by R J Murray
Those wearing the robes of novice or initiate bowed as she passed, their grey and white robes flaring around them, making them shapeless and anonymous, their wide hoods hiding their faces. As was only right. In service to Ysnir, all were to eschew worldly concerns and trappings. Duty came before all else.
At her approach, the wide, copper doors of the great hall were pulled open. She smiled at the reflection she saw of herself in the mirrored surface, remembering all too many times she had spent her days polishing them till they shone.
The hall was full of robed people, their voices a confused babble that rose up to be lost in the high vaulted ceilings. Light shone in on them through the stained-glass windows that filled each wall, their coloured glass depicting figures and events from the temple’s history.
They parted before her, leaving a wide space around her as though she walked along protected by a globe of air that none may pass through. It was a sign of the respect they held for her, but now and then, she couldn’t help but miss the simplest of human contact.
At the far end of the hall was a raised platform with a wooden dais, decorated with the holy symbols of Ysnir. Behind it was the altar, built of marble and draped with the crimson and gold that the goddess wore, it had a single golden bowl upon it.
Amina walked straight up to the altar and knelt down, bowing her head in silent prayer. At once, all in attendance did the same. For several minutes they communed with their goddess and then, Amina rose and pulled a sharp knife from beneath the sleeve of her robe.
She used the point to prick a finger on her left hand and held it over the golden bowl. It beaded on her skin, growing in size until it dropped with a splash against the bottom of the bowl. She turned to face the faithful.
“Sisters, brothers, we give praise to Ysnir and ask her to share with us her strength that we can stand firm as we do our duty.”
“Praise Ysnir.” The hall echoed with their voices, raised in a fervent belief in their goddess.
“Bring in those who watch over the city that we may hear their request.”
Ysnir, Amina thought with a smile, was a deity who preferred action over long-winded sermonizing. A fact that had first attracted a young, flame-haired woman who had felt the pull of faith.
There was movement from the rear of the hall and shortly after, the city watch was ushered in A dozen in total, they wore the customary black wool coats and trousers with the leather half boots, helmet and bracers.
She gave the short swords and truncheons on their belts a hard stare before scanning their faces, a surprised half smile making its way onto her face as she recognised the man leading them.
“Captain,” she said by way of greeting. “What brings you to these hallowed halls, while girded for battle?”
An angry murmur arose at her words and she raised one had to quell the sound before it should grow further. Her attention didn’t waver from Kristdor who returned her stare without embarrassment.
“Holy one.” He bowed low before her, arm sweeping out and his watchmen did the same though with a great deal less grace. “I apologise for the need, but we come with questions and searching for answers.”
“What, pray tell, would those questions be? What kind of questions could one have for those dedicated to the glory of the gods?”
“There is a killer loose in the city and we must follow the trail where it leads, no matter how improbable that the quarry be here.” Kristdor kept his voice even, well aware that should he upset the priests they could have half the city turn on him and the watch. “We must all do our duty.”
Amina wanted to laugh out loud at that. The sheer audacity of the man to speak of duty to the devoted of Ysnir. She settled on a slight smile, the barest upturn of her lips and inclined her head in acknowledgement of his clever wit.
It would ill behove her to stand in the way of anyone doing their duty. A fine high priestess of the goddess of Duty that would make her, indeed.
“All here understand the obligation of duty, Captain. How then may we help you with yours?”
“Merely answer our questions, Holy One. We shall try not to keep your people from their duties for too long.”
“My people, but not me? That hardly seems right.”
“We would never presume to question one so favoured by the light of Ysnir,” Kristdor said, his face still to avoid any hint that could be taken as mockery.
“I would be remiss in my duty if I failed in allowing you to fulfil yours entirely.”
“As you wish, Holy One. I am at your service.”
Amina looked across the crowd until she caught sight of her attendant, Ingvi. She arched one eyebrow at him and he nodded quickly before pushing through the crowd to Priest Namor, a veteran of the temple who would be calm enough to ensure the faithful answered any questions fully.
She stepped from the dais and extended her hand for the watch captain to take. He bowed low over it, his lips barely touching the skin of the back of her hand, his breath hot against her skin as a shiver ran through her.
He was, she realised, the first man who had touched her since she had learnt the fate of the one she loved. It was not an unpleasant feeling, though her heart still ached for her loss.
Amina led him away, through a smaller door set into the wall to the right of the altar and into a small, square room of stone. There were benches against the wall and pegs fixed for formal robes to be hung, awaiting the next ceremony.
She settled delicately onto a bench and tilted her chin up so that she could look the captain in the eye as he stood awkwardly before her.
“Holy One,” he began, and she raised a hand to cut him off.
“Please. I have enough formality in my life. Call me, Amina.”
He shifted uncomfortably and smoothed the hair of his goatee as he considered his words. It was tricky ground he was treading upon and as much as he was loath to question a high priestess in her own temple he could not shirk his duty. She decided to help him just a little.
“On the night when the killer fought your men, I was at a function thrown by City Lord Ivar. A tiresome affair but one that I could not excuse myself from. I was seen by quite a number of people and didn’t leave their sight for most of the night.”
“And, ah, where was this function?”
“At his home near to the council halls. You can throw a stone anywhere in that district and find someone who will confirm that I was there. Including your own mother.”
“I am sure that will not be necessary.”
“Oh, I would not ask you to be remiss in your duty,” she said teasingly. “On three more of the nights in the seven-day preceding that, I was with various people at the time of the murders. I shall have my attendant provide you with their names and you can confirm this.”
“Thank you, Holy… ah, Amina. I think that will be all for now.”
“Perhaps you could spare a moment.” She patted the bench beside her and he licked dry lips. “Please.”
“As you wish.”
Kristdor settled onto the bench, all too aware of the scent of roses that clung to the beautiful woman. Then he cursed silently and reminded himself that the impure thoughts he was having of a high priestess in her own temple would likely end with a lightning bolt from above. He resolved to put some coins in the donation box before he left and perhaps offer a prayer asking for forgiveness.
“Tell me of the killer,” she said, and he blinked, taken momentarily aback.
“Your pardon?”
“What makes you think he is hiding here, amongst the temples and devout?”
“When we saw her, she was wearing the white robes of a novice.”
“That is all? Anyone can don a robe and walk the streets.”
“All of the killings are in an almost direct line from this district. When the creature fled, it was in this direction.”
“Creature? I thought you said it was a woman.”
“Forgive me. A slip of the tongue.”
“No. I have
heard rumours from those who saw you fight it. I would like to hear it from you.”
Kristdor smoothed down his goatee once more, a nervous habit he was well aware of, and considered whether he should tell her or not. Finally, he decided it could do no harm for her to know and might be of help.
“It was a woman we saw first. I am sure of that. She wore white robes and when we confronted her, some black material that flowed like water ran down over her hand and formed claws. When she was engulfed in flame by the mage with us, her robe burnt to ashes, it was revealed that the black substance covered her entirely, obscuring her features.”
Amina’s eyes narrowed, and she tapped her foot idly as she thought.
“What else can you tell me about it?”
“Inhumanely fast. It performed a standing leap from the road to the roof of a house, two storeys tall. The black substance was as hard as steel and sharp enough to tear through our breastplates like they were tissue paper.”
She shook her head, flame red hair escaping from beneath her hood.
“What else can you tell me about it? There’s something, yes?”
Kristdor shifted uncomfortably. He had a vague memory of staring up into that blank face as the mandibles formed and it was not something he was fond of remembering. At the insistence in her voice though, he began to speak.
“Mandibles, like those of an insect. The grew out of its face, four of them that jabbed into the side of a skull and drew out the lifeblood.”
“Corruption!” Amina breathed and Kristdor started, not expecting such language from a high priestess.
“Ah, Holy One?”
“I have seen such a creature before, a decade ago. It was only with the power of Ysnir, and the skill of my friends that I was able to drive it away. Even the five of us could not do more than wound it though.”
“You saw such a monster? Where?”
“In the wilds.”
Her voice was troubled, and her gaze turned inwards as she remembered where she had last fought it. A place she had longed to forget and one that she had sworn never to return to upon hearing of her beloved Jochum’s death.
Chapter 16
Syn grasped the rungs of the rope ladder and pulled himself up through the hatchway as the musket fired barely a foot away from his ear. A high pitch screech could be heard as he sucked in a gasp of the putrid, thick, air and pulled out his daggers, shaking his head to clear the ringing.
A spin, the flash of a blade and another high-pitched scream sounded, a grey-skinned imp falling from the sky, the paralytic and poison on his blade doing their work.
“What’re you doing?” Til screamed at him as she reloaded. “Get your pretty ass back down below!”
“The engines!” he called back in reply and she gave him a blank look before twisting her head to stare behind her.
“Gods damn you all!” she snapped, slipping free of the harness that secured her to the central mast. “A thrice damned pox on the hide of the nameless bastard that sold me those parts!”.
She took a moment to secure her musket before grabbing the guide rope that ran along the length of the top-deck and pulled herself along, fighting the wind with every step as she moved towards the engines that were stubbornly refusing to turn.
Syn lashed out at an imp as it dived for him, not waiting to hear its scream as he grabbed the same guide rope and went after her.
All around the Raven, the imps swarmed. More than he could count and each of them eager to eat of their flesh. Their slight bodies, resembling those of a malformed child with leathery, bat-like wings sprouting from their back, were abominations.
They were creatures of the corruption that had birthed the wilds and they revelled in the screams of their prey as they tore flesh from bone. Syn had no desire to feel their fangs biting into his flesh and with the engines failing, the only way to stop that happening was to protect the gnome as she fixed them.
Inside the ship, Jochum pounded on the console, willing it to work as he stared through the glass windscreen, watching the imps fly around his ship. They were looking for weak points, a place they could enter and taste the flesh within.
“The hatch!” Elva called, lifting her bow and loosing an arrow. A grey-skinned form fell from the rope ladder it had been gripping, the arrow lodged firmly in its skull.
“Damned ciudat!” Wynn snapped, casting a quick spell that sent three small balls of energy towards an inquisitive face that appeared in the hatchway. It screamed and fell back as he reached for his regents.
“Mia! Open the side hatch!” the mage called, and she stared at him blankly. “Gods damn you to all nine hells, girl! Do as I say and open the hatch no more than a foot!”
The former serving girl looked to the others for support, but they were all focused on their own problems and with a shrug, she ran for the winch, hoping the mage knew what he was doing.
She grasped the wheel, breathing deep as she struggled to turn the stubborn metal. With small, shuddering, steps, it began to turn, and the side ramp began to come away from the hull.
Immediately, a dozen of the swarming imps headed for the opening, their small clawed hands seeking purchase so that they could pull themselves inside. Mia stepped back, eyes wide and mouth open, aghast.
“Grab your knife!” Wynn called in between speaking words of power and weaving something in the air before him that she could almost sense without holding on to her source stone. “Quick now! Cut the rope when I say.”
“That will let them in!”
“Do as I tell you, girl!”
She pulled free the dagger that Elva had purchased for her just a few days ago and moved to the thick rope that was all that held the ramp against the hull. It was stretched taut and she gripped it with one hand before placing the edge of her dagger against it.
“Now!” Wynn snapped, and she began to saw at the tough rope.
Mia cut through the rope as fast as she could as the mage settled himself, spread legged before the door with both hands outstretched before him. He held himself tensely as he focused his power into the spell he held, ready to let loose once the ramp fell down.
“Quick now!” he snapped, the strain of holding the spell evident in his voice.
“I’m trying,” Mia muttered, sawing at the rope.
It snapped loudly, one end whipping past her as the ramp fell open and twenty or more imps swarmed towards the opening. Mia pushed herself to the side as Wynn screamed out the final word of the spell and all warmth vanished from her world.
Ice formed on the timber boards around the door, rime frost spreading across the decking. A frozen imp hit the deck beside her and she let out a small scream. More imps crashed down, their rigid bodies holding the same position they had been in when Wynn’s spell was released.
The fat mage sucked in a deep breath, before wiping the sweat from his brow. The spell was strong and dangerous and required a great deal of energy to make work. It took a toll on the body and he felt wrung out.
“More of them!” Elva called, releasing an arrow straight into the chest of another imp. “Why are the engines not moving?”
****
“Shut up and do it yourself!” Til snapped back at the thief who had just asked her the same question.
“Fine, I’ll,” he leapt back away from the dive of a particularly large imp, grabbing one of the ropes that controlled the sail, so as not to fall completely off of the edge of the airship. “Give it a try,” he continued.
“Good luck,” Til snapped. “Back off biggie! I don’t need your fat fingers messing up my work.”
Fat?” Syn wondered with a smile as he sliced a poisoned blade across the left wing of an imp that flew to close, before spinning and sinking his other dagger into the belly of another.
“Any minute now!” Til called, in response to a question he hadn’t asked. “Just hold on, now!”
The thief was in no position to complain as he danced amongst the imps as they dived down at him, claws scoring the
leather cuirass he wore. Beneath the airship, in the dense foliage of the blackened trees that were the imp’s home, more were gathering. Hooting and hollering, their eager voices full of hunger.
They leapt into the air, wings outstretched and wide mouths open as they sang their vile song. A lightning strike caught three of them and they fell back to the ground, bodies burnt and blistered. Syn shook his head slowly.
Wynn had definitely grown in power, he admitted, but his personality had withered. While he had always been a little irritated at the world around him, that had grown into a burning hate for those he considered lesser.
Fortunately, that included the imps, Syn thought with a smile as a fireball exploded in the midst of a rising flight of the gnome-sized creatures.
“Thrice damned!” he snapped as a claw caught his cheek. He stabbed the offending creature through the eye and stared forlornly after its falling body as it took his favoured dagger with it. “Dammit, gnome! That was my best knife. Fix the blasted engines!”
“All done, pretty boy,” Til snapped as the engines coughed back into life, the propellers turning smoothly once more. “Get out of my way and give me my gun.”
Syn swayed back as a particularly pestilent imp flew past him, claws outstretched. He gave a desultory swipe of his knife, knowing he couldn’t really hit it but at least trying to make an effort. As Til regained her musket, he headed back towards the hatch, his knives of little use against an enemy that could fly.
“Take that, beastie!” Til shouted as she fired, the sound of the gunshot filling the air and a lone imp falling from the sky.
As the thief reached the hatch, Til called out to him once more.
“There’s one of them little buggers caught in the rigging.”
“Then shoot it?” Syn called back.
“I do that and hole the sail, we’ll have problems.”
“Really?” he swatted aside a clawed hand and lashed out with his dagger, bringing a screech from the imp as it flew past.
“Get your pretty ass up there! If it damages the rigging, every time we need to change direction you’ll be dragging yourself up here to move the sails by hand.”