by William King
The sight of the airships brought back memories; of having a deck beneath his feet and clouds beneath his keel, of sailing the sky above the wastelands as free as a stormhawk, and having a crew at his command rather than having to obey the whims of others. Someday, he swore, no matter how long it took or what it cost him, he would reclaim his freedom and have a ship of his own. All he had to do was keep his eyes open for the opportunity to escape.
He watched as a lifting platform was winched up the side of the tower opposite, an ancient stone structure marked with ridges and ledges and crowded with gargoyles.
Looking down on the level below him he could see people crowded on a garden balcony. He could hear nothing from outside. A silence spell kept the sound of the city at bay. He stalked over to the door. It had neither lock or keyhole. He touched it and felt the faint presence of a bound elemental.
Open, he commanded it but it did not respond and there was no way he could break the door with his bare hands. The other door was similar. The room might be luxurious but it was just as much a prison as the holding cell in the Pit. Outside the world went about its business but he was still as trapped as he ever had been.
He inspected the shackle on his arm. The slavestone glowed green, dormant but holding the promise of pain should he try to escape. Pleasant languor flowed from it. It was a chain of the most sophisticated sort. While he was within range of the master stone, it would feed a light euphoria into his brain. The further he got from it the less pleasant it would feel, and when he crossed the range threshold it would send boiling agony into his veins. It was part of a system meant to control House slaves. They would go happily about their duties within the tower and eventually, addicted to their own bondage, be unable to leave. The slavers of Typhon had perfected their arts over long aeons.
Heavy curtains draped one wall. Massive metal doorways marked two exits. There were armchairs and on a table stood a pitcher of water and two goblets. There was no sign of any food.
He felt better although there was a small hard lump in his chest with scars around it that he did not like at all. It was not tender to the touch and it gave him no pain but the skin in the area above it had a waxy, alien feel.
The doors in the inner wall opened for him, revealing a series of large chambers, all as luxuriously furnished as his bedroom. There was a sunken marble bath from which steaming hot water emerged when he passed his hands over a tap. There was a small library of very expensive books.
He found a full-length mirror and inspected himself. He had collected some new scars in his belly and on the side of head. He guessed that they came from Valerius’s machine. In the same chamber he found a wardrobe of clothing, all in the purple colour worn by the House guards. It could have been tailored to fit him. He put it on and in moments a tall, burly, shaven-headed, military-looking figure glared back at him from the mirror. He grinned and this ugly stranger grinned back.
In another chamber were weapons of expensive make, all set in ancient hardwood racks along the wall. He chose a blade of the curved sort he favoured, tried it and found the balance perfect so he took down a scabbard, strapped it on to his belt and made ready. There were defensive amulets draped over a bolster. He put one over his neck and touched the activating rune. His vision blurred as the spell took effect, surrounding him with its deflective field. He wondered how strong it was and whether it could protect him from spells and elementals as well as more normal weapons.
There was no chance of finding out at the moment so he returned to the bed and closed his eyes.
The ceiling had changed. The same men fought the same squid-faced demons only now they seemed to be getting the upper hand. The same bored gods looked on, marginally more pleased.
The door opened and Valerius entered. A small trolley moved ahead of him, motivated by elemental sorcery. It was covered in drapes from beneath which came peculiar clicking noises.
“It’s good to see you up and around. I was worried that the implant might have permanently damaged you. Nothing showed up in the divinations but there is always the possibility of a mistake.” Ulrik’s first thought was to draw the blade and spring on the wizard before he realised what was going on, but Valerius looked so relaxed and confident that he restrained himself. Perhaps the wizard had something up his sleeve. As if reading his thoughts, Valerius smiled.
“You are no doubt wondering about the new scars you have acquired.” A faint twinge of unease passed through Ulrik’s mind. He nodded.
“You should think of them as being in the nature of insurance.”
“Insurance?”
“For me. It seemed only prudent to take precautions against treachery on your part, no matter how unlikely such a contingency might prove to be in actuality.”
Valerius felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What have you done to me?”
With a street conjuror’s flourish, Valerius removed the drapes from over the trolley. A group of alchemical bell jars lay there, their sides mirror-black.
“I would advise you to take a seat while I explain. You may find this a little shocking. I confess I do so myself. Sometimes the lengths to which I am forced to go to ensure my own survival astonish me. I occasionally wonder whether it is worthwhile continuing to live in a world that forces such dire expedients on one.”
“I would rather stand.”
“Suit yourself. Don’t say I did not warn you.” Valerius tapped the side of one of the bell-jars. A spark flickered from his rune-etched fingernail and the vessel lost its smooth black sheen, becoming as translucent as normal glass. Inside was a murky yellow fluid the colour of a sick man’s urine. Floating within it was something dark and leathery and roughly spherical. Tendrils that looked like veins that had been drained of blood drifted out from it. “I assume you do not know what this is?”
Ulrik shook his head.
“It’s something rather precious. One of the few surviving eggs of a Malashtra Demon Swarm that invaded Urath in the Eleventh Aeon. Such eggs have many uses. Their genetic matrices were used as the basis of biomancy. They are very malleable and they have the property of binding very easily to human flesh. I suppose that is hardly surprising given the fact that the demons used living things as hosts for their young, rather like some wasps use caterpillars.”
“I don’t see what this has to with me,” said Ulrik, deliberately keeping his voice very flat. He was starting to suspect that he did.
“Then I will thank you for your forbearance. It will not take me too much longer to get to the point.”
“Please do.”
Valerius tapped the side of the jar and it darkened. He repeated the procedure on the second jar. The result was startling. When the light hit it the contents came to furious, scrambling life. Its claws scrabbled against the armour glass. Its leech-like mouth opened and shut obscenely. The thing looked like an insane hybrid of a spider, a scorpion and a demon. It assaulted its cage with a mad fury, the dangling tendrils flailing around like miniature whips.
“That’s quite enough of that,” said Valerius, darkening the creature’s prison once again. “That is what one the eggs looks like when it hatches. It’s a larval demon. Bound into the body of a host it feeds on its flesh and its blood and its soul and its pain. The process is quite agonising. Eventually it consumes the host, hatching from the flesh.”
Ulrik fought down the urge to leap on the wizard and grab him by the throat. “You haven’t…”
“I’m afraid I have. I bound one of those creatures to your nervous system and the blood vessels leading to your heart.”
Ulrik looked at the wizard, stunned by the import of what he was saying. “You bought me to use as food for your baby demon.”
“Not quite. The demon is bound by my sorcery, using ritual magic of a comparatively high order. All demons are bound using similar rituals. The difference is that I have not applied any fixative runes.”
“I am not a wizard. You will have to explain what that means to me.”
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“It means that nothing keeps the demon dormant but the exercise of a small portion of my will.”
“It is dormant then.”
“Oh yes, and it will remain so for as long as I live. If I die, the binding spell will be broken and the demon will come to full awareness and potency, a thing that will be extremely painful as well as extremely terminal for its host, that is to say yourself.”
“You are mad.”
“On the contrary, by the standards of my family, I am extremely sane. I have bound our lives together in such a way that if I die, you die, thus giving you some incentive to keep me alive.” There was something in the way he said it, that gave Ulrik pause for thought.
“That’s not all is it...”
“You are very perceptive. If need be, and I hope that this will not prove to be the case, I can relax the binding spell, giving the demon a morsel of life and awareness and, not incidentally, causing you great pain. Indeed it’s possible that the pain might become so great that it alone would kill you. I trust there will be no need for me to demonstrate this.”
Mad rage at what the insane wizard had done filled Ulrik. He fingered the protective amulet around his neck then drew his sword, and said, “There is,” he said, leaping forward to grab Valerius by the throat.
Chapter Four
Valerius shrugged. Pain blasted through Ulrik’s head, forcing him to his knees. The sword fell from his limp fingers. His empty stomach heaved. Spasms of agony radiated out from his chest.
“It takes no effort on my part to relax the binding, and the effects are instantaneous,” said Valerius in a conversational tone.
“Enough,” Ulrik said. The pain stopped instantly. He lay there for long moments, regaining his strength.
“I can see you are a man who likes to test things for himself. I can’t say I blame you. Empirical proofs are always the best sort. However, I would advise you not to provoke me too often. I say this not because I am a vindictive man but because each time the demon is wakened it grows a little in power, strength and size. This might have unpredictable side effects.”
Ulrik glared at him with barely concealed hate. Valerius smiled. “Come now. Given the fact that I am employing you because you are a far more dangerous man than myself, you can hardly resent these small precautions.”
“I find that I can.”
“Then I would respectfully suggest that you relinquish those feelings, as they are hardly going to be conducive to a productive working relationship between us.”
Once more Ulrik heard the powerful compulsions laced within the mage’s voice, products of some sort of hypnotic magic. He felt himself relax as he considered the suggestions. There was not after all a lot he could do under the circumstances. He would have to test the limits of what the mage was capable of if he was ever going to escape from his clutches.
“Why did you buy me, if you felt I could not be trusted?” he asked, slumping down on one of the chairs. Without being asked Valerius stretched himself out on the other. “It does not seem like a very sensible thing to do.”
“Precisely.”
“I do not follow you.”
“In my world, being predictable is fatal, and hiring your services was not, as far as I can compute, a predictable act. It was a spur of the moment decision, and if any enemy could have anticipated it, then they know me better than I know myself.”
“I am still none the wiser.”
“With my family, suspicion is a constant. You learn to suspect anybody-- even your childhood friends and teachers can be turned into enemies.” Valerius smiled sourly as if recalling unpleasant memories. “Put yourself in my position. The House guards are not to be trusted, and any outside help, mercenary help, can be as easily subverted by the means used to hire them.”
“You mean someone could offer them more money.”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
“Could you not use the same means as you have used against me to make them loyal?”
“My dear fellow that would be illegal. Since, though it pains me to say it, and unfair as it must seem to you, you are my property I can legally do anything I like to you. It is not illegal to make improvements to one’s slaves any more than it is illegal to repaint the outside of one’s tower.
“You are physically enormously formidable. The reputation you acquired from your days in the arena, will discourage many opportunistic attacks. You are clever and no doubt resourceful. Despite your mannerisms and your appearance you are no mere brute. There is no reason why you could not rise very high indeed in my service. Believe me, I am being truthful when I tell you I want our relationship to be rewarding for both of us.”
Ulrik could see the advantages to Valerius of having him as a bodyguard. He saw that his position here was far better than it was when he had occupied his cell in the Pit.
“And you will find that your new implant is not entirely a disadvantage. It protects its host in a number of ways…”
“How?”
“It can metabolise most poisons. It lessens your need to sleep. It speeds up healing astonishingly. As you have no doubt noticed, you have recovered from your surgery far quicker than is natural.”
“Why is it so generous in its protection?”
“Come now, Ulrik, I would have thought it was obvious to a man of your intelligence. The demons want to give their young the best chance of surviving. Helping their hosts to do so until the larvae are ready to hatch contributes to this.”
“I could live without that sort of help.”
“There are other benefits. It will modify your nervous system so that your other grafts become more efficient. This is only natural since all of the grafts enjoy a certain kinship, being ultimately derived from the same source. You will become faster and stronger even than you are now.”
“No doubt this was also part of your calculation of my worth to you.”
“Indeed. As was your obvious tolerance for large numbers of grafts. In many ways you are the ideal subject for this experiment.”
“So this is all still an experiment.”
“Regrettably so. This is not a procedure that anyone had attempted before. Still, if it all goes wrong you will have the consolation that you will have helped advance the sum total of human knowledge a smidgeon.”
“I doubt if that will be any consolation whatsoever.”
“I can see how you might look at things that way.”
“Will I be allowed to leave these chambers?”
“You already are. I have given the guardian elemental instructions to that effect. You are free to move through any of the public areas of the building, to take your meals in the refectory or have them delivered here should you wish. There is a crystal in the living area which, if you use it, will bring you servants. Pleasure slaves will be available to you; if you want them, tell one of the House Servants. And there is one more thing...”
“What is that?”
“You are my personal bodyguard. You take orders only from me. If anyone tells you differently tell them that is a direct command, and that if they have a problem with it, they should come and talk to me.” The way he said it let Ulrik know that he expected that the problem might actually arise.
“What about this shackle?”
Valerius touched one of the amulets on his chest. The gem lost its glitter, the lock clicked open. “Remove it if you wish. You will need to be free to come and go from the tower. This evening we shall be going out.”
“As you say,” said Ulrik. He wondered where their destination would be, and if there would be any danger when they got there. Presumably there would be. Why would Valerius feel the need for a bodyguard otherwise?
“Anyway, you’d better accompany me now. I have a meeting with my uncle, the present Lord Karnak, and I doubt it is going to be pleasant for either of us.”
Ulrik and Valerius strode through the vastness of the Karnak Tower.
Overhead massive arches supported the ceiling. Shafts of light desce
nded through stained crystal roof beams. Gargoyles clutched support pillars and fluttered across the huge chamber, the dry flap of their wings echoing through the cavernous interior.
Richly garbed people went about their business. Most of them wore the purple colours and dragonhawk badge of the House Karnak. A few were outsiders from client houses or trading partners. The Tower of Karnak was a small fortified city and it held a hundred times more people than the village in which Ulrik had grown up.
Servants bowed to Valerius as he passed. Members of the family greeted him with varying degrees of courtesy; the richer their garb, the more abrupt they were. Valerius greeted all of them with bland politeness, never giving any sign that he felt either slighted or honoured.
They passed through an enormous chamber where hundreds of clerks bent over marble desks, quills scratching at the pages of the massive ledgers in front of them as they kept track of Karnak’s wealth and business. Scores of runners brought messages to a central desk and were dispatched to the appropriate scribe by the Master Scriptor who brooded over the musty vault. Valerius and Ulrik strode by the entrance to chambers in which were stored goods from every corner of Urath. The tower was a warehouse of enormous capacity as well as a palace and a fortress.
Finally they entered a huge bronze doorway outside of which a chamberlain and guards waited and they were ushered into what Ulrik soon realised was the office of Lord Karnak. Valerius bowed as he presented himself before the tall old man sitting behind a huge wooden desk. The room smelled of the orchids housed in huge vases around it. In some ways they made Ulrik think of their owner. Lord Karnak was an old, elegant bloom. He drooped like the orchids did, as if the heat within the tower was too much for him. He was tall and ancient. His skin was pale, his body wasted looking, but his eyes were keen.
