The Dead Gods

by Rob Bayliss

  The beast’s head rocked from side to side as his black heart burned, but his eyes remained fixed on the apothecary. He shouted at the man once again in the tongue of Acaross, as the flames spread though his shadowed veins and capillaries, consuming his flesh. Without hesitation, the apothecary ran forward and leapt towards the burning Sheerak.

  “No! Stop him!” Braebec screamed.

  But it was too late; the apothecary was engulfed in the flames. As he slumped forward, Sheerak’s jaws tore at the man’s neck in a welter of blood that hissed and boiled in the heat. There was a piercing scream and a red fiery dart shot out to disappear into the night. The remains of the two bodies collapsed and burned fiercer than ever, the flames climbing up into the night sky, illuminating the island and the muddy waters of the delta.

  Braebec followed the course of the dart as it shot out of sight to the southeast. “Damn him,” he said quietly.

  Morcan stood beside his mentor. “What was that?”

  “Quietly, Morcan, don’t alert the others, grant them their victory and revenge. We have killed the were-beast but I fear Sheerak’s psyche has escaped; the apothecary’s sacrifice gave him just enough power to escape the death of flames. He is a clever one, strongly linked to the Corpse Lord. It was a risk, I should have waited for daylight to question him, but I needed him to think he had power over me in order to get information from him. Next time I will snuff him out altogether.”

  “Why did the apothecary sacrifice himself?” Morcan asked, still horror struck by what he had seen.

  “You saw the power he had over him. With his last words he probably promised whatever passes for redemption to the dark power these people enslave their souls to.” Braebec shook his head in disbelief.

  “However.” The inquisitor turned to Sergeant Tovey and Captain Treal; both were transfixed, watching the burning corpses in grim fascination. “Sergeant Tovey, you said we should warn your man Tuan of the danger he faces. I tend to agree. His name and his power keep cropping up. It is clear this half-breed scout is no mere bush priest. The shadows fear him and wish to control him, him and your Commander Kaziviere it would appear. Sergeant Tovey, I seek your forgiveness for our earlier misunderstanding. You helped save me from the beast and I am thus in your debt. Captain Treal, let there be no more mistrust between us. We need to find this Tuan, the future of Taleel. All who resist the shadows may depend upon him. You know where he has gone? Do you think Dominar Broud will allow us to chase your Tuan?”

  The captain stroked his moustache in contemplation. “Allow me to consult with my officer.”

  “Of course, Captain,” Braebec replied, his face now a mask of rapprochement.

  “What does he know of Blackstone, Sergeant?” Treal whispered urgently.

  Tovey looked sheepish. “Before tonight’s show, he caught me with my guard down and got in my head, Captain. He knows of Tuan’s Sun Shard. Almost threatened me with the inquisition, he did. What with that and that Shadow bastard’s rantings ….”

  “Bollocks! Well, it was only a matter of time really.” Treal sighed. “Looks like we have no choice then. I’ll have to get a report to the dominar when I can and warn him of events.”

  “Not just of our own predicament either, Captain,” Tovey said thoughtfully. “That bastard hinted that our lads gathered in Cyria are sailing off into a trap worse than Tahlinjin.”

  Treal grunted in agreement and spun around to face the inquisitor, giving the fire priest a simple nod. He then addressed the troopers gathered around. “Let us celebrate the defeat of an enemy, lads. That bastard Sheerak paid for the deaths of our comrades; he‘s now just smoking bones and ash. Drink up your wine. Sergeant Tovey will refill your cups; there is plenty more where we are going. Tomorrow we sail for the Khanate, where the vines drip Keanasa clovergelt and Keffina red.”

  Curnen fired his musket into the night and the troopers cheered.

  ***

  Desperate, he shot through the air over the Cheama, already fearing the sun, hours before the dawn. The light of it would destroy him utterly, dissolving him to oblivion as he lost his grip on the sacrificed soul. South, he needed to get south, back to the lands of his lord; only he could help him now. He needed a vessel to hide in, any vessel.

  The gull was knocked sideways by the impact. Stunned, the bird spiralled down through the night towards the waves. Its eyes opened, eyes as black as the night. It stopped its spiral, beat its wings and climbed back into the dark sky. With a harsh call, like a curse, it sped southwards ….

  Chapter 23

  There was a loud crack of wood against wood. It broke the night-time quiet of lapping water against the quayside and ships sides. Under the light of the torches that were held high, all eyes quickly focused on the source of the sound. Time stood still and all movement ceased, as those who observed counted the moments in dread. The sailor who had stumbled and dropped the heavy keg shook himself from his inertia and gingerly inspected the edges of the iron bound vessel for any sign of rupture.

  “Careful with that barrel, you fool!” Captain Horvine hissed. He ran his trembling hand through his grey hair. Every time he carried this cargo he could swear that his hair grew whiter; it was a duty to the seminary that he hated. He was under orders to send his ship and crew to the bottom of the ocean, should the worst come to the worst.

  Beside him Chevenc, the aged tower warden of Keanasa, chuckled in amusement at the captain’s discomfort. “Do not worry, Captain, the goods have been securely packaged; we would not want the safety of our valued customers compromised.”

  The captain of the Windsprite looked at the tower warden for any hint of deceit or mockery, but if the old man was, he managed to hide it well behind his rheumy eyes. Chevenc stood there, sheltered against the cold of the night under a thick cloak of fur, his bald pate covered with a silken cap. Who was this decrepit old one to mock anyone, with his beard shaped and stiffened like a mammoth’s head?

  “I trust the payment was all in order, Lord Chevenc?”

  “Indeed, Captain, although I fear your masters at the seminary are unaware of the great risks involved in the gathering of the dark spice. No matter; for this consignment the contract will be honoured, have no fear.”

  Captain Horvine’s eyes narrowed as he gave the shrewd old warden his full attention. “What exactly are you saying? For this consignment?”

  The warden waved his hand as if dismissing a mere triviality. “Harvesting this spice is proving to be costly in lives. My Lord Khan would see the loved ones of the lost receive the fullest wergild available.”

  “Your pardon, Lord Chevenc,” growled Horvine, “The seminary pays you handsomely for this spice as it is. We pay solely for the product. Whatever costs are incurred in its harvest and production are the concern of Khan Chenkish alone.”

  If the warden felt the ire of the captain, he pretended not to be aware of it. “Times have changed, Captain; the Empire is at war. We have supplied the Emperor - may the fires ever burn bright in his heart - many of our best young men for the campaign against Acaross. Yet the recent incursion by Acaross has taught us to be vigilant and well armed. Where was the Empire when we needed help? We must help ourselves, for we are the guardians of the Empire’s eastern frontier. We alone keep the Northern Holdings free from the barbaric hordes east of the SkyCrags. All of this costs us dearly; surely our friends in the seminary would agree? Unless, perhaps, we should present our case to the Emperor and the Senate? In which case, why do we hide the spice amid casks of wine? Why do we load your ships in the dead of night?”

  “You would attempt to blackmail the seminary? The Guild of Alchemists itself?” Captain Horvine asked in disbelief.

  The warden shrugged his hunched shoulders. “Come now, Captain, who speaks of blackmail? I do not pretend to know the politics between the seminary and the Imperial Senate. I do know, however, that you need the spice, and you choose to keep its existence a secret. Considering the dangerous nature of it, perhaps that is wise. But know
this,” the warden said, his face suddenly hard, “next time a seminary vessel comes for the dark spice, it will carry twice as much gold and black powder as you have brought us this time.”

  Captain Horvine folded his arms. “I will carry your words to the seminary, but I can tell you now they will earn you ill favour. The Khanate has done very well out of our arrangement; the Khan’s treasury filled far deeper than it did solely from the revenues from wine, for which this land is famed. I should discuss these changes with the Khan himself, I think.”

  “That you cannot do, Captain,” the warden said, his old, yellowing teeth showing in his smile. “My Lord Khan has journeyed to the eastern marches. In his absence, I speak for him. I am his voice, and the sculptor of his will in Keanasa. Unless …” the old man smiled once more, “…perhaps you would wish to take the long road east yourself, far from your ship. Alas, I am left with only the city guard and can spare you no escort, for it is a dangerous road. Would that I could,” he said, shrugging his shoulders in mock resignation. “But we have sent troops to serve the Emperor as Dominar Sligo demanded, and lost men defending the Khanate from last year’s ship-borne incursion.”

  Captain Horvine bit his lip, fighting the urge to swear and curse the wily old fox to the darkest of hells. But he had to show restraint, as the warden had said; he was the representative of the Khan. Besides, the wharves were lined with city huscarls, all armoured and adept in war. They outnumbered his crew by at least five to one.

  “I would warn you, Lord Chevenc,” Captain Horvine said calmly, “that the seminary and the Empire are one. You would do well to remember that before you attempt your game. As for our nocturnal conduct in this matter, I wonder how the good folk of the Khanate would react knowing that they are potentially exposed to the living death this spice can serve?”

  “The folk of the Khanate are loyal to the Khan, first and foremost,” the warden said flatly.

  This time Captain Horvine smiled. “Your Khan sits upon his throne by the grace of Emperor Stalivoc. Perhaps you and your master have forgotten?”

  “And where is the might of the Empire now?” Chevenc asked, defensively. “Where was Emperor Stalivoc when the slavers raided our coasts? Emperor Staviloc’s representative, the dominar, was at Northport, in league with the enemy. The same dominar who stripped our treasury, our store houses and sent our young warriors overseas.”

  “Well the Northern Holdings have a new dominar now, the hero of the Cheama, General Broud,” Horvine said, as barrels of wine were loaded, to be placed around the specially marked special cargo in the ship’s hold.

  “He is officially the dominar now? Then that is good,” Chevenc said, smiling. “We received a diplomatic delegation from Broud recently whom the Khan had graciously granted an audience. Perhaps the seminary should take a leaf from the dominar’s book and respectfully request such a meeting? We have not seen a mage, a pyromancer, or an alchemist for many years.”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged, Lord Chevenc. Such a delegation, to perhaps include inquisitors, may arrive sooner than you think ….”

  Captain Horvine smiled. Much to his pleasure, he saw the tower warden’s face drop just a little, although the old man tried his best to conceal it. He continued, as if no threat had been intended. “So Khan Chenkish has taken his army to the Eastern Marches? Is there a current threat to the Khanate from beyond the SkyCrags?”

  “The Khanate and the Empire always faces a threat both from and beyond the SkyCrag Mountains,” Chevenc answered tersely, “and as I said, the cost in harvesting the Dark Spice is high.”

  ***

  The flash dazzled momentarily, the smoke of gunpowder mixed with the mountain mist. The deafening retort echoed around the rock faces of the narrow ravine.

  Lead shot tore through the weird flesh of the abominations that advanced towards them. Tentacles and limbs were torn off with sickeningly wet sounds, with squeals of inhuman pain. If indeed the infected did truly feel.

  But as the smoke began to clear, it became clear that the monstrous plague was still advancing towards them, crawling over the fallen that flopped and writhed in spasm.

  “They still come! Shield Wall! Form up! We must do this the old fashioned way. Archers and grenadiers, be ready, release when I say.”

  Khan Chenkish was in his element. His eyes blazed beneath the rim of his spangenhelm and yet, between his silver adorned, plaited beard and moustache, a fierce smile was forming at the edges of his mouth. Much to his bodyguards Stavor’s and Rufen’s distress, he had leapt off his horse to take his place just behind the first ranks of huscarls as they had pushed forward into the pass. Just two hours into their advance and they had encountered the plague. He brandished his silver-engraved war axe and took his place behind the first rank as their kite shields interlocked, leaning forward with those around him to help absorb the impact. He followed the example of his warriors and reaching down to his neck, he drew up the mask to cover his nose and mouth. It paid not to inhale the spore and soon there would be clouds of it. He felt the front rank tense and readied himself also. He breathed though the mask deeply; the air was heavy with the smell of sweat and fear. Even through the mask he could smell urine; no doubt this was the first time for more than one man in the shield wall, causing the individual’s bladder to release. If the young warriors survived, they would not be ridiculed for it by the veterans; all faced down their fears in the wall of wood and flesh. It was the waiting that was the fearful worst of it, but soon the joyful chaos of melee would begin.

  There was a loud crash as the plague smashed against the wall of shields. The Khan roared encouragement and strained with all his might as the front rank was pushed backwards under the impact. There was a moment of fear as the wall of shields was tested, threatening to buckle. Horrendous sounds of the inhuman plague filled the air as tentacles, tendrils and limbs tried to find gaps and break the fortress of linden wood, to tear at the flesh behind.

  Huscarls behind the second rank hurried past the reloading musketeers lending their weight and strength and slowly, slowly, the shield wall edged forward. The shields snapped back into their interlocked position with a crack. Their momentum lost, the plague tried to rip down the wooden wall, but the huscarls held firm.

  The Khan looked back, lowering his mask to shout, “Loose, loose now!”

  From the behind a wave of small clay pots were hurled over the heads of the straining huscarls, to smash against whatever they hit. As per their training the grenadiers threw the pots a set distance forward so they all landed in roughly the same area in the narrow ravine. Above the huscarls’ heads a small cloud of fire arrows arched upwards to fall amongst the plague the same distance as the clay pots had fallen.

  It took but a moment when suddenly the ravine ahead burst with brightness as the flammable liquid that was once contained by the shattered pots burst into flame. It created a roaring, fiery wall that consumed the enemy caught within its dominion. The strange flesh of the plague boiled and hissed. More pots and more arrows were launched, this time a short distance further, creating a barrier of flame between the abominations at the shield wall and any possible reinforcements.

  The Khan once more pulled up his mask. Looking ahead over the heads of the forward rank and between the rims of the shields, he raised his silver axe high in the air, waiting for the right moment. Other huscarls around him readied their bardiches, impatiently looking for the silver axe to fall. The Khan knew the enemies of the Khanate, whether human or otherwise. He was never frivolous with his coin or the lives of his troops. Only when he judged that the plague before him became aware of the chaos of flames behind it, only then did he signal.

  With a muffled roar through his mask, the Khan dropped his axe, its engraving catching the sunlight that had at last burned through the mountain mist.

  The wall opened at the front rank. Through the gaps between the shields, the huscarls ran forward, wielding their two-handed bardiches. They slashed at the foul abominations befor
e them. Slashing and slicing, they drove towards the enemy, cutting a path towards the wall of flames. They gave little thought to the monstrosities they killed. Their only thought was to clear the mountain pass of the plague and locate Prince Kreshan and the lost column of their comrades.

  Tuan and his companions did not share such indifference to this horror. They followed the advancing troops, joining others in dispatching anything that yet moved after the huscarls’ advance. Although they had seen something similar at the gate of the Fortress of Tiers, they had to fight the urge to vomit as they saw the deviations the plague had wrought upon what once had been oxen, mountain goats, lions and bears. They were hideously deformed as if they had been toys, taken apart and randomly remade by a careless child.

  Klesh coughed and spluttered behind his mask, stabbing here and there at anything that stirred on the floor with his great boar spear. His eyes were red and ran freely with tears as he shook his head, muttering to himself.

  Tamzine saw the upset that the Flinter felt; her falcatas were stained with the foul black sap that once ran red through the animals’ veins. She looked at Bronic. The mute giant was swinging Blissa, but kept looking forward, wishing he were at the forefront of the battle with the Khan and his huscarls. Tuan had a stern look on his face as he stabbed and slashed with his sword. One hand rested upon his chest, where his Sun Shard was always kept hidden.