The Trials of Trass Kathra

by Mike Wild

  “They’re bloody everywhere,” Brundle growled. “But I’d have bet me left bollock they wouldn’t have survived.”

  “Then that’s a bollock you owe me,” Kali said, then pulled a face. “On second thoughts, never mind.”

  Brundle frowned and was off again, this time bypassing a number of vertispys, heading for one high in his labyrinth. As he rotated the spy he muttered softly to himself before jolting to a halt, clearly having spotted something.

  “Impossible,” he growled. “They made it to Horizon Point.”

  “Horizon Point?”

  “Strictly speaking, Event Horizon Point. But that’s another story.”

  “It would be.”

  Kali determined the only way she was going to find out what was going on was to see for herself, and she shoved the dwarf out of the way. She saw the surface through a scratched and smudged lens half overgrown by vegetation. The view it offered was of the summit of the island, where, as seen from the scuttlebarge, the massive, observatory like dome was perched. She could see now that it wasn’t an observatory at all, or at least had no opening to allow the projection of a cosmoscope, nor any sign of one even closed. The only detail she could make out on the convex structure was a deeply etched layer of flowing and complex runes that pulsed with raw power, and the mere sight of them made the hairs of her neck stand on end and sent a shiver down her spine. She guessed this was the ‘cap’ for the Thunderflux that Brundle had told her about.

  Her attention was drawn by a flicker of activity to the right. Turning the vertispy, she saw what she guessed was Horizon Point itself, the great, thrusting clifftop she’d first seen from the scuttlebarge. Flanked by six shadowmages whose arms moved in a complex dance, presumably manipulating threads, a figure stood at the very edge of the clifftop, facing out to sea. The figure’s arms were thrust out, as if trying to embrace the sky, and the flowing mane and black robes immediately identified it as Bastian Redigor.

  “Do yer mind?” Jerragrim Brundle protested. “This is my bloody vertispy.”

  “Shush!” Kali chided him. “What the hells is he doing?”

  “I don’t know. Let me see.”

  “No.”

  “You are beginnin’ to get on me tits.”

  “I get on most people’s tits. Deal with it.”

  Brundle grumbled as the reason for Kali’s dismissive response kept her glued to the spy. It was true that the dwarf obviously knew a great deal more about the Hel’ss Spawn than she did, but having heard what he’d told her about it she doubted even he’d seen it act this way. Rising from the sea far below were great patches of the viscous, milk-white substance they’d barely avoided in the swirlpools. Here, though, they had formed themselves into one semi-liquid mass that, if it resembled anything at all, looked like a jellyfish standing to attention. Any comic effect this might have engendered was, however, dispelled by the size of the thing. Towering far higher than the clifftop, and just as wide, it could have been some vast, organic cloud, and it made the silhouette of Redigor seem like that of an ant.

  The Hel’ss Spawn swayed curiously, almost languorously, above him, blotting out the sky.

  Its presence didn’t seem to phase Redigor one bit.

  The elf appeared to be trying to bargain with it.

  “What’s happenin’?” Brundle prompted.

  Kali told him.

  “Impossible. That thing’s a lump o’ sludge, driven by instinct alone. It doesn’t bargain.”

  “Maybe that’s how it’s been all these years,” Kali said. “But maybe now the Hel’ss itself is back, things are different.”

  “You mean he’s using the spawn as some kind o’ conduit ta talk wi’ our friend up there? But why? What could he possibly want from it?”

  “I think the more worrying question is what could he possibly offer it,” Kali said. “Wait – something’s happening.”

  Kali returned her full attention to the view of Horizon Point and saw that the prisoners Brundle had earlier observed on the steps had now reached the summit. They were being assembled by their guards on a patch of open ground that sloped up to the clifftop, each and every one of them staring about them in helpless confusion. Kali didn’t like what she was seeing one bit, even less so when roughly a quarter of the group – Ronin Larson and Jurgen Pike among them – were separated from the others and force marched up the slope to stand behind Redigor. By the slight movements of his body, Kali could tell that the elf was once more speaking with the Hel’ss Spawn, but with his back turned she didn’t have a clue what he was saying.

  “Dammit,” Kali snapped. “Brundle, can you get any sound on this thing?”

  “Aye,” Brundle said, reluctantly. “But if that is the Hel’ss Spawn up there, ah wouldn’t like ta say what yer might hear.”

  He popped down a couple of earpieces, and Kali listened. Unfortunately, at the distance the vertispy sat, whatever there was to be heard was swept away by the wind that buffeted the promontory.

  “No good,” Kali said. “Can you turn it up?”

  “Up? No. But ah can get closer.”

  “Closer?”

  Kali heard the dwarf fiddling with more controls behind her back, and a second later something moved into view before the vertispy. It looked very much like an ear trumpet, and, trailing what appeared to be a hosepipe behind it, skittered towards Redigor on tiny, mechanical legs. Kali shook her head in the manner of someone who was seeing things, because as much as she applauded Brundle’s inventiveness, there were some things that were just too weird.

  The peculiar device did, though, do the trick.

  “... and I bring these people before you as a foretaste of what is to come!” she heard Redigor announce. “The first of many I can bring to you in advance of your arrival. Think of it. Of the strength you’ll gain. Of how much easier it will be to challenge the other!”

  The other? Kali thought. Hadn’t Redigor once called the Hel’ss ‘the other’? If that was the case, did he now mean Kerberos? But what was he talking about – challenge?

  “A whole Church – no, a whole religion!” Redigor went on. “The largest religion on this planet – the Final Faith! Hundreds of thousands of followers, all of whom once followed their Anointed Lord, but, through her, now follow me. Hundreds of thousands who have but a single mind – mine!”

  Redigor’s ego clearly hadn’t diminished since he’d been chopped in half, Kali mused. But it wasn’t the ego that was important here, was it? It was the position he was in. Now that he was, apparently, the power behind the throne of the Final Faith, it was just possible that he could influence the majority of the population of the peninsula, whether directly or indirectly, and through belief or through fear. The question was, why would he want to?

  “They can follow you, too!” Redigor’s rant continued. “Follow you, who, because of me, they believe to be the herald of your enemy! Give themselves to you, willingly, in the ritual they mistakenly call Ascension!”

  Oh gods, Kali thought. Was that was this was about? Redigor up to his old tricks – some kind of exchange that would once again resurrect his psychopathic elven ‘family’, the Ur’Raney? But, no, that couldn’t be, could it, because the souls of his people were with Kerberos. She’d seen them dragged back into its azure clouds kicking and screaming herself.

  “And all I ask,” Redigor requested, “is that I be remade as what I once was. That I walk this world in my own form once more. That I live!”

  What? Kali thought. That’s it? All this was about was Baz getting himself a makeover? One lousy, should-have-been-long-dead Ur’Raney pleading for the chance of a few more years of torture, incest and bloodletting? Why would an entity like the Hel’ss be interested in a bargain like that? And how – come to that – could it achieve it for him, even if it were?

  Redigor’s address to the Hel’ss Spawn seemed to be over for the moment, and Kali watched as the viscous behemoth swayed slightly before him, offering no sign of reaction at all. That’s right,
blobbo, she encouraged it, send him home with a flea in his would-be pointy ear. Of all the stupid, ridiculous...

  The Hel’ss Spawn folded itself over Redigor and his shadowmages and – Kali could think of no other word for it – licked the group of prisoners assembled directly behind them. The lick stripped the flesh cleanly from their bones and twenty five or more skeletons stood there for a second before collapsing to the ground with a clattering sound that Kali thought she might remember forever. The last thing she saw was Redigor’s shadowmage retinue gesticulating at the sky beyond the Hel’ss Spawn – where loomed the red sphere of the Hel’ss itself – and firing what she recognised as souls in its direction. Then she staggered back from the vertispy, collapsed against the cave wall and vomited.

  “Oh, shite,” Brundle said. “I thought it might come to this.”

  “It isn’t what you think,” Kali said, taking deep breaths. “This wasn’t just the Hel’ss Spawn, it was the Hel’ss itself. It murdered them – murdered two of my friends. It’s actually made a bargain with Redigor. Something about being strengthened, about a challenge, and about being able to remake him. Does than make sense to you?”

  Brundle moved to the vertispy to see for himself. “Aye, it makes sense. All apart from why Redigor should want to be remade. Inta what?”

  Kali laughed, a little bitterly. “Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t I tell you? Redigor isn’t what he seems. You might think you’re looking at Prince Jakub Tremayne Freel of the Allantian Royal Family but one year ago he was possessed by Bastian Redigor, otherwise known as the Faith’s First Enemy, the Pale Lord.”

  Brundle started. So violently that his head thudded into the hood above the eyepiece. He pretended it hadn’t happened, though, and kept his grip firmly fixed to the vertispy’s handles, his eyes steadfastly on the lens.

  “Ah thought that name sounded familiar,” he growled. “That elf’s meddlin’ in things he has no business being near.”

  “Brundle, we have to get the rest of my people out of there, before more of them die. What can we do?”

  The dwarf disengaged himself from the vertispy, flipped up its handles and thrust the pipe back up into the ceiling.

  “What we can do is get that bastard off me bloody island.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something? Redigor has a small army up there.”

  “Don’t you worry, lass,” Brundle replied. “The Missus’ll take care of everything.”

  “The Missus?” Kali said in disbelief as Brundle led her at some speed back through the underground warren. “The Missus? What the hells is Brogma going to do? Stab them with knitting needles? Beat them with wet thrap? Or is it more than coincidence that thrap rhymes with crap?”

  “Just wait and see, lass.”

  “No, Jerry, no. No, no, no,” Kali persisted. “I finally find myself in the place that’s meant to provide me with all the answers and what have I had since I’ve arrived? Riddles, half-truths, hints of mysterious chats with someone who as far as I know might be a figment of your imagination. So tell me now – how exactly is Brogma going to take care of everything?”

  At that moment they re-entered the main cave. Brogma gave them a cheery wave with her needles. Brundle waved back but continued on through the cave, leading Kali into yet another series of tunnels on its other side.

  “Brundle, answer me!”

  The dwarf span to face her, beard jangling, all three nostrils flaring, face redder than any face she’d seen before. She took an involuntary step back.

  “Have ye no respect for yer elders? By the farting denizens of Tapoon, what’s happened to patience these days?”

  “Patience? I’ve been waiting a year to find out what the pits is going on.”

  Brundle snorted. “A year? A whole year? Bah! Try waiting a few millennia.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Let’s just say that caretakin’s a full time job, eh?”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute. When you told me the caretaker had been waiting for me since the day the Old Races died, I thought you were talking generally. I mean about the role.”

  “Well, in a way ah suppose ah was...”

  “But now you’re telling me you’re the only one who’s occupied that role?”

  “Aye, that’s what ah’m tellin’ yer. An’ yer know what’s the worst about it? No farkin’ bastard’s ever presented me wi’ so much as a carriage clock.”

  “I –”

  “Now,” Brundle barked, making her jump. “Will yer let me do me farking job?”

  Brundle continued his march through the tunnels, Kali dogging him every inch of the way.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  “What’s not to believe? Yer met Tharnak at the Crucible didn’t ye? He survived. And that pointy-eared bastard upstairs. Him as well.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How is it different?” Brundle growled.

  Kali shrugged as she moved. “Well, Tharnak was the result of experimentation by some of the greatest minds of the Old Races, and the Pale Lord is an ancient and powerful sorcerer with all of the dark threads at his command. You – well, you’re just an obnoxious, little arsehole who moans and farts a lot.”

  “Hmph. Why don’t yer tell me what yer really think of me?”

  “Okay,” Kali said, warming to the subject, “why don’t –”

  She stopped as Brundle entered a large chamber carved, as far as she could tell, at the far end of the subterranean labyrinth. The reason for her sudden cessation of hostilities was that in the few seconds in which Brundle had preceded her, he’d wasted no time in tugging another embarrassingly flowery dust-shrouded curtain from before a long recess carved into the chamber wall. The way he slapped the curtain to the ground and glared at her left Kali in no doubt that he was hoping – really hoping – that this would shut her up.

  It did the trick. Kali stared open-mouthed at the number of dark shapes, ten of them, that were standing immobile in the shadows of the recess. Squat, humanoid shapes, though forged of metal, some of them missing parts of an arm or a leg, they were all similar in one startling respect. They all wore the face of Brogma.

  “Hello, my beauties,” Brundle said.

  The figures were so old, so neglected, that Kali was sure Brundle didn’t expect a response. But then she staggered back as a slight glow lit their eyes and, as one, the figures stamped a foot onto the ground in recognition of the dwarf’s greeting. A heavy and metallic crunch brought a fall of dust from the ceiling.

  “What the hells is this?” Kali said, stepping back some more.

  “Don’t you worry,” Brundle said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Nothing to be afraid of?” Kali repeated.

  It was all right Brundle saying that, but what she had just witnessed had brought a pang of recognition and fear she thought she would never feel again. The shape of these things, the way they were constructed, their very aura. The last time she had seen monsters like these they were being left to rot in the floodwaters of Martak after she had put paid to their would-be resurrectionist, Konstantin Munch.

  Smaller and squatter they might be, but in every other respect it was like looking at the army of the Clockwork King.

  “The Brogmas won’t hurt you, lass,” Brundle insisted. “Come on, come closer.”

  Kali hesitated, then did as bade. She studied the Brogmas’ faces – their identical faces – noting they seemed made of some flexible rubbery material. They were in varying states of decay, and if she had to hazard a guess she’d have said each of them had been stored here after being active at different times in the past.

  They weren’t the only Brogmas stored here either. Brundle whipped away coverings from further recesses all around. There were more Brogmas in each; in some Brogmas who had all but rotted away. Kali wasn’t sure whether to be shocked, disturbed or, when she saw how tenderly Brundle looked at them, deeply saddened.

  “Smoothskin, ah’d like ta
present wife thirty-three,” he said, gesturing at one. And then, at others in no particular order or without any favouritism, “Wife nineteen, fifty one, three...”

  “Jerry,” Kali interrupted. “What have you done here?”

  The dwarf wiped his beard, snagging his bells so that they were pulled up silently and then flopped back with a dull tinkle.

  “Made meself some company, lass, what else.”

  “Company?” Kali said. She hated to refer in such a manner to the constructs which the dwarf regarded with obvious affection but she could see no other way. “But these things. They remind me of a place. A place I wished I never had to go.”

  “M’Ar’Tak,” Brundle said. “It’s where ah learned mah trade.”

  Kali stared at him, everything falling into place even as she struggled to accept it. The sheer number of Brogmas before her, like the deceased members of a family entombed for generation after generation, back to the start of their lineage. The tree trunk whose annotations, now she came to think about it, had all been written in the same hand. But most of all, Brundle’s tale about the attack of the Hel’ss Spawn on the Thunderflux. It wasn’t as if he’d been lost in memory, he had been lost in memory.

  “My gods, you really have been here all the time. Jerry, how can you be so old?”

  Brundle pulled back his shirt and rapped a fist on his chest. There was a metallic clang. “Mechanical ticker. Doesn’t last for ever but every few hundred years Brogma gives it a service.”

  “You worked with Belatron,” Kali said, still struggling with the implications. “Belatron the Butcher, the architect of the Clockwork King.”

  “Aye. But don’t you worry. It didn’t take me long to work out what a psycho he was. Upped and left wi’ me tools, wandered the world and eventually ended up here.”

  “But you were there when –?”

  “The Ur’Raney drove the dwarves into the sea? Aye, ah was. Which is why you’ll forgive me for me temper. This has become a wee bit personal.”