Dashai was an ancient trading post at the crossroads of east and west. It had always been a crucible of cultures mixing together amongst the scent of spice. Almost no one stood out here, no matter how strange or foreign, yet still the Karkaren drew attention. Deena was not sure whether his reputation on the coasts around the southern sea preceded him. Or because the sight of a living Karkaren was rare even here.
Deena was trussed up on a malodorous beast. Along with two heavy saddlebags of grimoires the crew hoped would be sold as a single collection. She felt more like a chattel than ever, polished and gift wrapped for sale.
As they left the harbour, Deena noticed a small whitewashed temple to Angall nestled under a wall. It was a small unobtrusive square building, looking like little more than a grain store. But Deena was drawn to the golden phoenix emblazoned above the door. And the eternal flame that burned between the short pillars in the porch. The worship of Angall was not predominant along the southern coast. But there was always a small priory to be found in the backstreets of most cities.
She felt an overwhelming wave of peace and as he light of hope burned in its urn. A flame such as she had attended in her own temple every morning as a child.
She closed her eyes and gave out one final plea to Angall, that her destiny might be more than the stars foretold. She gritted her teeth and opened her eyes, watching the eternal flame disappear around the corner.
The Light has not gone out yet, not while a single ember still burns. Even if that ember is rage.
It was often said that if you can't buy it in Dashai, then it isn't for sale. Three hundred years ago it was a protectorate of Vassonia. And the influence was still there in the architecture. With several streets built in the Old Vassonian style. Robust square buildings with crenelated towers and rows of small glass windows.
Dashai's own cultural flavour was of grand domes covered with beaten gold,. Rows of horseshoe arches, complex and beautiful mosaic floors. And the cooling white plaster walls that reflected the sun. It was place of vast sprawling courtyards and walled gardens. Abundant with lime orchards and rose gardens.
The thing Dashai was most famous for was its black market. Though not everyone knew of its even blacker market for magical artefacts. It was tolerated by neighbouring Vassonia, because of the level of lucrative trade that came in through Dashai's crescent harbour.
As such, the Midnight Fair had always had a strong presence in the city. Auctions took place within a crumbling and disused old amphitheatre known as Tashar's Circus. It was subterranean, with only the blue domed roof showing above ground like a perfect hill in the middle of a tiled courtyard. The round sandy floor below offered a good space for traders to sell their forbidden wares. While concealing the use of magic from the upper world.
It was to Tashar's Circus that Deena arrived, just as dusk was in the air. The sky over the harbour was a deep burnt orange, and reflected its light on the white plaster walls of the buildings nestled by the sea. The transition from daytime city to night-time created an excitement in Dashai. Because when the stars came out, the decadence began.
Two hulking guards waited at the wide doorway that sloped down to the sandy arena below. They sat upon massive beasts of burden, muscular and horned but with docile faces and sad eyes. The beasts snorted steam and shook their shaggy heads. The guards sat upon them wore robes of deep blue and green and carried curved spears. Their dark eyes flashed as the caravan approached, the spears tipping towards them. The dome was at the end of a long boulevard lined with palm trees,. Ad they waited for the figures to come into clearer view from the shade of the overhanging leaves. When they recognized the unmistakable shape of Cyrus Blackweather striding towards them, they gave him a small nod and ushered him through. Blackweather dipped his horned head in return. He conspiratorially addressed one guard as he passed in his gruff whisper.
"Is it a busy one? A good turnout?"
The guard blew out a breath through pursed lips, his black moustache curling down past his chin.
"Rarely have I seen such a turnout. Factions from everywhere. A lot of old grudges and gang rivalries in there tonight. It's tense, it could flare up at any moment. There is even a contingent from the Royal House of Vassonia. One of his Witchfinders, no less. You can imagine the atmosphere that's causing."
This caused Blackweather to straighten up, glaring at the guard.
"Witchfinder? We let the puritans in now that would shut us down and kill us all if they could? That doesn't seem like good business."
The spearman shrugged and sucked his teeth.
"They have come in peace, with chests of coin. It is as good a coin as any other. And they as much as any have a professional interest in thaumaturgy."
Blackweather frowned and Deena could see that he was in conflict. Weighting up his avarice with his clear disgust of proximity to Witchfinders.
"Yes, to stamp any remanence of it out in the world. To make the Old Races breathe no more. And where would your pretty market be then, Dashaiman?"
The Dashai twirled his moustache in the traditional gesture of nothing I can do about it sir.
"We have no quarrel with Vassonians. Besides, it's your wares he's here for in particular, I heard."
Blackweather cocked his horned head and his greed won the fight.
"Really? Pray tell."
The Dashai pointed his curved spear at the camel Deena was trussed upon. She glared back at him with venom.
"Your little slave girl there. I think he's willing to empty his coffers just to leave with her."
Deena spat on the sand and jutted her pointy little chin.
"I am not a slave girl, you sack of dung! Untie me and I'll choke you with that stupid moustache."
The spearman and Blackweather both stopped and turned to look at her like parents about to chastise a child.
"I hope her selling point isn't her charm, Captain Blackweather? Or her perfume. Is that you, or the camel, girl?"
Deena struggled in fury against her bonds. She hissed across at the guard.
"You won't smell so good after you've been buried under the earth for a few weeks with my dagger in you!"
Blackweather turned away from Deena and shrugged at the guard.
"She doesn't have a dagger, why would I give someone like that a stabbing implement. I've had to listen to this sort of talk for weeks. Curses that would make sailors blush."
The guard peered past Blackweather and looked at Deena with disdain. She glared back at him, unblinking. Finally he turned back to Blackweather and lowered his spear, ushering them past. He spurred his massive shaggy mount and the beast shuffled aside.
"I think you are about to receive a good deal today, Captain. For whatever reason, the bids will be high for this one. You'll sail off at dawn a far richer man."
Blackweather swept his hand and gestured for his crew to bring the camels down into the sloping tunnel that led to the Midnight Fair.
Deena could feel the magic in the air as they descended. By the time they came out into the sand of the underground arena it was an almost tangible presence in the air. The place was crowded with people from all across the world. Jostling for position at various raised platforms and stalls. Crowding round bright demonstrations of sorcery. Or shining works of art blighted by ancient curses. The arena was lit with torches and the walls glowed with the fires of the underworld.
Deena looked at Blackweather as the wares were unpacked from the beasts. He caught her eye and he was also aware of it, the crackling feeling in the air.
"I can feel it in here, the magic. The potential, like when a thunderstorm is about to break. The hairs on my arms are standing up."
Blackweather lifted up his brawny forearm and even his coarse grey fur was spiking. He gave a grim smile.
"Aye. It's not often you see this much magic gathered in one place anymore. And this, Deena, is a poor reflection of how things used to be. A hundred year ago, deep in the Blue Forest where my people lived, there was such a concen
tration of natural magic that the trees themselves sang. The song of the wild, of the hunt, of life and death. It was beautiful."
The monster was caught in some reverie of his distant past. She often forgot how old he was, that he remembered a world long before she was born. She also forgot that Karkaren were sorcerous creatures. And that he possessed the Magus Gland just like she did.
"Can I ask you something Captain?"
Blackweather did turn to look at her as she spoke. He was scanning the crowds, looking for patterns, and for the areas of greatest profit. As he performed mental calculations, he absent mindedly answer her.
"Go on."
Deena cleared her throat.
"When the king came to steal your slowiron , when your forest was burned. Was the king himself there?"
Blackweather's mental arithmetic was thrown off for a moment. He looked down at the sand between his claws and sighed.
"No, the king had lived like a hermit for a few years by that point. The terrible sting had burned him, and he was mourning the loss of his wife and children. King Oligan liked treasure and power, he just didn't like to see how it was procured on his behalf."
Deena had spied a huddle of figures at the other side of the market. Crowding around a raised platform where sorry looking creatures were being dragged on and paraded. Fear stabbed as she saw the men's long blue-dyed leather coats and shining brass buttons. She had flashbacks to her captivity before Blackweather had killed everyone aboard the king's frigate. There in the middle of the royal soldiers was a thin man with a maniacal grin and feverish eyes. He was dressed head to toe in black silk and velvet, and must have been uncomfortable in the stifling heat of Dashai. His pale forehead glistened with sweat and he dabbed it with a stained handkerchief. Deena knew that this was the king's Witchfinder, and she was terrified of him at first glance. She quelled her beating heart and spoke to Blackweather.
"And who did come to your forest on his behalf?"
Blackweather shrugged as he helped Sandman unpack some of their saddlebags.
"Royal blackguard, hatchetmen, artificers with burning siege engines, bluecoats..."
The Karkaren stopped midway into picking up an ironbound chest. His face darkened and his eyes filled with a flash of hate.
"...and Witchfinders. With all their dark sorcery."
Deena pointed through the crowds to the small gathering of shifty Vassonians in the corner. The thin one stood at its centre as its spider.
"Like that one?"
Blackweather followed her digit and scanned the arena. His eyes settling on the Witchfinder and his men. He squinted and craned his bull neck forward, and then his eyebrows rose in disbelief.
"No, not like that one. He was there. I'd never forget that pretty face. He's older than I am, that one. Who knows what dark sorcery is keeping him alive. Been close to the king since the beginning of his reign. Merrick Clay is his name, I recall. There was a time when I would have had words with this man."
Deena peered at the man again. He terrified her. Something about his eyes screamed madness and cruelty like no one she had ever witnessed.
"You know that he will win the bids, don't you?"
Blackweather was lost for moment in some distant memory, his dark lips curled back from the teeth.
"And what if he does?"
Deena looked to the sandy arena floor. She was not sure exactly what happened to those with the Magus Gland that disappeared. Because no one ever returned. But there were rumours. Horrible rumours she had heard aboard the Apocalypse of being fed to something.
"Then I will be executed, after they use up my magic for whatever dark purposes they have for it."
Blackweather's massive shoulders tensed. It was as if he were trying to curb his primal instincts, the hidden berserker that Deena had first witnessed. Then his muscles relaxed and he waved a dismissive hand.
"Then it's off to the king you go, I suppose, to be disposed of as he sees fit."
Deena fixed her eyes on the massive Karkaren by her side. Watching his chest rise and fall like the swell of an ocean, and as unstoppable.
"Like every other person born with the Magus Gland. Like you?"
Blackweather furrowed his brow and then took the magic dice from his coat pocket. He began to swirl them fluidly in his giant hand. He stared at the symbols as they changed and warped with each revolution.
"No, not like me, Scorchling. I'll survive for as long as luck exists. Lord Livretti has business with me. And my business with you is over."
He moved to stand, his face dark and gloomy. Deena leaned closer to him and spoke in a tense voice. She struggled a little against her bonds, but Sandman pulled her back.
"You've seen what’s coming, Cyrus. That thing aboard your ship was only the beginning. A first outrider in the real war that's coming. About we'll need everyone with a Magus, every warped creature, every single spark of magic dregs that's left in the world to stand a chance against it."
Blackweather sighed and shook his head.
"Stop talking like there's a plan, girl. There's no plan. Just a million tiny coincidences. We're driftwood, you and I."
Deena pulled against Sandman, who jerked her back with a grunt. She caught her breathe and continued her entreaty.
"If there's a war coming like you describe, then we need people like you, people with real strength, who know how to fight, and who have magic in their blood to stand against the Sorrow."
Blackweather stood and waved a hand at her.
"I want no part in your zealous crusade, Scorchling. You char whatever you're pointed at."
Deena leaned in, her voice small and choked.
"Then point me in the right direction, Cyrus."
She glanced askance at the Witchfinder and his men. She noticed that the man Blackweather had called Merrick Clay was staring at her through the crowds. Hs eyes alight with malice. She could not meet his gaze and looked back to the Karkaren.
"So the right things get burned."
Blackweather looked over at the Vassonians, his bestial eyes narrow and calculating. When he looked back to Deena he snorted.
"What can you ever do little one? Look at you."
Deena tried to straighten up against her ropes, to look larger than she was.
"I am born to become soldier of the light, Lord Angall has given me a duty, a responsibility. Do not doubt it, beast."
Blackweather raised a mocking brow.
"I notice you've stopped calling it a blessing."
Deena's voice was desperate as she issued one final plea.
"Get me to Ironghast Monastery, Captain. Far in the north from here, across the Bleaks. I cannot survive that journey alone. Get me there, and we can be part of something greater, and mount a secret army against what is coming."
Blackweather looked into her eyes and Deena saw over a century of violence and war in them. A strength that was unfocused and raw. His jaw tightened and he nodded at her. Finally he spoke, a low rumble that shook her bones.
"You're no saleswoman, Scorchling. So you are asking me to give up a life of freedom, riches, banquets, gambling and whoring, serving no master but my Lord of Chance, and instead pursuing a chaste life of lonely crusade, a futile war against a tyrant king, and to seek out and fight an ancient evil of such terrible power that most people won't even speak of it? In return I will get what? Satisfaction for a job well done?"
Deena was disarmed at this. She stuttered and faltered a little, trying to think of a good reply.
"Well. What you will get Captain Blackweather, is a chance to redeem your soul, and a chance to stop running. It sounds to me like Karkaren were once noble beings. Also Lord Angall would shine blessing upon you."
"Hmmm. The money I make from you will be sufficient blessing. Treasure enough for me to remember you by. "
Blackweather stood and turned to leave. Deena looked up at him with fury and hatred. She spoke to him as he walked off, calm and clear.
"You are every bit the devil th
ey describe you as in the stories. And one day your luck will run out, Cyrus Blackweather. I may be dead, but someone will be there to see it."
Blackweather turned one last time, offering her his devilish fangs in a grin.
"And I'll be too drunk and rich to care. Farewell Deena, and try to watch that tongue of yours. Your new owner might pluck it out.
Blackweather gave her a final smile and then turned and walked off into the crowd. Moving towards the waiting Sandman and the rest of his crew. He strode away from her, towards his loyal men. And huddled together in hushed conversation with them.
She watched him go and the last mote of hope floated away from her. She cursed herself. What did she expect from that horned demon? Nobility? She sighed and the tears stung her eyes.
8
Alfred had followed Malkolm Bluheart's advice and ventured up to one of the locked libraries of Ironghast. Using the key provided to him by Bluheart, he had opened the creaking brass gate at the end of a long deserted passage and stepped inside.
It was a world of wonder to him.
All his life Alfred had dreamed of a place like this. Stacked high against every wall were books and scrolls from every age of the world. Written in hundreds of languages and covering myths, history, architecture, art, mathematics poetry, every imaginable subject. The ceiling was a high dome and the shelves reached almost to the top. At its apex was a stargazing window and Alfred could see a million points of light twinkling down upon the world. He felt as if each book he walked past was a star, a point of knowledge lighting up the darkness of the world.
Alfred wandered up and down the gloomy aisles, turning on his heels and spinning like a fool as he went. Laughing to himself as he let his fingers stroke the spines of the books. Lanterns hung in the library containing bottled grubs that glowed with their own inner light. Alfred leaned close to one and placed his fingers on the glass. The thumb-sized grub inside turned inside and glowed brighter at his proximity.
A Prayer of Dusk and Fury Page 8