by Rob Bayliss
Past the pavilion, Tarwen’s head snapped back to face front. In front of him Commander Brenseek Velzo rode his horse. Despite his noble upbringing, he looked uncomfortable and not born to the saddle. Tarwen had as many doubts over his commander’s ability in the coming war, as he did over the man’s horsemanship. It was such a pity Kaziviere was no longer the leader of the Fighting 14th. It was up to his fellow officers and himself to advise the untested Velzo. Tarwen wondered if Inquisitor Conziva had found Kaziviere yet. A wide smile grew on the captain’s lips, remembering Conziva’s visit to Fort Anvil and the commander’s sycophantic officer friends writhing in the mud, terrified at imaginary crows pecking at their eyes. He owed his captain’s gorget to the inquisitor; his life had changed for the better since Conziva blessed him earlier that year. It was up to him to prove worthy of it and lead his men bravely to victory over Acaross.
The long line of troops now followed the road from the Senate plaza as it wound its way down through the city to the Great Harbour. The populace roared their approval; flowers were thrown at their feet. Already, the remains of previous showerings of petals had been ground into the cobbles of the road by the multitude of trampling feet before. They were making the road quite slippery and hazardous. As they rounded a sloping bend Commander Velzo’s horse slipped. The commander very nearly fell from the saddle. There were hoots of laughter from the crowds and shouted jeers from the marching troops behind at the commander’s expense, one comparing the commander’s and horse’s arses. Tarwen looked over his shoulder, searching the faces of the men behind for the culprits. Immediately, silence fell upon the marching ranks of troopers, all of them straight-faced and looking to the front. Tarwen turned back to face ahead, as Commander Velzo attempted to sit straight with as much dignity as he could muster. Unseen by his troops or the commander, Captain Tarwen fought an internal battle with bubbling laughter that threatened to betray him. He bit his lip and tried to concentrate on the march.
Much to his disappointment (which surprised him), there were no more such incidents as the 14th left the city and approached the dockyards. Many units now waited to be assigned to different vessels. Both Cannon Road, the access to the naval docks, and Wheel Road, the access to the mercantile docks, were being used, as Taleel prepared to swing its steel clad fist to smash Acaross. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of troops were marching along both broad roads leading to the two artificial islands, around which the might of the Imperial Navy clustered.
Taleel had a huge haven, protected by breakwaters that almost encompassed the entire Bay of Flames, yet it was crammed with vessels. A forest of masts grew around the islands. The oxen in the wheelhouses would be busy charging all the spring ship engines.
A Marine officer in boiled leather armour waved at the commander to stop. He carried a wooden board with papers and inset with an inkpot and quill. He was struggling to keep it horizontal to avoid spilling the ink.
“Halt,” shouted Commander Velzo irritably, looking down his nose at the subordinate Marine sergeant.
“Greetings, Commander. Pray, state your unit?” he asked respectfully, despite noticing the commander’s disdain.
“We are the 14th Foot, Sergeant, and I am Commander ….”
“The 14th… the 14th …” the sergeant said, leafing through pages on his board, not waiting for the commander to finish. Up on his horse the commander seethed. The Marine sergeant ignored his superior’s bile, concentrating on his paperwork.
“Ah, here we are; the 14th,” the sergeant said in triumph, dipping his quill and drawing a line across the page. “You and your men are in for a treat, Commander. You are designated to voyage on the Kraken, one of the new Leviathan class warships. Quarters are set aside for the 14th in the hold. Your troops will be able to keep fit working the capstans,” he said, a smile forming on his lips. “Please take position at Bay 3 just to the right of Cannon Road there.” He pointed to the right, without looking up. “You will be summoned when it is clear for you to embark. I’m sorry to say the Kraken is not able to accommodate your horse.”
“What?!” the commander bellowed. “How do I get the beast across the sea, make him swim behind us?”
The Marine sergeant looked up incredulously. “You are the 14th Foot, are you not? The clue is in the name. Why would you need a horse?” Velzo was open mouthed in disbelief. Again, the Marine sergeant seemed oblivious, his eyes returning to studying his papers. “Bay 3, Commander, as quick as you can please; there are more units on the road behind you.” He looked up, his fierce eyes staring directly into Velzo’s from under his bushy brows, returning the commander’s disdain with interest.
“Men! Get ready to move to Bay 3 and ....” Tarwen began, reading the situation and attempting to defuse it quickly.
“Hold that order, Captain,” Velzo interrupted, turning back to the sergeant. “My campaign tent and belongings are on a cart at the rear of the 14th. I will need space allocated for its contents. I do not like your tone, sergeant. I am a commander; you should address me as a superior,” he demanded.
“Campaign tent?” the sergeant repeated. “You brought a campaign tent? I thought you said you were a commander, not a general. It is not taking up valuable space on the Kraken. Now move along, you are causing a hold up … Sir.”
Velzo’s face twisted in fury. “How dare you speak to me like that! Where is your superior officer? You are going on a charge. What is your name?”
The sergeant replied, making no effort to disguise his irritation. “My name is Marine Sergeant Terin Marik and you can find my superior officer, Major Derren, drinking wine with General Crabe in the Tipsy Mermaid. While you are there, you can sell your horse to the landlord. Tell him I sent you and he will give you a reasonable price.”
Commander Velzo’s face was now almost purple with rage. Without issuing further instructions to Tarwen, he wheeled his horse around and set off at an uncomfortable canter over the cobbles towards where the Tipsy Mermaid was situated, at the head of Wheel Road.
Sergeant Marik watched him go, shaking his head. “He always like that?” he asked of Tarwen.
“Always,” Tarwen answered.
“You have my sympathy, Captain. I know his kind. They see the army as a stepping stone on a career path to the Senate.”
“You’re not wrong, Sergeant, but are you not worried that you will get disciplined?”
“No, not really,” Marik answered, shrugging his shoulders. “Major Derren and the general are drinking chums, both of them army career men, quality soldiers risen from the scum of Taleel, not aristocrats like yon twat.”
Tarwen laughed. “I like you, Sergeant. We will get pissed on the beaches of Acaross, you and I.” He turned to his men. “By the left, left, turn! Quick, march!” Turning towards Cannon Road, he led the troopers to Bay 3.
Marik brought his arm across his chest in salute. “Good luck to the Fighting 14th!” The troopers roared their approval as they marched past.
The last of the 14th rounded the corner and marched away, leaving two hired hands driving a laden cart. “Excuse me, Sir,” one said addressing the sergeant. “But what do we do with Commander Velzo’s belongings here?”
“Well it cannot stay here, it is blocking access. Has he paid you yet lads?” the sergeant asked.
“No, Sir,” one of the boys answered, hesitantly.
“Typical!” the sergeant said, shaking his head and lifting the waxed tarpaulin that covered the cart. He peered at the contents. “Well now, there is some nice kit in here, but if the commander insists on abandoning it ... take it off my docks. But later, when the fleet has sailed, sell it to the landlord of the Tipsy Mermaid, you will get a good price. Tell him Sergeant Marik sent you,” he said with a wink.
***
The Grand Mage strode down the echoing stairwell, the ignited torches in front of him lighting his way. After all these years he still enjoyed commanding the flames, feeling that it was a great privilege granted to him by the God of Fire. He was tired ton
ight and his voice felt hoarse; all day he had prayed for and blessed the army as it had marched past on their way to embark, but he had to do this one more daily ritual, as he had promised his friend.
The Grand Mage mouthed a silent prayer. In a few short hours the fleet would sail with the tide. It was the biggest fleet and military expedition Taleel had ever mounted, even larger than the conquest of the Northern Holdings by General Serent two and a half centuries ago, far larger even than the disastrous expedition to Tahlinjin ten years before. No military foray could hope to be so well planned, and yet the Grand Mage was troubled.
The Senate and Emperor had been pressing for such a venture for years. The Empire of Acaross had never responded to Taleel’s diplomatic overtures prior to Tahlinjin. It was known to hold vast swathes under its dominion, yet Taleel had spread its influence along the northern coast of Attana, taking cities and settlements that had previously declared their allegiance to Acaross. No response came from the military or diplomats. The giant appeared to be asleep.
It was assumed that Acaross was senile and toothless, an old Empire, now frail and crumbling. It was decided to take the Straits of Tahlinjin, to effectively shut the door on the eastern empire. Once closed all the lands around the Mid Sea would be Taleel’s. All Attana, with its fabled wealth deep in its interior, would be Taleel’s for the taking. The Fire God would light the world, as was his sacred mission.
But Acaross was neither senile nor toothless. Instead it was as a huge beast, being troubled by an irritating insect that eventually it would swat away. Maybe it had indeed been sleeping, dreaming shadowed dreams in its vast hinterland, but when Taleel decided on its collision course with the old Empire it opened a lazy eye and looked upon the upstart with irritation and a little amusement, even. Stirring itself, it closed its fist on the force that landed at the Straits.
Taleel had been fortunate, in that many soldiers did slip through its cruel talons as the bulk of Taleel’s fleet burned, to slip below the waves. Were it not for a reckless sea captain called Carnak, who ran the blockade time and again, the loss of men would have been much greater. The Grand Mage smiled to himself; it was fitting that it should be Carnak who helped defeat the recent incursion on the Cheama Sea. A mere coincidence?
Ten years had passed and still no contact came from Acaross. Diplomatic missions were no longer ignored; they simply disappeared. An armed and watchful peace descended. “Let the beast go back to sleep,” some declared. “We must rebuild our forces, there can be no peace with Acaross,” declared others. The hawks won. “Tahlinjin was an aberration, how else could it be explained that Cyria was not invaded and Taleel under siege whilst weakened?”
Many long hours the Grand Mage had spent staring into the Sacred Flame in the Inner Sanctum, looking for guidance. The war of Tahlinjin was not just fought between warriors. The seminary had been vaguely aware of the Shadows of Acaross. Since the breaking of the heathen crystal lights in the Northern Holdings, the seminary and its priests were the only ones to shine light in dark places. There were traces of shadows everywhere it seemed, a hint, or a faint recollection, that resisted the flames of the Fire God. It was thus that the Grand Mage sent two of his most trusted, ahead of the military expedition. The information they returned to him came at the most terrible cost to both. For ten years the Grand Mage had wrestled with the knowledge that had been gleaned from the darkest of places. He had continued his studies in shadowcraft, discovering dark powers, devising powders and potions, honing his alchemy accordingly.
War had been long planned; the industries of the Empire and the training grounds around Taleel bore testament to that. Only the blind could be unaware of it. Now any dissenting voices were drowned out by the calls for revenge, after the incursion into the Northern Holdings. The Senate had a just reason for war now and the populace actively called for it. Now the fleet was sailing, yet doubts still haunted the Grand Mage’s dreams.
Why had the statue of Genteel fallen in the Inner Sanctum? The horror that his agents had discovered had risen again; the Messiah of Shadows was abroad once more. Again, he had sent his most trusted inquisitor, Braebec Conziva, out into the world, but without his old comrade, Dendec. Dendec; the inquisitor’s brother by the guild and by blood. He remained in Taleel yet ….
At the end of the corridor the Grand Mage came to the thick oak door. He rapped on the door three times and then heard footsteps on the other side. The latch rose with a click and the door opened inwards. The inside was well lit with many lanterns and small windows. The walls were whitewashed and smooth and the flagstone floor had been recently cleaned; its polished surface reflected the light that spilled upon it. After the dimly lit corridor, the brightness in the room was dazzling. And yet despite the obvious cleanliness, there was just a hint of foulness in the air.
“Welcome, Grand Mage, I did not expect to see you today.” The woman’s voice was soft and lilting.
The Grand Mage stepped inside and turned to the woman as she shut the door behind him. She was middle aged, her face lined with care, yet soft of feature. Her hair was thick; once it had been black but now was almost entirely grey. It was tied in two plaits that ended with clasps of entwined silver. They hung down over her waxed apron of leather.
“I have to keep my promises, sweet Sister of Salubrity.” He smiled grimly. “How does our mutual concern fare?”
“His ravings became worse today, Grand Mage,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “It was as if he knew that the fleet sailed today. This, despite my fellow sisters being under strict instruction never to discuss the world within his earshot.”
“Perhaps he heard the procession taking place?” the Grand Mage asked, without hope. “It seemed like the whole population of Taleel had gathered on the streets to wish their sons well.”
“The walls are thick. Nothing can be heard from outside, not even the cannons of Crelesh and Malstor. No one seeks to talk with him, with the exception of his brother and yourself. My sisters actively try to avoid him ….” The sister paused. “Grand Mage …” she spoke quietly, “he is never going to improve. We have attempted, with all the skill of our craft, to heal him. But his soul is torn, and his mind broken and irretrievably lost. Are we to keep him here to the end of his days?”
The Grand Mage sighed. “If needs be, then yes. He was once a trusted warrior of the Flame. Although not an alchemist, his knowledge of black powder was second to none. He was a captain of the seminary guard and was Inquisitor Conziva’s right hand. His mind was lost in the service of the Fiery One, attempting to cast the Lord’s light in the darkest of places. For the last ten years I have studied shadowcraft. There must be a way of freeing his mind from its torment. I am ever grateful to the patience of the sisterhood and your attempts so far, but I refuse to believe that his mind cannot be healed.”
“We had to subdue him today or he was going to hurt himself. He has gotten progressively worse.” The sister held the Grand Mage’s gaze with her own, whispering, lest the walls grew ears. “Since the shattering of Grenteel in the Sanctum.”
“You did not hurt him?”
“We endeavoured not to, Grand Mage, but we had to forcibly restrain him. He was ranting and throwing himself against the walls. He broke his nose. We forced him to drink mindbalm. He seems to have quietened down since then. It gave us the opportunity to move him to a clean cell at the very least. How he can bear the stench is beyond me.”
The Grand Mage shook his head. Dendec had descended into a pit of madness as dark as the pit of horror he and his brother attempted to exorcise ten years previously. In his heart the Grand Mage carried the guilt for sending them both there, but he had had to know. “Pray, take me to his new cell, Sister.”
“Certainly, my Lord, but I will bring this just in case.” The woman led the way from the door. She stopped at a cabinet. Producing a key from her clothing, she unlocked a metal-bound cabinet of thick oak. Lifting the lid, she picked up a polished brass syringe, its end blunt to deliver a dose in
to a patient’s mouth. They passed through a heavily-barred door.
The strong smell of putrefaction hit them as they proceeded down the corridor. The Grand Mage could hear the sound of bristles scouring the polished flagstones as they came near to an open doorway. The Grand Mage recognised it as the cell in which he had visited Dendec only yesterday. He looked inside as he passed; two sisters and an orderly were furiously scrubbing the walls and floor. They wore masks over their mouths and noses and wore elbow length gauntlets.
“Do you have to go through this procedure each time Dendec is moved?”
“Yes, Grand Mage. After the room is cleaned we will burn bundles of sage in the room and corridors to cleanse the place of the stink of corruption and the dark aura that pervades.” The sister paused then in consideration, her hand reaching for the Grand Mage’s arm. “Is it wise to have one such as this in our midst? He is a malnourished shadow of a man. It is stomach turning and tragic, the way he lets most of his food spoil and piles it in the corner with his own … waste. My Lord, all the rooms are sealed from the outside, we clean them thoroughly and yet still, beetles infest any room he occupies. He eats them as they breed in the waste food and …” The sister put her hand to her mouth, fighting a wave of nausea. “Does he not introduce the enemy to the seminary?”
The Grand Mage stroked his beard as he pondered. “Is it wise? I do not know, but we have to know all we can about shadowcraft. You are among the select few, Sister, of those who realise the nature of the foe we face. I am sorry that you have to know this. Wherever there is darkness, the shadow of the Corpse Lord can be felt as he yet walks the earth.” The Grand Mage sighed. “Today I have wrestled with a quandary, a possible way of drawing the shadow from Dendec’s soul and curing him. I have feared trying it as it carries a great risk. I would ask for your assistance. Please know that I do not command, I only request.”
