Chaosmage

by Stephen Aryan

  “Done, but one of us goes with you,” said Graff.

  It was a smart move and something she’d been expecting. Tammy consented by taking out a bottle and pulling the cork with her teeth. She offered the wine to Graff, who grunted and took a long pull. He closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure before passing it on to the others.

  “So, how long have you been here in the bank?” said Tammy, handing over the pack.

  “Couple of weeks now,” said Graff, moving to the edge of the roof. “Our last place was bigger, but not nearly as secure. We lost a lot of people.”

  The other two mercenaries disappeared into the building with the wine. It would keep them distracted for a while, and before they even thought about double-crossing her she would be long gone.

  “That’s a story I keep hearing,” said Tammy. “Now that there are only a handful of camps each is getting attacked every night.”

  Graff grunted and started pulling up the rope. “Then we’re the lucky ones. They don’t attack us every night, but we can always hear them, scurrying around in the dark. Sometimes there’s only one or two and they just come and watch.”

  Tammy raised an eyebrow. “They watch?”

  Graff was neatly folding the rope and seemed to be concentrating on it, but Tammy thought he was avoiding eye contact. “It’s always people we used to know, before they were changed. They just stand there on the street for hours, out of range, otherwise we’d shoot them. They never say anything, never move, just watch. The first time it happened I thought it meant a big attack was on the way. Every now and then they show up when it gets dark, and stare at us. The others pretend it doesn’t bother them or that it doesn’t mean anything, but I think the Forsaken are just waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  Graff finished with the rope and went back to staring at the city. “For us to drop our guard. Maybe fall asleep. Maybe the one time we do that they will swarm this place.”

  “So you stay up and stare right back at them.”

  “Every time,” said Graff with a hint of pride. “I might get taken one of these nights, but it won’t be in my sleep.”

  Like everyone else in the city, Graff was pale with hollow cheeks from a lack of decent food and shortage of sleep. The shadows under his eyes were so purple they were almost black and he smelled ripe. He was determined never to be caught unawares but Tammy knew no matter how tough a person was, everyone had their limit.

  “Do you ever talk to the other camps?” asked Tammy, after the silence had stretched out for a while.

  “Why would we do that?” asked Graff. “Those bastards would only try to steal our food or kill us.”

  Tammy sensed a partial lie. “But you keep an eye on them, don’t you?”

  Graff shrugged. “We know where they are, but we keep our distance. If one of our squads sees one of theirs during the day, we walk away. That’s the only agreement we all made without speaking.”

  “I’d like to speak with a few people inside,” said Tammy.

  “Give me a minute.” Graff went down into the building and his two friends came up to the roof to keep watch.

  At the bottom of a roughly fashioned ladder Tammy found herself on the top floor of a once-grand building. The black lacquered hardwood floors were now grimy from mud and an assortment of filth from many people living together in a small space. Grand metal railings twisted into fanciful designs on every floor were now decorated with damp clothes drying in the fetid air. A heavy miasma of unwashed bodies and partly cooked food flooded Tammy’s nose. It hung in the air like a cloud and she had to breathe through her mouth for a few minutes until she adjusted to the smell.

  “Ripe, isn’t it?” said Graff. “You get used to it.”

  Peering into a few rooms Tammy saw a lot of what she’d initially expected to find in Voechenka. In a place where money meant nothing, people had to earn their place in the camps in a variety of other ways.

  In one room she saw a lanky mercenary sitting on a mountain of grimy pillows like a king idling on a throne. Arranged around him were several almost-naked women, each wearing only a scrap of cloth across their hips. All of them looked cold and were bone thin, but their needs didn’t seem to matter. One knelt behind the mercenary gently brushing his hair while two more rubbed oils into the skin on his hands and forearms. In one corner another sat polishing his sword and yet another was furiously working to clean the rust from his armour. The room stank of sex and body oil.

  In another room she saw several local people huddled together while a mercenary held a collection of sticks towards them with one hand.

  “They can’t fight, so whoever draws the shortest straw goes out to scavenge for food,” explained Graff with a shrug. “It’s either that or they earn their keep in some other way,” he said, jerking a thumb towards the mercenary and his harem.

  “Give me a minute with them,” said Tammy, stepping into the room with the huddled group of locals. The mercenary looked at Graff for guidance and then up at Tammy. She could practically hear what he was thinking and she grinned, daring him to try.

  “We’ve made a deal,” said Graff, a note of warning in his voice. “There’s some wine if you want it.”

  Tammy kept her eyes on the man and one hand on her dagger until he’d moved downstairs.

  After asking the local people a few questions it became clear that they knew very little about the murders or where the Forsaken had come from. There was a general consensus that it had started after that first winter, but no one knew more than that.

  As she’d promised Alyssa, Tammy made them an offer of sanctuary in return for nothing. As expected they didn’t believe her. It had to be a trick to tempt them into a situation worse than they currently endured. Tammy attempted to reassure them that the offer was genuine but they remained unconvinced.

  In other rooms she found more groups of wan locals performing a variety of tasks to earn their keep. Each time the answers they provided were vague. After all that they had endured over the last few years most were keen to forget the recent past.

  Tammy did her best not to show her shock at their living conditions but some of it must have leaked out, as Graff shrugged apologetically.

  “What else can we do?” he asked. She bit her tongue and reminded herself there were at least twenty-five armed mercenaries in the building.

  “Your hour’s nearly up,” said Graff, glancing up at the sky through the hole in the roof. Here on the ground floor the smell was worse and there were groups of mercenaries gambling, eating, sleeping and already making good headway on the wine. “Time to get moving,” he warned, as a fight broke out between two women over a half-empty bottle.

  By the time she had climbed back down the rope it was getting on for midday. Tammy walked away from the camp without looking back but her mind lingered on the terrible conditions inside. When she was a few streets away she paused to see if anyone had followed her. She waited in the skeletal remains of what had been a shop, hunkering down in the cool shadows, but no one came after her. Even so, she went on a winding path to where she’d stashed the next bag full of wine.

  There were more camps to explore and she needed to be back at the winery before dark. Tammy wasn’t sure if any of the other camps would provide useful information, but she had to try. She knew it wasn’t much to go on, but in this city hope was in short supply. All you could do was keep moving forward and try to make it to the next dawn.

  CHAPTER 18

  A cold wind blowing in from the west made Balfruss pull on his pair of multi-coloured woollen gloves. Every day more gloves were being produced until eventually everyone would have at least one pair and probably a scarf as well. After that he suspected each person would receive a woollen cap or jumper.

  It gave people in their shelter something to focus on and a way for them to contribute, if they were unable or unwilling to fight. He’d noticed Alyssa did her best to make everyone feel useful and valued. Even if it was just drawing water from
the well or washing the floors, it was all seen as important. With so many people living close together, cleanliness was vital, and he was amazed at the lack of disease.

  As the wind cut through his clothing Balfruss appreciated the gloves even more. Further along the wall others huddled against the cold while doing their best to keep their eyes on the street. There was still some daylight clinging to the edges of the sky and if the Forsaken returned to their old pattern it would be a couple of hours before they showed up. Normally only a few lookouts would be on the wall so early, but last night’s absence had everyone worried.

  “Go inside and warm up,” said Alyssa, gesturing at her people on the wall. Balfruss saw Zannah frown but she didn’t contradict the order and went back to her silent vigil with Tammy. The tall Guardian had been quiet and contemplative since her return, and from the deep furrows in her forehead he suspected she’d seen a few unpleasant sights during the day. As the last of the defenders went down the stairs, Kai, the plague priest, came up onto the wall. He was a peculiar man who seemed to unnerve the other priests to the point that they did their utmost to avoid him at all times. If it bothered him it didn’t show. Even now he seemed completely at ease, lounging on the wall with one foot dangling over the side and a wry grin on his face. He held a glass of wine in one hand, a half-empty bottle in the other.

  “What did you find in the other camps?” Alyssa asked Tammy. “Anything useful?”

  It took the Guardian a few seconds to reply and Balfruss sensed she was choosing her words carefully. “Sadly not very much. I visited two and in each the story was the same. They have vague recollections of when people started disappearing, but nothing precise. They don’t know where it started in the city. After a few months of living like this, I can’t blame them.” Tammy gestured at the desolate city surrounding them. “When every day is identical to the last, it makes it difficult to measure time.”

  “Was nothing they said helpful?” asked Alyssa.

  “A few things,” conceded Tammy. “But I need to visit the other camps to corroborate their stories.”

  “How were the people faring?” asked Alyssa. As always she was trying to look after everyone in the city. Balfruss had seen Zannah shove food into her hands and wait until Alyssa had eaten some before leaving her alone.

  “Much the same as here,” said Tammy, taking out a whetstone. She held up her dagger to the fading light, spat and started honing its edges. “They’re hungry, desperate and scared. People are forced to scavenge or serve the mercenaries in other ways. In return they get to stay behind the walls.”

  Alyssa frowned at the Guardian, no doubt sensing there was more to her words than she was saying, but didn’t press for details.

  “What about the Forsaken?” asked Zannah, her eyes scanning the deepest shadows for signs of movement.

  “Again, a similar story,” said Tammy. “Every night the Forsaken either attack, or a few come by and stare at them. The defenders can’t risk going to sleep with them close by, so they spend all night watching each other.”

  The whisking of steel against the whetstone triggered a memory and Balfruss fondly touched the axe at his waist in remembrance.

  “None of the bases talk to each other, as they’re all afraid of losing what little they have. So it’s impossible to know how many Forsaken are out there.”

  “The numbers are always changing,” said Zannah. “Every night they try to take people away and create more Forsaken.”

  “True, but that could also mean they have fewer than we think,” suggested Alyssa, ever the optimist. “Why else would they only attack some bases and just scare others? Why not attack all of the bases at once with hundreds of Forsaken?”

  It was a good question and one that none of them could answer. Alyssa waited for Zannah to explain it, but the Morrin could only shake her head. Much to everyone’s surprise Kai offered them an answer that no one had even considered.

  “They’re separating the herd,” he said, sipping his wine.

  “Meaning what?” asked Balfruss.

  The plague priest drained his glass then topped it up again before answering. “When a predator is hunting, it doesn’t attack the whole herd. It will scare and scatter its prey, keeping them separated and clueless as to its strength. The prey has no idea if it’s acting alone or with a pack. It makes prey easier to kill. It also stops the herd from grouping together and stampeding the predator to death.”

  Balfruss and the others looked at the priest with some alarm but he didn’t seem to notice. He just kept drinking his wine and staring off into the dark as if it were an old and familiar friend.

  “With everyone scared all the time in Voechenka, it stops them going on the offensive. It keeps each camp isolated,” said Tammy, and Kai raised his glass in salute.

  “Exactly. Together you might have a chance, and whoever is controlling the Forsaken knows that. You have to stop thinking it’s the same as you. Whatever is behind all of this . . . ” said Kai, flinging his arms wide and nearly toppling off the wall in the process. The half-empty bottle of wine went sailing off into the dark, but he managed to hold on to his glass and his perch. “It’s not like you and probably never was. People coming back from the dead. That’s a good first clue. Stop pretending it’s a person.”

  “It’s against nature and ungodly,” said Alyssa, placing her right hand over her heart in remembrance of the Blessed Mother. Kai’s mocking laughter echoed across the city and Alyssa looked at him askance. He was the most peculiar priest any of them had ever met. Not once had Balfruss seen him say any kind of prayer or offer thanks to his god.

  “Whatever the thing is,” said Kai, “it wants something, but don’t try to assign human reasoning. It might want something you’d never consider.”

  The plague priest drained his glass and looked surprised that he wasn’t holding the bottle any more. “I need more wine,” he said, stumbling away down the stairs.

  An odd silence settled on the wall for a minute. “He’s a very peculiar man,” said Alyssa. Balfruss could only agree. There was something very strange about Kai compared to every other priest he’d ever met.

  An hour after full dark Balfruss briefly left the wall to get something to eat. The stew was rich and spicy, with a mix of pulses and herbs, and the bread was fresh and warm. Like everyone else he ate every mouthful and scraped the bowl before heartily thanking the cooks. He’d barely made it back to the wall when they saw the first Forsaken stumble into view. In the base there was a strange sense of relief at seeing them. Then came the familiar feelings of dread.

  Alyssa sent several teenagers running to fetch others to defend the wall, and by the time they arrived and had strung their bows, the Forsaken were almost in range. Taking a deep breath Balfruss cleared his mind and let it drift into a quiet space. As the first bowstrings sang he heard with clarity the voice of his father and recalled the countless lessons in the distant jungle of the north. He’d performed the same moves over and over, so many times until they were ingrained not only in his mind, but also his muscles.

  As the first ladders rattled against the stone wall Balfruss loosened his neck, rolled his shoulders and looked at the enemy. There were more Forsaken in the street than he’d ever seen, racing out of the shadows to besiege them. They attacked with such fury he wondered if their arrival and investigations had triggered this response. Or perhaps the Forsaken had finally decided it was time to eliminate another camp. Either way the time for thinking was over.

  With a practised swing, using the full weight of his hips and shoulders, Balfruss brought his axe down on the skull of the first Forsaken. It split the woman’s head open and she toppled off the ladder with a scream, hitting two more people on her way down. To his left Zannah fought with renewed energy, a grim smile on her face as she took the Forsaken apart with skilled efficiency. Previously she had been dangerous, but now that he had restored her youth, she had become a force of nature. Every move was precise, every swing and counter tim
ed perfectly so that it ended with her opponent losing a hand, an arm or sometimes their head. Her speed had also increased compared with two nights ago and now the Forsaken never came close to wounding her.

  To his right Tammy rivalled the Morrin for skill and brutal efficiency. Her blade, Maligne, flashed through the air and seemed to be in constant motion, cleaving, slicing and generally dismembering the Forsaken as fast as they reached the top of the wall. With a roar Tammy hurled a woman over the edge and then kicked a man in the face, destroying his nose and cracking his cheek. He squawked in pain and fell out of sight, but she didn’t seem satisfied. Whatever Tammy had seen during her visits to the other camps had affected her more than she realised.

  A burly man dressed in ragged leathers climbed onto the wall beside Balfruss and the Sorcerer calmly turned to face him. Once, he may have been a mercenary, but now he was a hollow-eyed thing. The man raised a sword above his head and wasted time by bellowing a war cry. Balfruss whipped the haft of his axe into the mercenary’s neck, crushing his throat and turning his cry into a choking gurgle. Before the man had a chance to retaliate Balfruss switched to a one-handed grip and shattered his right knee with the flat of his blade. The mercenary dropped to the ground, screaming and gasping for air, and with two hands Balfruss took off his head. It bounced once and then fell off the wall into the courtyard.

  The man was quickly replaced by another body and another, to the point where the muscles in Balfruss’s shoulders and arms began to burn.

  The waves of Forsaken seemed to be endless but the defenders soon began to turn the tide. The Shael people didn’t have the training, but the arrival of the priests had offered them a glimmer of hope which they clung too. Whether it was actually a matter of renewed faith or simply more energy from a few good meals Balfruss didn’t really care. Many Forsaken were hacked apart and crushed by local people, where previously only a few would have been wounded or pushed over the wall.

  As Balfruss dodged a crude overhead attack a terrified scream ripped through the air. His opponent overbalanced and stumbled forward, nearly dropping his mace in the process. Balfruss severed the man’s spine just above the hips and turned towards the noise.