Naturally the glass plague had gone on to be weaponised and used in many guises, occasionally re-emerging naturally as a rogue mutation that temporarily defied the common anti-viral agents before they could be adjusted. The strain that had been released inside the palace was an obscure one. Several quarts of it had been concealed in liquid form inside the ‘gift’: a stone urn designed to release it as an aerosol when triggered. The black smoke they had seen came not from the explosion as Kraillach had supposed, but from the virus battling anti-viral agents in the air of the palace. In this case the anti-viral agents had failed and those without their own inoculations of defensive nano-phages had fallen prey to the vitrifying plague.
The glass plague meant True Death. There was no rebirth from it as no cell of living tissue survived for the body to be remade from. The precious soul was denied the slightest grip on life and slipped easily out of the altered vessel into the waiting maw of She Who Thirsts. True Death had stalked into his palace and Kraillach had only survived thanks to his secret regimen of protective elixirs and anti-agathics. In spite of the apparent clumsiness of the attack Xelian had almost succeeded in killing him. Kraillach suppressed a shudder.
‘What are your thoughts, Morr?’
‘The attack seems… indirect given its alleged origins.’
‘Explain.’
‘Archon Xelian is direct in her approach. She establishes dominance and exerts her will through strength.’
‘You’re saying this is beneath her? I think you’re sadly mistaken, Morr.’
‘Her first attack would be one she was sure would succeed.’
‘Ahh, you’re saying she wouldn’t betray her intentions so easily’
‘Indeed, my archon.’
Morr might be correct, of course. Xelian would certainly prefer to simply come in with all guns blazing and make it a fight to the death. She lacked the kind of subtlety and experience to pursue the sort of double-bluff strategy shown by the assassination attempt. But if not her then who? From Xelian the circle of suspects widened to include the bland, scheming Yllithian and the great tyrant himself, Asdrubael Vect.
Yllithian was capable of any kind of underhanded skulduggery to get his way but it was hard to see what he could gain through Kraillach’s death. Perhaps he hoped to manoeuvre a more tractable archon into control over the Realm Eternal. Dragging Xelian into the fight by setting him against her would make sense then; either Kraillach dies or he retaliates against Xelian, making it win-win. Again, though, why? The alliance between their houses propped up all three of them to some extent. Infighting among them would only serve the best interests of Vect.
Indeed Asdrubael Vect was the one with the reputation for bestowing surprise gifts on those he wished to be rid of. He would surely like to see the noble houses at each other’s throats and any attempt to drive a wedge between them could have his hand behind it. Ultimately it didn’t matter. Regardless of just who had sent the assassins Kraillach was still trapped by their public declaration of themselves as Xelian’s followers. By now the word would have spread throughout Commorragh that Xelian had made an attack on Kraillach. Now Kraillach must confront Xelian in some fashion or lose face with the other archons.
‘Gather up the household troops, Morr, I believe we need to pay Xelian a visit.’
‘I will go at once, m–,’ Morr began.
‘Oh no, I shall be going myself, I must be seen out there alive and well cursing Xelian or the other kabals will smell blood in the water.’
‘My archon, forgive me but I must object. It’s far too dangerous.’
‘Agreed and forgiven, it is far too dangerous, but you know as well as I that excess caution now will put a hundred daggers at my back instead of just one to my front.’
‘One of the thirteen foundations of vengeance,’ Morr said almost humbly. ‘You are correct of course, my archon.’
Morr moved away as he relayed Kraillach’s orders. Xelian’s forces could easily overwhelm those of the Realm Eternal in close-quarter fighting, but not if Kraillach dictated how and where the confrontation took place. Wealth had its privileges.
‘…and send for my spymasters. I want to know what ships are docked on the Blades of Desire’s spur.’
‘At once, my archon.’
Above the palace of the Realm Eternal a golden armada of pleasure craft began to assemble. Raiders and sinuously twisting Venoms ferried Kraillach’s warriors from the rooftops to man their weapons, scalloped gun ports slid open and ornate cannon were run out. Soon dozens of thorn-armoured kabalites lined the baroque-fashioned rails of the waiting barges, horned helms, flamboyant crests and bare heads jostling in a bright panoply of red and burnished gold. Finally Kraillach rode aloft in his own sky chariot to take his place at the heart of the armada. Rippling shields of energy around the archon’s craft made it appear like a strange egg in the midst of brightly jewelled ornaments.
Flying scourges and lurking grav craft from a dozen other kabals took note of the movement and sent hurried word to their masters that Kraillach was moving against Xelian.
CHAPTER 6
THE BLADES OF DESIRE
‘Friends and allies you call them? Black-hearted traitors one and all, I say! My reputation and my honour take precedence over their carping concerns. I will pursue my vendettas as I will for I am Vileth and I will not be constrained in my vengeance.’
– Duke Vileth to the fool Mecuto, in Ursyllas’s Dispossessions
Nyos Yllithian sped towards Xelian’s fortress-arena at the head of a flying wedge of Raiders and Ravagers filled with White Flames warriors. He paced the narrow deck of his racing barque impatiently and his crew took pains to avoid his gaze. They knew that news of the attack on Kraillach had been unforgivably, indeed suspiciously slow in reaching their archon’s ordinarily acute ears and he was apt to be looking for scapegoats.
The jagged cityscape slid past looking cold and merciless in the light of the stolen suns. The skies were ominously empty. All that could be seen were a handful of Reavers and scourges steadily pacing Yllithian’s force. They always stayed some distance below and behind them, slipping through the inky shadows between the spires of High Commorragh like a pack of scavengers following a predator. They were undoubtedly spies from other kabals sent to watch the White Flames’ part in the unfolding drama.
The initial reports Yllithian had received alleged that Kraillach was dead but hard on their heels had come word that Kraillach was, in fact, alive and leading his forces against Xelian. So far there had been no response to his efforts to communicate with either faction – more evidence if any were needed that a subtle hand was working against them.
The reaction of the noble houses in the next hours would be studied and dissected in the minutest detail by the watching kabals. A poised and effective recovery from the challenge would enhance all of their reputations immensely; a descent into bloody chaos would signal to the scavengers that it was time to sharpen their knives and join the feast.
Yllithian felt fury at his allies for falling for such an obvious ploy. A moment’s thought should tell them that this could only be the tyrant’s work, an effort to pull apart their alliance before it became threatening to his position. Yllithian had been left with no recourse but to set out with the White Flames forces he had available to seek Kraillach and Xelian in person. He had to bring them to their senses before all three houses were doomed by their mutual display of hubris and stupidity.
Nyos’s steersman shouted a warning and pointed ahead. A shoal of hellions were curving into sight around the sheer flank of a nearby spire with obvious hostile intent, the razor edges of their skyboards flashing as they angled to attack. Three sleek, dark shapes shot out from concealing shadows at another angle and swung onto an interception course. Muzzle flashes twinkled along their hulls as darklight beams and streams of venomous splinters leapt across the rapidly closing gap.
Xelian’s fortress was built as a volcano-like mass with the arena itself nestling inside the c
entral cone. Heroically proportioned images graven in the appearance of wych gladiators hundreds of metres tall studded the outer slopes. There had once been open spaces around each of them given over to parks and public plazas but the mistress of the Blades of Desire had little patience for such pretensions. Under her rule they had become dusty training grounds and slave pens for the lowliest of her chattels.
Kraillach’s armada swept in low over the training fields, their hulls blotting out the light as they slid overhead. Slaves and slavemasters alike gaped upwards in fear at what their coming portended. The voice of the archon of the Realm Eternal cracked across the pregnant silence.
‘Xelian! Your followers broke into my house! They slew my servants! What treachery is this? Come forth and explain yourself!’
Total confusion reigned below. Slaves ran for cover, slavemasters alternated between beating slaves and running themselves. Some slaves raised their shackles and greeted the skyborne host as liberators.
At least they did until the shooting started.
It was unclear who shot first. A small pack of Reaver jetbikes had just risen from the arena cone as the Realm Eternal arrived. When the Reavers dived on the pleasure craft some of Kraillach’s followers decided it was an attack and filled the sky with looping streamers of fire to greet them. At about the same time one of the many armoured barbettes sunk into the flanks of the fortress came to life and spat a flurry of incandescent bolts into the floating armada. Within seconds every vessel in Kraillach’s force was cutting loose with their considerable firepower at anything that moved.
The temporary nature of the slave pens made them vulnerable to attack and they bore the brunt of the Realm Eternal’s retaliatory blow. Energy beams and disintegrator bolts cut through thin metal and ceramic sheeting, immolating those huddling inside. Spurting streams of splinters chased running slaves and dropped them in their tracks, writhing horribly as the venom took hold.
Soon a mass of sullenly smoking shelters and charred bodies lay where they had been cut down from above. The scene was interspersed with the brighter blazes of wrecked jetbikes and a handful of pleasure craft brought down in the fighting. Intensifying fire from the fortress defences gradually pushed the armada back out of range, where they began regrouping and bragging about their exploits. A pregnant silence fell over the scene as both sides licked their wounds and planned their next moves.
Aboard his heavily-shielded sky chariot Kraillach grimaced sourly and wondered how to extricate himself from the situation with both hide and honour intact.
The confusion that had broken out when Kraillach’s aerial armada swept in over the training grounds strongly implied that Xelian had not been a party to the assassination attempt made in her name. The realisation had come too late and what Kraillach had intended as a display of power had predictably devolved into a chaotic murder spree. The bloodlust of his warriors had temporarily outrun his ability to control them. Several of the burning craft they’d left behind were the result of the disciplinary measures that were necessary to bring them back into the fold.
Now the skies above Xelian’s palace were a hornet’s nest of twisting Reavers and hellions aligned with the Blades of Desire. The golden cloud of Kraillach’s craft hung close by, lit by the occasional false lightning of weapons-fire when Xelian’s agitated sky warriors strayed within range.
Kraillach consoled himself that at least the situation had devolved into a stalemate for the present. Even aside from the Reavers and hellions too many of the weapon positions studding the towering flanks of the fortress had survived the initial assault. Now that the fortress was fully alerted the Realm Eternal would have to suffer heavy losses to press an attack.
That suited Kraillach fine. No one could call him a coward for staying just out of range and awaiting developments. Xelian was blockaded, effectively besieged as long as the Realm Eternal kept up their vigil outside her fortress.
The problem was that Kraillach couldn’t keep his followers in place indefinitely – sooner or later they would start to drift off looking for more stimulating pursuits. Equally Xelian could not afford to stay cooped up inside her demesne for too long. All that remained was to see who would blink first.
Xelian herself was stalking through the austere porcelain corridors of her fortress like a caged tiger. Kraillach’s attack had come as a complete surprise. She had to admit, privately at least, that she rather admired the audacity of the old archon’s sudden assault. It was weak but completely unexpected and had caught her with many warriors and wyches out on the docking spur loading onto ships for a new slave raid. Communications were down, jammed or sabotaged by enemy agents, so the forces at the docking spur could not be recalled. A rigorous and painful interrogation of her technicians was already under way, their thin wails of pain one of the few highlights in an otherwise grim day.
More Ravagers and Reavers were on the way. Xelian intended to lead a breakout when they arrived. She would take them into the centre of Kraillach’s force and rip out his heart with her own hands. There would be a bloodbath, certainly, but Xelian was quite willing to gamble that her highly trained followers would have far more stomach for that than Kraillach’s assembly of decadents. The prospect of the coming battle was enthralling for Xelian, it was something she had found herself wanting for long time and there was a kind of glorious relief in casting away the pretence of treating Kraillach as an ally.
There was only one annoying detail that still niggled at the back of her mind. Xelian couldn’t fathom what had set Kraillach on the warpath. Reportedly he had made some pronouncements, hurling insults at the walls of fortress as he screeched about attacks and treachery. He seemed intent on portraying himself as the victim, justifying his unprovoked attack with lies. Not a surprising ploy but Xelian still found herself wondering if there were some grain of truth in his words. For the old fossil to stir himself into action like this was uncharacteristic. Also, Kraillach simply wasn’t the type to launch a serious attack without dragging his allies in with him, so where was Yllithian?
Darklight beams scored the shields of Yllithian’s barque leaving retina-burning entropic blooms as they were barely shunted aside by the straining projectors. Yllithian’s incubi loosed rippling volleys of splinter cannon fire in return, sending shapes tumbling from the attacking Raiders.
‘On! Past them!’ Yllithian shouted to his steersman before realising that the steersman was shorter by a head, decapitated in the crossfire. Yllithian leapt to take the tiller bar himself, swinging the elegant craft to point head-on into the diving hellions. He twisted at the power coupling ring savagely to set maximum speed and the barque leapt forwards in response.
The White Flames craft swung with him, each hosing fire into the three attacking Raiders as they sped past in echelon. A Ravager impaled the lead attacker with bolts of dark lance fire, its silhouette momentarily transfixed by twin beams of ravening destruction before it burst into flames and broke into pieces.
‘Fire forward! All weapons!’ Yllithian yelled, with a sick feeling that he had given the command too late.
The pack of hellions came hurtling in like a swarm of bats. Questing fingers of splinter fire chased them, disintegrator pulses flashed out and turned speeding bodies into plummeting corpses. The barque shuddered as an injured hellion ploughed headlong into the larger craft, her skyboard exploding into fragments as the barque’s armoured prow sheared straight through it. Other hellions jinked and twisted aside desperately to avoid a similar fate.
Yllithian ducked beneath blurring wing-blades as more hellions shot past less than a metre above the deck. Some of his incubi were less quick and lost heads or limbs to the hurtling shoal of blades in sudden bursts of crimson. An instant later they were through the pack and in to the suddenly empty air beyond. Ahead of them the glittering flank of a spire-mountain was rushing closer by the second. Without a course change they would smash straight into it. Yllithian was turning to heave the tiller bar when a flicker of movement at the prow warn
ed him of a new peril.
‘Repel boarders!’
Out of either desperation or mad courage several hellions had managed to hurl themselves aboard Yllithian’s craft as they passed. Now they leapt lithely forwards swinging powered halberds and knives to be met by Yllithian’s surviving incubi bodyguards. Swift and deadly blade work soon showed the armoured incubi to be the masters, their mighty klaives beating aside the hellions’ wild strikes and carving into their lightly armoured bodies. In moments the hellions were driven howling over the sides and the deck was clear.
Ahead of them a titanic effigy of the long-dead Archon Xelicedes reared out of the spire wall as if trying to swat the barque out of the air with an outthrust sword the width of a highway. Yllithian grasped the tiller and hauled desperately to bring the speeding grav craft back onto a safe course, the colossal blade of Archon Xelicedes sweeping past just metres away.
Glancing behind he saw that the bulk of his followers were still with him, albeit with a few ragged holes in their previously pristine formation. The hellions swirled impotently in their wake, only a handful turning in time to pursue Yllithian’s craft. They were soon chased away or killed by long range fire as they strained to overhaul the flying wedge of Raiders and Ravagers. Ahead thin plumes of smoke could be seen rising from among the jagged tangle of spires – Xelian’s fortress was near.
Kraillach watched the growing swarm of light craft above Xelian’s fortress with a matching sense of alarm. Their strength had tripled within the last hour and more kept arriving. Kraillach had swung from a sense of complacency about his armada being able to easily fight off such lowly trash to a fear that his beautiful pleasure craft would be wrecked by gangs of flying hooligans.
An even more disturbing development was the Venom heavy bikes now rising from the fortress, each with a cluster of wych gladiators crouched on their rear decks. Xelian was intending to make a fight of it. Kraillach was astonished. He’d expected some kind of communication from Xelian at least decrying his claims by now, but she seemed to care not a whit for talk. Just as Morr had said, she would seize her chance at victory with both hands and with no hesitation.
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