A Demon in Silver (War of the Archons)

by R. S. Ford

  ‘It’s not like that,’ said Josten, trying to convince himself as much as Mullen.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s got to stop. So, sit here, drink until you can’t speak, go and puke, and sleep safe in your bed for another night.’

  Josten opened his mouth to argue, but he had no idea what to say. He knew Mullen was right. Instead he picked up his tankard and nudged Mullen’s with it.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Mullen. ‘Now, let’s get pissed.’

  Josten could only laugh, and once he started he couldn’t stop. As the night wore on his shoulder hurt less and less, along with his desire for Selene. This was probably for the best anyway. He’d been kidding himself. Their affair had been doomed from the start. If they got the chance to be alone again he’d be sure to tell her so. It was over; this was no good for either of them.

  The ale was drunk and songs were sung till long into the night and Josten could barely remember his own name. Harlaw had already left, along with most of his retinue, which gave Mullen plenty of opportunity to point out what lightweights they were. It wasn’t until Mullen threw up a bucketful of puke next to the fire that Josten thought it might be time to get some sleep.

  The corridors swirled as he made his way up through the fort’s twisting staircases. Luckily the passages were tight, so he couldn’t have fallen over even if he’d wanted to. When he made it to the small room put aside for him he was pleasantly surprised to find someone had lit a couple of candles so he could see what he was doing.

  Josten stumbled inside, trying to stay focused on his bed until he realised someone was in the room waiting for him. His heart suddenly leapt, thinking it was Selene, but as Sir Percel walked into the light his hopes were dashed.

  ‘You lost?’ asked Josten, trying his best to not stagger too much.

  ‘No, Captain. I’m afraid I’m not.’

  Josten stared for a moment. Percel’s face was serious. In his drunken haze the thought process took its time, but eventually he worked it out.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said, just as two more of Harlaw’s knights entered the room.

  One of them hit him before he could move, the ale dulling his reactions. Josten fell to his knee as the second knight kicked him in the ribs. He floundered, too drunk to fight back.

  As the blows rained down, he could hear Percel saying something about how sorry he was.

  5

  HIS head was pounding and there was no light as he opened his eyes. Josten had no idea how long he’d been out – it could have been an hour, could have been a day.

  He tried to move but his hands were bound, the wound in his shoulder screaming as he did so. He gritted his teeth, stifling a shout of pain. What came out was a low hissing moan. A tooth was loose at the back of his mouth and he moved his head up from the floor, feeling his skin peel from the sticky stone beneath him – could have been blood, could have just been the damp of the floor.

  Even in the dark he could tell one of his eyes was swollen shut. His ribs had taken a kicking – whether any of them were broken only time would tell. Once on his knees, he managed to lift his head, realising how groggy he was. The room span and he wavered slightly before willing himself to stay still. He worked his jaw, tongue probing the side of his mouth to tease at the tooth loose in the gum.

  This didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel good at all.

  Voices outside the cell. There were footsteps. Someone laughed.

  Fuck them and their laughing. He was as good as dead in here and someone still had the stones to find mirth in it. If he managed to get free of these bonds he’d…

  What? What would he do? He was beaten to shit. Unarmed. There was nothing he was going to do. Right now, all Josten Cade was good for was hanging till dead at the end of a rope. Best to face these things head on. When there was no hope there was no use in pretending.

  The cell door creaked open behind him, letting in a little light. Something scurried into the shadows in front of him as someone entered behind. They left the door open as they walked into the room and slowly Josten turned his head. Harlaw stood there, half hidden in shadow, just watching.

  ‘I never wanted this,’ said the duke. ‘But you left me no choice.’

  Josten heard the words and knew the truth of them. Tied up and beaten as he was, they were still hard to accept. He wanted to tell Harlaw that there were always choices. That he could always untie Josten’s hands and let him go.

  Instead he worked his tooth loose from the gum with his tongue and spat it onto the cell floor. There was no way he’d beg.

  ‘I wanted to avoid any unpleasantness,’ Harlaw continued. ‘But my men are loyal. They may have been a little… vigorous, in the execution of my orders.’

  ‘Loyal?’ Josten said, then spat a gob of blood from his mouth. ‘You talk about that a lot. Wasn’t too long ago you were saying I’m the most loyal soldier you’ve got. I’m not sure I want the job anymore.’ He laughed a gallows laugh.

  Harlaw didn’t see the funny side. ‘Were you loyal when you were fucking my wife?’

  Josten let the condemnation hang there. He knew there was nothing else to say, no excuses that might see him get out of this alive. He had always known his infatuation with Selene would see him dead. It was only ever a matter of time.

  ‘Best just get it over with then,’ Josten said, looking at Harlaw through the dark, staring at his executioner with as much defiance as he could. Not that it mattered; you could be as defiant as you wanted but when you were beaten and bound it still wouldn’t save your life.

  ‘I won’t be the one to kill you, old friend,’ said Harlaw. ‘We go back too far for that. But you’ll die, of that there’s no doubt. What is it you always say? “Everyone gets what they deserve”?’

  ‘Still none too keen to get your hands bloody?’ said Josten, wanting this over as soon as he could. There was never any sense in drawing these things out.

  ‘Oh, I’d like to kill you, Cade. I’d like to throttle you with my own hands. But Selene hates me enough. If she knew I was the one that killed you, things could go badly for me.’

  Josten smiled at that one. ‘Frightened of your own wife?’

  ‘No.’ Harlaw shook his head slowly. ‘But I need her and her family onside. There’s no reason to make her hate me any more than necessary. Don’t worry yourself though. I’ve got men willing to do the job for me.’ He took a step towards the door before stopping. ‘Rest easy that it’ll be quick. I owe you that much.’

  He walked back through the door and closed it, plunging the room into darkness.

  Josten knelt there for gods knew how long. The pounding in his head subsided but the cold and damp seemed to creep into his bones, resting there like a maggot in a peach, squirming into his marrow and making him shiver till he wanted to piss himself. When the door to the cell opened again, Josten was more than ready for them to take him.

  He recognised Percel in the warm lantern light. The other two were Harlaw’s knights; big fuckers, the kind you sent into the vanguard where the fighting was bloodiest. The kind that showed no mercy. Not that Josten expected any.

  They picked him up and led him out of the cell. It was still night. Harlaw obviously didn’t want his prisoner paraded around Fort Carlaine like a prize. That was something for Josten to be thankful for. But then Harlaw probably didn’t want the fact he’d been cuckolded getting around the duchy. Reputation was everything to a man like that.

  Josten had to grit his teeth as they led him out. The knights were none too gentle and the aching in his ribs and the sting of his shoulder made him want to weep. There could be no weeping though. He’d not show weakness now, even at the end.

  They took him through the courtyard, Percel leading the way, but there was someone else waiting in the dark. Josten squinted through his one good eye, seeing Mullen standing there, watching. For a second his heart beat that much faster. For the briefest moment, there was a surge of hope that his old friend might be there to save him. It was dashed when Per
cel said something and Mullen stood aside.

  Josten knew then. Mullen had known all the time he and Selene had been lovers. It was Mullen who stood to benefit with Josten out of the way. Gods’ blood, he’d even admitted he knew during the banquet. No one else could have told Harlaw.

  ‘You fucker,’ Josten spat as they dragged him towards the gate. ‘I would have killed for you! Died for you, bastard!’

  Mullen shook his head, guilt written all over his long ugly features.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Josten couldn’t hold back the rage. ‘Fucking sorry?’

  With a surge of strength Josten struggled free of the two knights. His hands still tied behind him he charged at Mullen, a low growl escaping from his throat. There was little he could do but give one last show. For his part, Mullen grabbed him around the neck as they both skidded on the cobbles.

  ‘I’ll fucking kill you,’ Josten snarled, but he knew it was empty bluster. He wouldn’t be killing anyone ever again.

  ‘Calm it,’ Mullen said. Then, ‘Just accept what’s coming,’ in a low, calm whisper.

  As Mullen spoke, Josten felt his friend place something in his hands, just before the knights grabbed him and pulled him away. Josten grunted as he felt the tug in his ribs and shoulder, staring at Mullen as he was dragged through the gate. He clung tight to what Mullen had given him and hope crept back in as he felt its sharp edge.

  They led him off into the woods. There was no use struggling now; he’d been given his chance, and he just had to hope there’d be an opportunity to use it. The further into the woods they went the more the dawn light encroached through the trees. Josten realised the piece of steel Mullen had given him was an arrowhead, a little piece of the shaft still attached. Most likely it was the arrow they’d cut from his shoulder. Josten couldn’t help but smile. That bastard Mullen. Maybe he hadn’t been the one to betray him after all.

  ‘Here’s far enough,’ said Percel after they’d walked for a good mile. The young knight drew his sword. The other knights drove Josten to his knees. They stood watching.

  ‘Do we need an audience?’ Josten asked, already going to work on the rope binding his wrists, feeling the arrowhead slicing keenly through the fibres.

  Percel looked at the other two men and nodded. ‘All right. Leave us alone. This won’t take long.’

  Behind him, Josten heard the two knights walk off into the woods.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ said Josten. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way. You could let me go and no one will ever hear from me again.’

  Percel shook his head, doubt on his youthful face. ‘I have no quarrel with you, Cade. But Duke Harlaw has ordered you dead. I have no choice.’

  Josten felt the rope at his wrist suddenly give.

  ‘There’s always a choice,’ he replied.

  ‘I’ve always admired you,’ Percel said. ‘This gives me no pleasure.’

  He took a step forward, raising his blade. The rope at Josten’s wrist fell away. He surged up, the arrowhead gripped tight in his fist. Percel had no time to make a move before it was buried in his neck.

  The lad stared Josten in the eye, surprise on his face as his sword fell to the ground with a soft thud. His knees gave out and Josten twisted the arrow in his neck, feeling the blood gushing over his fist.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, as he slowly lowered Percel to the forest floor.

  The knight tried to speak, choking on his own blood. Josten glanced back, hearing the other knights growing restless through the trees. He stared through the dark, at any moment expecting them to rush at him through the night, but they didn’t come.

  Percel was quiet now, the little choking noises stopped, tears welling in his eyes. Josten wanted to stay, to wait until the lad was dead. No one should have to die alone, but if he stayed there would more than likely be two corpses in the woods rather than one. Josten had done wrong, but he was damn sure he didn’t want to die in this dark wood because of it. But then he was sure neither did Percel.

  Trying not to think too much about what he’d done, he picked up Percel’s fallen sword and stumbled off through the dark as quick as he could.

  * * *

  The oceans had barely ceased to boil, the mountains just risen to splay their jagged fingers to the sky, when the hundred tribes of men fell upon one another. They came from the skies on wings of threaded fury, crawled from the ground bringing all the darkness of the pit, dragged themselves from the sea with gnarled and barnacled hate. For ten thousand years did they do battle, until their blood and tears ran in an endless river. Until the names of the tribes and their wrathful kings were forgotten.

  When the skies had turned a perpetual grey from the funeral pyres, and the ground was blackened with rot, did the elders meet on the Mountain of Gaiessa. For twenty days and nights did they parlay. Through blazing sun and freezing dark. In rain and hail and wind. But none would relent, for an accord had to be met lest the future of man be trapped in an endless cycle of woe.

  And on that twentieth night did the elders settle on a pact: that they would harness all their sorcery and channel it to a single purpose. That they would take all the aspects of man that led him to war and seal them away so that there could be healing across all the nations of the world.

  Every tribe gathered to erect the eleven dolmens. Men from all continents and across the churning seas. Each vast stone was the span of thirty horses and stood as tall as a mountain, yet by their colossal labours the great circle was finally erected.

  And for a year and a day the elders of each tribe stood in vigil, imbuing their power into the stones, turning them into vessels that might hold every facet of man that had driven him to an everlasting state of conflict. Then did they fill the stones with all the elements of life. The flesh; fire, water, blood and bone. The desire; pride, lust, vengeance, honour, wrath. Then one vast stone they filled with wisdom and another with sin.

  As the eleven dolmens began to consume these energies a twelfth grew at their centre. A stone of union. A stone of peace.

  Across the lands and oceans an era of harmony settled. Suffering ended, subsumed by a period of culture and education. Vast cities were built and sciences developed. Knowledge and philosophy were spread across all nations during a time of peace.

  But it was not to last.

  As the elders had poured into the standing stones all the facets of man’s warlike nature, so had they stirred all his malice and spite and hate. And when the dolmen of peace had risen from the ground so another, darker obelisk had begun to grow beneath the earth. This malevolent seed hid itself away, watching, waiting. It grew, feeding, infecting the hearts of men, until it could wait no longer and after ten thousand years it emerged.

  For the first time in an age, malcontent and discord were sown throughout the realms of men. Brother once more turned on brother as jealousy and avarice consumed harmony and charity.

  The vast shrines created in a time of majesty were torn asunder, cities reduced to ash until no more monuments remained. Only the twelve dolmens stood as testament to an age where war was unknown. And so, the ravenous populace, twisted by a nameless evil, turned its attention to them.

  A swarm of warped souls stormed the mountaintop on which stood the dolmens. Armies that had once battled one another united in their hatred of the ancient stones, bent on reducing them to rubble. One by one they were brought down, and as each toppled the power held within was unleashed once more. But as the aeons had passed this power had become quickened. Had become deified. And when it was released, each dolmen claimed a human avatar for its own – each taking one of those wicked children come to strike it down and making it one with its own purpose.

  These children of Gaiessa vowed never again to be bound. Never would they be locked away from the worlds of men. And a game of supremacy began that would never end… and mankind would play as its pawns.

  * * *

  6

  SHE fell burning from a crimson sky,
lungs bursting with soot and flame, her breath coming in short desperate gasps. Plunging from the heavens wreathed in fire, she was a flaming arrow of torment. Her scream was lost, fear manifesting as frigid paralysis, the pain engulfing her so completely she became one with it.

  The hair burned from her head, disintegrating in enervating strands, her flesh blackening and sloughing as she fell, fluttering away like burned parchment.

  Winds whipped her face, fire crackling in ears burned to hardened stubs. Something tore from her back in a fury of flapping debris, taking flesh and bone with it. Agony clutched her in its relentless grip.

  The fall was long and hard, ending in a final tumult, dust and sand erupting around her as she smashed into the hard ground. The impact rocked through her body, crushing the life from her in a crescendo of deafening violence. Yet still she could see. Still she could hear a ringing and crackling as the last of the fire died down.

  Breath came in a sharp wheeze, what little air she could process through her blackened lungs spilling out in wisps of dust.

  She could not move. Every bone broken, her flesh charred, her joints atrophied. And yet she lived, her mind still reeling from the nightmare, desperate to grasp some memory. She reached out, yearning to remember. It opened with visions of horror and she was not quick enough to close it.

  Howling beasts from the pit tore at her as she fought, her spear twisting in her grip, ripping flesh asunder, spilling demon blood. She howled as she fought, eyes dripping red fury, every movement precise, every thrust piercing black flesh.

  As she lay, body broken, her mind reeled with the memory of it…

  They came at her in myriad numbers, dark claws grasping. She fought unendingly, her strength perpetual, black blood coating her spear, running in rivulets across the haft until it drenched her hands.