A Demon in Silver (War of the Archons)

by R. S. Ford

  ‘Don’t fucking move!’ said the one holding Livia.

  Kaleb glanced down. His attacker was lying prone. After pulling the blade from his own throat the blood was running free, his last ounces of life seeping into the dirt. Kaleb held that knife in his hand, the red blade shining in the firelight.

  ‘I’m taking her, and I’m walking away,’ said the man, dragging Livia toward the archway.

  Kaleb’s side felt cold. He had to do something quickly; he would pass out soon.

  Before the man could back away any further, Livia grasped his wrist, pulling the knife away from her throat and biting the arm he held around her neck. The man squealed, releasing her.

  Kaleb flung the blade.

  His aim was off, only hitting the man in the cheek where it stuck and quivered.

  As he fell to one knee, all he could hear were the man’s screams.

  41

  KALEB was on the ground, three corpses surrounding him, but one of the bandits was still very much alive. He stared at Livia, the knife sticking out of his face as he let out a strangled cry, eyes so wide she could see the campfire dancing off the whites. It turned her stomach. She backed away a step as he came forward, hands held out toward her. He stumbled and let out another garbled sob. Livia was transfixed by the hideous sight.

  Slowly, with one shaking hand, he reached up and grasped the handle of the knife. A screeching sound came from his throat as he drew the blade from his cheek, blood running down his face and neck. When it was free of his cheek, the bandit’s look of shock furrowed into anger. He spoke again but the open flap of his face made the words unintelligible.

  When he came at her, Livia knew she had to move or die.

  She turned, instinct taking over as the man’s footsteps made clumsy stamping sounds in the dirt. For a moment Livia thought about hitching her skirts and running off into the night, but something stopped her – a voice at the back of her mind, a devil inside telling her not to be such a coward.

  The fire was waning, its light a dying beacon in the night. Livia rushed to it, grasping a branch of wood that lay half in the flames. She cried out as the blackened branch burned her palm. A cry that turned to a scream of rage as she span, raising the fiery brand high.

  He was coming at her, eyes hungry for vengeance, his mouth a bloody ruin, and his knife blade glinting black. She brought the flaming branch down and she saw his eyes widen in surprise. The branch struck with a sparking thud, the bandit’s unintelligible babble turning to a whining cry of pain. He staggered back, the knife dropping from his hand.

  The searing pain of the burning branch coursed up her arm but still she held on, determined not to back down. She expected him to come at her again, spitting blood, thirsty for her end. Instead he turned and fled into the night.

  She was breathing heavily, her legs shaking. It took a moment for her to let go of the branch. Then the pain hit her, like she had been branded.

  Livia grasped her wrist and opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. The darkness closed in…

  Mist enshrouded her. All she could see was her burned and blackened hand, flesh cracked, skin seared. It was a hand that had dealt death aplenty. And given life.

  The power coursed from deep within, a light that started as an ember growing to burn like a sun. It glowed beneath the black flesh, seeping out through the cracked skin like the sun, blinding, healing.

  She closed her eyes against it, blocking it out, and when she opened her eyes the pain and the black flesh were gone. So was the mist, so was the darkness, and all she saw was a meadow of corpses, each face staring at the too-blue sky above…

  It was dawn. Livia awoke to the four bodies lying around her. The fire had burned out. As she lifted her head from the floor she spat, and wiped away the dust that had crusted about her lips. She examined her hand to see it was healed, like new.

  Livia had barely enough time to acknowledge the miracle before her eyes darted to where Kaleb lay. She picked herself up, stumbling on unsteady legs as she rushed to his side. Blood had ebbed from the knife wound in his side, drying around him in a pool, turning the sand a dark, sickly colour.

  Her hands shook as she reached out to him, turning him over. His eyes were closed, face pallid. Bowing her head to his chest, she let out a sigh as she heard the weak beat of his heart.

  Then she looked at the archway to the south. She could escape now. Grasp her freedom and take the long road back to the Suderfeld. Back home.

  But even if she survived the journey alone, what was home anymore? The people there wanted her dead. Her only chance at survival lay dying in the dirt next to her.

  Livia lifted Kaleb’s ragged shirt, now caked with dried blood. The wound beneath had clotted but he had bled profusely before that happened. She grabbed a knife, cutting a strip from her skirt to bind his wound, but try as she might she could not lift him to wrap the cotton around his waist.

  Kaleb moaned as she moved him.

  Livia moved her face close to his, seeing his half-opened eyes. ‘Kaleb?’ she said.

  His lips moved but all he could do was mumble.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said to him. To herself. To no one.

  A shadow moved across the dusty ground. Vultures were wheeling above the ancient monument, keen to claim the carrion that lay strewn below.

  Anger welled up within Livia. Those bastard birds could feast on the dead as much as they wanted but they would not claim Kaleb. She needed him. He was hers.

  One of the birds landed, black and fetid, a hooked dagger of a beak protruding from its corpse face. It looked around with baleful eyes before hopping toward one of the bodies, stabbing in with the beak and tearing off a strip of cloth and flesh.

  Another landed even closer, taking a long, lingering look at Kaleb’s prone form before creeping towards easier meat. Then another, closer still, craning its head towards Livia and screeching a challenge.

  ‘You can’t have him,’ she spat, grabbing Kaleb and dragging him away. He was heavy but she found the strength, pulling him across the dirt, away from the foul birds and toward the stagnant pool.

  As she did so more vultures swooped down, as though unleashed in a feeding frenzy. They mobbed the other bodies, ripping and tearing, consuming the fresh meat hungrily. A bell jingled as one of them grabbed the tinker’s hat, shaking it angrily in its beak when it found no meat inside.

  Livia pulled Kaleb further from them until she was ankle-deep in the pool. One of the birds stalked forward, pecking at Kaleb as she pulled. Anger boiled up within her, and she screamed at the creature with a primal yell of hate. The beast was startled, having the good sense to hop back a pace, as Livia pulled Kaleb further into the pool. Deeper she went, cradling his head, feeling the anger burning within her. She looked down at his face, his lips moving wordlessly, his eyes glazed.

  Around her the water of the pool began to bubble as she laid her hands on him, feeling his life pulsing weakly against her palms…

  Fields of wheat stretched to the ice-blue sky, billowing like a cloak in the wind. Her hand brushed their ears as she walked between the yellow stalks, breathing in their fresh aroma as the breeze cooled her cheeks.

  Respite from the endless war filled her with a glow that radiated from her stomach, up through her chest and into her throat. She let out a sigh, breathing onto the ripe crops, filling them with a virulent glow. Her hair began to billow around her, the white silk shift she wore undulating as though swept by the tide.

  The land breathed once more after a millennium of warfare…

  Something hit the dirt beside her head.

  Livia looked up to find herself submerged. Her vision was blurred and she blinked away the fug to see the carnage filling the courtyard. Dead vultures lay all around, eyes of glass staring, beaks reddened with blood and flesh gaping silently at the blue sky.

  She turned in panic, seeing steam rising from the pool. Kaleb floated atop the surface and she rushed to him, sloshing through the w
arm water and grasping his shirt, pulling him to the side of the pool.

  ‘Kaleb?’ she said. ‘Kaleb…’

  It was then she noticed his face had changed. Though still scarred, his eye no longer drooped. The wounds on his scalp no longer looked livid but were faded as though years old.

  His eyes opened and he moved with a start, floundering in the water until he managed to regain his senses and pull himself out.

  Livia could only watch as he found his feet, at first stumbling, then walking on steady legs, no longer limping like a cripple. Slowly Kaleb raised his once shattered hand to his face, flexing fingers that had been crooked and broken. He clenched his fist in amazement.

  ‘What has happened to me?’ he asked.

  Livia pulled herself from the pool, careful to avoid the dead bodies of the vultures lying all about.

  ‘I… I think I did this,’ she replied, unsure if she spoke the truth.

  He turned to look at her, then at the scene around them.

  ‘They were right about you,’ he said, raising his once crippled hand again and flexing his fingers.

  ‘Good for them,’ she replied. ‘So exactly who are they?’

  ‘The Brotherhood. They said you could hold the key.’ ‘The key?

  The key to what?’

  Kaleb shook his head. ‘I have already said too much.’

  ‘Really?’ She could feel her anger burning. ‘Because from here it doesn’t feel like you’ve said much at all. But none of that really matters as long as you take me home now.’

  ‘Take you back home?’ he said. ‘I cannot take you home. We must reach Kragenskûl. Now more than ever. You must be delivered to the Blood Regent with all haste.’

  ‘But… I saved your life.’ She was feeling angry again, but this time her energy was all but spent. There was no power welling up within her this time, just ire. ‘You’d be dead if it wasn’t—’

  ‘My life is not important,’ said Kaleb, all emotion draining from him. ‘The only thing that matters is that I complete my task. And that task matters now, more than ever. Before this no one knew if you really possessed any power, but now…’

  She wanted to rail against him. Wanted to rekindle the power she had felt not moments before but all she felt was drained.

  As he made his way from the ancient monument and the corpses within, Livia followed. If she ran or stayed she would die. But follow Kaleb and she’d live… and sooner or later she’d find a way out of this.

  42

  HER silence was the loudest thing Kaleb had ever heard. She wanted her freedom, and only he could grant it.

  Yet she held such power.

  The Brotherhood had been right about her. In a land where magic had been absent for a century, she was the firstborn. The start of a new breed. The Brotherhood had to have her. Had to harness her power for their own. It was the only way.

  And yet Kaleb knew he was only alive because of her. Were it not for Livia’s power he would be dead in the sand, rotting carrion for the birds. She had saved him. Restored him. He could only be grateful for that – but not grateful enough to grant her liberty.

  ‘This will soon be over,’ he said in a weak attempt to console her.

  Livia glanced across at him, her mournful expression changing as her brow furrowed.

  ‘By the gods, it speaks,’ she said.

  Kaleb couldn’t hold her gaze, but instead looked at the northern horizon, toward which they were travelling.

  ‘I understand why this must be difficult for you.’ In truth he had little idea. ‘But when we arrive at Kragenskûl you will understand. The Blood Regent can offer you a position of great reverence. You will no longer need to run. You will be protected. Exalted.’

  ‘That all sounds so nice,’ she said, and at first Kaleb thought he had put her at ease. ‘My uncle often told me stories of the northern desert cults. Reverence sounds great. Will you sacrifice babies to me on the hour or just every tenday?’

  ‘Many tales are told,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure they are worse than the truth of it.’

  ‘Whatever the truth of it I will still be a captive,’ she said. ‘Still held against my will.’

  ‘What are your other choices? If I set you free you will only be captured by someone else. Someone who might not offer you the same benevolence as the Brotherhood.’

  ‘At least I’d have a chance to be free.’

  Kaleb was about to answer. To tell her that freedom was a myth, a fanciful idea told to children, when he saw the distant spires of Bathusala in the distance.

  ‘We are almost there,’ he said, suddenly eager to change the subject.

  ‘Almost where?’ Livia squinted her eyes at the distant city.

  ‘Bathusala. The Forlorn City. First port of Devil Sound, where the pirates of the Ebon Sea trade slaves for precious gems and ore. It means we have reached the Ramadi.’

  ‘You make it sound so welcoming,’ said Livia.

  That seemed a curious thing to say. Kaleb had not meant that at all. ‘Welcoming it is not. Slavers and pirates are all that lie within those walls. We must be on our guard or we could end up in shackles.’

  ‘Forgive me if I’m not filled with confidence, but I’m already a slave as far as I can tell.’

  ‘No,’ said Kaleb, ‘you are no slave.’

  ‘A prize then? What’s the difference?’

  Kaleb could have tried to tell her how important she was. Of the honour that awaited her, but he did not have the words. Instead he continued walking, done with the conversation. If Livia was not ready to accept her potential he was not about to try and persuade her. Perhaps the Blood Regent would be more up to the task.

  It took most of the day to reach the city-port. The salt smell of the sea wafted across the sands as they made their way closer, though it seemed an age until they saw any coastline. Darkness was falling as they reached the southern gate. The entrance stood open, and from what Kaleb could remember the gates were rarely closed. Bathusala was a city where the secretive cults of the Ramadi met with outsiders to trade. This was sacred ground. Neutral territory intrinsic to the survival of all the disparate cults. Neither they, nor the savage pirates of the Ebon, would dare spark the wrath of their fellows by upsetting the balance of peace held here.

  As though in stark warning, four bodies hung above the entrance. Two were clearly slaves; one bore the blue and yellow tattoos of a mariner while the third looked to have been a brutal warrior in his time. Which cult he served was impossible to tell, but Kaleb could only surmise his crime had been dire indeed for him to suffer such a fate.

  He and Livia made their way through the gate, the guards lazily waving them along. Livia stuck close to Kaleb’s side as they made their way in, the warm night air bringing the sounds of revelry and the stench of hot food and pungent drink.

  ‘What is this place?’ Livia asked, warily eyeing the waifs and vagabonds that lurked in every corner.

  ‘It is the gateway to the Ramadi. This city stands at the mouth of Devil Sound and from here we can sail to anywhere in the wastes. If we can charter a ship it will shorten our journey to Kragenskûl by many weeks.’

  ‘And how are we supposed to pay for passage on a boat when we have no money and we both look like we’ve been walking across the desert for a week?’

  It was a fine question.

  ‘I’ll find a way,’ he replied.

  Three hulking warriors strode past them. Kaleb recognised them as devotees of the Eye of Honoric. Had they been anywhere but within the walls of Bathusala Kaleb might have been wary of attack, but here was neutral ground. All the cults were bound by truce on pain of execution.

  Livia did not share Kaleb’s confidence, and she clung to him as they passed, grasping his hand tightly. Kaleb’s first reaction was to release her grip, but something about it was comforting to him. He couldn’t remember if anyone had ever held his hand before, but there was something about it he liked.

  They moved on through the crowds of mariners
and cultists, northward towards the dock. The city was built across an inlet that led from the Ebon Sea to the vast Devil Sound. From here they’d be able to get a ship, any ship that might take them to one of the small supply ports on the northern shore. If they could find a captain willing.

  As the two of them passed through the central square Kaleb glanced at the myriad wooden platforms erected in a vast circle. Here slaves were traded by pirates to the highest bidder. If those slaves were lucky they would be sifted out to be trained as warriors in one of the cult armies. Those who were less lucky would be sent to the mines of the Ramadi to dig for ore and jewels. Those too sickly to work would be traded as sacrifices to the gods. Kaleb could only take solace in the fact that there was no trade being carried out as they moved through. He doubted it would have done Livia’s spirits any good.

  The dark waters of the Ebon Sea spread out before them as they left the square. A long cobbled parade led to the dock where sea turned to sound. Across the inlet was a vast bridge linking the northern half of Bathusala to the southern. It was a magnificent construction, big enough to carry ten carriages abreast and high enough to allow a fleet to sail beneath. Kaleb doubted it could have been erected by any human hand. It clearly dated back to a time of gods and magic.

  There were boats aplenty in the bay, their sails furled, crews busy on their decks. Kaleb watched, trying to judge which would be best to approach first and how to secure passage with no coin or anything to trade.

  ‘Are we stuck? Or can you see a friendly face?’ Livia asked.

  Kaleb shook his head. ‘I have no friends here,’ he replied.

  Before he could think what to do there was a jangle of bells. He turned to see a group of penitents moving along the dock towards them. Their heads were bowed and shrouded, the one at their lead swinging a smoking thurible in time to their walk. As he passed, Kaleb could smell the incense. It stoked memories of prayer in the chapel of Kragenskûl.

  Livia watched them with open-mouthed wonder, and Kaleb could understand her curiosity – a group of religious men would naturally seem at odds with the brutal nature of this place. For Kaleb, it held no mystery. Penitents were rife across the Ramadi, held in esteem by most of the cults as representatives of a time long lost – a living, breathing representation of the old gods.