand a word. Then he heard, in heavily accented Farlan, ‘You will burn! You will suffer agony with no end!’
Isak managed to choke out a laugh. ‘You think so? I’m dying,’ he whispered, the effort of speaking bringing tears to his eyes.
‘Not before I’m finished with you!’ Styrax roared. He knelt down next to Isak and smashed his mailed fist into the side of Isak’s head.
Stars burst before his eyes as an explosion of pain overrode the previous agony, but Isak forced a smile onto his face. ‘Paradise awaits me,’ he wheezed. ‘I am one of the Chosen - and now I die.’
A dark veil appeared around them all and through the one eye still working, Isak could see the Land suddenly appeared darker and colder. Death’s hand rested on his shoulder.
‘I will not allow it!’ Styrax screamed in frustration and fury, smashing Isak once more to the ground.
At a signal, his men laid out the Farlan lord on his back, pinning down his arms and legs, though he was too weak even to stand.
Isak coughed torturously, trying to turn his head as he vomited up stinking black blood.
‘You will never see the Land of No Time,’ Styrax snarled, digging his black-iron-clad fingers into Isak’s flesh, ‘you will see no Last Judgment!’ He ripped the Crystal Skull from Isak’s cuirass and tossed it aside almost carelessly, then punched Isak in the face, shattering his nose. With a thought he called his black sword and Kobra flew into his hand.
Isak felt the Menin lord open himself to the awesome power contained within his own Skulls, and a whirlwind of dark flames sprang up around them. His vision cleared a little as his body gratefully drank in the wild surging magic, but it did nothing to assuage the pain running through his blood and bones. His damaged eye bled freely down his cheek, and the fire in his throat continued unabated.
He heard Styrax howling words he didn’t recognise, and he felt the earth writhing and shaking underneath him.
‘Pain I promised you,’ Styrax spat, ‘and pain you will receive!’
He lunged forward and the fanged sword split Isak’s cuirass and drove deep into his stomach. Isak screamed hoarsely as the blade split his gut, both searing hot and burning cold. Styrax yanked the blade up and down, trying to make it as excruciating as he could, ripping Isak open from groin to sternum and driving the breath from his body. The air around them filled with a terrible chittering sound, the voices of daemons sweeping in.
The darkness grew thick and cold as Styrax gave Kobra one last twist. He was rewarded with another cry, and that won, he raised his boot and stamped down on Isak’s broken face.
‘Think of the life you took,’ he said, his own voice jagged with grief, ‘as your skin is torn from your body in Ghenna! The Dark Place welcomes you.’ He jerked out Kobra and Isak fell, feeling the earth give way beneath him as he plunged deeper and deeper. The darkness enveloped him and the cries of daemons became deafening.
He screamed.
ENDGAME
Mihn pulled his tattered leather coat around him as he looked out over the lake, watching the raindrops forming concentric circles on the otherwise still surface, trying to work out why he felt so uneasy. The rain had been falling steadily since early morning and the solid mass of slate-grey clouds hid the sun so completely he could only guess the hour.
The only habitation in sight was a squat cottage in bad need of repair. A battered fishing boat had been dragged up the shore away from the water and left under a crude cover made of loosely woven branches covered with a ragged tarpaulin. The cottage had been abandoned for two seasons now, so Mihn had requisitioned it for himself. He valued solitude quite as much as the witch did, and had no intention of imposing on her hospitality for longer than absolutely necessary.
There was no sound other than the rain falling on water and ground. He looked back at the trees behind him, hoping to see gentry peering out from the shadows, but there were none. It looked like their curiosity had finally been appeased, and they had decided to accept the presence of a human as impossibly stealthy as they themselves were. Their absence made Mihn feel strangely alone.
He had been staring at the water for too long, lost in his disquietude, but nothing had changed. He was considering taking the little rowboat out so he could try his hand at fishing when a distant sound caught his ear - running footsteps, maybe?
Scarcely had he turned back to the forest when a girl of no more than twelve summers came careening down the path through the trees and stumbled to a halt in front of him. As she stared open-mouthed at the former Harlequin, he took note of her own appearance: bright blue eyes and a reddened nose peeking out from under a sandy mess of hair.
‘Are you looking for me?’ Mihn asked softly, trying hard to sound friendly and approachable, but the very act of speaking almost spooked the girl into scampering back the way she’d come.
‘What’s your name?’ he tried again.
The girl swallowed. ‘Chera, sir.’
Her faded dress had red flowers poorly embroidered
along the hem. He guessed it had belonged to at least one older sibling before her. He gave a little bow. ‘Hello, Chera. I am Mihn ab Netren ab Felith. Have you been sent to find me?’
‘Y - Yes, sir. She’s screamin’, sir, that brown girl, screamin’ like the creatures of the Dark Place is after ‘er.’
Mihn frowned at the child’s choice of words and she edged back a step, frightened by his expression.
He smoothed out his frown and asked gently, ‘Did the witch say I was to return with you?’
Chera shook her head. ‘Twilight, sir’ she muttered. ‘She said to make yersel’ ready and come at the ghost hour.’
Mihn nodded gravely. ‘The ghost hour it is. Thank you, Chera.’
He stood impassively, waiting until the child had disappeared back into the trees before he gave in to the overwhelming emotion that had hit him at her words.
His face drained of blood and he sank to his knees, his legs betraying him. Gasping like a drowning man, he allowed a single moan of sorrow to escape his lips before he buried his face in his tattooed palms.
‘Isak,’ he whispered, choking on his own tears. ‘Merciful Gods, Isak, what have we done?’
The Ragged Man
TOM LLOYD
Orion
www.orionbooks.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
ENDGAME
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
For Fiona, with all my love
Acknowledgements
The biggest thank you must be said to all those who handled the real life side of things so those of us less capable didn’t have to - most particularly to my wife, Fiona, and my wonderful in-laws, David and Elizabeth, who worked so hard on the wedding. On top of that, Fi, you’re a star for putting up with me day after day - cheerfully living with oddness, forgetfulness, geekery and prog metal. If that doesn’t deserve being bought a puppy, I don’t know what could.
Many thanks also to Nat, for talking through so much over so many drinks, along with his powers of speed reading that I’ve happily abused. Also to Lou Anders for advice, support and braving some rather rough first chapters, my brother Richard, David Devereux and Sara Mulryan for more of the same, and all the happy nutters on the Tom Lloyd forum for their enthusiasm, encouragement, reminders and some of the suggestions. The cannon-mounted flying carpets I’m still not convinced about, however, and the shower-scene definitely isn’t going to happen.
Robin Morero also deserves recognition for everything he’s done on the website, in between nappy changes, as do everyone at Pyr and Gollancz - in particular Jo Fletcher for , , . . . decent editing, Gillian for all sorts, and Charlie for putting up with me being repeatedly stupid. But not Simon. He knows why.
WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE
The Grave Thief
In the aftermath of the firestorm that consumed the city of Scree, it soon becomes clear that Rojak’s magic has left a legacy beyond death and destruction. While the followers of Azaer scatter and Isak leads the Farlan Army home, a strange mood takes hold of those remaining outside the city. The city’s six principal Gods - Death, Karkarn, Nartis, Vasle, Belarannar and Vellern - are furious at having been driven out of Scree during the city’s last days, and their rage badly affects those most closely aligned to them, including the Knights of the Temples and King Emin himself - he had been ordained a priest years before. In their temporary madness, they turn on the civilian survivors and butcher them.
When King Emin returns home to Narkang he is not only guilty about the slaughter he participated in, but distressed by the continuing echoes of Lord Death’s rage, which is still affecting his judgement. He responds to intelligence about Venn, Azaer’s follower, and the manipulation of Scree’s population by Rojak’s plays, by ordering a mass assassination of the Harlequin clans, only too aware of their potential influence in the Land. Even as he is doing this, Venn is returning home to the clans with the mage Jackdaw bound to his shadow, about to do exactly as Emin fears: to twist the Harlequins’ purpose and deliver to Azaer a small army of unparalleled warrior-preachers who can erode the authority of the Gods on a Land-wide scale.
King Emin’s agent, Doranei, discovers the Crystal Skull they recovered from Scree might not have been Azaer’s goal there, after all - worse still, they might even have done Azaer a favour by killing the Skull’s owner, for they left the path clear for Azaer’s followers to retrieve the journal of Vorizh Vukotic.
In Tirah, as Isak’s thoughts grow increasingly morbid, the Yeetatchen white-eye Xeliath arrives in the city, and the trial of Duke Certinse looms. On the first day of the trial a squad of mercenaries break in to the Temple of Law. Although the duke fails to escape, he is able to die fighting, instead of being executed. More worryingly for Isak, when Certinse’s mother releases a huge daemon, two of Death’s violent Aspects appear from Isak’s shadow to kill it before Isak himself can, confirming his fears that he has somehow managed to tear the five Aspects known as the Reapers from Death’s control.
In Byora, Ilumene and Aracnan engineer a meeting between the ruler, Duchess Escral, and a newborn baby, Ruhen, whose body is now inhabited by Azaer. The duchess adopts Ruhen as, far to the north, Venn begins preaching about such a child to the now-susceptible Harlequins, matching his words to Ruhen’s actions.
Elsewhere in Byora, while the Farlan agent Legana is waiting for Zhia Vukotic to arrive in the city, the Goddess Fate - the Lady - appears to her and makes an unprecedented offer: that Legana should become Fate’s Mortal-Aspect. After Legana accepts, her first mission is to murder a high priest with undue influence over Duchess Escral - but the mercenary Aracnan beats her to it. He attacks her, trying to hide his crime, and Fate steps in - only to discover, too late, that he owns a Crystal Skull. The Goddess cannot save herself, but she can save her new Mortal-Aspect, and before Aracnan kills her, she throws Legana from the building.
Further south, Lord Styrax, the Menin ruler, crushes the renowned defences of Tor Salan in a single blow and heads north towards the Circle City, determined to bring the trading heart of the West into his empire, whether the rulers of Byora, Akell, Ismess and Fortinn, the quarters that make up the Circle City, want to or not.
Back in Tirah, Isak has called all of the Farlan nobility to his official investiture as Lord of the Farlan. Each must swear allegiance to him. To keep the tribe’s increasingly troublesome clerics in check he makes a bargain with Cardinal Certinse. Isak has revealed he is dreaming of death at Styrax’s hands, so after the ceremony, Mihn goes to question the witch of Llehden. Their conversation results in the witch tattooing magical charms over Mihn’s body, linking him directly with both Xeliath and Isak.
While Mihn is learning of the afterlife, Vesna is ambushed by fanatics. After he has killed them all, he discovers the ‘ambush’ was in fact a test, engineered by Karkarn, the God of War, to see if he is indeed the right man for the high honour the God wishes to bestow upon Vesna: to become his own Mortal-Aspect. Vesna, shocked
, finds himself unable to make an instant decision.
In Byora, the Lady’s death has sparked an increase in the tensions between the ruling nobles and city’s clerics. An assassination attempt on Duchess Escral fails, thanks to Ilumene’s help, but her husband is killed. The clerics follow this personal attack with a full-scale assault on the Ruby Tower, which Ilumene uses to massacre the city’s mage-priests - and as another demonstration of Ruhen’s supernatural powers.
Legana is being slowly nursed to health by a priest. When she is well enough, he helps her escape from the Temple District, just as Duchess Escral orders the symbolic barring of the door to Death’s temple and Ilumene leads a crackdown in her name on the city’s clerics. Outside the Temple District Legana encounters Doranei, and they exchange information before Doranei goes in search of his lover, Zhia Vukotic. Now they know who’s pulling the strings in Byora. Legana reports that to Isak.
Religious fanaticism and active reaction against it are both on the increase, and violence is breaking out in all the Land’s cities. To avoid outright civil war led by a white-eye as powerful as he is, Isak is forced to persuade one of his most loyal subjects to start a crusade against the Menin. Legana’s report makes him realise he is being drawn inexorably towards the man he believes will kill him - but he refuses to shy away from his destiny any longer, and he adds his forces to the crusade.
As Isak heads south, Lord Styrax reaches the Circle City and his decisive action forces the surrender of its most powerful quarter. Once in control of the city, he begins to investigate the secret at its very centre, the Library of Seasons, which sits in a valley between the city’s four domains. By the time Isak’s army reaches them, he has solved the mystery, and just as the crusade attacks his forces he retrieves a Crystal Skull from the library and wakes the dragon set to guard it. Isak is intent on disrupting Azaer’s plans by attacking Byora, but he is drawn into battle with the Menin and becomes the dragon’s target, just as the Menin Army springs a trap.