The Dead Gods

by Rob Bayliss

  “Who commands this vessel?” the major demanded.

  “I’m Captain Horvine, lately of Taleel, and it is my honour to captain the Windsprite.” The captain bristled.

  Sailors gathered around behind their captain, forming a barrier to the major’s further progress onto the deck.

  “You are occupying the berth of Admiral Carnack’s Orca,” the major replied, marching on board without waiting for leave to do so.

  “The admiral is due back this evening, Major Menhan,” the dockhand blurted out, “this vessel must move to a different berth.”

  “As soon as my engine is charged I will gladly move my ship. I demand that this is done forthwith, Major Menhan,” the captain said in irritation.

  The major folded his arms across his chest and studied the face of the captain. “You demand, you say? You come here from Taleel without cargo or documentation and demand that all bend to your will?” The major’s right hand dropped to rest on the pommel of his sword. “I demand of you, what is your purpose here?”

  “We are here on Imperial business, from the seminary in Taleel,” a voice said from behind the gathered sailors. Emerging from the crowd, the cloaked and hooded Inquisitor Conziva appeared, carrying satchels over his shoulders, followed by his similarly clad companion. They stood before the major.

  The inquisitor threw back his hood, revealing his black hair with its distinctive streak of silver. His eyes bored into the major’s as if searching the man’s soul, his face stern, a mask of stone. The major had an uncomfortable feeling that another voice apart from his own now occupied his mind. It kept asking questions of him, of his loyalty. ‘I was merely following orders’, he shouted in his mind to silence the questioner, ‘I have the authority here!’ He forced himself to speak.

  “And who might you be, sir?” Menhan demanded of the stranger.

  “I’m Inquisitor Braebec Conziva, from the seminary in Taleel. I come with documentation for the dominar. I also bring a new alchemist, Morcan Tavili, to Northport,” Braebec said, indicating his travelling companion beside him. “We are here with the full authority of the Grand Mage of the Alchemist Guild and the Senate, representing the Emperor himself. Would you have us return to Taleel without fulfilling our mission? Shall I tell the Senate that Major Menhan ordered our return? I‘m sure they will be interested in your exploits at the Battle of Drill Square. You fought for the accursed Sligo that day, did you not?” As the inquisitor spoke his eyes, unblinking, held the major’s.

  The major’s jaw dropped. How did he know? He was in my mind, reading my thoughts! He wanted to answer but his mind was blank.

  “Can we expect you to escort us to see Acting Dominar Broud now, Major Menhan?” Braebec said, his features softening and smiling.

  “Absolutely….” Menham stumbled with his words, regaining possession of his mind. “Please, come with me, my Lord Conziva. I will take you to see Dominar Broud immediately.”

  He turned to walk back down the gangplank. The dockhand was incredulous. “Major! What of the Windsprite berthing here?”

  The major turned to the dockhand in irritation. “What of it? Get a mammoth in the wheel now! You will afford Captain Horvine and his crew the full hospitality of Northport Haven, is that understood?”

  The dockhand dropped his gaze. “Yes, major. As you command.”

  Braebec and Morcan followed the major down onto the harbourside with their military escort. They followed the sea wall and left the docks, climbing into the city, much to Morcan’s disappointment; he had hoped to see a mammoth being led towards the wheel within the thick breakwater. The sensation of walking on solid ground seemed odd after so many weeks at sea, legs and brains compensating for the roll of the ship.

  The street leading from the docks was the industrial heart of the city, full of the hammering and smelting of metals, which gave it the name Foundry Road. They marched swiftly, avoiding the stream of traffic as carts went to and fro from the docks, their metal clad wheels grinding on the cobbled surface of the road. Chimneys belched the smoke from the charcoal-fuelled forges. The sights, sounds and smells caused Morcan’s thoughts to stray back to the lessons of the iron tutor at the seminary, his home for so many years.

  Foundry Street led to an area housing the barracks, which clustered around the large expanse of Drill Square. A place that had run red with blood during the bitter conflict the previous year, when the then General Broud challenged the treachery of Dominar Sligo. On the south end of Drill Square Major Menhan halted, outside the door of a seemingly unassuming office. At either side of the door stood a sentry; both had the look of professional and experienced soldiery. They both snapped to attention as the major approached.

  Braebec was nonplussed. “Why do we stop here, Major? Should we not proceed to the dominar’s quarters at Master’s Keep?”

  “The acting dominar is a general first and foremost; he prefers his military quarters for day-to-day administration, rather than the marble of the audience chamber in the keep.” The major turned and addressed the guards. “Pray, inform the general that we have here Inquisitor Conziva and Alchemist Tavili, newly arrived from the seminary in Taleel, requesting an audience.”

  Both sentries shot suspicious glances at Brabec as one nodded to the other, and saluting the major, went inside. The look was not lost on the inquisitor. Very loyal to their general, these two.

  The sentry returned shortly and holding the door open, addressed the major. “The general will see you and our guests now, sir.”

  “Squad, at ease,” the major said to his men. “Pray follow me, Lord Conziva.”

  Following the major, Braebec and Morcan went through an office, where clerks were working at desks covered in rolled parchments and clay tablets. The room was plain, but well lit with numerous candles. At the other side was a door that the major rapped his knuckles on, before grasping the latch.

  Major Menhan opened the door to let Braebec and Morcan enter. Braebec was aware of the presence of the sentry, his hand resting on his sword pommel, as they went into in to the general’s office.

  Inside, the general’s room was austerely decorated. In one corner a brazier spilt heat into the room. It was lit by sunlight, streaming in through the two large windows on one side of the room. On one wall was a large map of the Northern Holdings. The general was sat at a desk, which was covered in paperwork. Behind him on a stand was a standard issue steel breast and backplate. It was lacking the usual ornamentation of a high-ranking officer, apart from the polished cloak clasps of bronze on each shoulder. Atop the stand was a battered helm; the numerous dents on it could be seen as the afternoon sunlight splashed over it through the windows. The general was busy with some papers. He scattered sand over the paper to dry the ink, before tipping the sand back into a receptacle on the desk. He looked up at his guests.

  General Broud, the de facto dominar of the Northern Holdings, had close-cropped grey hair. His clean-shaven face had the deep creases of a grizzled veteran of many campaigns. He did not rise. His elbows remained on the desk, hands joined at the fingertips. He studied the new arrivals, speaking to them in a calm, measured tone.

  “So. I am told that you are newly arrived from Taleel. I was expecting a new dominar and his retinue, not an inquisitor from the seminary. I trust my report of the events on the Cheama arrived safely with the Senate?”

  “Indeed, my Lord Broud,” Braebec said, bowing his head in respect. “You are renowned in Taleel as the hero of the Cheama and saviour of the Empire.”

  Broud grunted. “So much blood need not have been spilled, had the Senate selected the dominar to govern the Emperor’s subjects on the grounds of experience and ability, rather than the patronage of political houses who are vying for power and his majesty’s ear. So who do the Senate inflict on their Northern Empire this time?”

  The inquisitor reached into the leather satchel at his side. “Here, my Lord, I bring papers from the Senate.” He drew forth a bronze tube, sealed with wax at either end, and pas
sed it to the general.

  General Broud broke the seal on the cylinder and removed a rolled parchment bound with the seal of the Imperial symbol: dagger on flame. He unfurled it and brought a candle closer to study the script upon it. He scowled and threw the parchment onto the table in disgust. “I like not this news,” he said.

  The general stood and walked to face the map on the wall, his hands behind his back. He spoke his thoughts aloud. “This is not right, not right at all. There is a war about to begin. The battle for control of the Cheama was a mere skirmish.”

  Major Menhan was impatient for news. “Who is to be the dominar, my Lord General?” he asked, concern clear in his voice.

  Braebec Conziva smiled. He bowed once more before the general. “Hail, Broud, Dominar of the Northern Holdings. We are his to serve.”

  Menhan smiled. “Congratulations, my Lord Dominar.”

  The dominar ignored the major, turning on the inquisitor accusingly. “Why do they do this, Inquisitor Conziva? I should be with the army when we sail south, to avenge the Straits of Tahlinjin.”

  “Lord Dominar,” Braebec replied, “by your own words, are you not the most suited to occupy this position? You have won the trust of the people of the Summerlands, by freeing them of the machinations of Sligo and Acaross. You should know that the Grand Mage himself petitioned the Senate on your behalf. You have friends in high places, my Lord, and the Grand Mage does not sponsor anyone lightly. He is farsighted. Perhaps your military prowess is being retained in the north for a reason?”

  Major Menham interjected. “My Lord, forgive me, but if I may speak for the men under your command. None but you deserve this honour.”

  The guard grunted in approval, agreeing with the major’s words.

  Dominar Broud retook his seat. “I always thought that my road lay south, to the war with Acaross. All I have done here has been to that end.” The general sighed as he picked up the parchment and looked at it again. “Very well,” he said. “The Emperor shall rule the Northern Holdings through me. Far be it for me to question the wisdom of the Grand Mage of the sacred flame.”

  Major Menhan and the general’s sentry both punched the air and chanted, “Dominar Broud! Dominar Broud!”

  The dominar waved them silent and eyed the inquisitor. “Tell me, Lord Conziva, what brings you north, when such a message could readily have been delivered by a courier of the Senate?”

  Braebec smiled. “Firstly, my Lord, may I present you with an alchemist to occupy the vacant position here in Northport. Lord Dominar, this is Morcan Tavili, a skilled young alchemist. I trust he will supply you with both black powder and good counsel.”

  Morcan stepped forward and bowed low. “I am at your command, Lord Dominar.”

  Surprised, the dominar acknowledged the young alchemist. “We will have work for you, young Tavili. I will supply you with a workshop outside of the city walls to make black powder in. Holwyn’s old cell is atop the tower of Master’s Keep, which you can use as your study.” The dominar’s voice grew grim. “I should warn you, he was practising dark arts up there, although we have done what we could to cleanse the place. In that room he met his demise, although no one knows exactly how.”

  At this, Braebec looked intently at the dominar, sure that he knew more than he was at liberty to say, more than these vague hints. He cleared his throat before continuing, “Secondly, Dominar, I have my own mission to fulfil. I need to catalogue the manuscripts that Holwyn had in his possession. Also,” the inquisitor lowered his voice slightly, “the Grand Mage studied your report in great detail, as well as listening to embellished tales passed by word of mouth from newly arrived vessels at the docks of Taleel. The Grand Mage has questions regarding some aspects. Aspects that appear shadowed, as it were.”

  The dominar swallowed hard on hearing the word. “Major Menhan, I thank you for your service. Pray, take young Morcan here with you and give him a quick tour of our city on your patrols.”

  The major gave a salute to the dominar and led Morcan out of the office. Braebec expected the sentry to leave, too, but he remained by the door, arms folded, his eyes regarding the inquisitor suspiciously.

  The dominar saw the inquisitor wondering at the sentry’s presence. “You may speak freely in front of my man here, Lord Conziva. Please take a seat. I have no wine here at present, but I can offer water?”

  “Thank you, Lord Dominar,” Braebec said. He wishes to keep a clear head. He is wily this one. The inquisitor thought to himself.

  He took a seat opposite the dominar at his desk, taking the goblet proffered to him. He was aware of the sentry just behind him out of the corner of his eye, guarding the door. He took a sip as the dominar regarded him intently.

  “So … what is it that has piqued the interest of the Grand Mage?” Broud asked. “So much so that an inquisitor is sent to Northport.”

  The inquisitor set the goblet down on the desk. “In your report you spoke of Commander Kaziviere and his mission in the Great Marsh. You made mention of his finding of a House of Shadows in the Acaross fort in the Talons Delta and the defeat of two dark creatures, which resulted in the disappearance of the commander?”

  The dominar grunted, drank from his goblet, stood and walked to the window. He stared out of it in contemplation, his hands clasped around his water. “I do not pretend to understand this, but the report is as it was relayed to me, by my officers in the field who saw the events. In the Acarossian fort there was a single stone building, with a pyramid roof. Guarding it was a creature that did not bleed, did not appear to suffer pain or mortal wound. It had once had been a man. He killed six men despite being attacked on all sides. A captured enemy apothecary later told us that he had once been an Acarossian noble named Sheerak, who had suffered a mortal wound. He was at death’s door but was somehow granted eternal life by their living god, a creature of shadows. It was this god of shadows whom Kaziviere defeated in the house of darkness.”

  “If I may enquire,” Braebec asked, “how did Kaziviere get past this Sheerak creature, guarding the outside?”

  “One of our soldiers managed to dismember him. The parts were given to salamanders, large, ferocious denizens of the Marsh, denying him the ability to rejoin his parts.”

  The inquisitor raised his eyebrows. “Salamanders? Wild beasts? How were they controlled?”

  The dominar turned around angrily facing the inquisitor. “I told you, they are denizens of the Marsh.”

  “I see, my Lord Dominar,” Braebec replied doubtfully. How is it that these salamanders did not attack Kaziviere’s troops? There is something he is not telling me, but his mental resistance is strong. Unlike the major, I cannot see inside this one. “What about inside the House of Shadows, Lord Dominar, what manner of creature was it?”

  “My men described it as a living corpse that emerged from a portal in the centre of the building. The monster stank of death and grave dirt. It appeared as a multitude of creatures, and its legs seemed bird-like, almost reptilian. It had my men under its control, in a spell of fear. Only Kaziviere was able to break the spell. He threw himself at the beast and plunged his obsidian dagger in its dark heart. Both Kaziviere and the abomination disappeared through the portal. That is all we know, Lord Conziva.” Upon finishing the dominar turned once again to look out of the window.

  Braebec picked up his water. It was the Messiah of Shadows then, the corpse bird described by the cutthroat in Taleel. Exactly as he remembered from the day his brother lost his mind. But what did He want in the Summerlands? What was He after, before Kaziviere sent him back through the portal? “I do not wish to waste anymore of your valuable time, my Lord Dominar; however, I have a favour to ask of you. I would very much like to inspect this Acarossian base in the Delta. Would it be possible for you to arrange transit for me to get there?”

  “Of course I can do that, Lord Conziva,” the dominar said. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. It would be good to be rid of the inquisitor from Northport. He suspects something,
but then that is what inquisitors do. “Could you not use the vessel you arrived on, my Lord?”

  The inquisitor rose and walked towards the door. “Alas not, my Lord. The Windsprite is due to return to Taleel, with certain valuable manuscripts that Alchemist Holwyn purloined from the seminary library last year. Manuscripts that the Grand Mage is impatient to see returned safely.”

  “I see,” Dominar Broud said, eager to see the inquisitor out of his office. “All Holwyn’s manuscripts can be found in his cell in the high tower of the Keep. They must be of great value.”

  The inquisitor hesitated as he held the latch. One last attempt at gaining access to this man’s thoughts. “Indeed they are, Lord Dominar, they are centuries old. They dealt with the magic and beliefs of the Flint folk, in particular the magic and use of the Sun Shards ....”

  The inquisitor let his words hang in the air for a second before he turned to face the dominar, his hand dropping from the door latch. He concentrated, his eyes boring into the dominar’s. “Any idea as to why Holwyn would want those manuscripts in particular?”

  The dominar hesitated as he stumbled for words. Just for a split second behind the wall of rainbow coloured light, the inquisitor thought he saw a crystal being held aloft in a soldier’s hand in this very room. Then it was gone. The dominar was once more in full control of his thoughts, turning away and breaking the inquisitor’s gaze.

  “You would have a better notion as to the ways of Alchemist Holwyn, Lord Conziva,” he replied.

  Braebec sighed and turned back to the door, stopping suddenly when a rumpus could be heard on the other side, a tumult of shouting, swearing and chairs being scraped along the floor. Braebec sprang back from the door and his hand sought the handle of his concealed wheelock pistol under his cloak. The sentry swiftly drew his sword and put himself between the door and the dominar.

  The door crashed open, and a large man who was squeezed into leather armour burst into the room. His face and head were burned as dark as teak. He had a long, black drooping moustache and what hair he had surrounding his bald crown was drawn back in a long ponytail. His face was contorted with fury. Behind him, following nervously, was another man who had no look of the warrior about him; his clothes were stained and filthy, his hands calloused and blackened from labour.