Devil's Night Dawning: The First Book of the Broken Stone Series

by Damien Black

  ‘At that, the legend has it, Cael proceeded to amaze his elders by reciting various dialogues in the Old Sassanic tongue. After that the chieftains, druids and high priestesses needed no further convincing, and Cael was despatched to bear the fourth fragment to the Far South and find whatever resting place for it as he might. None of the mariners or warriors who went with him ever returned, and for generations it was thought the boat had floundered beneath the waves, taking the fragment with it to the bottom of the ocean.’

  ‘Would that not have been the best method of disposal?’ asked Visigard. ‘Not just for the fourth fragment, but for all four of them? The ocean deeps seem fairly remote from the touch of men, after all.’

  Horskram shook his head. ‘Many a wise man has suggested that,’ he answered. ‘But the waters of the world are not without their own denizens, and who is to say what submarine wickedness the Headstone might have wreaked if it had fallen into the hands of the Seakindred or the Tritons that keep their watery kingdoms beneath the waves? And as we have recently been reminded, there are warlocks who know only too well how to command the sea.’

  Visigard sat back frowning, the self-congratulatory expression erased from his whiskered face. Horskram went on with his account.

  ‘In any case, slender but significant tales that emerged from the Sassanian lands in subsequent centuries suggest that Cael did indeed reach his destination. These are desert stories, whispered fearfully by the elders of nomadic tribes as the wind ravages their tents at night. They speak of wayfarers lost in the parching heat, who espy an oasis on the horizon. Stumbling joyfully into its bowers they see that they are not alone, for by the sparkling pool sits a hunched and emaciated figure, who shivers uncontrollably despite the blazing heat.

  ‘Approaching gingerly they forget their raging thirst, as a naked fear dries their throats more rapidly than any sun could. For the skeletal figure before them is barely human, more ghost than man; his skin hangs off his gnarled bones in strips as he stares at his newfound companions with eyes that hang loosely in their sockets, speaking silently of centuries of hardship and suffering.

  ‘Clutched tightly to his chest is what appears to be a lump of stone the size of a man’s torso, bearing strange markings. Through near fleshless lips he mouths words in a cracked and heavily accented voice, words that float across time and space to the ears of the transfixed listener. And as the fireside tales have it, those words say: “Will you please take my burden from me? I have borne it so long, you see, and it is so cold and heavy. I long to part with it, and yet I find I cannot give it freely...”’

  Horskram sat back, his story done. Several of the council members exchanged fearful glances. Lorthar made the sign again. ‘A foul and cursed thing,’ he muttered. ‘Would that such an evil had not fallen into our times.’

  ‘It has been with us since the world was young,’ said Horskram. ‘But at least from Cael’s story we can take one small crumb of comfort – the fourth fragment is lost to humanity, for the time being at least.’

  ‘But a sorcerer powerful enough to conjure up demons and perhaps communicate with henchmen across great distances will not be confounded forever, I fear,’ suggested Holfaste.

  ‘No indeed,’ acknowledged Horskram. ‘That is why the sooner we tell the Grand Master of this, the better. I don’t say that Hannequin is omniscient, but he will have a better idea of what to do about this than anyone I can think of.’

  ‘Might I ask,’ said Lorthar coldly, addressing the King, ‘if the Grand Master of the Argolians is so all-wise and powerful, why Your Majesty has bothered to summon me here? It seems that respect for the True Temple is at a low ebb in this room – hardly surprising in a nation that increasingly seems to put king before god!’

  ‘The True Temple has thrived well enough under my rule,’ replied Freidheim coldly. ‘Just don’t expect me and my heirs to dance to its tune – your temples and your priories, aye and your monasteries too, stand on my soil! But to answer your question in a manner that I trust will satisfy your pride, you are here because this mission needs your help. Without it, it may not succeed. Horskram, now I believe is the time for your petition.’

  If he was nervous, the adept showed no sign of it as he looked across the table at Lorthar and said: ‘Your High Holiness, as you have already heard, we have been doggedly pursued by hellspawn ever since we discovered the theft. Perhaps I am wrong to insist that alerting our headquarters is a priority – as I have already said, Hannequin is not omniscient. But through the ages I think that our Order has proven its ability to fight the powers of darkness, and its mightiest and wisest members are in Rima. The Island Realms need to be warned that somebody is trying to reunite the Headstone. Graukolos must be visited, its master and his servants questioned, the scene of the crime there examined closely for clues. The final fragment remains a mystery but we must also decide what to do about it – whether it is wiser to try to find it ourselves before our unknown warlock does, or hope that the druids prove better guardians of the third piece and that the fourth is never found.

  ‘These are decisions that must be taken by all the relevant parties – I have little doubt that once informed Hannequin will inform the Supreme Perfect in Rima anyway, but now that you know I will understand if you choose to notify him yourself. I leave that in your hands, and in any case until this rebellion is crushed they will be tied just as ours are. But know that I mean to continue with my journey after this war is over – our King has granted me permission to do so. I intend to travel to Rima via Graukolos as planned.’

  The Arch Perfect shrugged. ‘So what of it, monk? I cannot stop you, but why should your travelling plans be of any concern to me?’

  ‘As you may have fathomed from my story, whoever is behind the theft at the monastery knows that we know, and has wanted us dead since then,’ replied Horskram. ‘Lorthar, think on it – why are there no devils knocking down our walls by night? Why has the thing that pursued us so relentlessly since Ulfang not maligned us since we arrived within the girdle of the Strang Ranges?’

  ‘Perhaps this sorcerer has realised that you meant to forswear your secrecy – indeed it has proved so,’ answered Lorthar. ‘Now your secret is known by some of the most powerful people in the realm – there is no point in killing you any more.’

  ‘Aye, some of what you say is true enough,’ Horskram had to allow. ‘But I cannot take that chance – a black magician trying to reunite the Headstone would still have good reason for eliminating a meddlesome monk who insists on alerting the most powerful members of his Order. If he kills us, he may only delay the inevitable now that all here know of the theft, but every day’s delay buys him or her more time to find the other pieces he seeks! Lorthar, I think you know what it is I am asking you. You must give me a drop of the Redeemer’s blood.’

  The Arch Perfect laughed. It was not a pretty sound, harsh and cynical and full of malice it seemed to Adelko.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, still chuckling. ‘I think you grey friars have spent over much time at the lectern and not enough preaching the word of the Redeemer! What nonsensical poet’s lays have you been reading, Horskram – even an Argolian should know better than to believe in such myths! I must confess I had wondered what this “sanctuary” yon faerie spirits spoke of during your ungodly audience was supposed to be referring to! But tell me, are you really such a blasphemous fool as to pay any heed to the rhyming words of the false fays of Tintagael?’

  ‘Nevertheless it has long been rumoured that the blood of Palom is in your keeping,’ countered Horskram levelly. ‘It is said it was first brought here by the Seventh Acolyte Alysius – why, the most sacrosanct part of Strongholm Temple is named after him.’

  The Arch Perfect had resumed his sniggering. ‘Really, Horskram, you genuinely surprise me! I have long suspected the grey friars of iniquitous doings, but I had never thought them gullible enough to be taken in by such fireside tales!’

  He seemed genuinely amused, but Adelko sensed there was so
mething beneath the scornful mockery, a palpable unease. The priest was hiding something.

  Holfaste and Horskram must also have been served by their sixth sense, for both monks now pressed their religious rival.

  ‘And yet if it be myth, how indeed does one explain the dearth of possessions, witchcraft and other diabolical happenings within the Strang Ranges?’ asked Holfaste pointedly. ‘As Prior of the local chapter I can assure you my tenure has not been a particularly eventful one – the only cases we have ever been called upon to investigate lay beyond the ranges.’

  ‘And with good reason,’ chimed Horskram. ‘That is because the power of the Redeemer protects this corner of the King’s Dominions – it is a blessing from Reus that His Prophet should be with us in the flesh. A blessing you and your forebears have jealously guarded for centuries, fearing that your rivals in Rima might try to wrest it from you.’

  ‘This is pure nonsense!’ cried the Arch Perfect. ‘Invidious lies, designed to stir up hatred against the Mother Temple! Your Majesty, I call upon you to arrest these men for defamation!’

  ‘We are not trying to defame the Temple,’ said Horskram. ‘We are merely trying to fathom the truth. I have long suspected that the legend is true, that the far-flung city of the north shrouded in mist that the tales of St Alric speak of is none other than Strongholm. The lack of supernatural incursions in the area throughout the ages would certainly bear this out – for only a greater demon of some power would be able to stand the proximity of the Redeemer’s flesh and blood without suffering terrible agonies.’

  ‘Nonetheless, the tale is a myth, and nothing more,’ said Lorthar, looking distinctly uneasy now. ‘There is no such relic in St Alysius’ Bethel – it is the power of the prayers of its perfecthood alone that keeps the devilspawn at bay.’

  ‘I can’t say I’ve ever noticed that being the case on my travels,’ sneered Horskram. ‘And I have journeyed far and wide across the countries of the Known World.’

  ‘Lorthar,’ said the King. ‘I will not pretend I have not heard this rumour either – for it has long been an open secret. As a ruler of men I understand only too well the need to keep one’s precious things hidden, for the connivance of one’s rivals is a thing justly to be feared. But need I remind you that this is a secret council – not one word of what is spoken here shall be breathed to the outside world. If you confirm the legend to be true, I swear to thee by all the saints I shall put to death any who reveal it to anyone outside this room, be they kith or kin of mine. Does this satisfy you?’

  The Arch Perfect looked stubbornly down at the table.

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Lorthar,’ spat Lady Walsa, ‘it’s been a well-known fact for generations that a relic of our saviour is kept within the Temple at Strongholm. We all know you have it, but won’t reveal it because you’re afraid the Supreme Perfect will want it for himself in Rima.’ She fixed him with a penetrating stare. ‘Come come, man, we may not agree on everything, but we’re all good Northlendings – do you really think we’d do something that would jeopardise our Temple here for the benefit of those dreadful Pangonians?’

  ‘Lady Walsa has the right of it,’ added Holfaste. ‘Think on what she has said, your High Holiness, there is a ring of truth to it.’

  ‘Indeed,’ put in Horskram. ‘You will know full well after what I and my ilk suffered at their hands that I am no friend to the Pangonian perfecthood either.’

  The Arch Perfect stared at the mahogany table for what seemed a long time. Then he spoke.

  ‘I do not say that what you have said is true, but let us suppose for the sake of argument that it is. You want the Strongholm Temple to do what it has not done since St Alric came begging for a drop of Palom’s blood, that his liege Vasirius might be cured of the White Blood Witch’s curse. What it did for a saint you would have it do for you, a monk of an Order that is no friend of ours.’

  ‘Sir Alric was but a knight when he came into this land on his sacred mission,’ Horskram reminded him. ‘And as to the lack of friendship between the monks of St Argo and the Temple perfects, whose fault is that? We did not level faulty accusations of witchcraft, aye though we suffered for such at the hands of the Temple!’

  ‘In any case it is not only the Argolians you would resent giving a portion of Strongholm’s most precious relic to,’ put in Holfaste. ‘You fear that if you give it to Horskram it risks falling into the hands of your brethren at the Supreme Temple in Rima.’

  ‘And with good reason,’ snarled Lorthar. ‘Considering the Temple at Rima was found to contain a nest of idolators and devil-worshippers in its very midst!’

  ‘At the very trial you decried but a moment ago as us turning the tables on the Temple!’ cried Horskram in exasperation. ‘Where will your circular reasoning end, Lorthar?’

  ‘There is nothing circular about it,’ replied the Arch Perfect. ‘I did not deny the actual existence of a diabolical cult within the Mother Temple – I merely suggested it was very convenient that the Argolians managed to deflect the accusations mounted against them by uncovering devil worshippers within the Pangonian Temple!’

  ‘We disproved the accusations before we rooted out the demonologists in the Temple who had denounced us in the first place!’ said Holfaste, growing angry again. ‘But you know this well enough, Lorthar – now you are twisting facts to suit your own ends.’

  ‘You will refer to me as your High Holiness, Prior,’ said Lorthar venomously. ‘And I am twisting nothing, for the Almighty shines the light of truth in the eyes of His most faithful subjects. The truth is that the Temple at Rima has fallen into corrupt ways, just as the Argolian Order has – only the pure perfecthood of Northalde can be entrusted with so precious a relic as the blood of the Redeemer himself.’

  Prior Holfaste shook his head exasperatedly. Lady Walsa sneered contemptuously. ‘The pure perfecthood of Northalde, don’t make me laugh – the only thing that’s pure about you is that platinum circlet you think it’s your duty to flaunt in Reus’ name. And the only light shining in your eyes is that from the gems dangling off your fingers. A blinding light it is too!’

  ‘I must say very well put, my lady,’ said Horskram softly, just as Wolmar rose from his seat and shouted: ‘How dare you speak to the Arch Perfect like this, cousin Walsa! He is the most sacred personage among us, and that makes him Reus’ deputy in this realm, along with mine uncle the King! You should all be listening to him, not mocking him!’

  ‘Your son is a true knight, Prince Freidhoff,’ said the Arch Perfect, nodding approvingly. The High Commander merely sat stoically as he had done throughout the meeting, and kept his counsel.

  But Lady Walsa was not done yet. ‘I’m your first cousin, once removed, Sir Wolmar,’ she replied acidly. ‘So that’ll be Lady Walsa to you. As for your newfound piety, I’ve yet to be convinced – I think this is another one of your hot-headed endeavours to cause trouble for its own sake. The day you stop bedding tavern wenches and getting them with children you refuse to acknowledge, that’s the day I’ll believe in your Palomedian faith! Really, Freidhoff, you ought to discipline your son better – you’re no better than your brother. In fact the pair of you are hopeless. Too sanguine by far, if you ask me...’

  Lady Walsa launched into one of her infamous diatribes, taking both men to task for ungodly, reckless behaviour on all manner of fronts, while Wolmar choked on rage. The royal brothers did little more than exchange weary looks and shake their heads. When she was done the King got up again.

  ‘Well, thank you cousin, for that instructive moral sermon – I am sure that your great rival in piety Lorthar here could have done little better,’ he said. ‘Now if we could please get back to matters in hand... Your High Holiness, assuming the legend of St Alysius is true, will you not at least consider granting Horskram’s request? These are dark times, if half of what we’ve just heard is to be believed.’

  ‘Assuming said legend is true, which I still do not own, the learned friar managed to get this far witho
ut the Redeemer’s blood,’ answered the perfect stubbornly. ‘Why should he not be able to complete his journey without it?’

  ‘Your High Holiness, as I believe I already suggested when recounting the story of my journey,’ resumed Horskram patiently, ‘whoever conjured up the devil to pursue us was probably already sorely taxed by having to control the first demon that stole the fragment. But with two fragments now spirited away, he or she may well be able to focus all his or her energies on conjuring up a single entity, one that we have no chance of fighting unaided. Adelko and I barely managed to repulse the lesser thing sent after us as it is!’

  ‘But you said the theft took place weeks ago,’ persisted the Arch Perfect. ‘Why surely this unknown sorcerer, this Andragorix or whoever, would have had ample time to spirit the fragment away and then concentrate his or her energies on despatching you long before you reached the sanctuary of Strongholm?’

  ‘A worthy point, your High Holiness,’ said Holfaste. ‘But you forget that the second fragment was also stolen during that time – another demon that needed binding, presumably as powerful as the first. And also, from what we’ve gleaned during witch trials over the years, it can take a black magician weeks to recover from the ordeal of binding the more potent spirits of the Other Side. Horskram is right – it is only a matter of time before our mystery warlock recovers his full powers. My learned colleague has risked much already on our behalf – to abandon him to devilspawn and further jeopardise our mission would be the height of ingratitude and sheer folly!’

  ‘And just who is this mystery warlock, I should like to know?’ said Princess Hjala suddenly. ‘You are all so busy arguing about the reliquary and apportioning blame for the theft that you are overlooking one of the most important issues facing us – learning who is behind it and where they are. Torgun, Tarlquist and Wolmar have already spoken at other councils of the interference of a warlock in our battle against Thule and his rebels – could this Sea Wizard be involved? It seems to me as though the present uprising and Horskram’s mission might well be linked!’