by Mike Wild
Slowhand nodded to Jakub Freel as he made his way off the platform and down into the crowd. Kali was in full swing now and didn't notice him go.
"...if it wasn't for Gabriella DeZantez," Kali shouted, pointing at the Anointed Lord, "this woman would be spending the rest of her life with tassels on her tits!"
Slowhand smiled, working his way through the crowd. A few days ago he'd have stopped to help with the commotion that comment would cause, but Hooper would be all right.
Look after her, Prince Jakub Tremayne Freel, he thought.
What Slowhand did not know was that as he had left the platform and stared into the eyes of the Faith enforcer, it had been Bastian Redigor staring back.
About the Author
Mike Wild is much older than he has a right to be, considering the kebabs, the booze and the fags. Maybe it's because he still thinks he's 15. Apart from dabbling occasionally in publishing and editing, he's been a freelance writer for ever, clawing his way up to his current dizzy heights by way of work as diverse as Doctor Who, Masters of the Universe, Starblazer, 'Allo 'Allo! and - erm - My Little Pony. Counting one Teen Romance, one ABC Warriors and two Caballistics Inc, Engines of the Apocalypse is his seventh novel. However, only his beloved wife and tuna-scoffing cat give him the recognition he deserves.
If you enjoyed Engines of the Apocalypse, why not try...
ISBN: 978-1-906735-28-9
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Stealing a ship from the harbour at Turnitia would have been an audacious enough task in itself, but stealing a vessel belonging to the Final Faith was another matter entirely. When Dunsany had first suggested it to Kelos he had stared blankly at him for a moment and then said: "Have you seen what they do to heretics? Have you seen the rather fetching collection of heretic skins Makennon keeps as mementos?"
Katherine Makennon was the flame-haired, hot-tempered, Anointed Lord; the leader of the Final Faith. A religious tyrant who kept a firm hand on her church and made sure that its message was heard by all, whether they wanted to listen or not.
"I may have no love for the Faith, Dunsany, but I rather value my fingernails."
"But we're in a perfect position to do this." Kelos said. "We have my contacts on Sarcre and a hiding place that's virtually impossible to find. Besides, who's in a better position to pull this off than the Chief Engineer and the Head Mage on the project?"
The designs for the ship had been found almost a year before in an elvish ruin near Freiport, by an adventurer called Kali Hooper. Hooper had been forced to part with her find once Makennon's people had got wind of the importance of the artefact. Ancient texts had spoken of the elves' mastery of the rough Twilight seas and of how they had ventured far beyond the Storm Wall and the Sarcre Islands but, until now, no reference had been found as to the design of their ships.
And just as Kali Hooper had been forced to part with her find, so Dunsany and Kelos had been forced to work for the Final Faith.
Dunsany had been working as a shipping engineer in Turnitia for the last ten years, before that he had been the Captain of a merchant vessel plying its trade between Sarcre and Allantia. He was a master of the rough seas that surrounded the peninsula and the ships he sailed, and later designed, were considered to be some of the finest in existence. When the Anclas Territories fell to Vos and the Final Faith tightened its grip on the city, Dunsany was the first person corralled into working for the church's naval division.
The second was Kelos.
With the subjugation of Turnitia, Kelos had considered fleeing across the border to Andon, but before he could act on his decision booted feet had kicked down his door and he had been dragged into the night.
Makennon had heard rumours of this powerful mage who worked his magic at the Turnitia docks; of how his wards protected the ships against the ravages of the sea and how his mastery of the elements had guided home many a battered vessel. It was true that his magic was no match for the angry waters beyond the Storm Wall but, even so, it was reckoned that his power was one of the main reasons Turnitia thrived as a harbour town.
When Dunsany had looked up from his diagrams one night to see Kelos standing over him, he had grinned and said: "What took you so long?"
So the two men applied themselves to whatever marine problem Makennon threw their way; Dunsany maintaining the fleet and mapping routes while Kelos empowered the ships with his charms and wards. The crossed circle of the Final Faith soon became a familiar sight at the docks, as it was painted onto the ships preparing to bring indoctrination to Twilight's coastal towns.
As the Faith's power had grown, so Kelos and Dunsany's resentment had increased. It was true that they were spiritual men, to a certain degree, but they resented being forced along one path of belief. "All paths lead to Kerberos," Kelos's mother had once said. But if either Dunsany or Kelos dared mention the old ways, the penalty would be severe indeed and they'd soon be joining their ancestors.
And so they strengthened their comradeship in the hatred they held for the church and, with the discovery of the designs for the ship, that hatred soon found purpose.
It was called the Llothriall and it was a song ship. As Dunsany and Kelos had been presented with the ancient scrolls, detailing the schematics for the vessel, their awe had been palpable. Both men had heard of the song ships but neither had ever imagined they'd see the plans for such a vessel. Dunsany had never thought that a ship could be so beautiful, or so difficult to build. As he and Kelos had worked through the list of materials required they realised that the actual construction of the vessel would be the least part of the project.
The hull was to be composed primarily of a wood found only in the Drakengrat mountains. Even with their enchanted armour and cadre of mages, the detachment of men sent there suffered massive losses when a pride of shnarls smelt the human meat entering their territory. The pitch required to coat the hull had also been somewhat difficult to source, having to come - as it did - from the veins of the many-spiked, semi-sentient and highly poisonous spiritine tree. Twenty-five men were sent into the Sardenne and only five made it out. The fate they suffered, however, was as nothing compared to the torment experienced by the young men and women sent to steal the silk for the sails from the X'lcotl. All forty sent on that mission to the World's Ridge mountains returned, but their minds did not. Their consciousnesses remained with the X'lcotl - now a part of their web - and, as those strange creatures traversed the strands, the vibrations echoed out, inducing visions and delirium in the souls captured there. The shells of humans who sat and muttered in the padded cells of Scholten cathedral would die in time, and their bodies would return to the earth, but their souls would always be caught in that terrible web.
The heart of the Llothriall - the great gem whose magic powered the ship - was, thankfully, already in the possession of the Faith. The iridescent mineral had sat in Katherine Makennon's private quarters and had been used, variously, over the years as a footstool, a table and a support for a bookshelf. It was only after the discovery of the designs for the song ship that Makennon realised the worth of the artefact. Originally a general had found it in a field during the last war between Vos and Pontaine, and it had been presented to Makennon as a tribute. When Kelos told her what she had, Makennon's estimation of the general was greatly raised. If he had still been alive she may even have made him an Eminence.
The power within the gem required a key to unlock it, and that was where Emuel had come into the picture.
Elf magic was based on song and no human could achieve the pitch required to sing their spells. No normal human, at least.
Emuel had been the priest of a small parish near Nürn. He was the youngest priest in the Faith, at only twelve years old, and was utterly devoted to the church. Even through the soft, lilting tones of his voice he managed to communicate his passion and devotion to his congregation. His parishioners had often speculated as to whether elf blood ran in Emuel's veins, for he was unnaturally tall, unusually pale and unquestionably femi
nine. So it was that his was one of the first names put forward for the role of ship's eunuch; a role that he accepted demurely and gratefully. Once the surgeon's knives had ensured that the youthful pitch of Emuel's voice would remain, and the elven runes and songlines had been needled into his flesh, Kelos wondered whether that gratitude endured.
The Llothriall's construction was brought through suffering and loss and there was no limit to the number of men and women Katherine Makennon was willing to spend in building the Faith's flagship vessel. Unfortunately, there also seemed to be no limit to the amount of the faithful who were willing to give their lives to the cause. Dunsany and Kelos wouldn't have given their time so freely had it not been for the threat of certain heresies and indiscretions suddenly being 'remembered'. Even through their resentment, however, both men couldn't deny the majesty of what was taking shape at the Turnitia docks.
And it was partly because of that, and partly because of their hatred of the Final Faith and all it stood for, that they planned to steal the Llothriall.
"Makennon cannot be allowed to keep it," Dunsany said one evening when they were away from the ears of the Faithful. "It's bad enough that they use the regular ships to enforce their beliefs on the coastal towns, but the Llothriall can go further than them. Make no mistake, Makennon isn't planning some altruistic voyage of discovery. She's on a mission of religious conquest."
Kelos stared into the depths of his ale, behind him two sailors were beating a sea shanty into a broken piano. "No one's been beyond the Sarcre Islands and the Storm Wall before. No ship could survive those seas."
"The Llothriall can and just imagine what it may find."
"New lands."
"New people."
"New races with new ideologies. What do you think will happen, Dunsany, when those ideologies come up against the Final Faith?"
"What do you think?" Dunsany sighed and ran his fingers through his beard. "Gods, whatever happened to discovery for discovery's sake? Why does every pitsing artefact, every pitsing scroll and spell that's unearthed instantly become a weapon in somebody's war?"
"We could always run away to Allantia. Start up a small fishing concern. I could do cantrips for the locals."
Dunsany shook his head and smiled. "Or we could take Makennon's new toy away from her."
This time, when Kelos looked at him, Dunsany could see something like resolve in his eyes. "Discovery for discovery's sake?"
"Discovery for Discovery's sake," Dunsany confirmed, raising his tankard. "Cheers."
"Get down!"
Dunsany shoved Emuel and Kelos behind a crate as the guard rounded the hull of the vast ship. Beside him the eunuch whimpered, the strange runes and illustrations inked on his body glowing with a blue-black sheen in the Kerberos-lit dusk.
"Was it really necessary to bind him like that?" Kelos whispered, looking over at the shivering, tattooed eunuch.
"If he gets away we're buggered, you know that. No one else can sing to that gem and unlock the magic but him. Unless, that is, you'd like me to perform an impromptu operation on you right here?" Dunsany slowly unsheathed his dagger, a smile playing across his lips.
"No, no that's fine. Really."
It didn't look like Emuel was going to make a break for it though. He'd been close to a state of catatonic shock ever since they had sprung him from his cell in the cathedral. All they had to do now was board the ship, make him sing and they were away.
"Gods Dunsany, are you sure that this is a good idea? I count three men with crossbows on the foremast and I wouldn't put it past Makennon to have a Shadowmage tucked in there somewhere."
"Well then, old friend," Dunsany said, putting an arm around Kelos's shoulder. "You'll just have to weave your own magic won't you? Now, keep Emuel quiet while I take care of this guard."
The guard was coming towards them again, having completed a circuit of the ship. Dunsany knelt down and loaded a quarrel into his crossbow. Slowly, he edged around the crate, carefully drawing a bead on the guard while keeping to the shadows. The weapon was custom made, expertly crafted, and the quarrel made almost no noise as it exited the crossbow and entered the throat of the man in the robes of a Final Faith guard. Dunsany briefly left cover to grab the corpse and pull it out of sight of the ship.
Emuel looked down at the pool of blood edging towards him from the body and, before Kelos had time to clamp his hand over his mouth, emitted a piercing shriek. Instantly there was movement on the foremast. Dunsany glared at Emuel and briefly considered cracking him round the head with the stock of his crossbow, but without the eunuch they weren't going anywhere.
"Kelos, remember that magic I mentioned? Well, now's the time."
Kelos closed his eyes, summoning the threads of elemental power. A coolness coursed through him as the pounding of waves thundered in his head. Beside him Emuel and Dunsany backed away as they tasted the tang of ozone that told them something big was about to happen.
Kelos stepped out of cover and raised his hands.
The ships in this part of the docks were already swaying drunkenly, the fierce power of the sea only slightly dissipated by the massive breakwaters, but the Llothriall now began to lurch even more than its neighbours. The guards in the foremast were having great difficulty in keeping their aim on the man who had emerged from the shadows below them. One let loose with his bow just as the boat lurched hard to starboard and the arrow sailed high into the night. A few almost found their target but Kelos didn't even flinch as the arrows thudded into the wood of the crate behind him. Instead, he concentrated on the great wheel of energy that spun through his mind. The sea surrounding the ship began to churn more furiously now and Kelos spat out the syllables that he had memorised five years before from a rare and mildewed book. For each guttural exclamation a thick rope of water erupted from the waves.
One of the guards dropped his weapon as a tentacle of water snaked around his neck. Hearing the snap of vertebrae his comrade started to scramble down the rigging, but before he could reach the deck he was thrown clear of the ship, crashing into the side of a warehouse. The last man was picked from the foremast, where he had been standing frozen in shock. His bow dropped from his numb fingers as an arm of living water encircled his waist. He looked down as the ship receded below him and then he was upside-down and the sea was rushing towards him.
Kelos lowered his hands and edged towards the dock wall but the guard didn't resurface. The tendrils of water fell, lifeless, and Dunsany and a shaken Emuel emerged from hiding.
"I think that you've found a new way to clear the decks. Don't suppose there's anything you can do for laughing boy here is there?" Kelos cast a silence spell on the eunuch. Emuel looked offended and opened his mouth, but his protest failed to emerge. "Thank the Gods for that. I didn't fancy boarding the Llothriall while he continued to scream the place down. Now, when we want you to sing, you'll sing okay? Kelos, lead the way."
On board, at the bottom of the steps leading below, they stopped in front of a door. Dunsany cocked his crossbow and put his ear to the wood. He was raising his arm to signal that it was safe for them to proceed when twelve inches of steel erupted from the door just by his nose. The sword was quickly withdrawn and the door burst open. Kelos flung his palms out and a fireball thudded into the chest of the man who emerged, launching him backwards down the corridor behind him.
Dunsany glanced back at his friend as he stepped over the felled guard.
"I'm warning you now that I can't keep this up for much longer," Kelos panted.
"Relax, we're almost there."
Two more short flights of steps and a long corridor led them to the heart of the ship. They stopped in front of a reinforced door, elvish script covering its surface. Kelos traced the design with his fingers, muttering something to himself. Eventually he stepped back and nodded. "That's the advantage of having designed the wards, I know how to counteract them. On three?" He drew a short sword.
"On three." Dunsany agreed, drawing his own blade.<
br />
As they charged into the room Kelos was flung against the ceiling. For a moment he thought that the boat had taken a massive hit, but then he saw the man in the corner, smiling as he weaved threads of magic, muttering strange syllables.
Kelos's windpipe started to constrict as the Shadowmage increased his hold. Below him, Dunsany was squaring off against the guards who stood in front of the magical gem that was the engine of the vessel. The stone, sitting in its housing of metal and wood, seemed to whisper to Kelos as he gasped for breath.
He watched as Dunsany swung at one of the guards. The man tumbled to the side to avoid the blow and Dunsany took the opportunity to fire a quarrel at the other guard.
When the quarrel entered his thigh, the man grunted and stepped back. However, the injury hadn't slowed him as he roared and shoulder charged Dunsany into the wall. The guard pushed his blade against Dunsany's throat but Dunsany gritted his teeth, reversed his grip on his sword and rammed the pommel into the base of the guard's neck. The man dropped and Kelos cried out a warning as the remaining guard stepped in to fill the gap.
Dunsany failed to fully evade the blow and the blade sliced into his cheek, flicking blood into his eyes. He staggered and almost tripped over Emuel, who was on the floor behind him, rocking back and forth. The guard took advantage of the stumble and swung again, this time nicking Dunsany's wrist, making him drop his sword. Dunsany raised his crossbow and fired. Kelos saw the mage in the corner blink and the quarrel turned to powder millimetres from the guard's face.
"I knew Makennon should never have trusted scum like you." The guard said, brushing dust from his jerkin. "If you ask me we didn't do enough in converting this shit hole you people call home. Unbelievers should have been put to the sword a long time ago."
Kelos continued to gasp for breath, barely conscious now. The stone was practically screaming into his head and, with a jolt of realisation, he realised what he must do.