The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  A loud growling sounded in the war mage’s throat. It hadn’t eaten the bread, and now cast it aside and stood, planting its staff and summoning magic from the air with those chopping motions.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Eric.

  The war mage didn’t answer. Urgently it stuffed leaves and twigs into its mouth, swallowed, and bared its teeth. Its body tensed as it scanned the line of trees across the water. ‘All things put to use,’ it muttered, pieces of dry leaves spraying from its lips.

  ‘It sees something,’ said Case. ‘Hey! There, see that? It wasn’t a Tormentor.’ He peered across the water. ‘It was white, moving between the trees. Fast, too …’

  Now Eric saw it too, looming ominously as it circled towards the river bank: the huge white wolf that had attacked Stranger at Faul’s house. Head lowered, its great body heaved with panting breaths as it stared at them across the water.

  The war mage shrieked so loud Eric and Case ducked and covered their ears. It chopped the air frantically with its staff, funnels of dark colour threading quickly down from the sky, and breathed this air deeply.

  The wolf backed up a few steps then charged towards the bank, launched itself, and made it two-thirds of the way over before sinking with a massive splash. The water didn’t delay it long — soon it had paddled to the bank and surged out, water pouring and spraying off it. It ran right for the war mage, paws thumping the ground loud as drumbeats.

  Case grabbed Eric by the collar and pulled him back. ‘Which is our friend?’ he said. ‘Who do we shoot here?’

  ‘The wolf is,’ said Eric. ‘If not both. We’re not shooting either. Far Gaze!’ he called. ‘The war mage saved us!’

  The wolf didn’t seem to hear him. It veered from its charge and darted sideways with speed that seemed surreal for something that size. The war mage had balanced on one leg, other limbs sticking out like some kind of martial arts pose as it spewed a plume of inky darkness, narrowly missing the wolf. The grass beneath the spell curdled, blackened and instantly died, as though nothing had ever grown there. The stink of it was noxious and even from a distance Eric and Case both had coughing fits. Spent magic from the spell curled skywards in a funnel tall as a tornado.

  The wolf widely circled the war mage once, twice, then came at it again. Case’s eyes didn’t see the cloud of magic sucked in fast about the war mage, forming an instant streaking pattern around it quick as a lightning flash. A rippling wave of heat shot forth, which Eric and Case both felt from some distance away. Leaves on the ground around it were pushed away and spontaneously set alight. Again the wolf veered safely away from the spell. Its plan was clear enough: to let the war mage cook itself.

  It would not have long to wait, for already the war mage looked much worse for wear. Its horns had turned black from just two spells; again, it was using far more power for this enemy than its cousin had for the spells which had killed regular people, back at the door. As the wolf circled then came at it again, the war mage, awake to its game, declined to cast. The wolf split into two — one a mirror image of itself veering around as before, while the other, the real wolf, darted with a burst of speed and jumped, jaws wide and teeth like rows of knives set in a blood-red mouth.

  The war mage screamed again as the wolf fell heavily upon it, both bodies thrashing around wildly in the burning sticks and leaves, its clawed feet striking and gouging at the wolf’s underside. For a few frantic seconds the two mages were a thrashing blur, then a burst of red flame erupted in their midst like fireworks. The wolf yelped loud in pain and darted away again.

  Blood sank thickly down the war mage’s chest from where it had been bitten. Thick smoke poured from its horns and its cheeks were blackened as though with soot. But it stood again, teeth bared. The wolf wheeled about, its mirror image turning also to make a figure-eight. From a canter it started its charge, and again the war mage declined to cast. Instead, it moved straight for Eric, and with rough hands it lifted him from the ground and flew.

  Eric hardly had time to figure out what was happening before the ground and the woods were suddenly things seen from high above and between his feet. Case and the huge white wolf both looked up as they rapidly dwindled to the size of insects.

  The war mage’s stink and heat were terrible, almost enough to make him squirm from its grasp despite the certain death a fall would bring. He felt blood from its bitten throat and chest dripping down on him, hot as droplets of boiling water on his neck and upper back.

  Soon it descended to a clearing some way west where the woods were thinner, set him down, hobbled to a tree and took bites out of the trunk’s bark as easily as if it were crunching into biscuits. Eric rubbed streaked drops of its blood from his collar and raised the gun. ‘Take me back to my friend,’ he said.

  Bark crunched in the war mage’s mouth, crumbs spilling from its lips. It patted the air wearily, knocking the gun from his hand and holding up a clawed finger in warning. For many minutes it ignored him and ate bark, until the smoke pouring from its horns gradually thinned to nothing, and they returned to their dirty dull yellow. ‘Take me back to my friend,’ Eric said.

  ‘You’re Shadow.’

  ‘Stop fucking saying that. Take me back.’ Eric picked up the gun again.

  ‘Two drops in the river,’ the war mage said, gesturing incomprehensibly.

  ‘I will shoot you. Take me back now.’

  It took Eric by the underarms again and began to fly, its heat now duller. At first he thought it was obeying his wish, but when the treetops were again below his feet, he saw that the huge white wolf ran towards the place they’d just left, and that Case now rode on its back, clutching onto its neck for dear life.

  56

  They did not fly high enough for a commanding view of the landscape, but the road could soon be seen dissecting the woods, which stretched as far as sight to either side of it. Every so often down in the trees were lone dark shapes standing motionless: Tormentors, perfectly still. One was far larger, standing well over the surrounding trees. What’s more, that one wasn’t very far from the road, over which a wagon train now passed, its passengers oblivious to the deadly peril nearby.

  Yet there weren’t really enough of the monsters below to explain the vast number of tracks across acres of forest floor …

  Though his legs dangled over a lethal height, and though its touch repulsed him, Eric never thought the war mage would drop him. He had a feeling the creature felt it had ‘rescued’ him from the dangerous wolf and, seeing it would lose its fight to the death, had no choice but to flee and carry Eric to safety. He had tried asking what it now intended, or why it felt a need to serve him in the first place, if that was indeed its purpose, but its answers were too cryptic to understand.

  As they flew into buffeting air, the scrub gave way to rolling fields and remnants of villages with overgrown fields, abandoned wagons and no people in sight. Great blue glass-like domes round as balloons bulged from the earth like massive swollen eyes. To Eric they looked like some kind of covered city, marvellous to behold.

  The war mage’s grip was tight about his chest, its scraping breath in his ear. Thin threads of magic wound towards the flying mage as though attracted to it. When they passed through denser veins of colour it would put on a burst of speed. The hateful woods were soon gone from sight completely and, as much as he feared for Case still amongst it, this brought no small measure of relief.

  Every now and then the war mage set down in a safe clearing below to rest, and ease itself of the heat which accrued in its body from the efforts of flying. Eric wished he knew what to think. Two drops in the river, it had said. Had that meant that he and Case followed the same current, the same path, and would end up in the same place? ‘Do you take me to Elvury?’ Eric asked it. His last attempt to threaten it with the Glock had failed, and now the war mage seemed unconcerned by it.

  It cocked its head, animal eyes peering at him, then it seemed to bow. ‘A servant,’ was all it said. Yet, unless he was
mistaken, the next time they took off, they had changed direction, almost as though it had taken his question for instruction and agreed to follow it.

  Sleepless hours passed in this fashion — flight, rest, flight — until before long mountains loomed on the horizon.

  Both Case and the wolf watched them fly above the line of trees and out of sight, this time headed south-west. The loss of his friend, maybe for real this time, made Case feel so hollow he didn’t care, just then, whether or not the wolf meant to rip his throat out.

  It didn’t appear to want that — back by the river it had lowered itself and gestured with its head for him to get on, after all. Now it stood panting to get its breath back, head sunk as though it felt worse than Case did. Christ, how he wanted a drink.

  He got off its back and dropped to the ground, wincing as his bad knee flared at the impact. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ he said. ‘Too bad my pack’s back there with all the food in it. Hope you know that horned bastard saved our lives. Now what do we do?’

  Case had turned away and was kicking at the undergrowth as he spoke, so it came as a surprise when a strained voice answered: ‘It saved you? Tell me.’

  He wheeled around and saw a sight that made him recoil. The wolf was changing into a man, but was only partly finished. It lay sprawled and shrinking, the beginnings of a face forming from the mess of the wolf’s splitting jaws. Its fur had already been shed. With loud cracks the bones broke and changed shape.

  It took minutes before the change was complete, and a man crouched in the midst of the shed hair. His age was hard to pick, maybe in the forties, face dark with stubble, lined and creased, hair brown but greying and swept up in two ridges at the sides. He was clad in an overcoat that was green at first but soon shifted colour to match the speckled pattern of the background of trees and undergrowth. Far Gaze watched him and waited impatiently. ‘Well? Speak!’

  ‘Sorry, you kind of startled me. I don’t often see that kind of thing. Strange world I come from, eh?’ Case wearily told him what had happened with the war mage and the Tormentor. Far Gaze held up a palm when he’d heard enough and said, ‘We have a long way to travel. I won’t trouble you with an account of what I went through to find you. Or of how tired I am. Imagine I simply appeared, for your benefit, a protector, humble, eager to please, with no pains and cares, no wish but to assist.’

  Case shrugged. ‘It’s a deal.’

  ‘You will ride my back. I will be unable to speak to you, and I may have trouble understanding you. If there’s anything important to tell me, do it now. This … process, is less comfortable than it looks.’

  ‘You’re about to change back into a wolf?’

  Far Gaze didn’t bother answering. He lay flat and writhed around in great pain, retching sounds in his throat, foam on his lips. The white fur he’d shed before gathered itself about him again as though drawn by magnet. More sprouted from his neck and face. Case said, ‘Can I ask something first? Why did you attack Stranger?’

  ‘Who?’ Far Gaze said through gritted teeth which lengthened and moved.

  ‘The woman in the green dress.’

  Far Gaze looked at him, grimacing as his bones cracked, extended and reshaped. ‘She means … ill. Whether she … thinks she … helps or … not. She steers us to … foul futures, your own … steps leading us all … down their paths. Why we all … follow you, only … the Spirits know. May my … sight be faulty. Maybe it is. Maybe—’ his speech became unintelligible.

  Case threw his hands up with frustration. ‘You know, it didn’t seem like a hard question to me. Where I come from, if you try to bite someone’s throat out, you have a reason you can sum up in a few words. Slept with my wife, ripped me off, whatever. You’re almost as bad as the guy with horns. He was a beat poet and a half, let me tell you. All you magic types crazy, or is it the rest of us? Maybe it sounds to you like we’re the ones speaking in riddles.’

  But Far Gaze said no more, for his jaw fell away and two thick pieces of bone assembled around the gap left there like closing pincers, fur sprouting from them, fangs lengthening. Soon the wolf was back, big as a horse, climbing awkwardly to its feet and lowering its neck again for him to ride.

  After a brief internal debate, Case got back on and grabbed its neck tight. The wolf sprang forwards, clumsily at first, as though adjusting to its new form, before picking up speed and bounding through the trees, unmindful of the long groping branches that broke on its flanks.

  Case hung on and waited, endured the sting of scraping branches, his eyes shut because every tree trunk looked like it was about to smack them head on. He didn’t much care what happened now … after parting from Eric so many times and having so many unlikely reunions, he couldn’t see luck favouring them yet again.

  Nor was he able to see the Invia high above, the survivor of the two who had witnessed his passage from Otherworld, back near the castle. She had seen the disturbances in the air that indicated powerful recent spells, and had come for a closer look. She watched him pass with keen eyes, recognising both him and the charm in his pocket: she had been searching for both.

  Neither Case nor Far Gaze saw her swoop after them, maintaining her height for now and waiting for a good moment to approach, her wings beating at air thick with magic.

  57

  They flew through the night, resting for one long stretch so Eric could sleep, though this was difficult with the war mage rigidly perched nearby, its gleaming yellow cat’s eyes flickering about in the darkness, its breath rasping like something about to die. Though it had evidently been as gentle with him as it could be — a servant, after all — his chest badly ached from where its arms had gripped him, especially where he’d been stabbed by the groundman’s spear, and he was tired of its animal reek.

  The night was too complete here for Eric to guess at the kind of terrain below, but they were high up on a hilltop, and had before the light faded been getting ever closer to the mountains. He was so exhausted sleep did briefly drag him like a rough arm under dark dreamless waves.

  When a hand shook him awake, he murmured, ‘Case?’ then screamed shrilly as the war mage’s savage, bearded face loomed inches from his own, unblinking, mouth hung open, its foul strange breath overpowering. Then it all came back to him, and they were flying again, day about to break.

  As they neared Elvury the war mage gained altitude so it could stay near the thicker threads of shimmering raw magic, which thinned out the closer they got to the city. The less magic air it flew through, the faster its body had been heating; and now Eric cried out, for the mage burned hot against his body. From high up, as they paused to rest on a jutting ledge, Eric saw the large force assembled and waiting in the fields just beyond the mountain pass. There was a swarm of activity down there in the early morning light: voices sounding off, orders being barked, the chink of metal on metal — chain mail, and swords being drawn.

  Their view of the mountain pass which led to Elvury’s gate was not very clear, but there too the ground was alive with activity, only some of it visible, as defenders moved around in their positions along many key points. A war was clearly unfolding, the war none of the Mayors would in their right minds have predicted, nor any general in his right mind have attempted.

  But the General below knew things the Mayors did not.

  Of course he knew he would soon lose a good many troops, likely half his invading force. And that for economic and political reasons this did not at all displease the Strategists back at the castle. The troops here gathered, though they came from many cities, were for the most part staunch Valour men, and no harm was done in shedding their numbers. Meanwhile those unsworn or already accepting Vous as their Spirit — at least professing to — were safe at home or on easy campaigns.

  He also knew that — casualties or not — the city would be theirs, or at least no longer belong to its current Mayor. For something lurked beneath it the Mayors’ Command had not seen coming, and it had already begun its deadly work within the city’s
gates during the night. The defenders in high places along the mountain pass, waiting to rain death down upon the General’s men, would probably just now be getting news of what had begun.

  It had started later than intended, of course. The delay had tested everyone’s patience, from the poor doomed men who’d slept for a week in these fields, to the distant castle Strategists who were probably still panicking that something had gone fatally wrong after years and years of careful planning.

  But at last the General heard horns blowing in the city, the notes which meant flee, evacuate. It had begun. By now, if any defenders remained in the high mountain passes, there was a good chance they were the only defenders the city had. There would be, the General was told, roughly a hundred creatures, minus what the city’s fleeing military could slay. These, his men — perhaps half the original twelve thousand — would finish off. Then they had a pleasant time of looting and plunder to look forward to …

  The General’s main concern now was mutiny as he ordered thousands of men to charge, knowingly, to their probable deaths. Of the twelve thousand gathered, two thousand were here strictly to suppress such an event. Valour men were not noted for cowardice … nor, however, did they take kindly to treachery, from their commanders or anyone else, hence defectors like Anfen. The General cleared his throat, not without nerves, to give the order to march into the pass.

  During the night, pouring from the sewers, from passages belowground pre-existing and those newly forged by groundmen slaves under whips, from the River Misery, which ran in two offshoots under the city’s busiest districts, Tormentors came in their hundreds.

  If all went well, if the Strategists’ estimates were right — and they usually were — by morning, most citizens would have already fled through the southern gates, carrying with them stories of a deadly weapon in castle hands to the cities they escaped to. Not strictly true, but a very useful perception. Those cities would then have hard decisions to make, such as: Align, or be next. This city’s wealth, meanwhile, would sit largely abandoned in chests and safes to be pillaged at leisure. And there would be one fewer stronghold for defectors and Aligned country refugees.