The Dead Gods

by Rob Bayliss

  “What is the manner of risk, Lord?”

  The Grand Mage was grim. “Firstly, it may very well kill Dendec, but I believe he is close to death as it is. He is skeletal thin, his skin pale and like aged parchment ….”

  “We have tried taking him out into the sun, Grand Mage, but he screams and wails as if he burns.”

  The Grand Mage nodded. “Secondly, there may be risks for me. For all the powers the Fiery One has gifted to my hands may yet not prove enough. If it does not you must seal me, and whatever is drawn out of or remains of Dendec, in the cell forever.”

  “But you are the Grand Mage ….”

  “I am a mortal man like any other, but the infection carried by Dendec cannot be allowed to continue. Ah, here we are. Yes, I hear him now.”

  They turned a corner. Outside the barred cell door, beyond which Dendec was confined, stood a hospital guard. He wore thick gauntlets of toughened leather and armour formed from strips of metal that covered his arms and body, right down to his knees. On his head he wore a metal caged helmet, protecting his face and neck. In his hand he had a cudgel. Upon seeing the Grand Mage and sister approach he stood to attention, drawing back the bolt securing the door.

  Inside, the room was dimly lit, with candles guttering in lanterns either side of the doorway. The bed, a simple straw stuffed mattress with woollen blanket, was unoccupied. The Grand Mage followed the soft gibbering voice to the dark of a far corner. In the gloom a hunched figure rocked back and forth.

  “Carrion crow, blood will flow, flesh to maim, souls to claim ….”

  “His mania is growing once more,” the sister warned.

  “Good evening, Dendec,” the Grand Mage asked, “how do you fare today?”

  “Fleets may sail, widows will wail ….”

  “I asked you a question, Dendec ….”

  “Shadow falls when the Corpse Lord calls.”

  “Enough.” The Grand Mage snapped his fingers and the lanterns behind him blazed. The room was brightly lit, illuminating the gloomy corners. The figure in the corner hid his face and moaned quietly, as if the light was a whip that lashed and tore at his tormented flesh.

  His hair was completely white and matted to his head. He was stripped to his loincloth, yet new, untouched clothes were neatly folded on the end of his bed. His ribs showed through his paper-like skin. His arms and legs were stick thin. The Grand Mage instantly felt pity and lowered the brightness of the lanterns, but just a shade.

  The head snapped up, eyes blazing with hate. Froth and foam bubbled from his mouth and he growled like a wild thing. The Grand Mage saw that his hands were bound together in front.

  “Apologies, Lord,” the Sister said, “this is what he has been like all day. Let me administer more mindbalm.”

  “Will that not render him incapable of speech?”

  “It will calm his present raving state,” she answered, walking towards Dendec.

  He spat at her and tried twisting his head to one side, his mouth tightly shut, avoiding any attempt by the sister to administer the calming potion.

  “I’m sorry, Lord; I will need the guard to hold him.”

  “Hold, sister, keep the door shut. Let us hear what he has to say, before you administer the potion. Besides, I have an idea. Take one of these and put it on, as I do.” From his satchel he produced two hoods. Each had two glass lenses and a brass breathing apparatus over the mouth area. A key protruded from it.

  “Fools. You are all doomed! The Messiah of Shadows walks the earth. His children are coming, his armies are limitless. Your ships and armies sail today; the fortunate will drown in the cold, dark depths. The others will feed the dark sea of souls. Then Taleel will fall, the populace sacrificed to him. Blood will fall as a sweet, red rain.”

  “To whom do I speak? Are you Dendec, or someone else?” the Grand Mage asked, before putting the hood over his head.

  “I’m a worm, a mere worm that crawls in the mud. Yet the immortal Corpse Lord looked upon me and blessed me with his many faces that view numberless worlds and lives. He sees you, too; he is a god and you are an aged mortal. Soon your soul will be his!”

  “You are no worm. You are Dendec.” The Grand Mage’s voice was muffled under his hood. He drew the drawstring tightly around his neck, tucking his beard inside, then turned the key to the right. A gentle ticking noise began. “Once, you were a renowned warrior, who served the Fire. Your brother ….”

  Dendec stood upright. “Do not speak of him!”

  “Your brother,” the Grand Mage continued as he watched the sister put on her hood in turn, “who faced down this vessel of shadows, the one who dragged you from the pit of insanity, your mind broken by the visions of countless deaths, on countless realms, beyond countless shadowed worlds.”

  “He will leave you for me, priest,” Dendec spat. Out of the corner of his mouth a black beetle crawled. “You cannot see the beauty of the shadows, but you will when I gouge out your eyes!” Suddenly Dendec’s thin, frail arms moved outwards as he gestured and the rope that bound his hands frayed, tearing apart.

  “The evil emerges,” the Grand Mage remarked, reaching his hand into his pocket.

  Dendec leapt forward with frightening speed. Before the Grand Mage could react, his dirty ragged nails sought the Grand Mage’s neck, clawing at the fabric of the hood.

  The sister grabbed Dendec by his hair with one hand. He screamed as she hauled him off the Grand Mage. With the other hand she deftly administered the mindbalm, squirting it into his open mouth before he knew what had happened. She let go of him as he staggered backwards. He was looking left and right like a wild thing, swinging his arms in a vain attempt to hit her, but already his eyes were glazing and his arms were growing heavy.

  He slumped to his knees, his mouth drooling as black beetles scurried out of it to fall on the floor before him.

  “Stand back, Sister, we can wait no longer,” the Grand Mage commanded. He brought a vial from his pocket and threw it down, smashing it to the ground before Dendec. It exploded in a cloud of black dust. “Out shadow! I command you to leave this man.”

  The lanterns behind him blazed anew. Dendec moaned wordlessly, whilst on the floor the cloud of black dust swirled and seethed. A black beetle that crawled on the floor was suddenly lifted into the air and dragged into the spinning vortex. It was soon joined by others. They screamed, a grating high-pitched shriek, as they were sucked in, like fingernails on a blackboard. From Dendec’s mouth, nose and eyes tendrils of shadow were drawn, to join the swirling mass of insects and dust. Fully drawn out, the tendrils of darkness emanating from Dendec’s face ceased. He toppled over, unconscious, his chest rising and falling slowly. The sister ran to him to lift and cradle his head.

  The dark mass found a form; like a strange unearthly fungus it grew from the ground, yet swayed this way and that as if seeking one to consume.

  “Over here, darkness, to me,” the Grand Mage spoke calmly.

  Instantly it rushed towards him, writhing and wrapping itself around him like a shadowed python. Crushing and suffocating, it sought to turn his world black, twisting his mind to shadow. To the sister, the Grand Mage looked like a man-shaped hole in the world. The Grand Mage spoke but one word.

  With a bubbling hiss of steam the shadowed constrictor was consumed in flames, dissolving into a million fireflies that evaporated into the air. All grew still as a shadow was lifted; all that could be heard was the ticking of the clockwork breathing apparatus that the Grand Mage and sister still wore.

  “What was it?” she asked, her words muffled by the hood, as she looked at the shards of glass on the flagstone floor. “What was in the vial?”

  The Grand Mage loosened the drawstring on his hood and lifted it off his head, grateful to breath freely once more. “In that vial was shade spore, harvested from the distant SkyCrag Mountains at great cost. That one vial would have the value of 100 gold talents alone. It is a living thing of decay and infection, but it also has the unique property of
acting as a conduit for shadows. For the past ten years I have used it in my studies of shadowcraft. I believe it will be of great use in the coming war against the Corpse Lord and his armies. Long I have mused whether it could be used in a rite of exorcism; I just trust we were not too late to rescue what we could of poor Dendec there.”

  The sister lifted her hood, her face horrified and lined with concern. “We will do all we can for his body. What state his mind is now in remains to be seen.” She grabbed a blanket from the nearby bed and folded it to make a pillow, gently resting Dendec’s head upon it. Satisfied that he was comfortable for the moment, she stood and looked directly into the Grand Mage’s eyes as she passed him the hood. “You see? He knew the fleet was sailing and if he knew, then the enemy knows. You must warn the Senate, warn the Emperor. They are sailing into a trap!”

  The Grand Mage nodded, but his eyes were without hope. “I can try, but organising this fleet has taken ten years. How could we stop it now? The wheels are in motion and the populace demand revenge for the Cheama incursion. The military build up on Cyria has been visible to all with eyes to see. The foul shade that was in Dendec is one of deceit ….”

  “Do you think his talk of limitless armies was false? And what did he mean when he said the Messiah’s children are coming?”

  “I do not know. We know the lands of Acaross are vast.” The Grand Mage shook his head, his hands touching his temples. “I will meditate on this. Pray, excuse me, Sister, my head is aching like I have spent the entire day listening to the iron tutor swing his hammer.”

  “Of course, Lord. I will stay here awhile with Dendec.”

  ***

  The Grand Mage walked along the corridor, the torches lighting as he approached, yet the light of them made his eyes and head ache all the more. He contemplated a quick visit to the Sanctum, to converse with the Fire God and contemplate the day’s events, but his head throbbed.

  Perhaps he needed rest? He was not getting any younger; the dark shade had not been wrong about that.

  Leaving the medical annexe, he crossed the seminary courtyard. The sky was lit by fireworks over the harbour. The boom of cannon firing in celebration, from Malstor and Crelesh, signified that the fleet was setting sail with the night’s high tide. He could see many acolytes and tutors up on the seminary walls watching the display. He should go and join them, yet his feet felt strangely compelled to take him to his own quarters. He wanted to go and speak of the day’s events with his fellow tutors, discuss the shade’s dire warnings and yet, without thinking, he kept to the shadows to avoid social interaction with his fellows.

  He came to his chambers, dropping the satchel carrying the hoods on a table. The pain in his head was becoming excruciating. The day had started in hope, yet now his mind was full of dark thoughts of defeat and despair. He snapped his fingers and made the lanterns in his room become brighter. It made him squint, but he approached a mirror and looked at his reflection, staring deep into his own eyes. He thought he saw something … what was it? He had a sudden vision, a shadow, a tendril of evil taking root. He blinked his eyes, suddenly fearful, “… it also has the unique property of acting as a conduit for shadows.” He heard the echo of his own voice. He hurried over to his desk, emptying his satchel of its contents. He snatched the hood he had worn. He had had broken and ragged fingernails, he had clawed the hood. His fingertips found the tear in the fabric behind the breathing apparatus. He dropped the hood as he felt the shadowed tentacles writhing in his mind, suffocating, constricting, and he knew himself no more.

  Chapter 25

  On they came, lurching and staggering, yet they seemed to retain a notion of war; they kept their shields locked together, mirroring the shield wall of the living that they faced.

  Thegns bellowed at the fearful troops to remember their training and drill, as they peered over their shield rims. Beyond, they saw the faces of fathers, sons, brothers-in-arms, now rotten, mouldering and deformed.

  There was a thunderous roar of harquebus, a flash that momentarily lit the narrow ravine as it filled with thick, choking smoke. A storm of lead was unleashed to smash into the opposing ranks. Rotten shields exploded. Holes were carved in the unnatural flesh. Limbs and jaws were shot away, but unfeeling; the dead continued their shambling advance. Desperately, the harquebus were reloaded with shaking hands, but eyes kept looking over shoulders following the boom of cannon that resounded from the opposite end of the ravine.

  “Concentrate on the enemy before you, curse you!” shouted a thegn at his men. “The Khan can handle any Hivemother bitch from the darkest of hells.” But as he said it, the thegn had to command himself not to look over his shoulder. If the front of the column was lost, this rear-guard action was futile.

  Tuan and his companions found themselves behind the rear-guard, trapped in the ravine with the Khan’s column. Klesh was looking fearfully at the Hivemother, who blocked the advance further into the ravine. It was a lumbering abomination of mammoths and wet fungal flesh. The Khan’s cannons shot at it; holes were torn and rent in its body, but its unnatural flesh simply rejuvenated almost instantly. Fire arrows failed to ignite the thing. Its flanks shone moistly and the mouldy mammoth fur dripped green and wet. The wooden fortress of interlocking shields at the rear could hold the advance of the plague-ridden, but surely against the Hivemother there was no defence with a mere shield wall?

  Tamzine had both falcatas drawn, readying to sell her life dearly, inwardly cursing Tuan for tarrying too long in the Khanate. Bronic had his bardiche, Blissa, in both hands. He was beginning to foam and froth at the mouth as the Red Rage took hold. He was looking at the approaching enemy shield wall, yearning to send the dead enemies to the cold lands beyond their half-lives.

  Tuan, however, was staring intently at the approaching Hivemother in contemplation. In one hand he held his sword while the other was resting on the Sun Shard, hidden underneath his tunic. On seeing this, Tamzine screamed in frustration, unable to control her temper any longer.

  “You bastard, Blackstone! I told you again and again that we should have pressed on with our journey. But no, we loitered here so you could have Karla service your bastard cock.”

  As she swore more small stones fell from the high ravine walls. These were swiftly followed by more fell and infected creatures landing amid the column, causing chaos in the ranks of defenders. Now they had to fend off attackers appearing behind their shield walls. Horses and pack animals screamed in fear, threatening in their fearful madness to career and escape. The huscarls withdrew, splitting the column in two as the monsters reformed themselves, gathering in the centre. The threat was now that the army would be destroyed piecemeal.

  “Well, that’s fucking wonderful,” Tamzine exclaimed in disgust, as a horse went past her, a Cheamanite hanging desperately to its reins trying to control its flight.

  “Have you finished?” Tuan replied, his own anger beginning to rise now. “You want to vent your temper? Come on then, let us carve a way through those creatures. Get me to the Khan.”

  Bronic needed no second telling. His muscles twitched and burned. A cold fury consuming him; he ran at the creatures, Blissa raised, trails of foam escaping the sides of his mouth. Upon the creatures he fell, charging towards the very things the huscarls were withdrawing from. The monsters’ bones were resetting with wet rattling sounds, but soon limbs were flying this way and that. Following the mute Turanesci giant, Tamzine’s blades rose and fell. She screamed her anger and frustration in a terrible battle cry, such as had not been heard in the Summerlands since the before the Empire’s dominion. Klesh twirled his boarspear like it was an extension of his arm, its great blade piercing skull and chest alike. Tuan hacked with his sword, his arm aching, his eyes fixed on the Hivemother, which loomed ever closer, threatening to crush and stamp all before it.

  The companions formed a spearhead behind the steel point of Bronic that cut deep into the crowd of foul creatures. Seeing this, the thegns roared encouraging commands and the
huscarls rallied to join in the slaughter of the deformed monsters from both sides. Now it was the plague beasts that were isolated and surrounded. Forced into smaller and smaller spaces, the pockets of resistance fell to the incessant falling of blades and the point blank blast of harquebus.

  Bronic was consumed with battle fury, his eyes full of murderous intent, single-mindedly slaughtering the plague that appeared before him. Tamzine and Klesh continued to follow the Turanesci giant, dispatching the writhing beasts that he crippled and maimed. Finally Bronic ceased in his work, the blade of his bardiche a slimy black, with the spilled rancorous liquor that flowed through the plague’s foul flesh. All around were the twisted bodies of the fallen; here and there the body of a fallen huscarl lay, broken.

  The bodies of the dead were quickly dealt with by their comrades, a knife stabbed from behind the neck and into the brain to prevent them rising from the mouldering earth. Tamzine and Klesh were panting after the effort of keeping up with Bronic’s frenzied killing spree.

  The huscarls worked quickly to clear the dead to the sides of the ravine walls. Harquebusiers formed a line along the spine of the column and trained their guns at the tops of the ravine walls in case more of the plague infested attacked from above. Any movement was met with a murderous volley.

  “Well then, Tuan, where next?” Tamzine asked, concentrating on shaking the black slime from her blades. “Do we seek death with the rearguard or with the Hivemother at the front?”

  Klesh suddenly looked around, and started scanning the dead in alarm. “Where is the Startooth wielder? Did he fall? He is not with us!”

  Bronic was as a wild animal, kicking the dead to one side as he desperately tried to retrace his deadly steps.

  Tamzine looked this way and that, her gaze finally fixing towards the front of the column where the cannons had suddenly fallen silent. Her fell open, her eyes drew wide in horror. “No!” was all she said.