A Viral Imperium: The Plagueborn Series Book 1

by Darren Joy

  ‘I don’t advise that, my lady,’ said Turol, in a serious voice. ‘Nephilim are marching from the coast. Enough reports have confirmed that they are in large numbers. Exemplars scour the city for you as we speak, and we are running out of places to hide you. You cannot stay.’

  Aiyana swore under her breath. ‘Did I ask you for your opinion, Turol? Have you risen so high that you now dabble in political circles?’

  ‘Yana,’ her Darken snapped. ‘This isn’t a game like we used to play when we were children. They will kill you.’ She turned back to the captain, leaving Aiyana open mouthed. ‘What is the route?’

  ‘There is a church not far from here, just a few streets. There’s an old crypt beneath, long forgotten. They won’t know of it.’

  ‘We need to get out of here quietly, but that way is impossible. The old crypts are a warren. A wrong turn and we could end up beneath the palace. Is that the best you got?’

  ‘They captured two of my men. I barely made it here at all. With the princess in tow, we’ll never make it, not above ground. There is no other route and no time to find one. My soldiers will create havoc in the streets and alleyways, to cover our escape.’

  Aiyana stood there in disbelief as they discussed her exit from the city as if she were not present, as if her leaving was a foregone conclusion. ‘As your princess,’ she said, in case they’d forgotten, which they appeared to have, ‘I’m informing both of you treacherous cretins that I am going nowhere.’

  The captain seemed oblivious of her, or perhaps he just didn’t care, as he continued, ‘The men she took won’t remain silent forever. Most of the exemplar guard remain loyal to her. Most of them are, well, they’ve ... changed. My plan is the only way, and it must be now.’

  Cathya did glance at her then. ‘Fine, fine,’ she said, ‘then how do we get out of the crypts once we’re in them?’

  ‘Are either of you halfwits listening?’

  ‘They join the sewers beneath the city, a quarter mile in,’ said Turol. ‘Bit of a walk through those, but it’s the shortest distance to the river without going above ground. We can take a boat from there north for a bit, and then ride north to Willow Lake, and then the Noy southwest. Roads are too dangerous. Another boat will be waiting at the lake. All’s ready.’

  ‘Enough,’ Aiyana snapped. ‘I’m not allowing you to smuggle me out of this city.’

  The captain shrugged. ‘Smuggling goods or smuggling people. What’s the difference? You’ll be safe, I promise.’

  Aiyana spluttered, searching for a suitable cutting response, and failing.

  ‘Alright, it’s a good plan,’ said Cathya, ‘all considered.’

  ‘I still think we should bring more men.’

  ‘A small group has a better chance of getting by unseen. If it comes to fighting, we’ve already lost.’

  Aiyana glared at them both. ‘I’m the one in charge here,’ was all she managed, realising she had lost control of the situation. ‘Cathya Shivar, you’ve sworn to obey me, whatever about this grolg-brain. It appears he’ll obey anything with shaved legs.’

  The captain affected not to notice the insult, and Cathya smiled. ‘I was sworn to protect you since I was a toddler, and yes to obey you, but one overrides the other. I’m sorry, but it’s for your own good.’

  ‘What about my people? You’re not thinking about them. You’re asking me to abandon them.’

  Cathya turned away to speak with the captain further. ‘The rate those exemplars are scouring this city, they’ll find her in a day or sooner, so I agree with your assessment. We leave now.’ She grabbed her cloak and followed the soldier to the door. ‘Wait outside. We’ll be a minute.’

  ‘Wait, you Grim-blinded wretches,’ Aiyana hissed. ‘I told you, I’m not going. Threaten me all you like with that dagger; we both know you’d never harm me. I am not going and you can’t force me.’ That last bit sounded a bit foolish, but she folded her arms and thrust her chin up. She’d said it and meant it.

  Her Darken turned from the door and strode back towards her, with a disarming smile. She ran a hand through her short red hair, a habit when nervous. Too right, she should be nervous. This was treachery. ‘You know I love you,’ she said, embracing her with a kiss. Aiyana stiffened. ‘What I do is because I love you. Please, remember that.’

  Aiyana knew it was too late when she felt the sting in her neck. She stumbled into Cathya’s arms. ‘You ... bitch,’ was all she managed before darkness took her.

  Chapter 13

  A Voice in the Dark

  THREADFIN BEGAN TO notice Pole’s wheezing efforts to remain upright and moving. ‘You need to rest a while.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he barked, the purple scar on his face puckering as he winced. ‘Bastard didn’t get anything vital. I bandaged it up good.’

  Sounded convincing, true enough, but Threadfin couldn’t help thinking the man should be dead. Well, considering the amount of blood that had spilled out of him. Could breathers survive wounds like that? He didn’t know, wasn’t certain he cared. So why am I bloody well thinking about it then?

  He walked on with the odd glance behind. Pole stumbled as they went downhill at an angle, skirting the mountains on their southern edge. The light was fading, but that didn’t bother Threadfin. A viral saw in the dark as well as a slinkt. Another reason he’d been valuable in Lame. Birch and elm gave way to oak. Crossing a small stream, Pole took gulps of icy water as they stopped to rest. Nothing but creaking cold as the sleet fell heavier.

  With a wince, the breather lowered himself against a cadaver of wood that was twisted and rotten. He closed his eyes for several minutes. Night fell quickly.

  ‘Hey, you okay?’ Threadfin touched his shoulder.

  Pole broke into a spluttering cough, gripping his side. He opened his eyes. ‘Were being followed, lad. You head on to Keel. It’s a village somewhere northeast of here. I’ll be along in a bit.’ Another series of coughs shook him.

  Threadfin put an arm around his shoulders, but Pole attempted to shrug him off. ‘Look, I shouldn’t have made it this far.’

  ‘What is it you’re not telling me?’

  ‘Had to see you were alright.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because ... we need you.’

  ‘Who is this, we?’ Not to mention, who would need Threadfin Todder? It couldn’t have been for thieving, could it?

  ‘There’s ... ah,’ he cried in pain. ‘There’s a woman waiting for you. Her ... name is, Scatter. You must trust her.’

  Threadfin got to his feet and scanned the forest. It was too dark to see far even for him, though he saw enough. He listened, sniffed the air. ‘There’s no one out there.’ At least, there wasn’t yet. ‘Come on, we can both make it.’

  Pole shook his head, wheezing. The drop in temperature was dramatic, the ground hardening. Threadfin felt iciness rummaging through his clothing, though it didn’t touch him like it did Pole. Fog curled about his ankles as the sleet stopped.

  ‘You’re ... a good man, Todder, for a dead one.’ A series of coughs racked him. ‘But you’re as thick as a grolg’s dick, you know? You need to ... go.’

  ‘Keel must have a healer.’ He’d never heard of this village and guessed it would be isolated from everywhere. Still, most villages had at least one healer. ‘I can go get help, and come back.’

  ‘You don’t understand. You must get away and make that rendezvous. She will take care of you. You don’t stand a chance otherwise.’ He froze. ‘Listen!’

  Threadfin did, ears straining. The trees creaked but otherwise the forest was silent.

  Gripping him beneath the arms, Threadfin forced Pole to his feet. ‘It’s only a bit further, right? You know, I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be helping a breather, especially one as ugly as you.’

  ‘Hah,’ coughed Pole, ‘never thought I’d need help from a walking corpse to keep me from getting dead.’ Another cough shook him. ‘Hah, that’s one I got to remember.’

  ‘I’m
half dead, like that brain of yours. You know, you’d almost make a decent undeader, but we do have standards.’ Through the trees, Threadfin heard a sighing sound, but there was no wind. The upper branches were stiff with cold. Besides, wind couldn’t make that noise. It was like distant voices, calling.

  They settled into a hobbling gait. At first, he thought they’d never manage. Then the other man began to cooperate more. He’d no choice since Threadfin wasn’t giving him one.

  ‘You’re as thick as a grolg’s—’

  ‘Yeah, you said already. You seem to know a lot about grolg anatomy. Had much experience in that area then?’

  Another bout of wheezing coughs swallowed Pole’s laughter. It was slow progress. They halted and crouched behind a large oak, needing rest. Threadfin still felt odd, as though something was wrong with his insides. It felt like the same affliction, and yet different.

  He also felt an itch, as though someone was watching them. He attempted to muffle the man’s coughing. The sleet resumed, dripping through gaps in the canopy. In the distance, patchy greyness suggested the forest’s edge. Then he spotted Pole’s sword belted to his waist. Threadfin slid the weapon free of its hide sheath. He felt a comfort in the weight. It was then he realised his mistake, as the metal caught a glint of errant starlight through a gap in the canopy.

  Within the blade, he saw a naked man, tufts of bloodied fur around his feet. The face remained in shadow. Looming behind him were monstrous figures, thumping closer. The breather appeared oblivious, pointing straight at Threadfin.

  The vision faded to the dull gleam of iron.

  He lay back, stunned by what he’d seen, uncertain what it might mean. Reflections were dangerous things. He should’ve known better, but he was exhausted and recent events had left him unbalanced. All he needed to do was find a healer’s gurd. He could leave Pole there, and continue onward.

  He thought him asleep or passed out. He put a hand near the breather’s face, felt warmth on his palm. The warmth of a breather’s breath, the thumping of a pulse or the drip of red blood fascinated him.

  Twigs snapped nearby.

  He froze, hand still at Pole’s mouth. It was unlike him to allow anyone sneak close.

  ‘Hello,’ hissed a voice. ‘I know you’re there, yes, yes, oh, I know.’

  Threadfin snatched his hand back, and gripped the sword. Was it a friendly voice? Do I have a Grim-blinded choice? ‘Here,’ he shouted, and cringed. ‘We’re over here,’ he added in a lower voice.

  Out of the night stepped a haggard form, doubled over, and leaning on a staff. It stepped right up to him. ‘Is he alive?’ spat the deformed figure, a woman’s voice. He got the impression this breather was ancient.

  Threadfin wiped spittle from his face. They could be disgusting at times. ‘Can you help him? He was wounded, days ago.’

  ‘Silence,’ it hissed. An audible sniffing ensued. The knarred form twisted left and right. ‘Not alone, no, no. Quickly, get him up. Yes, yes, follow me.’

  Chapter 14

  Finesse

  HEAT PIERCED LIVIANA’S flesh. Light stabbed her eyeballs in an explosion of agony. Euphoria followed as power filled her limbs. The vibrancy of an angelic soul electrified her nerves. It was always that way when she gave in to that part of her. She did not submit fully, of course, just enough for her needs.

  It was her true self, in part at least, her true spirit rising to the surface of her consciousness. It cocooned her body, settling like a cloak of feathered light. A near-full moon dappled the courtyard, clouds threatening to overwhelm it. With unhurried steps, she approached the house and outer buildings, the hem of her cloak of light an inch above the mud. It did not illuminate her path. It wasn’t that sort of light.

  Screams rose from inside. Thraels, in the guise of exemplars, smashed through doors and windows. A dog’s heavy cough came from the main building.

  Brutus had five members within conclave. Four, she’d dealt with. Influence and position had garnered the Brutus family with land and wealth. They’d pandered to the whims of the old imperator, but now they scorned their new imperatrix? They were the politicians she loved to hate.

  She climbed the pink granite steps, to the sound of screams. White statues of alabaster guarded the entrance. Brown veining marred the features. Liviana paused, staring at them, tracing one with a finger. Their wings curved outwards in a protective pose. She entered the house.

  It was late. The family had been in bed, but not all the servants. They now adorned the courtyard. The victims did not all die right away. Unnecessary perhaps, but she needed to send a message. Her men had arranged the corpses like nightmarish puppets. Several of her followers had embraced the darkness, which lay deep within humanity. It disgusted her.

  Oh, not the deaths nor the brutality, of course. It was that they possessed no finesse. Death was beautiful when handled in the correct manner. There would be countless beautiful deaths to come, if she was to save the Spectrum from itself. Death and life were both a part of existence after all.

  A dog growled and then yelped as she entered through the long dark stone corridor and into the main house. She crossed the granite floor to a wide stone hearth. A grey warghound lay on the white fleece, throat cut. Berg moved away. It thrashed as it bled out into the fibres, turning the fleece ruby. The fire was low. Embers glowed beneath lumps of charred timber.

  Berg shouldn’t have killed the hound. Kneeling, she laid a hand on the beast as the last of its life fled. She found such creatures magnificent. Its death did not serve her needs. No finesse. Canaan, for example, would see the use of such creatures, but not their beauty. Instinctual and savage, and capable of the most enduring loyalty, they were far more beautiful than humans.

  An old man was sitting at a cedar-wood table, a two-wick lamp at his elbow. The light in the room was dim, magnifying her own luminescence. Ancient bones rattled against the fragrant wood. Berg and Altus stood to either side. Liviana rose, and dismissed them with a look.

  ‘You’re the last of your name, Eadricus.’

  The old man spat, but his hands shook harder. He stared at the glowing sigil beneath her ethereal cloak. Though shrouded in light, part of her clothing was visible. A closed circle of solid silver spheres, the foremost and largest was tinged blue, encircled with thorns. It replaced the white wings that had been the Todralan imperial sigil.

  ‘Your brothers, Eadan and Markus, are dead. Your sons, Augustus and Ethon, and your daughter too. Do you know why?’

  ‘What unholy hell belched you forth?’

  ‘Let’s make this quick, shall we?’

  Eadricus tried to stand, but his legs gave way. ‘I’m a member of the imperial conclave and a paladin of the Imperial Church. You have no right to do this.’

  ‘Cooperate and you might receive a quick and merciful death, hmm? Yes, I think that would be best, don’t you?’

  The conclavist’s face paled a little, but he kept his courage. ‘A pact with the Grim is a pact with death. I serve the Holy Church and the Icarthian Imperium. I will make no deals with hell, not even for my life. The Seraphim of Grace above protect me from evil.’

  Liviana stepped closer, allowing him time to see it coming. Finesse. ‘I am not the Grim. He’s a myth, like your primitive concept of hell. I, however, am real. Several nights ago, your family harboured a woman. She arrived here to this house in the evening. She was gone by morning. They were moving her from house to house. Your sons and siblings knew nothing more. I made certain of it. Who has her now?’

  ‘We don’t like visitors, never have.’

  ‘Oh, Todralan was here.’

  ‘She is your imperatrix.’

  ‘Why, has there been a vote in conclave, then?’ She would teach him who his imperatrix was.

  ‘She’s a Todralan, and no vote will change that. Hasn’t it always been enough for nigh a thousand years?’

  ‘Times change, traditions die. Please try to keep up, Eadricus.’

  ‘Markus Olen was a tyran
t,’ the paladin said, voice shaking, ‘but we knew him. We knew his daughter, a strong girl with a good heart. How we prayed to the Spectrum above he would die so she might rule.’ Eadricus barked a nervous laugh. ‘I think the Seraphim have a twisted sense of humour.’

  ‘You speak of them as though you knew or even understood them. You know nothing. Give me a name.’ She reached out to touch both sides of the old man’s head. Her hands elongated as tongues of flame pierced her fingertips. She felt pain, but that was nothing beside the rush of power. Finesse.

  A stench of urine rose from beneath the table. It ruined that wondrous scent of cedar. ‘Never,’ shouted Eadricus, body in spasm. ‘You’ll get ... your reward ... Avitus. Yes, I know you. I ... promise you—’

  The flaming growths pierced the conclavist’s head, and brain. His skin bubbled. There was no scream, no pleading, and no final exhalation of breath. Eadricus Brutus fell forwards. His charred head bounced off the table with a satisfying thump.

  Liviana stepped outside, feeling irritated. She should not have given into her anger, but the old man’s defiance enraged her. Now, she had no more leads. Cloud obscured the moon as she descended the steps to the courtyard.

  ‘Three conclavist families remain,’ she snapped at her soldiers. Those that had not managed to escape the city at least. ‘Find them. Leave no one alive when you’re done.’

  Liviana felt the power ebb away as she let go of her angelic soul. The human form was weak. Holding on to such power for too long could incinerate her. As it was, she felt the pain of burning throughout her insides, her smooth pale skin reddened as though sunburned. Such limitations were maddening. Cold replaced hot vigour.

  ‘Where are you?’ Liviana whispered, and then froze where she stood. A sensation touched her soul, heavy and lingering. They were not pleased. Worse, they wanted her to know it.

  The feeling passed and she breathed out with a heavy sigh. She had to find that wretch soon. Then there was the other matter. The fool had better have succeeded, or she would make him howl in the black flames of Oblivion. She gestured to a thrael, Altus. She would send him west, to make certain Pen Luthus did not fail.