The Incorruptibles

by John Hornor Jacobs

  Secundus greeted us as we rode into camp. His face fell as he counted riders and saw that we did not have Isabelle with us. Legionaries took the horses, and the Cornelian heir himself helped us move Fisk and Reeve into a tent and under blankets. All the staterooms had been gutted by fire, including Cornelius’.

  Livia told him the state of things, the ruin of Hot Springs, the sad end of poor Isabelle. The confrontation in the caldera. Samantha produced some of the flame-inscribed stone. He ran his hands over the face of it.

  ‘This does not bode well. King Diegal will see this as an outrage.’

  War was inevitable.

  ‘And the daemon hand?’

  ‘Not destroyed,’ Samantha said. ‘I have it here. I need Beleth’s assistance to destroy it and send its occupant back to Hell. Its power is too much for this world, I fear, and beyond me to banish.’

  Secundus looked very troubled.

  ‘Brother, what happened here?’ Livia asked gently.

  ‘The vaettir came. Attacked in force.’ He shook his head. ‘We fought them off, and then they returned the next night. That was when the fire started.’ As though remembering something, he said, ‘Father’s absolutely livid that his marvellous riverboat has been so damaged.’

  ‘How did it start? Why didn’t the whole boat catch fire?’ Livia asked.

  Secundus shrugged and said, ‘Cimbri had a good idea. With the boat locked in ice, the daemon-fired pumps used for replenishing the Cornelian’s water supply could be used to fight the fire. We lost a couple of men dousing the flames, and most of the interior of the boat is sodden now.’

  I asked, ‘How did it start?’

  He grimaced. ‘We don’t know, really. But they had come. They scalped a handful of our shore guards; staved in their skulls, too. So we sounded the alarm and pulled the men back from the shore. Some of them never made it, hauled off to god knows where.’

  Samantha, Livia, and I exchanged glances.

  ‘But the fire?’

  ‘I’m of the opinion it was Beleth. He must have managed to start a fire when the alarm sounded. When the legionaries guarding him smelled the smoke and released him from the room, he escaped in the confusion.’

  ‘The rider,’ I said.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘We saw a lone man riding Hell for leather. Looked like he was gonna kill his horse. When did this all happen?’

  ‘Five days ago.’

  ‘He’s heading toward Passasuego. I imagine to the Medieran stronghold there to ask for sanctuary.’

  Secundus said, ‘I never liked that Ia-damned engineer.’

  I flinched at his choice of words.

  ‘But I have some good news for you, Miss Decius.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You have now been promoted to engineer. Congratulations.’

  We all laughed, except for Samantha. Her expression was pained, and I could tell that the daemon hand was foremost in her thoughts. It was hers to deal with now.

  ‘Oh, and I have more good news,’ said Secundus. ‘Follow me.’

  He led us through the camp, past legionaries at cook fires, lascars oiling weapons. The ground by the shore was frozen hard, and it crunched beneath our feet. He brought us to a large military command tent, guarded by two burly legionaries. Smoke came from a chimney that peeked from the roof.

  ‘Father! Livia has returned.’

  The flaps of the tent were thrown back, and standing there was Cornelius, still using that damned bear-leg. He beckoned us inside.

  A tent that could have held twenty men was now filled with the furniture and accessories of his quarters.

  Cornelius hobbled in circles around the tent’s small cast-iron stove as we relayed the events of the last days. He cursed mightily in more than one language when he learned of the carnivorous nature of the vaettir and Isabelle’s end.

  When we had finished, he looked grim. ‘Ia-dammit all to Hell. Summon Sharbo and that Silenus fellow. We must send word to Marcellus in New Damnation to secure the mines at Hot Springs and ready the army for war. I must write missives to the senate and the Emperor.’ He stopped his lopsided pacing and rubbed his chin. ‘By Ia’s beard, I’m in a pickle. I’ll be lucky if they don’t send a replacement for me on the next ship over here once they get this damnable news.’

  ‘Poor Isabelle. Such a dear girl,’ Secundus said, shaking his head.

  ‘We have until winter ends before Diegal will realize something is wrong and begin to marshal his forces. He expects us to arrive in Passasuego, or some other Medieran embassy, by spring, with Isabelle.’

  ‘Do you have to tell Diegal what actually happened? It’s a big, hard land here. We can say she was abducted by indigenes, which is true.’

  ‘Yes. That’s the way. When the Emperor gets the news – with luck months before Diegal begins to suspect – he’ll start shipping legions over to keep the colonies. We cannot hope to stand against the Medieran navy – they are too strong. But they can never match the might of the Ruman legions in any land battle. So, it will be a race to get enough men over here before Diegal locks down all sea routes.’ He cursed again, this time in Gallish.

  Exhausted, he sat down and called for Lupina to bring him wine. She entered from the tent’s back flap with a large decanter and many glasses. ‘Well, at least we can remain civilized here in the provinces,’ he said as he waited for her to pour. He grabbed his glass and gulped. Then she poured for us all.

  ‘Father,’ said Secundus, ‘would you like to show them your trophy?’

  Cornelius’ eyes lit up, and his whiskers quivered with his excitement. ‘Of course! The best thing to come from this whole sorry mess. How could I have forgotten? Back here.’ He hopped up and stomped to the back of the tent, leading us outside and a fair distance away from camp.

  There was a long wooden table, on top of which was a tarp-shrouded object.

  ‘I bagged this whore’s son at fifty yards while he was a-leaping and prancing about, coming at the retreating shore guards. Haven’t figured out how I’m to mount him. I’ve sent for a taxidermist from New Damnation.’

  He pulled back the tarp.

  It was the vaettir, Berith.

  An apple-sized hole was punched through his chest, directly through the heart.

  I laughed out loud.

  What a beautiful sight.

  It was a long, hard winter and, by the end of it, when the thaw finally came, the Cornelian had mostly been repaired and there was a new village on the shore at the point in the river where the boat had been locked in ice. The legionaries and lascars called it Winter Camp, but the settlers who had begun to appear during the first blushes of spring called it Bear Leg. The Senator was inordinately proud of the name.

  When winter released its icy grip on the Big Rill and the grasses became green once more, the trees filled the air with a thousand motes of pollen – making some of the men sneeze terribly – and a group of us gathered on the western shore of the river, in a clearing in the gambels, to perform a ceremony.

  Ruman weddings are always held under the vault of sky, so that all who may wish to, can bear witness to the joining of two immortal souls. The marriage of Hieronymous Fiscelion Catalan Iulii and Livia Saturninus Cornelius would be no different.

  Fisk had awoken from his dream state groggy and bruised. He never spoke of it, but I could tell he remembered everything. His eyes were haunted, and something had given when the daemon rode him. He’d changed, found it easier to laugh, easier to smile. I have to think that when the Crimson Man had Fisk in his terrible possession, Fisk came to understand that life is too short to be unduly stingy with affections or their display.

  I was so very glad to have my friend and partner back. And so happy to lose him to Livia.

  We stood in a circle, with Fisk and Livia at the centr
e, to witness their vows.

  Livia was beautiful, dressed in a gown of white that almost concealed the growing bulge of her stomach. And Fisk was garbed in Gnaeus’ finest uniform and laureled with a grass crown, Rume’s highest military honour. Fisk had told me, late one night when we were in our cups, that Cornelius had drawn him aside and said, ‘If you’re to be the father of my first grandchild and the husband of my eldest, however independent and strong-willed she is, you’re damn well not going to embarrass me by being a lowly scout. Congratulations, you now have the rank of legate and are assigned to advise on all my decisions regarding the Hardscrabble Territories. You shall be honoured for your sacrifice regarding the daemon hand.

  ‘Now, wipe that look off your face and have a drink.’

  The day of the wedding was perfect. As the air blew warm with only the faintest hint of the fast retreating winter, it ruffled the gambel tops and stirred the grasses.

  Cornelius performed the invocation. Holding high the knife, he said, ‘Above you the sky, below you the stones; as time passes, remember – like a stone should your love be firm, like a star should your love be constant. Let the blessings of Ia guide you in your marriage; let the strength of your wills bind you together inextricably. Let the strength of your dedication make you inseparable. Possess each other, yet be understanding. Have patience with each other, for storms will come, but they will pass quickly.

  ‘Hold out your hands.’

  Livia and Fisk, facing each other, held out their hands, palm up.

  ‘Will you, Livia Saturninus Cornelius, take up the knife?’ asked Cornelius.

  ‘I will,’ said Livia.

  ‘The wound you make is the essence of all pain and hardship in life. For any two people to be joined, there must be sacrifice,’ Cornelius intoned.

  Livia drew the knife across her palm, cupping her hand afterward to collect the blood. Her father took the blooded blade from her.

  ‘Will you, Hieronymous Fiscelion Catalan Iulii, take up the knife?’

  ‘I will,’ Fisk said.

  Cornelius handed the knife to Fisk, who gripped it, looked from the blade to Livia’s beautiful face, luminous in the spring light, and smiled as he cut his hand.

  ‘The pain you feel is her pain, always. The joy you feel is her joy, always.’ Cornelius stopped, raised his arms, and joined his own hands together. ‘Let your love be incorruptible and undying. Now join hands as man and wife and go forth with the gods’ blessings.’

  Fisk and Livia clasped hands. The blood from their wedding wounds commingled and joined, dripping to the ground. And when they smiled at us, the cheering crowd, they did it as one.

  I rode out of Bear Leg on Bess with only enough food for two days. This time I wore Manius’ guns, loaded with silver and holly.

  Up we rode, into the Whites, for I needed to be alone and to look upon the earth from a great height.

  We were hours climbing, and the sun grew old in the heavens and fell past the lip of earth and the sky turned purple and pink like a floral explosion.

  I reined in Bess, who hawed once at me and then playfully nipped at my leg, showing green teeth. I dismounted, letting the reins fall. Bess would go nowhere without me and would find me if I called.

  I hiked upward for hours, even in the dark of night. Once I heard the screech of a mountain lion but it did not molest me and I hoped to all the gods that it did not find the scent of Bess appealing.

  Sweat, pouring from my brow, had darkened my shirt and vest by the time I stopped and took up my vigil on a rocky promontory high above Bear Leg and the Big Rill.

  Below me, far below, I could see the dying fires of the camp and the flickering yellow daemonlight of the revivified Cornelian glimmering on the waters of the Big Rill. It would be steaming south soon, with me on it.

  I did not know when I would be able to return to these peaks, to feel rock under my feet, the comfort of the mountain. I am dvergar, and this is important.

  Throughout the night I knelt, watching the lights die, listening to the wind, the breath of the world, the sigh of the mountains. The stars, shining indifferently above me, wheeled in the heavens.

  I felt them then, I think. Ia was gone, dead to me, but there were the old gods, the spirits of rock and tree, of water and wind. The numen.

  I needed some kind of faith.

  The night grew old and everything stilled and it seemed that I was the only living person in the world awake at that moment. The daemonlight from the Cornelian, the smoke from Bear Leg, all gone. The world was dark, and I felt so rooted to the mountain and the sky that I couldn’t tell where I left off and the others began.

  I felt whole, once more.

  The sky in the east lightened as the sun rose. It crept over the rim of the earth, its light streaking forward and painting the land in oranges and reds, purples and deep blues. Rocks and trees cast long shadows in the slanting light. I watched as the night gave way to day.

  My thoughts turned to my friends, those I had known and loved, those far away, those near, and I felt a connection with them all. But darkness filled me too, as I sat looking out at the land from that vantage. As I rose and prepared to make my way back to Bess, I looked out and imagined countless fires on the plains, sending black smoke up to the vaults of heaven.

  Fire calls to fire, they say.

  I lowered my eyes from the view and made my way down the mountain. I’d had enough with flame. I wanted to see no more.

  War was coming.

  Acknowledgements

  Big thanks go out to Stacia Decker, my agent, for her guidance regarding this industry in turmoil and to John Rector whose enthusiasm for this novel has not waned in the intervening years since he first read it. Much gratitude goes out to Mark Lawrence, Myke Cole, and Pat Rothfuss, all of whom, at the time of writing this, were kind enough to read and say nice things publicly about this work. I’d like to thank Steve Drew of Reddit for his encouraging words, Chuck Wendig for his humor and signal boosting, and all the people of the Twitters and Interwebz who have helped to get the word out about The Incorruptibles.

  Huge ups to the team at Gollancz – especially my editor Marcus Gipps and copy editor Olivia Wood – who’ve been extremely supportive and a pleasure to work with. Edward Bettison created an amazing cover for this book. Somebody buy that team a drink. They deserve it. Possibly a backrub, but don’t get too handsy.

  Of course, I must mention my lovely wife and children who’ve been a constant support and source of motivation for me. And let’s not forget the Cookie and Bear, my mongrel canine muses, always down for a little scratchy-scratchness to ease the heavy burden of the writer at work.

  Finally, I’d like to thank you, the readers, who remain the true reason why I do this whole writing thing. I would give you a big ole kiss if that wouldn’t be too creepy (or a disease vector).

  No? Well, okay, then. We’ll just settle for a fist bump. Thanks. Y’all rock.

  A Gollancz eBook

  Copyright © John Hornor Jacobs 2014

  All rights reserved.

  The right of John Hornor Jacobs to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by

  Gollancz

  The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

  Orion House

  5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane

  London, WC2H 9EA

  An Hachette UK Company

  This eBook first published in 2014 by Gollancz.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book

  is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978 0 575 12363 2

  All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be rep
roduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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