A Viral Imperium: The Plagueborn Series Book 1

by Darren Joy

  ‘Not quick enough. It will take over a week to reach the capital, and that’s riding nonstop.’ Even sydarags had limits, though they could keep up a healthy trot of twenty-five miles per hour for most of a day.

  Scatter smiled. ‘Perhaps I can teach you enough in that time, for you to at least survive. However, your lessons will be on the move, as well as when we stop.’

  ‘There’s one way to shorten the journey,’ said Lorn in a quiet voice, wiping the smile from Scatter’s face, ‘though I doubt the deader could handle it. He could be in Icarthya today.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Scatter, with a stern look for the girl. ‘You speak of things you do not understand.’

  ‘Don’t I? Have I not studied the history of the magi as well as you? Have I not spent years of my life reading those dry tomes, never mind the training? I have ever been a student of Astra. She knew what was possible with spectralic power. I know what is possible. Viralic power is just stronger in certain things. He can do it, but is he willing to pay the price?’

  ‘What is she talking about?’ demanded Threadfin. ‘Who is Astra? If there’s a faster way, tell me.’

  Scatter shook her head. ‘It would take much power to achieve, power you do not yet control. Besides, I had hoped for more time to prepare you.’

  Threadfin wasn’t to be deterred now that he smelled a chance. ‘What if I could? If I had the power? I’d pay any cost.’

  The Hatavan stood, and walked towards the jagged tumble of green stone that was once an entranceway. She stared down at her feet in silence.

  ‘Don’t pretend you haven’t thought of it,’ Lorn sneered at her back. ‘You’ve planned it from the first.’ She turned to Threadfin, while pointing at Scatter. ‘She’s always known you could never make it back in time, not by the usual ways.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Podral growled.

  Threadfin began to pace, half listening, excited there might be a way, frustrated that Scatter wouldn’t tell him. He would find the strength.

  ‘The cost,’ said Scatter, turning to face him, which ceased his pacing, ‘would be the lives of hundreds of people. Even if you defeat Gog, you will take the lives of thousands to achieve it. The price for your power is life ... and there is a personal cost too. Are you ready to pay any price?’

  His excitement faded. I don’t even like breathers, he thought. Why should I care if they die? He didn’t care about himself. He wasn’t sure he liked himself. He did care if others died because of his actions however, and the admission angered him. He could never take the lives of that many, not willingly.

  What use was his power, if he couldn’t use it? If Scatter is right, and I don’t use it, Liviana will destroy Icarthya, and she will find Aiyana. Threadfin turned and stalked out of the ruins to walk the long-abandoned streets. Gaping holes that were once windows and doors loomed like watching eyes on either side, leering at him. Enough overgrown stone littered the street that he had to step around or clamber over. He barely noticed, feeling furious and useless. He wanted to walk until he found the world’s end, and then ...

  ‘I’ll see to the mounts,’ said Podral behind him. He hadn’t realised the man had followed. ‘You’re not alone in this, you know. We don’t agree with you going back yet, but you’re not alone.’

  ‘I know,’ he whispered, ‘and thank you.’ Not that it mattered.

  There was no way to stop Gog in time.

  WITHIN TWO HOURS OF departing, they found a raised road of paved stone with drainage ditches on either side. An imperial highway, it connected Icarthya and Byrsa with Tystria, Frayle and Lamedon. It cut through the mountains ahead north, south, and west. Scatter ordered four others Threadfin didn’t know, three men and a woman to watch their flanks, and Wither to scout ahead. He had the feeling there were many more Aidari out there.

  The minor roads linking the highway were nothing more than mud, the landscape devoid of much vegetation except tall grasses. After Wither found merchants’ wagons discarded like toys, Scatter changed course.

  Threadfin’s sydarag was nervous, its head snaking from left to right as though seeking the source of its anxiety. Sydarags were slender beasts with long striped necks, powerful hindquarters. Along with vicious front claws, they had two short horns and rows of short teeth. Lengthy striped tails gave them great manoeuvrability, and a further offensive weapon, but they were sensitive creatures.

  Ignoring his mount’s nervousness as it bounded over the uneven earth on its hind legs, he found himself lost in thought, the bouncing landscape around him non-existent. His thoughts whirled, but at their core was his sister.

  Food was scarce though the group caught and roasted small lizards or rats, and the odd rabbit. On three occasions, they’d come across farms where they bought chicken or duck eggs, cheese, and grolg milk. Threadfin didn’t need to eat every day and was content with his own meagre supply. Over the days, he came to know the other four Aidari a little. The men were Slither, Raze and Tinder. The woman with deep brown skin, was Zane. Another southerner, likely a Paldanar. She seemed to lead the other three. They weren’t the most talkative, apart from Zane who it appeared was Scatter’s equal. When he asked about their odd names, she proved as quiet as the rest.

  Four days after having set out, they arrived at a quiet hamlet named Wiltwater. Scatter had coin and bought food, meat for the mounts, several blankets, and spare cloaks. She sent Threadfin, Lorn and Slither to the local tavern to see if they could learn anything, while the rest gathered the supplies.

  Threadfin didn’t ask questions, just sat in a corner with his hood up, and listened. Not a few patrons eyed him askance, but the cry and hue he expected never occurred. After a while, Lorn joined him. She sat so close to him on the wooden bench they were touching, and gave him a sidelong stare. ‘What?’ she asked with a slur.

  ‘Not afraid you’ll catch the plague?’

  ‘Hah,’ she said with a laugh, and there was genuine humour in it.

  He liked her laugh. It had a husky sound. You idiot, he thought, she’s a breather and you’re, well, not breathing.

  ‘You think we’re all dumb as posts,’ she said with a wink, ‘don’t you. Why’d you hate us living so much anyways?’

  The question threw him, but she was watching, waiting for an answer. ‘I don’t, I mean, I used ... I don’t.’ Oh, you rotting sack of bones, just get it together. ‘Just never met any that I liked, I mean, before now.’

  ‘Hah, well, you’ve chosen a fine lot to start with. Don’t get to liking me mind.’ She gave him a nudge with her elbow. ‘I’m the worst of the lot or didn’t Scats tell you. Got a dark soul in me, or so she says.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter anyhow; “It’s not the darkness in one’s soul that makes one evil. It’s the choice to act on that darkness, to surrender to it. Folk giving up is what evil depends on.”’

  It sounded like a quote, though not one he was familiar with. She’s thinking a bit too deep for me. It did tell him there was much more to her. ‘You Aidari studied spectralic magic? I got the impression some of you know how to use it.’

  ‘Perhaps some of us do.’ She frowned. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Just this, if there’s a price for my power, what’s the price for yours?’

  A haunted look entered her eyes, her frown deepening. ‘You don’t want to know, trust me.’

  He had meant it in a general sense, but he got the impression she had taken it personally, which piqued his interest even more. ‘Oh, but I do. Until recently, I didn’t know breathers could touch magic.’

  ‘Few can, these days. Why don’t you ask Scats. She likes answering stupid questions.’

  ‘What is it with you two?’

  Her face soured, but then she gave him another drunken wink. ‘A long story, undeader, a very long story. Listen, just be wary of her, okay?’

  ‘And should I trust you, instead?’

  Her face fell, before she shook her head and smiled. ‘No, but then I
don’t trust me neither. You know, you’re not so bad for someone with a maggot crawling out his ear.’

  Threadfin swore as he tried to pick out the offensive intruder, and found nothing. Lorn was laughing as she left him in search of information.

  Over several ales, none of which Threadfin drank while Lorn made up for him – the girl had a blasphemous thirst and managed five tankards in under an hour – they learned that none had seen a Nephilim, or even believed there were any on Adalalcas. A few laughed openly. The events at the capital were known, although the story varied with the teller. What didn’t change in the telling was the imperator was dead and his daughter vanished.

  In every village or town they passed, folks didn’t allow the facts to get in the way of a good rumour, as long as it was believable, unlike rampaging giants. As a result, they heard all sorts of tales from the sickly son murdering his father and abducting his sister, to the conclave in open rebellion. What they didn’t hear was any news of the horde. Threadfin found it impossible such a large force could remain hidden.

  Two days after Wiltwater, they crossed the Noy over a stone arch bridge, twenty-five hundred feet across. There were three vital bridges on the Noy, but there were no legions guarding this one. The Nephilim could cross at will.

  True to her word, Scatter insisted on teaching him from the back of a sydarag, which wasn’t ideal for concentration. She didn’t try dissuading him again, though her face was tight with worry. At least her eyes still smiled.

  In the far distance, the ground rose to meet the most southern spur of the Wunn Mountains. Grass was sporadic, much of the earth turned to hard mud. Pink winter heliotrope lined frozen waterlogged ditches. Here or there was garlic and yellow flowered groundsel. There was the odd grove of oak or hazel. Beneath these, on the fourth day, they rested for the second time in ten hours. Threadfin’s body was sore and stiff from the saddle, his mind turned to mush from endless lessons.

  Somewhere ahead lay Byrsa, the second city of the imperium. Beyond it to the east, the ground rose to meet Olen’s Gap, a pass used by traders who wished to avoid the roads. Of course, bandits had taken to the mountains instead, that was until a dozen giants took refuge up there. From there down into the eastern grasslands, it would be a week’s ride to the capital.

  It still seemed he would never make it. The thought of killing anyone to get there faster forced him to ride, and ride. He stared at the distant haze and the peaks within. The Nephilim force had to be hiding within those mountains. It meant most of the giants were ahead of them. Aiyana was trapped between the horde and the city.

  Several times, a flicker of shadow licked his fingers. It would dance across his forearm before dissipating. He examined his palms and arms daily, wondering if he’d finally gotten control of his talent. He kept learning, his determination growing.

  One morning, they were traversing a dry riverbed at the bottom of a valley. Scatter had said the River Malk, which ran through Byrsa, was a few leagues south. To the north, the valley wall rose into foothills clothed in spruce. She motioned for them all to dismount.

  They stopped to rest their mounts and eat what rations they had, the sydarags foraging amongst the rocks. Omnivores, they ate grass as readily as meat. Podral handed him dried kale from a saddlebag along with battered wrinkled cranberries. There was no more fish. While they ate, a low fog crept from the forest to the north.

  Threadfin heard a piercing growl from among the rocks above and the group got to their feet in a hurry, hurling food aside and grabbing weapons. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Quiet,’ snapped Zane, while shoving him to the back of the group. ‘Stay out of this. You’ll be more of a hindrance than a help.’ Scatter stepped ahead of the others with Wither at her side, staring up into the rocks.

  ‘I warned you, Scats,’ Podral growled, ‘we should’ve gone north east. Byrsa may be the death of us all.’

  ‘Thought I was the mage you were all waiting for?’ Threadfin grumbled as he let them push him further to the back. He wasn’t sure what he could’ve done. How was he supposed to face this Gog? They didn’t believe he could, but they’d come with him anyway.

  Lorn stepped past Slither and Raze, and drew a long double-edged iron dagger from a sheath on her hip. ‘Not yet you’re not, Threads. One wrong move on your part and you’ll unravel. You might just kill us all. I’m not for dying yet, so do as you’re told.’ Worse, she then gave him a smile and a wink. Grim-damn it, but she was confusing. He found himself smiling back, and bit on a curse.

  From out of the fog stalked a slinkt. Such forest predators were sleek hunters that preferred to hunt at night. Their high-pitched whines could deafen a man and knock smaller animals dead. This one was different. Strips of shadow clung to it like a ragged coat. Threadfin knew they didn’t stalk people and avoided daylight, and they didn’t look anything like this.

  The fog thickened. The slinkt padded closer. As it did, it twisted and moaned, emitting a series of howls that grew into whining screeches. Threadfin stuck a finger in each ear. Okay, he was one of the undead, but he didn’t fancy being a deaf one.

  The metamorphosis transfixed him. The animal grew taller, all the while writhing and snapping, blood spattering the rocks. ‘What’s happening?’ With his ears plugged, his voice sounded odd in his head.

  Scatter mumbled something.

  He pulled his fingers out. ‘What?’

  ‘She said,’ Podral spat, ‘we’re in a shit lot of trouble. Now stay back.’

  ‘Always knew you’d get me killed, Scats,’ Lorn shouted as she readied to meet the threat with her notched blade. ‘Don’t think I’ll not haunt you, if you do.’

  ‘Shut up, girl,’ Zane snapped. ‘Keep your eyes open and your mind on your job. You know what to do if this all goes wrong.’

  Threadfin wondered what he was supposed to do when it all went wrong.

  Moments later, there stood a muscular man where the slinkt had been. Dirty and shivering, blood splotched his body. Canaan Pen Luthus stood close enough for Threadfin to see the goose pimples on his skin. His eyes were wild, and Threadfin saw a spark ignite within them. Liquid fire spread through the veins in his body. Grim-damn it, but his visions were right again.

  ‘Well,’ Threadfin said, swallowing hard, ‘any of you got any idea what to do next?’

  ‘Nope,’ said Podral, ‘fresh out of those this morning. Used them all up, yesterday.’ He gave Threadfin a vicious grin and waggled his short sword at him. ‘Going to handle this the old-fashioned way, lad.’

  ‘Oh, just great.’

  ‘Get ready to run. Head for Byrsa and bury yourself deep inside the city. Speak to no one. Someone will find you.’

  Threadfin took a few steps, trying to push through the cordon to get at Pen Luthus. He owed the bastard, for Tezcat.

  Podral grabbed his arm. ‘He’s not alone and you’re not ready to handle even him.’ He shoved Threadfin back. ‘He’s here for you, but we’re not letting him have you, and you are bloody well not going to hand yourself over to him.’

  Then they heard it. The rumbling of heavy feet, grunting and growling as tree limbs snapped before a storm of armoured flesh. Perhaps it’s just a foraging party, he thought dryly.

  Canaan Pen Luthus pointed his strange dagger at Threadfin. He appeared not to notice anyone else.

  Nephilim were approaching from above and from their flank. It was an ambush. The guttural call of giants and their rhythmic pounding of the earth proved too much for the sydarags. They’d been left to forage, their reins loose. They scattered, and with their shrieking added to the growing cacophony, they fled on powerful hind legs, tails snaking behind them.

  ‘Get him out of here,’ Scatter ordered as she drew her own sword and stepped out in front. Zane joined her. Threadfin blinked as he witnessed Scatter’s form shimmer. He thought his sight was going, as he saw two, no three, no wait, four of the Hatavan woman, or women. He blinked again, trying to correct his vision. Nope, still four, no make that five.
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  Wither and Podral grabbed hold of him, dragging him backwards. Threadfin resisted at first. ‘I can stop them,’ he shouted. ‘I can do this.’ Both men stopped and turned as a new threat presented itself.

  To Threadfin’s amazement, Pen Luthus disintegrated into hundreds of giant spiders. No, not spiders. Nastier, bigger and with only six legs, but he had no other name for them. They rushed over the rocks in a wave towards the Aidari. Six different Scatters swung their swords like mad women. Podral and River impaled the creatures on their blades, but they were too numerous and soon the group was besieged.

  He saw the spiders erupt in puffs of ash as they reached Zane, who though weaponless, was not vulnerable. Threadfin knew these folks were breathers, but they had talents of their own. He didn’t believe it, despite his eyes, but had no time to think on it.

  More slinkts stalked out of the fog to their right. Their dark blue fur was short giving their bodies a soft appearance. Muscled but lithe, they were strangely beautiful. The illusion ended at the neck, where vicious teeth filled elongated snouts. The whines they emitted were agony.

  With fingers in his ears, Threadfin gawked at them. Horns probed their foreheads and cheeks. Their elongated jaws looked broken. These were definitely not the usual kind.

  Lorn and Wither kicked and stabbed at several spiders, before turning to protect the group’s flank, though neither appeared willing to engage first. Wither then struck with his free arm, and a molten wave rammed into the approaching beasts. Fur and flesh melted from bone as the slinkts fell dead. He then faded and reappeared further away, where he repeated his attack.

  Threadfin watched Raze fall beneath a wave of spiders, despite many of their number bursting aflame. Slither fell to a pair of slinkts, although he managed to slip between them emerging bloodied and misshapen, while all the Scatters slashed at the beasts. There were seven of her now, but two were down. Podral Pole was the only one who seemed to not possess any skill but for swinging a blade, and that he did with gusto. Threadfin caught the reflection of approaching giants in the bright gleam of Podral’s sword as he swung it wide, but what he saw was a city crushed underfoot.