Dead Man's Steel

by Luke Scull

  I was born ready, said a tiny voice in his skull. A voice that belonged to his past. ‘Not really,’ he said instead.

  The mage’s mouth set in a grim line. He still wore his long black coat, though the most egregious holes had been patched by Thelassa’s seamstresses. Cole had asked Thanates why he didn’t simply buy a new coat. The wizard had replied that it was part of who he was. ‘Ready or not, it would be unwise to keep Prince Obrahim waiting.’

  ‘I doubt if turning up five minutes late will cause him to change his mind about whether humanity is beyond redemption,’ Cole muttered. ‘Not unless he’s a really petty bastard.’

  The two men made their way through the empty town. Westrock had been evacuated ahead of the arrival of the Fade. The tension was so thick Cole almost fancied he could reach out and cut it with a knife, or better yet, Magebane.

  The Seeker was just ahead of them, taking up the lion’s share of space in the clearing. Occupying the rest of it was Prince Obrahim and his officers, Isaac among them. Cole’s heart sank when he saw General Saverian beside his brother. The commander’s jaw clenched and unclenched as though he was chewing rocks. Whether or not that was a good sign, Cole couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Prince Obrahim,’ said Thanates, kneeling before the legendary Fade ruler. Cole followed his lead. He still felt awed by Obrahim, perhaps the most formidable being in the world with the possible exception of the white-haired general beside him.

  ‘Rise,’ said the prince. ‘I have made my judgement.’

  Cole didn’t dare breathe. The world hung in the balance, the great cosmic scales tilting one way and then the other. On one side waited salvation. A chance to rebuild all that had been destroyed: cities, alliances, faith.

  And on the other side, utter annihilation.

  Prince Obrahim’s primeval gaze glittered. ‘Adjudicator Isaac made an impassioned defence of mankind. I have never seen him so animated.’

  The look General Saverian gave Isaac could have cracked stone. A muscle in the commander’s cheek twitched furiously.

  ‘Your people murdered your gods,’ Prince Obrahim began, filling Cole with dread. ‘You broke the Pattern. You murdered two of my kind. And yet...’ The prince paused, and Cole felt every moment of that silence as though it were an age. ‘You are a young race, and not yet beyond forgiveness. Our truce holds.’

  Cole sagged with relief. Even Thanates wiped sweat from his brow and released a deep breath he’d been holding.

  ‘Brother,’ barked Saverian, turning to Obrahim, the shoulder-cannon trembling where his body shook with anger. ‘You cannot grant mercy to these humans. The danger they pose—’

  ‘Enough,’ ordered Obrahim. He was unaffected by his brother’s terrifying fury. ‘I have made my decision. You will abide by it.’

  General Saverian seethed silently, but he threw his prince a salute nonetheless.

  Prince Obrahim beckoned Isaac forward. The Adjudicator carried a scroll case in his hands. ‘Upon this are written the terms of our armistice,’ Obrahim pronounced. ‘In summary, we will retain control of the city of Dorminia. The ruins of New Malaga north of Thelassa will be ceded back to us. I wish to establish an outpost there with a view to re-founding what was once our westernmost city. Furthermore, you will agree to provide assistance in countering any demon threat from the northern mountains: the Legion yet runs amok in the High Fangs. One day they shall turn their attention to the south. We must be prepared. You must be prepared.’

  ‘We shall,’ replied Thanates. ‘You have my word. With the White Lady’s blessing, I give you hers, also.’

  Prince Obrahim nodded. ‘In return, I give you my promise that so long as the terms are fulfilled, we will not bring you further harm. You will relay the details of this meeting to your mistress as well as the leader of the Highland people. I will require their signatures to seal the accord.’

  Cole doubted that Carn Bloodfist knew which end of a quill to hold, let alone how to sign his name, but he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. He took the proffered scroll from Isaac, who gave him a nod that he found strangely satisfying. All his life Cole had been handed the easy route to girls and riches and glory – but the one thing he truly craved, he realized, was respect.

  ‘Prince Obrahim,’ said Thanates. Cole had never heard the wizard-king of Dalashra sound so uncertain, not even in the face of Obrahim and his forbidding brother. ‘In recognition of our new alliance, I would extend to Your Highness and those of your choosing an invitation. Alassa – whom you know as the White Lady – and I are to marry. We would be honoured if you would attend the event.’

  Cole stared at Thanates in shock, feeling as though the Dalashran had just betrayed him. The wizard had said nothing to Cole of his intentions. That’s just fucking perfect, he thought, bitterness rising in his throat. First a couple of kids get everyone worked up by announcing they’re getting married. Now two immortals who only months ago tore Thelassa apart trying to kill each other have decided to tie the knot. It made no sense to Cole. It should be me and Sasha, said a pathetic voice inside him.

  Prince Obrahim almost smiled. ‘I will see what can be arranged,’ said the golden-haired prince. He gestured to Saverian. ‘My own brother is finally going to lifebond. He and Melissan will join their bloodlines in the ruins of New Malaga, in memory of Nymuvia, who was born there.’

  Hang on a damned minute! Cole wanted to scream. I thought he and Nym were betrothed for a thousand years! Now that arrogant son of a bitch is getting married, or lifebonded or whatever you call it, to Nym’s goddamned sister?

  It was all too much. He turned away, not wanting these tall, immortal, perfect bastards to see his tears of frustration.

  What happened to the hero getting the girl?

  *

  Sasha finished braiding Corinn’s hair and took a step back to admire her handiwork. The young sorceress wore a green silk gown that Thanates had brought back with him from the City of Towers. It was a perfect match, impeccably complementing her blonde hair and remarkable blue eyes.

  ‘You think Brick will like me?’ Corinn asked. Her tone betrayed her nervousness.

  ‘Brick is fourteen years old,’ Sasha replied sardonically. ‘He’d like you if were wearing nothing but a cloth sack, and a fishing net on your hair.’

  ‘I want to look beautiful for our joining ceremony.’

  ‘You are beautiful,’ Sasha said, giving the girl a hug. She caught a glimpse of herself in the silver mirror on Corinn’s dresser – a gift from the White Lady – and smiled wryly.

  Me, on the other hand, I’m anything but beautiful. She had grown bored of waiting for her hair to grow back to a manageable length and had taken a razor to it again. The effort of using her telekinetic implant to save Cole’s life during the battle with the Herald had ruptured something in her face. She had dark veins running across her head and cheeks. Sometimes her nose would bleed for no apparent reason.

  A few of the sorceresses in camp had taken a look at her, but their physical and magical ministrations hadn’t helped with either her appearance or the blinding headaches that crippled her without warning.

  I can live with it, she told herself. The strange dreams sometimes kept her awake at night, fragments of a hundred nightmares leaving her reeling and disorientated upon waking, but she knew that, compared with Cole, she had it easy.

  He ducked into the tent at that precise moment, looking worryingly pale and gaunt. He barely glanced at her but she saw the pain in his eyes before they flicked away. ‘All right,’ he muttered. He turned to Corinn, presenting his back to Sasha, and gave the young sorceress a long whistle. ‘You look stunning,’ he said. ‘Brick’s a lucky man.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Corinn stammered. Sasha frowned.

  Is he really trying to make me jealous?

  ‘The wedding begins in a few hours,’ she said. ‘You should probably change out of those leathers into something more presentable.’

  ‘Why?’ Cole shot back. ‘These Highlanders don�
��t place much stock in appearances. Besides, Thanates won’t bother to change. Neither will Jerek.’

  ‘You’re not Thanates. Or Jerek.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Cole bristled, insulted.

  ‘Nothing. Look, do you have a reason for being here? In case you hadn’t noticed, we were having some private time between us girls. For all you know, Corinn might have been undressed when you barged in.’

  Cole frowned. ‘Fine. I’m leaving. I just thought I’d stop by to tell you we’re invited to the White Lady’s wedding in a couple of weeks. You should probably bring a helmet.’

  Sasha remembered the ferocious battle in the skies between the Magelord of Thelassa and Thanates. It scarcely seemed possible that they could put their hatred behind them and rediscover their affection for each other after five centuries of enmity. ‘After everything that’s happened?’ she said in disbelief.

  ‘It’s good to know some of us can learn to love,’ Cole shot back. He turned and stamped out of the tent before Sasha could respond, leaving her with her mouth hanging open, a hundred angry retorts on her tongue.

  Corinn met Sasha’s gaze. ‘What’s going on with you two?’

  Sasha sighed. ‘You really don’t want to know.’

  Half an hour later she left Corinn’s tent to go and get ready herself. She made her way through the camp and towards the hill that led up to Westrock, where she and Cole were staying – in separate rooms – at the last inn in town. Highlanders nodded as she passed them, gestures of respect in recognition of her part in securing a future for their people.

  The specifics of exactly what had happened in the Devil’s Spine were unknown to most. The strange bard, Shakes, had already been to visit her on a couple of occasions. He’d promised to pen an epic that would see her name live forever in legend. It all felt surreal, as though this were happening to someone else. After all the hardship she’d endured, it seemed impossible to believe that things were finally taking a turn for the better, even if she herself was a freak: an unstable, physically altered mutant who might manifest powers that could kill herself and everyone around her at a moment’s notice.

  She spotted Brick just ahead and made her way over to him. The flame-haired youngster was chatting with a group of Highlander men, laughing and joking as though he’d grown up among the mountain folk rather than having been introduced to them scarcely six months past. He was a charming boy and would no doubt be a good husband to Corinn. The rumours flying around camp suggested that Carn Bloodfist and Brandwyn the Younger, the two chieftains who jointly ruled the Highland people, had big plans for the young couple.

  ‘Sasha!’ he greeted her, taking her hands in his own. He gave her a big grin, his green eyes bright with pleasure. He reminded her of Cole, back when he was a younger man. A happier man. She suddenly felt guilty.

  It’s not my fault.

  Brick was dressed in a blue tunic, and wore a new pair of leather pants, high black boots and a belt that seemed a little ostentatious. He caught her staring at it and blushed.

  ‘It was my Uncle Glaston’s,’ he said. ‘He had his faults, but I wanted to wear something that belonged to him.’

  She gave him a small hug. ‘You must be nervous.’

  ‘A little,’ he admitted. ‘You know, I wish Kayne could have been here to see us wed. At least Jerek will be there.’

  Sasha nodded sadly. ‘He’ll be watching you in spirit,’ she said comfortingly.

  ‘Aye,’ replied Brick. He’d already begun adopting Highlander words and expressions. ‘I guess I should begin making the final preparations. We’re going to wed just outside Carn’s great pavilion. Something called a “varoogi” will perform the service.’

  ‘A veronyi,’ Sasha corrected him. She shivered, remembering the corrupted veronyi in the cave in the Devil’s Spine. The things she’d seen over the course of those few days would stay with her forever.

  She bid Brick farewell, reaching out and giving his red hair a tousle for good measure. ‘You’ll take good care of Corinn, won’t you? She’s a sweet girl.’

  I guess some of us have to be.

  *

  ‘You sure you can do this? The sorceress told you not to move. I told her you was a stubborn cunt.’

  He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up from the pallet. ‘I ain’t missing this,’ he said. ‘You’d have to hold me down to stop me.’

  Jerek scowled at him. ‘I ain’t touching you. You fucking stink.’

  Brodar Kayne couldn’t disagree. He’d been confined to bed for weeks now, too weak to do much of anything except push food into his mouth and sip water from a pitcher with trembling hands. According to the healer who was overseeing his recovery, he was extremely lucky to be alive. The heart attack he’d suffered ought to have killed him. A lot of things ought to have killed him, he thought ruefully.

  Despite his harsh words, the Wolf reached out a hand and with surprising gentleness pulled Kayne to his feet. The old warrior took a tottering step, testing his legs. They were as shaky as a leaf in the wind but at least his knees no longer felt like they were on fire. He lifted a hand to his chin and felt the beard bristling there. ‘Reckon I should shave for the ceremony?’ he asked.

  Jerek gave him a look that made it abundantly clear he couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried. ‘How’s Magnar?’ Kayne asked, deciding to change the subject.

  He vaguely remembered his son coming to visit him once or twice. He couldn’t recall what they had said to each other.

  The Wolf shrugged. ‘He don’t get out much,’ he grunted. He was sitting on a wooden stool near the entrance to the tent, watching Kayne with his dark eyes. According to the woman in charge of Kayne’s recovery, Jerek had spent more time with him than anyone else. Davarus Cole, who’d been to see him a few times, had told disbelievingly of how the Wolf had hauled Kayne up the side of the valley single-handedly, carrying him to the Seeker as though he were a child rather than two hundred pounds of hard muscle and harder regrets.

  ‘You know if he’s coming to the ceremony?’ Kayne pressed. ‘You ask him?’

  ‘Ain’t none of my business.’

  Kayne scrubbed the dirt from his skin over the small washbasin in the corner of the tent and tried not to let his spirits sink. He and Magnar needed to talk. He wished there was some way he could help his son. At least now he had time to try. For maybe the first time in his life he had no obligations. Nothing to run from. No one upon whom he’d sworn bloody vengeance.

  I’m free, he thought. Free at last.

  Then he glanced down at the silver wedding band on his finger and was grateful that the soapy water on his face hid his tears.

  *

  A great crowd had gathered outside Carn Bloodfist’s crimson pavilion. A small wooden platform had been erected, and upon it stood the oldest veronyi Kayne had ever seen, a wheezing old relic bent double by age. Brodar Kayne stepped through the mass of Highlanders, Jerek beside him, searching for some sign of Brick and his wife-to-be. Curious faces turned to stare at him, the young and the old and everyone in between. He saw Finn watching him, the lad’s face an angry mask. Rana was there too, flanked by sorceresses from her circle. She met his gaze and frowned. He had to admit to finding her continued distaste for him disheartening.

  ‘You saved that bitch’s life,’ Jerek rasped. The Wolf was never one to mince his words. ‘Least she could do is show a little gratitude.’

  Kayne shook his head. He hadn’t saved her life in an effort to change her mind about him. He’d saved her life because it had been the right thing to do.

  ‘Brodar Kayne.’ Brandwyn the Younger’s cultured voice hailed him and the old warrior turned. ‘It is good to see you back on your feet.’

  ‘Only just,’ Kayne replied. ‘Don’t reckon I’ll be undertaking any more epic quests any time soon. Or ever, if I’m being honest.’

  ‘I have heard tales of your heroics,’ the young chieftain of the Green Reaching said, with a toothy smile. He reached up
and stroked his rust-coloured beard. ‘The young man from Dorminia, Davarus Cole, was eager to spread the story of how your small band of heroes slew the Herald. Together you have given our people a chance to rebuild. You recall our conversation on the bank of the River of Swords?’

  Kayne frowned. ‘Aye. I’ve played my part. Reckon it’s up to you now. Time to plant some seeds and see how they fare with a little watering.’

  Brandwyn nodded. ‘We have an agreement with the White Lady to settle the towns and villages north of Dorminia, as well as founding our own settlements in locations we deem advantageous. The Lowlanders have been decimated by war just as we have. Together we can forge a new future of peace and prosperity. Though some among us seem keen to coerce rather than cooperate. To seek further expansion instead of solidifying what we have.’ The chieftain frowned at the great tent behind them. His meaning was clear.

  Kayne looked around. ‘Where is Carn?’ he asked.

  ‘He left with a handful of his most trusted men. He has business of some kind to the south. I believe he will return in time for the ceremony between this “White Lady” and her lover.’

  ‘Thanates,’ Kayne clarified. ‘You know if he’s here?’

  Brandwyn nodded towards someone in the crowd. Kayne followed the movement and saw the wizard standing a little apart from everyone else, sweat beading his furrowed brow in the afternoon heat. Kayne and Jerek made their way over to him. ‘Well met,’ Kayne greeted him.

  ‘The Sword of the North!’ exclaimed Thanates. ‘It is good to hear your voice.’ The two men clasped hands. Even Jerek deigned to offer a grunted ‘all right’ – always a sign that a man had managed to earn the respect of the grim warrior.

  ‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ Kayne ventured. ‘You’re following young Brick down the aisle shortly.’

  Thanates bobbed his head, a gesture that reminded Kayne of the crow familiar whose form the wizard so often took. ‘It is a strange thing,’ he said. ‘I hated Alassa for what she did to me. I promised I would make her pay tenfold. Yet vengeance takes no account of love.’