Old Man's Ghosts

by Tom Lloyd

  And yet this one’s as alien as it is familiar, Sorpan mused, still stunned by the realisation. It’s as though I’ve heard a new note after years of musicianship, only to find it’s one that doesn’t place on any scale I’ve seen. My mind knows it, yet is prevented somewhere from understanding it.

  The thought left his mouth dry. Wherever there was secrecy and danger, there were rumours. He’d heard more than a few in his time, but one came immediately to mind now. Old-timers, retired and half-mad in some cases, hinting that the cipher-songs of the Astaren had more than once been changed. Rumours they had heard as novices themselves, then had confirmed as those younger than them could not hear the songs in the same way – as such a note on the musical scale might be erased. It had happened in the wake of the Fields of the Broken and some suggested one was now a song that only gods were permitted to hear; erased for future generations of Astaren.

  His eyes drifted up to the divine constellations shining down upon him. But those gods have their own cipher-songs, songs no Astaren can even hear. Whatever gods obliterated three hundred thousand soldiers, they were older and stranger than any mortal-born Ascendant. If I were one of the Five, I might be tempted to exclude all but a few from any such conversations. But if any of that’s true, why doesn’t Priest seem to care?

  Footsteps echoed in the street, ending his tangled thread of thoughts. Sorpan didn’t move, content to remain and let whoever it was draw closer. A dull black cloak as thin as silk hung over his clothes. He stood within the arched shadow of an overhang – invisible to natural eyes behind the cold starlight that was slicing down on the street cobbles and illuminated the curtain of fog. Under the cloak he held a stiletto ready, listening to the district around him and waiting for the right moment.

  It never came. The footsteps stuttered to a halt as a low growl echoed around the houses. A muttered curse told Sorpan his prospective victim was indeed a Dragon and very carefully he turned to watch events unfold. It was hard to tell what caste he was under his enormous greatcoat, but the man was no warrior, that much was obvious. Bundled up against the cold, it took the Dragon a moment to dig through his layers of clothing and pull a short sword from his belt.

  Sorpan watched him carefully look all around him, staring straight through the hidden Ghost Astaren. Finding nothing, the man took another two paces closer before another threatening, deep growl rolled over the street. Sorpan saw it then, his eyes more attuned to the shadows than a normal man’s. A shape on the wall behind the Dragon, a shadow slipping forward, invisible to its prey though the man turned full about. Despite himself, Sorpan watched with his breath caught – a frisson of primal terror prickling down his spine.

  Too frightened to continue any further up the street, the man waved his weapon blindly before him, but only when a huge hump of shadow seemed to detach from the wall did he see anything. By then it was too late, by then glowing red eyes stared straight at him and the growl became a snarl of deadly intent.

  The Dragon gasped, knees buckling, before some instinct made him turn to run. A blunt shape of nothing darted down and caught his leg. The man howled as he was hauled off his feet, scrabbling madly at the ground as shadow claws tore great rents in his coat. Again his leg was seized, the flesh sliced deep by half-seen teeth and he was dragged back, shaken like a rat and tossed aside. The man fell and for a moment his cries became louder. Then the huge shape bent over him and Sorpan could no longer see those glowing eyes, only make out the impression of an enormous paw pressing down on the man’s chest.

  The Dragon stared back at his death for a moment, transfixed by the ember glow. The demon bent lower over him and he started to scream, his voice blunted and weak as the hellhound pressed down on his chest. A hiss and crackle followed as wisps of smoke began to rise from the man’s face; the dirty porcine stink of burning flesh soon reached Sorpan’s nostrils. The hellhound grew more animated as the man fought it, struggling madly under an unnatural grip, while the smoke and sizzle only intensified. Ugly, excited growls replaced the rage-filled snarls as the demon prepared to feed on his victim’s soul. The smoke intensified and one final cut-off shriek heralded the man’s demise, but the demon remained bent over the body for a while afterwards as though savouring the scent of its kill.

  A gunshot rang out, loud and shocking. Even Sorpan flinched in surprise and the hellhound reeled from the shot. Far from being driven off, the demon retreated a step or two and resumed the deep growl that had heralded its first attack, but the newcomer seemed to not care. She strode forward, sheathing one pistol and drawing the second with a practised movement. In her off hand she carried a blazing torch that cast its own light over the street and that, as much anything, drove the demon further off.

  Sorpan noted her clothes as she moved past him, the red, green and blue livery of Lord Omtoray himself. She was tall and well-built, wearing the decorated brigandine of a warrior caste and mail-sheathed sleeves. A musket was slung across her back, but she knew enough to carry a torch and with it levelled she advanced on the demon – clearly there remained someone in Dragon District who knew enough to brief the rest.

  The hellhound snarled and retreated a few paces, while Sorpan shrugged inwardly and checked to see if she had come alone. He could see no one following, hear no other movement on the street beyond, so he stepped silently forward as she levelled her second pistol.

  The steel plates sewn into her brigandine proved no match for an Astaren’s strength. Sorpan punched the stiletto through her shoulder-blade and into the lung behind. The woman staggered forward under the impact and would have fallen to her knees had Sorpan not caught her. He pulled the dagger out and from habit pulled it across her throat to ensure no last cries betrayed him, gunshot notwithstanding. That done he let her fall, pistol clattering to the cobbles while the torch hissed and half-extinguished on the ice-rimed cobbles.

  As soon as the torch’s light had dimmed, the growls of the demon increased. Sorpan looked up to see it take one tentative pace forward, but before it could decide whether to attack he drew his rapier too. Tiny bursts of light began to wink in and out of existence around his fingers, darting threads of lightning that swiftly grew larger and in moments were racing down the length of his steel blades.

  ‘Go find easier prey,’ Sorpan advised in the plainchant of demon kind. ‘We’re both here to kill Dragons, but I don’t care what darkness I cut tonight.’

  The hellhound crouched slightly at his words and for a moment Sorpan was convinced it was about to attack, irrespective of how dangerous he might prove. The moment stretched into two, then three and more before finally it slunk away instead and the shadow of its body faded into the wall behind, becoming one with the shadows there and slipping from perception.

  Time to investigate further, Sorpan decided as he gave the wall one last glare and sheathed his sword. That warrior knew at least something about fighting hellhounds; it might be there are still some Astaren left here. Priest might be using me the same way my old masters did, but tonight’s not one for complaints. For now I will be the good servant and see her plan to the end. I can worry about anything more if I’m still alive to do so after this night.

  CHAPTER 34

  Even before they reached Dragon District, they could hear the gunfire. Narin exchanged a worried look with Kesh and her face told him she was thinking the same thing. Up ahead, Enchei and Maiss ranged twenty-odd yards beyond the rest of them, scouting the path, while Enay silently lugged a canvas sack beside Kesh, and Irato brought up the rear.

  ‘We should’ve brought Myken,’ Kesh muttered to Narin.

  He nodded. ‘I think you’re right, panic’s already taken over there. It could be none of us have the right face to be welcome right now.’

  ‘Warrior castes panic?’ said Enay, gaze never leaving her sister’s back. ‘That’s seditious talk, Investigator. Want to be busted down to novice, do you?’

  ‘That’s the least of our problems right now. In fact, running into my superiors just got
a whole lot more attractive.’

  Through the tangle of streets and shroud of mist Narin couldn’t gauge distance or direction for the shots, but he recognised the different reports of muskets and pistols. Nothing about the sounds suggested a pitched battle of any sort; it was more likely they were mostly firing at any shadow that moved, if hellhounds were stalking the streets.

  At the border of Dragon District, Enchei and Maiss waited for them to catch up in the lee of a covered shop front. The mismatched pair stared intently at the streets beyond, but as they arrived Enchei turned and nodded at Narin.

  ‘Looks like you’re right.’

  ‘It does?’ Narin asked in confusion, before realising Enay had relayed their brief conversation to her sister.

  ‘Aye, Lawbringers might be our best chance at getting in there without Dragons taking potshots at us.’

  ‘But we don’t want to use that thing in front of anyone else,’ Kesh said, nodding at the canvas sack Enay carried. ‘Are we going to just crouch here and hope some demon comes to meet us? I was hoping one of you’d manage a more sophisticated plan than that.’

  ‘Problem is, we don’t belong there,’ Enchei said. ‘Might be we turn a corner and find ourselves facing a dozen guns whose owners are spooked. If they’ve been shooting at shadows all night, we don’t want to be the first real target they come across.’

  ‘If you don’t count any unlucky low castes they might’ve already come across,’ Narin said darkly. ‘So what, then? You go by yourself and scout it out? Have Irato following you as backup?’

  Enchei was silent a moment. ‘I scout it myself. I won’t go far, but before we wait for Lawbringer Rhe to turn up so we can hide behind his skirts, we might as well know what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘I’d put my year’s pay on everything west of the bridge being clear, a dozen-odd streets up to the Fett Canal too,’ Narin said. ‘Or free from warrior castes at any rate. Good thing we’re a few days off Dancer’s Festival or the district would be full of people heading to the park amphitheatre.’

  ‘You think they’ll set up a perimeter around Lord Omtoray’s fortress?’ Maiss asked. ‘Keep their back to the Crescent docks and let the hellhounds come at them?’

  ‘I think they don’t care about where the poor people live,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Why would they defend those parts of the district? It’d mean patrolling and getting picked off as much as anything.’

  ‘Pride might force it,’ Enchei said, ‘but right now we know nothing. The rest of you wait here.’

  ‘You need someone watching your back,’ Enay protested. ‘You’re still a target, remember?’

  ‘I’m used to going alone,’ he countered with a shake of the head and pulled his all-enclosing helm from a bag he carried.

  Narin had seen the veteran use it before, when they had crept onto the goshe island in the summer, but still had no idea how the man could see in it. There were several lines and seams breaking the smooth curves up – but it hinged only at the back, just enough to fit his head inside before being clipped back down. The face-plate was a single piece with no eye or mouth holes but as Enchei eased his head inside and closed it up, he looked straight at Narin for a moment before returning his attention to the streets of Dragon.

  ‘I’m going to look, see what’s going on down the nearest few streets,’ Enchei said, voice perfectly clear despite the helmet. ‘Then I’ll be back and we can decide our next step.’

  Enchei didn’t wait for a discussion, just checked left and right down the street before crossing into Dragon District. He was dressed in dark servant’s woollens under a long concealing cloak, all unobtrusive but able to accommodate his flexible mesh armour underneath. Slung across his back was a shapeless leather bag, while a variety of weapons sat snug in pouches and sheaths strapped around his body.

  It’s how I’ve walked into battle a hundred times or more, Enchei reminded himself as the light around him dimmed, the cloud-cover thickening overhead. And this time they’re not even trying to kill me. That’s a much better way to start off.

  High above the dragon-adorned buildings ahead he could make out the very peaks of the fortress towers, picked out in dulled lines of eldritch green. He reached a corner and checked around it, secure in the black shadows of his cloak, only to find nothing there. The street was indeed quiet, with precious little light escaping the drapes that would be covering the inside of every window and door in winter.

  He moved on, all of his unnatural senses alive for anything that might tell him he was not alone in the street, but as he cut down an alley it was something rather more mundane that caught his attention. The flickering light of a bonfire reflected off the buildings around it up ahead, a small crossroads set around a well-shrine, if his memory served correctly. The nervous voices of Dragon soldiers carried well through the night and Enchei stopped short – careful not to be seen and mistaken as a threat, but more concerned with what other watchers there might be. Before he could see the bonfire itself, Enchei spotted a pair of bodies in the street and then a large shadow sliding down the wall behind them.

  The soldiers saw it too and a stuttering volley of gunfire peppered the wall – several shots bursting through the shutters of a window to screams from within. Something smashed and fell, a lamp Enchei guessed, which prompted more screams. Chillingly, they were followed by distant howls echoing around the streets and Enchei felt his hand tighten as he realised some hellhound had discovered a family plunged into darkness.

  Before you could get there, they’ll all be dead, Enchei reminded himself and turned away. Soldiers came into view, hesitantly following the cries that were cut short with chilling speed. One wore Omtoray’s colours, but not as a uniform so Enchei took the young man to be some sort of relation sent out to take charge of these streets. The rest were warrior castes of Dragon and Wyvern, eleven young men and women all told, wearing the badges of their Houses on a variety of light armour.

  Slowly, they circled around the building, each reluctant to lead the way. It took the nobleman’s order to get the largest of their number to kick the door in, whereupon the young noble himself edged inside – pistol and a flaming torch in hand.

  Whatever he saw there Enchei could only imagine, but the nobleman found no threat and soon retreated back into the safety of the bonfire’s proximity. Despite the cold of night and haze of fog, Enchei could hear it burning fast.

  No doubt they covered it in lamp oil, he thought as he moved forward to the extent of his cover. Damn fools haven’t realised it’ll burn itself out long before morning if they let it go like that.

  From where he crouched, Enchei could see the entrance to a half-dozen streets or alleys thanks to the haphazard layout of this part of the district. Aside from the soldiers he couldn’t perceive any people in the area; Dragon District was unnaturally quiet and he was just about to retreat when one of the soldiers ahead began to shout a warning.

  Almost immediately there came a long echoing growl, then another – racing around the twisting lines of houses, seemingly coming from more than one direction at once. Enchei turned a full circle, mage-sight shifting through colours and greyscales as he sought the hellhounds, but all he detected were traces on the wind like the scent of a real hound. Nothing recent, but criss-crossing trails that told of demons roaming freely.

  Abruptly, the calls of the hellhounds broke off and Enchei found the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Something had changed in the air – almost imperceptibly, but where the demon hounds had brought a sense of threat and flame, this was entirely different. Without meaning to, he glanced up, sensing some looming presence as though great stormclouds had rolled in overhead.

  The sky was veined with star-speckled darkness – rogue constellations visible through the breaks of cloud. With the Order of Jester in zenith, it was Emperor rising in the West, and Lord Huntsman’s light seemed to flash a warning to Enchei. His hand tightened on his baton as he continued to cast around for danger behind him, but the
n footsteps echoed clear and steady from one of the other streets leading to the crossroads. The soldiers scampered back to their bonfire and the bubble of protective light it offered, while Enchei watched the end of the street with increasing trepidation.

  A pale figure appeared, walking without haste towards the bonfire. The buckles of a fitted white coat glinted in the darkness, showing a feminine warrior figure – a suspicion confirmed by long trails of hair hanging free from within a red hood. The silver tip of a scabbard glittered faintly behind her, shining pistol butts at her stomach, but she held no weapon as she silently stared at the soldiers ahead of her.

  Enchei’s stomach tightened. A Banshee, he thought, before correcting himself. No, she was once a Banshee. That’s no woman now.

  As though to confirm his fears the light of the bonfire guttered under a wind Enchei couldn’t feel and the faint light of the Gods seemed to stutter. Moments of blackness broke over the street, once, twice – some form of unholy opposite of lightning from the realms of demons. In those glimpses of utter dark, Enchei saw a huge shape massed around the Banshee – an overwhelming presence that his arcane senses could barely fathom, but one he couldn’t deny, even once the Gods had reasserted themselves.

  Stars above, that’s no mere hellhound.

  Enchei looked down at the baton in his hand and the bulge on his left wrist where his darter sat. He wasn’t confident either would do much more than irritate such a demon – not one of that size. As commands and panicked voices rang out ahead, unanswered by the Banshee, he searched his memory for what he’d seen in that fragment of shadow-silhouette. The hint of great wings high in the air, a humped back and body larger than the biggest of bulls, vast forelimbs and hooked claws, a ridge of three great horns on a long head.