by Luke Scull
Just like the Seeker, this city and its palace made all that Brodar Kayne had once thought grand seem trivial. At one time that realization might’ve unsettled him, made him question himself and his place in the world. Now he found himself not giving a damn. He had everything he wanted right beside him.
‘You all right, son?’ he asked for the third time. It’d taken a mighty effort to get Magnar to agree to accompany the Highlander party, but agree he had – eventually. Magnar didn’t look at all comfortable, but the mere fact that his son had taken such a big step was a sign he was on the road to recovery. Just looking at him sitting there filled the Sword of the North with pride.
‘How much longer is this going to last?’ Magnar whispered. Kayne grinned, sharing his son’s sentiments. First they’d sat through a droning Consult minister reading out the terms of the marriage. Then the two wizards had been presented with copious amounts of parchment to sign. Thanates had needed someone to recite them for him. There weren’t many lettered men among the Highland people, but Brandwyn had volunteered to help. Kayne wondered where young Davarus Cole and Sasha had got to. Chances were they’d been bickering again and were off cooling down somewhere.
The wedding between the two mages was a far cry from the joining ceremony between Brick and Corinn. Honouring the spirits took pride of a place in a Highlander wedding. The Lowland folk did things differently. In ages past they’d apparently said their vows in front of the gods, but given that at least one half of the couple on the dais had taken an active hand in wiping them out, Kayne could understand why the gods no longer merited much of a mention.
He remembered his own joining ceremony. The happiest day of his life, save for the day his wife had brought his son into the world.
The documents were finally signed. Jerek shifted beside Kayne and made a poor job of stifling a yawn. The Wolf looked even more uncomfortable than Magnar. He had barely said a word since they’d disembarked the small ship that had brought them across the channel. It was a minor shock to the old Highlander that the Wolf had chosen to come at all. Maybe he’d done it as a favour to Thanates, whom he seemed to have decided was all right.
Or maybe he just wants to make sure I don’t overdo it and keel over from another heart attack.
On the benches opposite them, Isaac met Kayne’s gaze and gave him a small nod. It’d been a surprise to see the Fade among the guests. It was tempting to think they were not so different from mankind.
Except when you remember that they’re ageless and seven feet tall and smarter than any living man. And they got weapons that can break worlds.
One of the Consult rose to present the mages with their rings, which they exchanged. Then two great silver goblets were filled and the same woman presented them to the White Lady and Thanates. The former drank deep, but the latter fumbled his chalice as it was placed into his hands and spilled the contents over the marble floor. Wine ran down the steps from the dais and the blind wizard looked embarrassed by his clumsiness – but the smile the Magelord of Thelassa gave her new husband was the same kind that Kayne remembered Mhaira giving him countless times, and all was well in the world.
‘Fucking waste that is,’ Jerek rasped, shattering the moment as only the Wolf could.
‘There’ll be plenty of time for drinking afterwards,’ answered Kayne. ‘Plenty of time for feasting too, I’m guessing.’ He pointed to the tables in the great dining hall beyond the throne room. They were piled high with all manner of Lowland delicacies: roasted pigeon and jellied fruits and more varieties of cheese than he had known existed.
Jerek looked as though he were about to spit, but in a landmark moment of self-control closed his mouth and made do with a scowl. ‘Ain’t much for all that fancy shit. Give me warm stew and a heel of bread any day.’
The wedding official returned to take her seat near to Kayne, who noticed that she seemed a little vacant. Chances were she was as tired of the drawn-out wedding as everyone else. Thankfully, the ceremony was swiftly brought to a close and they were led out of the throne room and into the dining hall. Kayne picked at a few platters of meat, but he had no stomach for drink and in any case he had been given strict orders to avoid everything except water. Magnar drank enough wine for the pair of them, downing cup after cup with the determination of a man eager to find oblivion sooner rather than later.
Kayne was frowning at an apple-filled tart when one of the Westermen barged into him. It could have been accidental, except several of his comrades were watching the scene with big grins on their faces. Kayne managed to steady himself on the table, though his tart ended up smeared all over his hand. The warrior who’d shoved him was red of face, clearly half drunk already. ‘Sorry, old fellow,’ he said, a cruel grin revealing yellow teeth. ‘Looks like I slipped—’
Jerek grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. The Wolf’s head shot forward, flattening the warrior’s nose and dropping him like a stone.
‘Ain’t that a coincidence,’ the Wolf rasped. ‘Looks like my head slipped as well.’ He glowered down at the man, whose comrades reached for their weapons. Carn intervened, ordering them to stand down in a deep growl that bore no argument. The chieftain of the West Reaching turned to Kayne.
‘Your friend knows how to hold a grudge,’ he said ruefully, meeting the Wolf’s gaze. ‘In that I believe we are alike.’
Kayne cleared his throat and wiped warm apple tart from his shaking hands. ‘I was hoping we might’ve put all that behind us.’
‘I made an oath,’ Carn growled. ‘I do not break my promises.’
Jerek’s eyes narrowed. He turned away from the groaning warrior at his feet. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ he declared, storming out.
Kayne watched him go, confused by the Wolf’s sudden exit. Probably for the best, he decided. The last thing he wanted was to be the cause of a fight breaking out at the wedding of the two most influential mages in the north.
Brandwyn and his small entourage watched the scene in silence. At least the Greenmen had the sense not to drink. Kayne gave the chieftain of the Green Reaching a friendly nod and Brandwyn returned the gesture. Isaac seemed unimpressed by the bounty on offer. ‘Not hungry?’ the old warrior asked.
‘I cannot help but recall the homeless and the starving in Dorminia,’ Isaac explained. ‘It seems perverse to partake of this bounty when thousands go hungry.’
‘Ah.’ Kayne stared at the tart he was just raising to his mouth and placed it carefully back down on the table.
Isaac began to say something else, but a loud explosion suddenly shook the room, cutting him off. ‘The hell’s that?’ Kayne muttered.
Isaac’s obsidian eyes narrowed. ‘It came from the avenue,’ he said.
They hurried out of the dining chamber and into the throne room. Screams were coming from outside the palace. Moments later the harsh percussive ra-ta-ta-ta of a Fade weapon reverberated up the avenue. It seemed to go on forever, an endless snarl that cut off the screams until only silence remained.
Kayne joined the surge of men and women emptying the throne room and hurrying down the hallway to the palace gates. Magnar lurched along behind, the effects of too much wine obvious in his wavering steps. ‘Stick close to me,’ Kayne whispered.
They exited the palace and stopped dead, staring in shock at the carnage on the avenue before them. The celebrants were fleeing the palace, a vast tide of city folk scattering in all directions. Dozens of bodies were twitching on the ground amidst spreading pools of blood. The Whitecloaks had been ruthlessly slaughtered, mown down by the terrifying white-haired Fade and the blue-cloaked female making their determined way down the avenue towards the palace.
‘Saverian,’ whispered Isaac beside Kayne. ‘Melissan.’ The dread in the Adjudicator’s voice as he spoke their names made the old Highlander’s blood turn cold. Saverian’s shoulder-cannon was raised before him, smoke pouring from the barrel. Melissan held a hand-cannon in each of her hands.
‘General, what is the meaning of this?’
Isaac demanded. ‘This... this is murder.’
‘Stand down, Adjudicator,’ barked Saverian, continuing his advance. ‘This is not your concern.’
Despite the immense power in that ancient voice, Isaac took a step towards his commander. ‘Prince Obrahim promised no harm would come to these people,’ he said.
Saverian’s mouth twisted in anger. ‘In this, my brother’s judgement is flawed. I am the shield that defends our people from harm. I am the sword that has vanquished every threat for five thousand years.’
Like moonlight and shadow, the White Lady and Thanates emerged together from the palace beside Kayne. Carn Bloodfist suddenly loomed behind him and he could hear the other Highlanders readying their weapons, steel sliding from sheaths. Kayne reached over his shoulder, unsheathed his own greatsword.
‘Look at them,’ Saverian continued, contempt flowing from him like poison. ‘God-killers. Genocidal old men. A crippled wizard who ought to have died long ago. I do not see the child of murder or the mutant girl among this sorry gathering – but know that they too shall face judgement. They are all monsters.’ Saverian tossed aside his shoulder-cannon and reached down to draw his crystal sword. ‘For five thousand years I have protected our people,’ he proclaimed. His voice was as sharp as the blade in his hand. ‘I do not parley with monsters. I slay them.’
‘Sir,’ Isaac tried again. ‘Prince Obrahim gave his word. Our word.’
‘This is not a course I choose lightly, Adjudicator,’ grated the white-haired commander. ‘Before even my prince’s wishes, my responsibility is to keep my people safe. I will not suffer a potential threat to live. To grow stronger. To one day bring us harm. Get out of my way.’
‘I will not.’ Suddenly, Isaac had his own crystal sword in his hand. He looked beyond Saverian to Melissan, who trailed a few feet behind the general. ‘Sister,’ he pleaded. ‘You cannot do this.’
Melissan hesitated for a second. Then her eyes narrowed. Her voice was heavy with spite. ‘Humanity is poison – and those you seek to defend are the most virulent poison of all. Do as Saverian commands, brother. Stand aside.’
‘No.’
‘Then you leave me no choice,’ said Saverian. ‘It seems I must add betrayer-of-kin to this grim company of which you are so enraptured. Defend yourself.’ The general raised his sword.
Everything seemed to happen at once. The two Fade came together in a deadly dance, crystal swords blazing red in the light of the sun. The White Lady began to utter words of power – but as she raised her hands, the silver light wreathing her fingers flickered and died. Kayne turned to his countrymen, began to yell at them to move forward and protect the two wizards.
Just then the White Lady jerked. The bloody end of a sword emerged through her stomach. Holding the other end of the weapon was none other than Brandwyn the Younger.
The Magelord stumbled back, staring at the hilt protruding from her waist in confusion. She raised her hands, but once again her magic flickered and died. ‘Powdered abyssium,’ said Brandwyn calmly. He took a step to the side and a dozen members of the Consult came forward. Each held a knife that must have been concealed in their robes. Among them was the woman who had handed the White Lady and Thanates the goblets back in the throne room. ‘We slipped it into your wine,’ Brandwyn explained. ‘A gift from General Saverian. As were these thralls.’
As one the Consult assassins closed on the Magelord of Thelassa, knives raised. Without warning, the warriors loyal to Brandwyn began to cut down their opposite numbers from the West Reaching, many of whom were too drunk to offer much resistance.
‘You treacherous fuck!’ Carn growled. Oathkeeper was in his massive hands. ‘Why?’ he asked, the shrieks from the weapon echoing his rage. He tried to reach his opposite number from the Green Reaching, but several Greenmen blocked his path.
Brandwyn fell back, slipping behind a huge warrior with a double-headed axe. ‘Peace,’ he hissed. ‘This land needs peace, not war. Men like you, men like the Sword of the North – you bring nothing but death. Magelords, wizards – they bring nothing but disaster. This is a new age, and you and your ilk have no place in it.’
Half the Consult assassins were suddenly wreathed in black fire, their clothes burning away, the flesh beneath melting like hot wax. Thanates faced them, utter fury twisting his features. He staggered as an arrow appeared, quivering, in his back. There was an archer among Brandwyn’s men. He was already reaching for another arrow.
Kayne saw a warrior dashing towards him. He turned aside the man’s thrust, reversing his parry and hamstringing his would-be killer in a single motion. He was about to finish him off when Magnar cried out.
His son was on the floor, a sword sticking out of his back. As if in a dream, or a nightmare, Kayne watched helplessly as Brandwyn’s man tugged his sword free with a wet sound, crimson droplets raining down.
The bottom seemed to fall out of the world. Kayne stumbled towards Magnar, cut down the warrior standing over him without a second thought. He bent down and gathered his son in his arms.
Magnar coughed, blood flecking his lips. All around them the fighting raged but Kayne cared not for any of it. He held Magnar close, tears blurring his eyes, every ragged gasp from his son’s chest breaking his heart that little bit further.
Finally he looked up. Saw the White Lady on her knees, her wedding dress in bloody tatters. She’d been stabbed a dozen times and still the assault continued, knives plunging into her again and again, splashes of her blood painting the white marble, the white robes of the thralls dressed as her servants, whom Saverian had somehow planted among the Consult.
Thanates stumbled towards his new wife, three arrows sticking out of him. Black fire burst from his hands, incinerating the remaining assassins.
He was too late. The Magelord of Thelassa blinked once, her purple eyes uncomprehending. Then she sank to the ground, her head striking the marble softly, ruined wedding dress settling around her like a shroud. As graceful dying as she had been in life.
The wizard-king of Dalashra knelt over her body as it began to crack. Golden light spilled from the last Magelord of the Trine, just as it had from Salazar and the Shaman. Returning to the heavens from where it had been stolen five centuries ago.
Like a bell tolling their doom, Isaac cried out. Kayne saw Saverian’s crystal blade burst through the Adjudicator’s body. The general thrust his dying officer aside and stalked towards the blind wizard kneeling over the White Lady.
Despite the arrows sticking out of him, somehow Thanates rose. A wordless roar escaped his lips and he hurled a raging stream of black fire at the implacable general. It would have burned any mortal man to a crisp in an instant, yet General Saverian did not slow. His sneer turned into a grimace as the magical assault singed his ebony cloak and caused smoke to rise from his white hair. But it could not touch his flesh. He was beyond magic, it seemed.
The stream of fire died. Saverian calmly knelt and retrieved his shoulder-cannon, aiming it at the eyeless mage. As if sensing what was about to happen, Thanates began to shift shape, changing into his crow form, rising into the sky on midnight wings.
He was a fraction too slow. The ra-ta-ta-ta-ta of Saverian’s terrible weapon split the air and feathers exploded from the shapeshifted mage, who plummeted back to the earth and began shifting back into his human form.
Beside the body of his wife, the bloody and torn figure of Thanates twitched. Tried to raise his eyeless face.
Saverian’s booted foot slammed down on his neck, choking the life from him. With a final spasm, the wizard-king of Dalashra died.
Kayne knelt, Magnar’s head in his lap, staring numbly at the carnage. Burned and butchered corpses littered the ground. Carn’s men were all dead, only the mighty chieftain himself left standing. He was hopelessly surrounded by eight of Brandwyn’s warriors, though two were dead at his feet. Magnar’s breathing was growing weaker by the second.
Brandwyn met Kayne’s eyes. There was something like shame there.
Then Saverian’s voice rang out.
‘Let this chieftain face me,’ the general ordered, gesturing at Carn. The warriors surrounding Carn fell back and the huge chieftain slowly turned, massive chest rising and falling. He frowned at the white-haired immortal.
Saverian sneered and raised his crystal blade. ‘Show me,’ he growled. ‘Show me the best of what humanity can offer.’
Carn’s dark eyes narrowed. He approached Saverian cautiously, Oathkeeper held in a defensive posture. The Fade general’s own stance was casual, almost lazy in comparison. Suddenly Carn moved, as swift as a snake, aiming a powerful thrust at Saverian’s chest.
Saverian’s counter was too fast to follow. His sword flashed once, twice. Carn stumbled back, blood blossoming on his stomach. On his arm. He tried again, attacking with all his ferocity, all his prodigious strength, but skilled though he was, the chieftain of the West Reaching was completely outmatched. Soon he was covered in wounds, red ribbons dissecting his leather armour, carving open his flesh. Oathkeeper dropped from his nerveless fingers, clattering to the bloody marble. He collapsed to one knee, gasping wetly.
Saverian towered over Carn. ‘Your best,’ he said contemptuously, ‘is predictably worthless.’ The general’s crystal sword flashed and Carn’s head fell away from his shoulders, his corpse hitting the avenue with a loud thud. Then the general bent down and retrieved Oathkeeper, staring at the runes carved into the blade with something like amusement. ‘A child’s toy,’ he announced.