by Mike Wild
Kali stood up. "Look, will you stop it. It's a day for celebration, so why don't we celebrate okay? Enough talk about the end of the farking world."
Moon raised his eyebrows. "Did I mention the end of the world?"
"No, but... oh, look, I don't want to hear any more - really I don't!" Kali shouted, much to Moon's surprise. "I mean, why me, why Kali Hooper, or whatever the hells my true name is? All I ever wanted to do was get drunk, find places and poke around in the dark. Instead, what do I find? That I'm some kind of demi-human, that you died and became some half-ogur thing, that Horse isn't a horse, that Slowhand's sister died, and now - now..."
Moon's surprise at the unexpected outburst turned into a look of concern. "Kali what is it?
"Steaming pits of Kerberos, old man, I'm twenty-three years old. Twenty farking three! I don't want the weight of the whole world on my shoulders!"
"Young lady ..."
"It just isn't fair!"
"Kali ..."
"It isn't farking fair!"
"Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?" Killiam Slowhand said, suddenly behind Kali and taking her by the shoulders. He turned her towards him, surprised to see the tears in her eyes. "Hooper?"
Kali thumped him on the chest, repeatedly, as he drew her close. "Godsdammit, Slowhand, this never ends!"
"Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa, what's the matter, what do you mean. We won didn't we? Didn't we?"
The old man nodded, but his face remained troubled. "This is about something else."
"What?" Slowhand asked Kali, softly. "What is it?"
Kali tensed in his arms but said nothing. And then, after a second, she broke away, grabbed some bottles from the bar and, without a word to he or Moon, headed outside, slamming the door behind her. Slowhand started to follow but Moon stopped him, spinning him around with a hand on his shoulder which, being half ogur, Slowhand could hardly resist.
"Leave her be," he said and then, after a few more moments, led him over to the bar, signalling drinks from Red. "So, young man. Why don't you tell me exactly what your intentions towards my protégé are..."
Outside, Kali leaned for a few seconds with her back against the door, catching her breath. The fact was, her reaction had surprised her as much it had the old man and Slowhand, but she guessed that a bellyful of thwack and the fact that what was on her mind had to out somehow was pretty much responsible for her uncharacteristic display. But what could she tell her friends? She knew full well that she couldn't have done what she'd done over the last few days without their help. So how could she tell them that it might all have been for nothing?
That's right, she thought, nothing.
Gods, she had to talk to someone about this, didn't she? Or she would likely go insane.
Kali drew a deep breath and made her way to the top of the hill beyond the tavern, ignoring the syrupy rain. There, she pushed her way through a gap in the bushes into a small glade, wherein a solitary grave was illuminated by a flash of green lightning. The grave's headstone was carved with one simple word - Horse - and Kali touched it and smiled. It had become her habit to escape up here on the occasional night to tell Horse of the adventures she'd had since he'd been taken. And these chats were usually relaxed, meandering affairs, but the events of these last few days had left her hardly knowing where to start.
Kali slumped with her back to the headstone, cracked a bottle of flummox and began. She told him how the world - her world - had changed so much this past week that he would barely recognise it, and then she told him that what troubled her the most was that she had seen what the Old Races had ultimately been capable of, but that for all their greatness and the levels of technology, they had still been unable to stop whatever it had been that had wiped them out. And if they had been unable to prevent their extinction, then what hope did she and the others have of preventing theirs? Because the threat was as real to them as it had been to the Old Races, she knew that now. She knew that because she had finally realised why the dragon had taken them to the edge of the heavens - it had wanted to show them something. And that something had been a smudge on the side of the sun. With that realisation she had also worked out the purpose of the strange black sphere at the Crucible, the one that had once moved slowly forward on its straight tracks. It had done so because it wasn't a sphere, it was a countdown. A countdown the dwelf had obliquely referred to in the fading moments of his life.
She never had found out why she had been awaited. And she never had found out why she was like she was. And, now, she knew, there was a possibility that she never would.
Kali took a slug of her thwack as she remembered the dwelf's last words once more.
"This world is called Twilight for a reason," he had told her. "Once in an age, to every civilisation, a great darkness comes."
THE END
Mike Wild is much older than he has a right to be, considering the kebabs, the booze and the fags. Maybe it's because he still thinks he's 15. Apart from dabbling occasionally in publishing and editing, he's been a freelance writer for ever, clawing his way up to his current dizzy heights by way of work as diverse as Doctor Who, Masters of the Universe, Starblazer, 'Allo 'Allo! and - erm - My Little Pony. Counting one Teen Romance, one ABC Warriors and two Caballistics Inc, The Crucible of The Dragon God is his sixth novel. However, only his beloved wife and tuna-scoffing cat give him the recognition he deserves.
Now read the first chapter of another exciting novel in the Twilight of Kerberos series...
THE CALL OF KERBEROS
Jonathan Oliver
Chapter One
Stealing a ship from the harbour at Turnitia would have been an audacious enough task in itself, but stealing a vessel belonging to the Final Faith - the dominant religion of the peninsula - was another matter entirely. When Dunsany had first suggested it to Kelos he had stared blankly at him for a moment and then said: "Have you seen what they do to heretics? Have you seen the rather fetching collection of dried flayed skins Makennon keeps as mementos?"
Katherine Makennon was the flame-haired, hot-tempered, Annointed Lord, the leader of the Final Faith. A religious tyrant who kept a firm hand on her church and made sure that its message was heard by all. Whether they wanted to listen or not.
"I may have no love for the Faith, Dunsany, but I rather value my fingernails."
"But we're in a perfect position to do this. We have my contacts on Sarcre and a hiding place that's virtually impossible to find. Besides, who's in a better position to pull this off than the Chief Engineer and the Head Mage on the project?"
The designs for the ship had been found almost a year before in an Elvish ruin near Freiport by an adventurer called Kali Hooper. Hooper had been 'persuaded' to part with her find once Makennon's people had got wind of the importance of the artefact. Ancient texts had spoken of the elve's mastery of the rough seas of Twilight and of how they had ventured far beyond the Storm Wall and the Sarcre Islands but, until now, no reference had been found as to the design of their ships.
And just as Kali Hooper had been persuaded to part with her find, so Dunsany and Kelos had been persuaded to work for Katherine Makennon and the Final Faith.
Dunsany had been working as a shipping engineer in Turnitia for the last ten years, before that he had been the Captain of a merchant vessel plying its trade between Sarcre and Allantia. He was a master of the rough seas that surrounded the peninsula and the ships he sailed, and later designed, were considered to be some of the finest in existence. When the Anclas Territories fell to Vos and the Final Faith tightened its grip on the city, Dunsany was the first person corralled into working for the church's naval division.
The second was Kelos.
With the subjugation of Turnitia, Kelos had considered fleeing across the border to nearby Andon, but before he could act on his decision booted feet had kicked down his door and he had been dragged into the night.
Makennon had heard rumours of the powerful mage who worked his magic at the Turnitia docks; of how his wards pro
tected the ships against the ravages of the Twilight seas and how his mastery of the elements had guided many a battered vessel back to safety. It was true that Kelos's magic was no match for the angry waters beyond the Storm Wall but, even so, it was reckoned that his power was one of the main reasons Turnitia thrived as a harbour town.
When Dunsany had looked up from his diagrams one night to see Kelos standing over him, he had grinned and said: "What took you so long?"
So the two men applied themselves to whatever martitime problem Makennon had thrown their way; Dunsany maintaining the fleet and mapping routes, while Kelos empowered the ships with his charms and wards. The crossed circle of the Final Faith soon became a familiar sight at the docks, as it was painted onto the ships preparing to bring indoctrination to the coastal towns of Twilight.
As the Faith's power had grown, so Kelos and Dunsany's resentment had increased. It was true that they were spiritual men, to a certain degree, but they resented being forced along one path of belief. "All paths lead to Kerberos," Kelos's mother had once said. But if either Dunsany or Kelos dared mention the old ways, the penalty would be severe indeed and they'd soon be joining their ancestors.
And so they strengthened their comradeship in the hatred they held for the church, while maintaining their masks of diligent civility.
With the discovery of the designs for the elf ship, that hatred soon found purpose.
In the Elven tongue it was called the Llothriall and it was a song ship. As Dunsany and Kelos had been presented with the ancient scrolls, containing the designs for the craft, their awe had been palpable to Makennon. Both men had heard of the song ships but neither had ever imagined they'd see the plans for such a vessel. Dunsany had never thought that a ship could be so beautiful, or so difficult to build. As he and Kelos had worked through the list of materials required they realised that the construction of the vessel would be the least part of the project.
The hull was to be composed primarily of iron wood, found only in the Drakengrat mountains. Even with their enchanted armour and cadre of mages, the detachment sent there suffered massive losses when a pride of bamfcats smelt the human meat entering their territory. The pitch required to coat the hull had also been somewhat difficult to source, having to come - as it did - from the veins of the many-spiked, semi-sentient and highly poisonous Spiritine tree. Twenty-five men were sent into the Sardenne and only five made it out. The fate that they suffered, however, was as nothing compared to the torment experienced by the young men and women sent to steal the silk for the sails from the X'lcotl. All forty sent on that mission to the World's Ridge mountains returned, but their minds did not. Their consciousnesses remained with the X'lcotl - now a part of their web - and as those strange creatures traversed the strands, the vibrations echoed out, inducing visions and delirium in the souls captured there. The shells of humans who sat and muttered in the padded cells of the Final Faith would die in time and their bodies would return to the earth, but their souls would always be caught in that terrible web.
The heart of the Llothriall - the great gem whose magic powered the ship - was thankfully already in the possession of the Faith. The iridescent mineral had sat in Katherine Makennon's private quarters and had been used variously over the years, as a footstool, a table and a support for a bookshelf. It was only after the discovery of the designs for the song ship that Makennon realised the worth of the artefact. Originally a General had found it in a field during the war between Vos and Pontaine, and it had been presented to Makennon as a tribute. When Kelos told her what she had, Makennon's estimation of the General was greatly raised. If he had still been alive she may even have made him an Eminence.
The power within the gem, however, required a key to unlock it, and that was where Emuel had come into the picture.
Elf magic was based on song and no human could achieve the pitch required to unlock the stone. No normal human, at least. Emuel had been the priest of a small parish in the Drakengrats. He was devoted to the church and, even through the soft, lilting tones of his voice, he managed to communicate that passion to his congregation. His parishioners had often speculated as to whether elf blood ran in Emuel's veins, for he was unnaturally tall, unusually pale and unquestionably feminine. So it was that his was one of the first names put forward for the role of ship's eunuch; a role that he accepted demurely and gratefully. Once the surgeon's knives had raised the pitch of Emuel's musical tone and the elven runes and songlines were needled into his flesh, Kelos wondered whether that gratitude remained.
The Llothriall's construction was brought through suffering and loss and there was no limit to the number of men and women Katherine Makennon was willing to spend in building the Faith's flagship vessel. Unfortunately, there also seemed to be no limit to the amount of the faithful who were willing to give their lives for the cause. Dunsany and Kelos wouldn't have given their time so freely had it not been for the threat of certain heresies and indiscretions suddenly being 'remembered' by Makennon. Even through their resentment, however, both men couldn't deny the majesty of what was taking shape at the Turnitia docks.
And it was partly because of that, and because of their hatred of the Final Faith and all it stood for, that they planned to steal the Llothriall.
"Makennon can't be allowed to keep it," Dunsany said one evening when they were away from the ears of the faithful. "It's bad enough that they use the regular ships to enforce their beliefs on the coastal towns, but the Llothriall can go further than them. Make no mistake, Makennon isn't planning some altruistic voyage of discovery. She's on a mission of religious conquest."
Kelos stared into the depths of his ale, behind him two sailors were beating a sea shanty into a broken piano. "No one's been beyond the Sarcre Islands before, no ship could survive those seas."
"The Llothriall can and just imagine what it may find."
"New lands."
"New people."
"New races with new ideologies. What do you think will happen, Dunsany, when those ideologies come up against the Final Faith?"
"What do you think?" Dunsany sighed and ran his fingers through his beard. "Gods, whatever happened to discovery for discovery's sake? Why does every pitsing artefact, every pitsing scroll and spell that's unearthed instantly become a weapon in somebody's war?"
"We could always run away to Allantia. Start up a small fishing concern. I could do cantrips for the locals."
Dunsany shook his head and smiled. "Or we could take Makennon's weapon away from her."
This time, when Kelos looked at him, Dunsany could see something like resolve in his eyes. "Discovery for discovery's sake?"
"Discovery for discovery's sake," Dunsany confirmed, raising his tankard. "Cheers."
"Get down!"
Dunsany shoved them behind a crate as the guard rounded the hull of the vast ship and headed their way.
Besides them Emuel whimpered softly, the strange runes and illustrations inked on his body glowing with a blue-black sheen in the Kerberos-lit dusk.
"Was it really necessary to bind him like that?" Kelos whispered, looking over at the shivering tattooed eunuch.
"If he gets away we're buggered, you know that. No one else can sing to that gem and unlock the magic but him. Unless, that is, you'd like me to perform an impromptu operation on you right here?" Dunsany slowly unsheathed his dagger, a disturbing smile playing across his lips.
"No, no that's fine. Really."
It didn't look like Emuel was going to make a break for it though. He'd been close to a state of catatonic shock ever since they had sprung him from the deep cells at Scholten cathedral. All they had to do now was board the ship, make him sing and they were away.
"God's Dunsany, are you sure that this is a good idea? I count three men with crossbows on the foremast and I wouldn't put it past Makennon to have a shadowmage tucked in there somewhere."
"Well then, old friend," Dunsany said, putting an arm around Kelos' shoulder. "You'll just have to weave your magic won't
you? Now, keep Emuel quiet while I take care of this guard."
The guard was coming towards them again, having completed a circuit of the ship. Dunsany knelt down and loaded a quarrel into his crossbow. Slowly, he edged around the crate, carefully drawing a bead on the guard while keeping to the shadows. The weapon was custom made, expertly crafted, and the quarrel made almost no noise as it exited the crossbow and entered the throat of the man in the robes of the Final Faith. Dunsany briefly left cover and grabbed the corpse, pulling it out of sight of the ship.
Emuel looked down at the pool of blood edging towards him from the body and, before Kelos had time to clamp his hand over his mouth, emitted a piercing shriek. Instantly there was movement on the foremast. Dunsany glared at Emuel and briefly considered cracking him round the head with the stock of his crossbow, but without the eunuch they weren't going anywhere.
"Kelos, remember that magic I mentioned? Well, now's the time."
Kelos closed his eyes, summoning the threads of elemental power. A coolness coursed through him as the pounding of waves thundered in his head. Beside him, Emuel and Dunsany backed away as they tasted the tang of ozone that told them something big was about to happen.
Kelos stepped around the crate and raised his hands.
The ships in this part of the docks were already swaying drunkenly, the fierce power of the sea only slightly dissipated by the massive breakwaters, but the Llothriall now began to lurch even more than its neighbours. The guards in the foremast were having great difficulty in keeping their aim on the man who emerged from the shadows below them. One let loose with his bow just as the boat lurched hard to starboard and the arrow sailed high into the night. A few almost found their target but Kelos didn't even flinch as the arrows thudded into the wood of the crate behind him. Instead, he concentrated on the great wheel of energy that spun through his mind. The sea surrounding the ship began to churn more furiously now and Kelos spat out the syllables that he had memorised five years before from a rare and mildewed book. For each guttural exclamation a thick rope of water erupted from the waves surrounding the Llothriall.