Dead Man's Steel

by Luke Scull

  The handmaiden stared at Sasha with its dead eyes. ‘There is no “we”. The Mistress requested only Davarus Cole. You are to be disposed of.’

  ‘Disposed of?’ Sasha repeated, aghast. She heard the sound of a steel blade sliding from its sheath and in the blink of an eye Cole had positioned himself protectively in front of her. Magebane glowed an angry blue, but there was something else emanating from the blade, a shadowy essence she had never seen before. The air around them seemed to grow even colder.

  ‘The first one of you to make a move, I’ll send her head back to the White Lady as a warning,’ he said, voice full of fury. Coming from the old Cole, the words would have sounded ridiculous, an idle threat without a rat’s turd of weight behind it. Yet as Sasha stared at her childhood friend, she didn’t doubt him for a second.

  Even so, one thing the Unborn did not fear was death. There was a white blur as the handmaiden closest to Cole darted for Sasha, who froze, knowing she could never hope to escape these creatures. Not in any circumstances, but especially not with a broken ankle and trapped atop the tallest tower in the city.

  The handmaiden – incredibly agile, the unholy creation of the White Lady’s secret laboratories – stumbled, Magebane sticking out of her side. Cole’s arm was around the creature’s neck in an instant. With his free hand he tugged the weapon loose and, in a shower of black gore, sliced open her throat. The stench hit Sasha’s nostrils and she gagged, though there was nothing in her stomach to puke up.

  ‘That’s one less of you,’ Cole said, pushing away the twitching creature. Sasha had witnessed first-hand how tough it was to stop the handmaidens; she had seen them fight on with broken spines during the battle outside Dorminia’s gates. And yet her friend had ended the handmaiden’s unnatural life with an ease that shocked her. The Unborn twitched a few more times and then lay still.

  ‘You are stronger in our Father’s essence than we, brother,’ said one of the remaining handmaidens. ‘Yet we still outnumber you five to one.’

  Brother? Sasha had no idea what the creature meant – but her surprise immediately turned to astonishment as the tower’s previous occupant began to stir, climbing slowly to its feet, limbs cracking and lolling head turning to face the Unborn.

  ‘Five to two,’ Cole said. His colour had returned a little. It was as though killing the Unborn had restored some of his vigour.

  There was a pregnant pause as the five surviving handmaidens inclined their heads. They seemed to be listening to something. Receiving instruction, perhaps.

  ‘The girl lives,’ said one of the Unborn, eventually. ‘For now.’

  A small part of Sasha wanted to take umbrage at being referred to as ‘the girl’ in this city, a matriarchy ruled by the most powerful woman in the world. But all things considered, she was too relieved to care.

  *

  The White Lady’s palace was still being repaired: the gilded doors to the throne room lay where they had been blown off their hinges during her showdown with Thanates. Sasha’s heart thundered at the sight of the twisted metal. As she and Cole were led across the threshold and the eldritch ruler of the city bled into view, sitting atop her ivory throne, violet eyes staring straight ahead, she wanted to turn and run. But there was nowhere to flee.

  The Consult was already assembled. Rows of women and the occasional man were seated on the benches below the throne, all dressed in white ceremonial garb and forced to stare up at their mistress as if she were one of the dead gods depicted upon the mosaic overhead. But she was not a god – she was a killer of gods. Once high priestess of the Mother, one of the thirteen Prime gods, Alassa – as Thanates had named her during their confrontation – had switched sides from the religious Congregation to the wizardly Alliance after her own child had died in her womb. And after watching her hurl a tower at Thanates, her former paramour, Sasha understood an alarming truth: this Magelord’s wrath was singularly terrifying once unleashed.

  And I slapped her across the face and called her a cunt. Oh, shit.

  The White Lady rose to her feet as Sasha and Cole were brought to stand before the dais. ‘Leave us,’ she ordered, her soft voice perfectly serene, her purple gaze still unreadable. ‘All of you.’ She nodded at the Consult, who quickly rose and departed the chamber.

  In the silence that followed, Sasha could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her chest. She kept her eyes fixed on the marble floor; she dared not look up and meet the Magelord’s gaze.

  Cole wasn’t so awed. ‘Why have you brought us here?’ he demanded.

  ‘I ask the questions, child,’ the Magelord replied. ‘You are no less impertinent than the last time you stood before me. More so.’

  ‘Well, things have changed,’ Cole replied. His voice was grim. He placed a hand on Magebane’s hilt. ‘Where are my friends?’ he demanded.

  ‘Your friends?’ echoed the White Lady.

  ‘Derkin and Ed. They were at the docks when you had us arrested.’

  Sasha finally risked a glance at the Magelord. Her beauty was stunning – platinum blonde hair and perfect features unmatched by any living woman Sasha had ever laid eyes upon. But inside, Sasha knew, this woman was monstrous. Worse than Salazar, if such a thing were even possible.

  ‘I care nothing for your friends, child of death. You are less important than you seem to believe. Even with a stolen god’s essence residing within you.’

  Child of death? A stolen god’s essence? The Magelord’s claims hardly seemed credible. The Cole of old would have shouted something like that from the rooftops at every opportunity, yet now he winced with what appeared to be shame. ‘I’ll answer your questions if you help me find my friends,’ he replied. ‘One is a hunchback. The other is big and childlike. They’re both good men.’

  A hint of anger hardened the Magelord’s voice. ‘The first time you set foot in this city you brought a rapist with you. The second time, you brought Thanates. Do not talk to me of good men, child.’

  ‘I was wrong about Three-Finger,’ Cole admitted. ‘But Thanates – the Crow – he saved us at the Blight. You wanted to have us all killed. Just like you tried to have the Darkson assassinate me. Well, he didn’t succeed. I slew one Magelord. Perhaps I can kill another.’

  Sasha stared at Cole in shock. There was no bravado in that utterance, none of the cockiness that had somehow propelled Cole through the direst of situations through the sheer power of his own bullshit. The threat was delivered with the gravity of a man telling his wife he’d caught cock-rot from the local streetwalker.

  The White Lady frowned and then raised a slender hand. Cole responded by reaching for Magebane. There was a scraping sound; something huge and golden slammed into Cole from behind and suddenly he was pinned to the floor by one of the gilded doors, some unseen force pressing the full weight of the ruined metal down upon him.

  The White Lady stepped from her dais. Ignoring the stairs leading to the throne, she floated gently down to stand beside Cole, who appeared to be struggling for breath. He met Sasha’s eyes and the desperation on his face snapped her out of her shocked stupor.

  ‘Stop! You’re killing him,’ she pleaded. ‘Please... You summoned him here for a reason. Kill me if you have to. I’m no use to anyone.’

  The Magelord ignored Sasha. She ran a strand of platinum hair through her fingers and stared down at Magebane, clutched uselessly in Cole’s pinned hand. ‘You overreach yourself, child. Your weapon may protect against magic, but it holds no sway over that which magic can manipulate. Your share of the Reaver’s divinity, while significant, establishes you as nothing more than a talented tool. I hold the essence of no fewer than five gods within me. Only Salazar held more.’

  ‘I’m not a tool,’ Cole managed to hiss.

  ‘Please,’ Sasha begged again. ‘Let him breathe.’

  Another few seconds passed. The Magelord appeared to be deliberating. Finally she unwound the hair from her finger and flicked it behind her shoulder. The door shot up and flew out of the throne ro
om, hitting the far wall with an almighty clang. Cole groaned and gasped for breath as the White Lady frowned down at him with her purple eyes.

  ‘True power must be seized with both hands,’ she said levelly. ‘Do not run from what you are, child. You cannot serve our cause by refusing your true nature. Submit to the hunger and it shall empower you.’ The White Lady turned to an attendant waiting nervously by a far door. She pointed at Magebane and beckoned the attendant over. ‘Pick that up and keep it safe. It will be returned to him once he has departed the city.’

  The Magelord turned to Sasha, who wanted to cower away. Instead, after a glance at the stricken Cole, she met the White Lady’s gaze with a loathing she couldn’t disguise.

  ‘I have not forgotten your error. No one has dared speak to me in such a manner for five hundred years. Much less lay a hand upon me in anger.’ Remarkably, the White Lady’s purple eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement. ‘I had thought your sister the interesting one, but you surprise me. I shall overlook your outburst this once. Now, help your friend up. His journey will take some days and time is of the essence.’

  Sasha knelt beside Cole. He was in some pain but didn’t appear badly hurt. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You are going nowhere, at least for the time being. Davarus Cole, however, will be heading south. The Shattered Realms must be informed of the imminent threat to our species.’

  ‘Threat?’ Sasha whispered, though deep down she knew. The Halfmage had been right all along.

  ‘You recall the warning you brought me. The massacre of the workers at the Celestial Isles was but the beginning. While you were imprisoned, the Fade arrived in the Trine. Dorminia has fallen. I am all that stands between the Ancients and the end of mankind.’

  The Right Tool

  ✥

  COLE NARROWED HIS gaze and stared at his reflection in the extravagant mirrored basin. The Consult chambers on the upper level of the White Lady’s palace were richly furnished, luxurious enough to make Garrett’s mansion look threadbare in comparison. How he wished his foster father and mentor were here now.

  ‘It’s all bullshit,’ he whispered. He began to turn, but in a moment of sudden rage spun back and struck the mirror with his bare fist. The glass shattered and a shard sliced his knuckles, raining blood down into the basin. It stung, but the pain felt familiar, natural. It helped take his mind off the insidious hunger within him.

  The urge to kill was growing stronger. It was always present, goading him. The Unborn he had killed had barely sated it; the creature was more dead than alive. He couldn’t shake the memory of watching Sasha sleeping atop the Tower of Stars. Having to resist the desire to draw Magebane and do something unspeakable. It made him sick to remember. Sasha – his best friend and the girl he loved more than anything in the world.

  He leaned over the basin and dry heaved, horrified at the memory. What am I becoming?

  The essence of the Reaver dwelled within him. The Reaver, the Lord of Death. When Cole killed and fed the dead god’s hunger, he became faster. Stronger. Almost unstoppable, an assassin without peer. But when he refused, as he had since the rebellion at Newharvest, it took a toll on his body. The hunger grew worse until it was all he could focus on. When he slept, visions of a great disembodied skull and rivers of blood tortured his dreams. He avoided sleep when he could.

  He pressed his uninjured hand against his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut in despair. He had wanted to be a hero. Now he stood on the precipice of becoming a monster.

  ‘Cole, it’s time.’ Sasha limped into the chamber carrying the bags she had helped prepare for his journey south. She stopped when she saw the shattered mirror and the mess he had made of the basin. ‘What happened?’ she demanded.

  ‘I had an accident,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Let me see that.’

  Cole refused to meet her eyes as she grabbed his hand and began rummaging around in the bags for something to stem the bleeding. ‘Carhein is a day’s ride east, once you’ve docked in north Tarbonne,’ she said angrily. ‘You won’t get far if you bleed out before you make it out of Thelassa.’

  ‘Why Carhein?’ he grumbled. ‘Why not somewhere on the coast? I hear Djanka is already warm this time of year.’

  ‘You’re not going on vacation! You’re to bring word of the Fade invasion to the Rag King and plead with him to send reinforcements. Tarbonne is the most powerful of the Shattered Realms. They say the Rag King and his Companions were once like us, before they won the throne. Perhaps they will listen where others won’t.’

  Cole grunted. He wouldn’t have minded jumping aboard a ship and sailing south to the Sun Lands to seek out the Darkson. The scar on his stomach still ached, the legacy of his former mentor’s betrayal. He wanted payback on that smooth Shamaathan bastard.

  ‘Cole?’ Sasha’s voice dragged him away from thoughts of revenge. ‘What did the White Lady mean, about the Reaver’s divinity? And about you “feeding the hunger”? How did you bring that body back from the dead?’

  Cole heaved a sigh and examined the bandage Sasha had just wrapped around his hand. ‘You remember Garrett’s history lessons?’

  Sasha rolled her eyes. So lovely, he thought, before looking away. ‘You know I was always the studious one,’ she replied. ‘You were more interested in being the hero.’

  A lot of good that did me, he thought bitterly. He cleared his throat. ‘Well, you know that when Salazar, the White Lady and the other Magelords stormed the heavens, they didn’t just kill the gods. They stole their power. That’s why Magelords don’t die of old age. They carry the essence of the gods within them.’

  Sasha nodded. Her dark brown hair fell prettily around her shoulders. He swallowed before continuing, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘Salazar and I shared a connection through Magebane. You see...’ He took a deep breath. ‘My father wasn’t really a hero, Sash. He was an Augmentor. Salazar’s most feared killer.’

  Much to his surprise, Sasha nodded again. ‘I kind of figured as much. The other Shards were careful not to discuss it around me, but it wasn’t difficult to piece it all together.’

  Maybe not for you, Cole thought, anger warring with admiration. She was smarter than him; perhaps the smartest person he knew. ‘When I killed Salazar, I absorbed the essence of a god he carried within him.’

  ‘The Reaver,’ replied Sasha. ‘The Lord of Death.’

  ‘Yes. I feel him inside me, Sash. Hungering. Eager for me to kill. I’m not sure I can control it. I’m scared.’

  He closed his eyes and therefore could only hear Sasha’s surprised intake of breath. ‘I never imagined I would hear you say those words.’ Suddenly she embraced him and he sagged in her arms, lowering his head to rest against her shoulder. He could hear her beating heart and smell her sweet scent. He lifted his head and gazed into dark eyes filled with concern. He felt irresistibly drawn to them, and below them, her soft lips—

  ‘You’re an arsehole, Cole. Garrett would be ashamed of you.’

  Sasha’s parting words before the siege of Dorminia rose painfully in his skull, as did the memory of his tortured nights watching her sleep atop the Tower of Stars, and he quickly drew back. ‘Right,’ he said abruptly. ‘That’s enough feeling sorry for myself. I’d better get ready to sail. Are you going to be safe here alone?’

  Sasha looked a little hurt by his sudden withdrawal. ‘If the White Lady wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be here now. I’m more concerned about you.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be. I’ll return safe and sound, I promise.’

  There was a moment of awkward silence before Cole’s enhanced hearing picked up a faint whisper of movement in the corridor outside and one of the White Lady’s handmaidens appeared in the doorway. Unlike with Sasha, whose heartbeat was a persistent throbbing rhythm in his ears, he could detect no pulse from the creature. ‘We leave now,’ said the Unborn in its deadpan voice.

  Cole collected the bags Sasha had prepared for him and gave her one final hug. ‘Tim
e to be a hero,’ he muttered to himself.

  *

  Why me?

  The question had been dancing around his brain since the White Lady had revealed her plans for him. Maybe she’d been quietly impressed by his success in assassinating Salazar and escaping Newharvest and considered him the most capable man for the job. Maybe she feared his powers and this was merely an excuse to send him away. Most likely it was just the fates conspiring to once again take a cosmic shit on him and force him into all manner of crazed situations that left him bitter and broken. What was it Thanates had said?

  ‘You have an uncanny knack of finding yourself at the heart of events.’

  As Cole made his way through the twilight streets of Thelassa, silently escorted by a trio of the White Lady’s handmaidens, he wondered what had become of the Dalashran wizard-king. He somehow doubted Thanates had perished as a result of his battle with the White Lady; the grim wizard seemed like the type of man it would be unwise to pronounce dead until his corpse had been observed rotting in a morgue for at least a week. Among other things, Thanates had survived being flogged, hanged, having his eyes pecked out, and spending the best part of five centuries trapped in the body of a crow. It was comforting to know there were still a few folk who had had it worse than Davarus Cole.

  The operation to repair Thelassa’s streets was well under way. Even at this late hour, the wide avenue leading to the harbour was teeming with citizens clearing away rubble and fortifying the city’s damaged foundations. He watched a team of workers haul a statue of a winged, angelic creature upright. The tip of one of the wings had broken off and Cole spotted it lying near a shrub. He scooped the fragment up from the marble streets and handed it to the forewoman, giving her what he considered his most charming smile. She snatched it from his hands and turned away with a scowl.

  ‘A thank-you wouldn’t have hurt,’ he mumbled, unable to stop himself.

  She spun back towards him. ‘What did you say?’ she demanded.

  ‘I said, a little gratitude wouldn’t hurt.’ He hadn’t wanted to make a scene, but recent events were starting to get the better of him.