Strength of Swords (First Cohort Book 2)

by M. R. Anthony

  “Looks like this place is locked up tightly,” I replied. Then, I asked Beamer to draw his own sword and positioned him at the opposite side of the window from me. For a few minutes, we took turns swinging our swords at the bars. We were both skilled swordsmen and each blow landed within an inch of the previous one. The noise was tremendous. Each time we struck, sparks flew, and the same shriek was heard, accompanied by the more normal clang of metal upon metal. The smell of electricity grew stronger and more unpleasant.

  No one came to see what we were doing and eventually we stopped, neither of us drained by our exertions. I inspected the results of our handiwork, but had to draw back in disgust.

  “It’s hardly damaged,” I said.

  Beamer peered in. “All that work and we’ve only made these little marks?” he asked. “I must be getting weaker in my old age.”

  I ran my finger over the scratches. The metal was strangely hot to touch, but the grooves we’d made were hardly wide enough or deep enough to fit the tip of my fingernail in. There was no significant damage to the metal at all and I didn’t think it likely we’d be able to cut through them any quicker than Ploster would be able to open the door. I returned to where the First Cohort’s sorcerer was doing his work. He was down on one knee, close to the door. As I watched, he used the palm of his hand to trace an invisible pattern over the surface of the metal.

  “How soon?” I asked.

  “Not so soon,” he replied. “I don’t know where the Duke got this door from, but it’s the work of powerful men.”

  “Has the Duke himself enchanted it?” I asked.

  “No, it doesn’t have his signature. And besides, I can’t imagine him stooping to the level of creating a door for his prisoners. I think this door was made in Hardened and it was designed to hold back more skilful casters than me.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if it came from the Emperor’s capital,” I said. “Malleus has the time and the resources for things like this. Can you definitely get it open?”

  He turned his head and nodded grimly. “I can get it open for sure, given the time. Let’s just hope that Warmont thinks it’s beyond me.”

  “It may be that it’s nothing more than a dangling carrot to keep us occupied for a time, until he decides what to do with us.” I left him to his efforts again.

  “Want us to start hitting those bars some more, Captain?” asked Chant, when I returned to the cell.

  “Let’s leave them for now,” I said. “Corporal Ploster reckons the wards in here are the real deal. I don’t think we’re going to be able to smash our way through them any time soon. Let’s leave him to work at the door, but we’ll check these walls to see if there’s anything else that might present an opportunity.”

  “Like what?” asked Beamer.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Just look for anything.”

  With nothing better to do, we scoured the walls and floors of our cell. I knocked at the higher blocks with my clenched fist and kicked at the lower ones with my boot. There were no weaknesses that I could detect – the stone was as solid as could be and thicker than we could ever hope to hack through with our swords in a year.

  With our escape in Ploster’s hands, we turned our attention to the bodies of our fallen. None of us particularly wanted to leave our comrades in their undignified repose, so we dragged them to the most distant wall of our cell and arranged them in a seated position. There was nothing left of them apart from their remains, but it seemed like the right thing to do for us to put them side-by-side.

  “No wonder that none of us could feel the Saviour,” said Grids to no one in particular.

  “Yeah, we should have guessed,” said Bolt.

  No one said anything accusing about Ploster, or even implied his fault. We’d been given the clues and none of us had spotted them in our eagerness to fulfil the mission we so desperately needed to complete. I turned the recent events over in my head, wondering how much of our movements the Duke had predicted. He must have known we’d come to his keep, though he probably didn’t know how we’d get in. The method we took through his sewers had seemed perhaps a little easier than it should have been.

  What it came down to was that we’d marched our way through his keep and willingly entered our own cell. I felt like a child that had been tricked into doing something wicked by a manipulating adult. It just goes to show – no matter how old you get, how wise you think you are and how much you congratulate yourself for seeking infallibility – in spite of all those things, we’re still vulnerable to something. For me, it was my fear of failure, so soon after our defeat at Gold. In a way, I’d managed to convince myself that I’d risen above the burden of subjectivity and weakness. I thought hard about that, and wondered how I could learn from it. Was it possible to act in an entirely dispassionate manner? Then the thought came to me that what I was telling myself to pursue was nothing other than perfection. Even the greatest of fools knows not to chase that beast. In the end, the lesson I took from our capture was that I couldn’t hope to always be correct, nor would I be hard upon myself where I failed. Or at least, I’d try.

  Days passed and I took care to note down their numbers. The bodies which accompanied us in our wait seemed comforting somehow, though I couldn’t put into words why that might be so and I realised that most people would think it unusual. The corpses showed no sign of decay and gave off no odour to cloy our senses. Ploster worked ceaselessly at the door, without success. I asked him gently if he’d been overconfident in his ability to break down the magical guards and he denied it, saying just that he had to take great care in what he was doing, in order that he not be destroyed by some of the protections.

  “This door has one purpose and one purpose only,” he admonished. “And that is to keep people like me inside. If it fell apart in minutes, then what would be the point of making it?”

  “Could it prevent any sorcerer from escaping?” I asked out of curiosity.

  “I think Gagnol the Blackhearted or Dag’Vosh would have escaped easily, had they been trapped in here. Or they might have simply shattered the stone walls in order to provide an exit. Alas, I am less than a fraction in my abilities.”

  “We have no other chance to get out,” I told him. “So take care and don’t hurry unnecessarily.”

  “It seems odd that no one has come to us yet,” he said. “Warmont suggested that he was waiting to see what the Emperor required, and Malleus has never been lacking when it comes to making his decisions.”

  “No, he has not,” I agreed. “It may simply be that we are not important enough for him to spare time over. Or he may be content with us remaining within the Duke’s dungeons for a while.”

  “Do you think he’ll have us killed?” asked Ploster.

  “I really can’t think why he’d let us live, Jon. With the Emperor, everything is about gain. What can he gain from keeping us alive?”

  “Perhaps they’ll forget about us,” said Ploster. We both laughed, with something akin to genuine humour.

  11

  I judged we’d been in the cell for almost two weeks. It was difficult to tell for sure, since there was no natural light to tell me when a complete day had passed. We all get a feeling for how time passes around us and I used my intuition to estimate how long it had been. Once, I asked the others how long they thought we’d been incarcerated and to a man they shrugged, making me realise that they didn’t especially care. During those two weeks, no one came to see us and a little voice in my mind did indeed start to whisper the suggestion that we might have been forgotten about. I swept the notion aside, giving it no credence.

  I thought it might have been night outside, when I felt something approach. Ploster left his light glowing when he could – he said it spent his energies to maintain it constantly. It was lit now and I looked at the other men, some of whom dozed, others of whom simply stared into the distance. None of them seemed to have noticed anything. A shadow flickered behind the bars of the window and suddenl
y, she was there.

  I stood and walked over to her, wary but not afraid. “Have you come for another try at killing us?” I asked the Gloom Bringer. She looked through the gaps in the bars with her single eye, much taller than I remembered her. She was at least as tall as I was, though much spindlier and still dressed in her rags, which covered up the pale white of her rotting flesh. An odour drifted through – putrefied flesh and something else abhorrent. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.

  “No, Captain Charing. I have not come to kill you, or your men. You did well to resist me the first time, but do not think yourself too strong because of it. I have many ways to destroy you if I wished to do so.” It was hard to associate her lilting voice with the horrors of her face. I had never learned if it was something she did intentionally or not. I didn’t even know if her appearance or her voice were natural, or if they were an artifice that she used for purposes of her own.

  The other men had gathered behind me now and Ploster entered the room, drawn by the sound of voices.

  “What do you want?” I asked simply.

  “The Emperor asks two favours of you, Captain Charing,” she said.

  “Malleus does not ask favours,” I replied, trying not to look dismissive. I was already intrigued.

  “Of course he does not,” said the Gloom Bringer, with the first hint of humour I’d seen in her. “The word is merely a nicety. I could have said demands, but that was not the word that the Emperor used.”

  “I must admit I am curious,” I said. “And as you can tell, we are not going anywhere soon. What is it that Malleus requires of his former soldiers?”

  A look passed across the face of the Death Sorcerer. At first I didn’t recognise what it was, and then I realised with a start that she was uncertain. “Things are happening in parts of the Emperor’s lands that he is not satisfied with.” She paused, before revealing the reason for the uncertainty of her look. “Not just in this Dukedom.”

  I was shocked at that. Malleus was ruthless and I hadn’t heard an inkling of there being problems for him. Even the unrest in Warmont’s lands weren’t really a concern for the Emperor, I’d always been certain – I’d convinced myself it was something he tolerated as part of one of his strange games of power.

  “What sort of problems?” I asked, looking carefully at the Gloom Bringer’s face, trying to spot any flicker of emotion she might betray. This time she remained inscrutable.

  “Nothing that I will discuss,” she said. “All that matters is that the Emperor requires trusted men to serve at his side. Loyal soldiers. He remembers you well, Captain Charing and if you will return to him, all of your transgressions will be forgotten.”

  “What about my men?” I asked at once.

  “The Emperor knows that Tyrus Charing and the men of the First Cohort are one and the same. His invitation extends to you all.”

  “We are to just leave here and return to Hardened?” I asked.

  “That is what he asks. There are no conditions upon your leaving. He does not demand that you kill your former allies, simply that you return to him in his capital.”

  “As easy as that? How can he ever trust us?” asked Ploster.

  “He will trust you because you are trustworthy men. You will do what you say you will do, without subtlety or subterfuge. If you swear to him, that will be enough.”

  I didn’t immediately know what to say, so put the question to one side for the moment. “And what of this second favour that he desires from us?” I asked, not knowing that I was about to be surprised again.

  “The Emperor is not pleased with his Duke and he wishes you to kill him.”

  The words were said simply, and I gaped nonetheless. “Why the fuck doesn’t he kill the old bastard himself?” were the first words I found myself able to say. “Or why can’t you kill him?”

  The Gloom Bringer’s lips drew back in what I thought was meant as a smile. “The Emperor cannot be seen to kill his own, Captain Charing. His nobles would not be best pleased if they were to find out about it.”

  “Since when has that ever stopped Malleus?” I asked. “The Emperor’s nobles rule by his indulgence, do they not?”

  “They do, but as I have already said, the Emperor has some small troubles. It would not be convenient for him to be fighting on several fronts at once. Still, he has decided that Duke Warmont must be killed and you are a convenient tool with which he can achieve this goal.”

  Politics is the most dangerous game of all, even when you know the rules and you have a network of informants and spies to whisper you every secret you need. I could tell immediately that I was being asked to play that same game, though for me it would be played in the dark and in total ignorance. I felt lost, but had no desire to stumble into anything I would later have cause to regret. Even so, we were trapped in a cell and had evidently not been forgotten and I felt my usual urge to take control of the situation.

  “Why did you have to kill so many of my men in order to deliver this message?” I asked, trying to keep the anger from my voice.

  I hadn’t expected an apology, and she scarcely even acknowledged what had happened. “As far as the Duke is aware, his relationship with the Emperor is the same as it ever was. I came here some time ago at the Emperor’s insistence, in order to provide help to the Duke in the defence of his lands.”

  I’d was sure Warmont would have hated that. The arrival of not one, but two of the Emperor’s Death Sorcerers was a sign that Malleus had lost at least some faith in his Duke. Either that or the Emperor had a healthy respect for the possibilities that the Saviour brought to the land.

  I asked the question I’d been working through in my head. “What if I agree to perform one favour, but not the other?” I said.

  “You wish to kill the Duke, but will not return to the Emperor?” the Gloom Bringer asked. Without waiting for a reply, she continued. “Malleus warned me that this would be the likely outcome of our discussion.”

  “And what did he say?” I said.

  “The Emperor is a practical man above all else. He wishes his Duke to be killed first and foremost. While he would prefer to have you at his side as well, he recognizes that the losses you have sustained in recent conflict have diminished your capacity to be an obstacle, should you ever meet his forces in battle.”

  I grimaced at the truth of that, at the same time as I concealed my surprise at how much the Emperor was aware of what was happening in the Duke’s lands, even down to the level of our losses.

  “You’re saying he would let us go?” I asked.

  “That is what I am saying,” she replied. “The death of the Duke is more important to Malleus than the return of a small group of his former soldiers.”

  “How do you propose we kill him?” I asked. “I doubt you could best him yourself, so how are we to do so?” I wasn’t looking to bait her into anger and the question needed to be answered.

  “It is true that the Duke has grown in magical power even as his body has failed him and you are correct in assuming that I would not enjoy a confrontation with him. Warmont is a cautious man and has protected himself with magical shields and guards, however your swords can hurt him, Captain Charing. I am sure that there are days when the Emperor sorely wishes he hadn’t bestowed those weapons so freely upon you, but on this day, I believe he will be thankful that you have them.”

  “How will we get close to him?” I asked. “And what happens when he dies?”

  “I can shroud you from his sight,” the Gloom Bringer said. “I will set you free from this cell and you will accompany me to his quarters above. No one will see you, but you must not engage in bloodshed, for that will reveal you at once.”

  “What happens when he dies?” I persisted.

  “Then, you are on your own,” she said. “I will not help you escape from the keep, nor will I hinder you. I think it likely you will die, but there again I care little. You are resourceful men, which is why the Emperor has asked for you to return. It
might be that you can escape into the city and rejoin the rest of your men eventually.”

  One more question remained for me, though I wasn’t expecting an honest answer. “When the Duke is dead, these lands will be without a ruler. What does the Emperor intend to do?”

  “The Emperor’s plans are his own, though I have been party to his intentions. Unfortunately for you, Captain Charing, it is not information that I will divulge.”

  “Very well,” I said. “When are we going to see the Duke?” I asked.

  “Really, Captain Charing,” she mocked. “I remember you as a man who does not ask pointless questions.”

  With that, she moved away from the opening and out of sight. I turned and looked at the other men, who stared dumbly back at me, their faces almost frozen in shock.

  “I reckon I’m nearly three hundred years old and I was not expecting that,” said Grids.

  “You’re fucking telling me,” said Bolt. “You think she’s going to let us go, Captain? After we’ve killed the Duke?”

  “Probably not,” I whispered. “But we’ll deal with that when we get there.”

  There was a rasping scrape along the corridor and we hurried towards it. The door which had sealed us in was open and I could see the Gloom Bringer waiting for us. Except for her face, the only visible parts of her were her hands, and her bony, unshod feet. She held an oil lamp high above her head. There was a strange miasma around her, which blurred her outline unless you focused hard to see it, almost as if she carried a mind-befuddling cloud with her as she walked. When we got closer, Ploster’s ever-present magical light dimmed, as if a far greater force suppressed it. From the corner of my eye I saw him concentrate as he tried to command the light to flare brighter. I don’t think he was interested in the illumination as such, more that he wanted to see how his own power compared to the cloak that the Gloom Bringer appeared to maintain so effortlessly. His light stuttered, then went brighter for a brief second, but when we came to within ten feet of the Death Sorcerer, it was crushed and went out completely. I looked at Ploster’s face and could see that he hadn’t pushed himself greatly - I guessed that he didn’t want to give away too much about his own abilities.