Twilight of Kerberos: Wrath of Kerberos

by Jonathan Oliver

  Two days ago she had seen Illiun, Shalim, Rosalind and their compatriots enter the cage. Before it had descended, Rosalind had reached out to Katya.

  “If you see Hannah, tell her that Mummy and Daddy are okay.”

  But Katya hadn’t seen their daughter, and when Illiun and Shalim had come back up, Rosalind was no longer with them. Katya had tried to talk to Shalim, asking him what had happened to his wife, but he wouldn’t speak. Katya had been alarmed to see blood on his lips, and had appealed to one of the elves for help, but she had been roundly ignored. Workers, it would seem, were eminently expendable.

  Katya flinched as a shadow fell over her, afraid, for a moment, that it was one of the guards come to berate her for some presumed slight. But when she looked up, it was Dunsany, carrying another tray of rocks for her to sort through.

  “Have you had any further thoughts on making our escape?” she said.

  “Beyond how impossible it would be, you mean?”

  “Well, we can’t stay here for much longer. Have you seen Shalim? If he’s sent down again, he won’t come back up.”

  “You talk as though this is a temporary situation, Katya. As if there’s any hope at all.”

  For a moment Katya didn’t know what to say. Here was a man who had been full of a lust for adventure, who had never hesitated to throw himself into the most perilous of situations; and now he had been reduced by slavery to little more than a shell.

  “I don’t know about escape, Katya, but I’d do anything to have Kelos back.”

  When Dunsany’s shoulders began to hitch, she took the tray of rocks from him before he could drop it on his feet. She held him and was shocked by how frail he felt, as though he had aged decades in just a matter of days.

  “I’m sure that wherever Kelos is, he’s thinking the same thing,” Katya said. “Trust me, we’ll get out of this. You’ve got to have faith.”

  “Like Ignacio and his friends, you mean?”

  Katya looked over to where their former crewmate was breaking rocks. The crew he sweated with all wore a scrap of rag tied to their upper right arm, upon which was painted the crossed circle: the symbol of the Final Faith. It hadn’t taken Ignacio long to start preaching to his fellow slaves and, with Bestion’s help, he had soon amassed a regular congregation. The elves didn’t seem at all alarmed by this burgeoning faith. Katya supposed that with their minds on Kerberos and the rewards He would give to them in the hereafter, the members of this new cult were less likely to foment rebellion. Indeed, gauging from the way the elves allowed them to gather in prayer every time they broke for lunch, they were actively encouraging the belief.

  “I think that what we’re witness to here,” Dunsany said, “is the beginnings of the Final Faith itself; the earliest church.”

  “Who’d have thought that Ignacio would become a vital part of church history? If only his brother could see him now.”

  “You two!” One of the elves had noticed their conversation and was heading their way. Katya saw the diamond-studded tips of the flail at his belt, and her back flinched at the memory of their touch. She fell to her task after warning Dunsany, with a glare, to go back to his.

  “We’ve already had enough trouble from you.” Katya didn’t look up. “What were you discussing with your friend?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing...?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “You may be more evolved than your fellow humans, but you all bleed the same.”

  “No, please.”

  The elf uncoiled the flail, the barbs catching the light. From the corner of her eye, Katya could see Dunsany running towards them, a rock in his raised fist.

  Before he or the elf could strike, the ground trembled and a smoke stack exploded, showering the workers with hot brick shrapnel and sending a plume of black smoke high into the air. The wheels at the head of the pit began to spin wildly as the cage that had been about to descend suddenly dropped. Katya saw an elf pulling on the emergency brake, but it broke off in his hands; above him, the iron wheels screeched in protest, sparks showering from them as they spun out of control. Even when there was no more rope to play out they continuing spinning, and from somewhere far beneath their feet came a deep hollow thump as the cage hit bottom. Katya closed her eyes, but the image of broken bodies pulverised among sharp rocks and iron wreckage would not fade.

  The elves looked about them, seemingly searching for someone to blame. To the man with the flail, it appeared to be all too clear who was the perpetrator of this chaos.

  Before she knew what she had done, Katya had taken a rock from the tray in front of her and thrown it with all her strength. The elf dropped, his eyes rolling back in his head. A thin trickle of blood snaked from his nose and his heels kicked against the dirt.

  Katya had never intended to be the instigator of a rebellion – had never even thought herself capable of taking another person’s life – but her one act of violence ignited the spark of hatred that had simmered for so long within the slaves, and soon rocks were being hefted and pick-axes raised.

  Before the battle for human liberty could be joined, however, the granite cliff that loomed over the mine exploded, and the dwarven horde poured forth from the rift.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “FASCINATING,” KELDREN SAID, as Silus swam through the waters of the flooded room. “And it is Chadassa blood that runs through his veins, giving him these abilities?”

  Even through the murk of the dirty sea water, and the barrier of thick glass, Kelos could see the pained expression on his friend’s face, and it made him want to defy Keldren. But if he refused to help the wizard in his studies, he’d be more than likely shipped off to one of the human slave camps, there to die an anonymous death amongst the suffering masses. Here, he could at least try to alleviate his friend’s suffering.

  “Kelos? I asked you a question.”

  “What? Yes... sorry. Silus does indeed have a link with the Chadassa, but he’s no monster.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, that bring us to the next part of our experiment, doesn’t it?”

  “Please, Keldren. Is this really necessary?”

  “How do you think all those great works of mine got written, Kelos? How do you think I managed to be so precise in my observations? Theorising is all very well, but no substitute for experimentation and observation. Now, let us see what happens when I do this...”

  Keldren moved his hands and, even before the sorcerer began to intone the words, Kelos recognised the elemental spell he was weaving. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled; he could taste the sharp tang of ozone.

  Keldren flung out his hands and a bright shockwave burst through the water of the flooded room.

  Blinking away the purple blotches that crowded his vision, Kelos saw Silus floating, perfectly still, bobbing face-down in the centre of the water tank, blood misting from his mouth.

  “Gods, you’ve killed him! Keldren, what have you done?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m certain he’s not been harmed.”

  “Really?”

  When Silus opened his eyes, Kelos let out the breath he had been holding; the pupils were pure obsidian, and he shuddered as he realised what was about to happen.

  Silus’s transformation was as rapid as it had been when the dragon’s blood had drenched him; the water darkened as the Chadassa form came to the fore, everything that was human sloughing away.

  “Oh, but that’s just... beautiful,” Keldren breathed.

  He pushed his face up against the glass, entranced by what Silus had become.

  “Just imagine an army of these: aquatic warriors. The dwarf navy wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Keldren, I really wouldn’t stand that close.”

  “What? Nonsense, we’re perfectly safe.”

  The glass shook as Silus drove himself against it, his claws making a horrendous screeching sound as they scrabbled against the other side.

  “Not to worry,” said Keldren, giggling nerv
ously. “That glass is inches thick.”

  With a bang, a hairline crack jumped across the glass, beads of water slowly forming along its path.

  “Vent the tank, Keldren.” For a moment the wizard was transfixed by the gaze of the Chadassa hybrid, the wall of the tank creaking ominously as water pooled at his feet. “Now!”

  Keldren shook himself and leapt for the metal wheel protruding from the wall. For a moment it looked as if it would refuse to turn, until Kelos added his own strength. The heavy iron floodgates on the far side of the tank opened and the water sluiced out; the metal grille covering the mouth of the tunnel prevented Silus from being flushed out into the sea.

  When the last of the water had drained away, the glass wall of the tank finally gave way in a cascade of fist-sized diamonds. In the blink of an eye, Kelos threw a magical shield around himself and Keldren.

  Silus writhed on the floor, tangled in a skein of seaweed, dragging air into his lungs as his flesh slowly changed hue; claws withdrawing, eyes clouding momentarily as the black sheen of the Chadassa left them. Kelos kept up the shield for a moment longer, until he was sure that the monster within his friend had finally retreated.

  “You have my thanks, Kelos,” Keldren said, brushing himself down. He walked over to where Silus lay. “He’s unconscious. I’ll allow you to tidy up in here, then if you can join me in my study, we can proceed with our next experiment.”

  “But–” And Keldren was gone, leaving Kelos staring across the devastated room to where his friend lay.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, bringing Silus round and helping him to sit up. “Really, I am.”

  “We have to get out of here,” Silus croaked.

  “I’m trying to moderate the effects of Keldren’s experimentation. Trying to make him see that what he is doing is wrong. If any of the elves can be won over, then it is surely he. At least he has given me a freedom of sorts.”

  Silus merely stared blankly at his friend, until Kelos was forced to look away.

  “Can you stand?”

  “Just about.”

  Kelos helped Silus to his feet and lead him out into the corridor.

  “We can run, Kelos,” Silus said. “We can get out of here, find Katya, Zac and the others and go. You can perform the spell and send us all home. Take us away from all this.”

  “I really can’t,” Kelos said, keeping his voice low for fear of Keldren overhearing them. “For a start, this place is impregnable. Keldren only trusts me with the keys to certain rooms, and the maze of tunnels is so confusing that I couldn’t possibly begin to imagine the way out, even if I could get past the main doors. And I can’t just magic us all home again. The spell that sent us here required a vast amount of raw magic; without something as powerful as the blood of a dragon, I will never be able to repeat it.”

  Kelos unlocked a door and ushered Silus into the sparsely furnished room beyond. When he saw the look of despair on his friend’s face, as he took in the straw-stuffed mattress and the jug of briny water that sat on the stone floor, his heart sank.

  “Give me time, Silus. I’ll think of a way out.”

  He locked the door before his friend could say anything, only too aware of how empty his promises had started to sound.

  KELDREN LOOKED UP from the book in his lap as Kelos entered.

  “Ah, good. I trust our subject has been secured?”

  “If you mean did I put Silus back in his prison, then yes.”

  “Come now, there’s no need to be like that. Just think of all the good work you are doing, adding to the sum of our knowledge, helping to make the elven empire great.”

  “And the rest of my friends, the ones who were sent to the camps? How are they helping make your civilisation great? How does their suffering contribute to the glory of your people?”

  “Would you care for some brandy?” Keldren said, uncorking a bottle.

  “No, I would not care for some brandy.”

  “You’re quite right, of course. We have work to do. We can imbibe later. For now, we have our next subject to attend to; fascinating to think of a human wielding elven magic. But, anyway... lead the way, Kelos. Lead the way.”

  EMUEL COULDN’T MOVE, couldn’t even look around to see who had just entered the room, so securely tied was he to the marble table. At his wrists and ankles, the leather straps had broken the flesh; dried blood crusted his bonds and stained the stone beneath him. The eunuch had been stripped bare, and for all the time he had spent in his presence, Kelos was still shocked by the scars of the boy’s emasculation.

  “Keldren,” he said. “Silus may have the potential to be dangerous, but I can assure you that Emuel does not. This is entirely unnecessary.”

  “On the contrary, my friend. Not knowing the limits of his power, we have to assume that Emuel is just as dangerous as Silus.”

  “Emuel?” Kelos said. “Can you hear me?”

  Emuel opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

  “What is this?”

  “A precaution. As Emuel uses song magic, I cast a silence spell upon him. Now, let us begin our examination.”

  Keldren held out his hands and, with a pop of displaced air, an open book appeared in them. The wizard ran his finger down a page, muttering to himself. Looking up, he fixed Kelos with an intense stare.

  “Why was Emuel emasculated?”

  “To preserve the pitch of his prepubescent voice. An adult human voice is normally unable to achieve the range required for elven song magic.”

  “Ingenious. Cruel, but ingenious. And what can you tell me about his tattoos and scarifications? Why did somebody go to all the trouble of so marking his flesh?”

  “Elven runics,” Kelos said. “A way of opening Emuel up to the magic of song.”

  “Interesting. But not all of these are elven runics. This one here – the symbol that looks a bit like a crescent moon on its side, entangled in vines? – well, that is dwarven. A profanity, an insult in runes. Nothing more than crude graffiti.”

  “I understand the Final Faith based their designs on ancient elf spells.”

  “Yes, well, they were wrong then, weren’t they? But not entirely. See these? These are actually elven runes, but they’re like none I’ve seen before. At first I thought that they might be based on an earlier form of script. But, from the text here” – he indicated the book – “I’m now certain that’s not the case. The runes are elvish, but a form of the language not from our past. Therefore...”

  Kelos looked blankly at Keldren for a moment, before he realised what the wizard was getting at.

  “From your future? Magical canticles that have yet to be developed?”

  “Exactly!” Keldren said, triumphantly. “There is magic here that no elf mage has yet wielded. Emuel is a repository of future magical knowledge. I will be able to extrapolate from the runics upon this one young boy to produce song magic of a power that none on the peninsula have yet witnessed. Such an advantage could have vast implications for the mages in our military. What you have gifted to us here, Kelos, is a potential weapon in the war with the dwarves.”

  “Emuel is no weapon, Keldren. And I didn’t gift him to you, any more than I gifted you Silus. If you don’t remember, we were taken against our will.”

  Keldren closed the book and placed it beside Emuel. “May I remind you, Kelos, that as a gesture of goodwill I have given you certain freedoms? This is in recognition of our bond as mages. Do not abuse my hospitality; you can be given over to the camps like that!” Keldren snapped his fingers.

  Kelos opened his mouth, but could think of nothing to say. He considered reaching for the threads, weaving a spell with which to attack Keldren, but he realised that any magical duel would likely end in his own death. This was, after all, Keldren Dremos Enthrold, the finest Old Race mage of his generation and a legend amongst those who studied the art of sorcery. He supposed it was true what they said: you should never meet your heroes.

  “I’m sorry, Keldren. Please, proceed.”
>
  “See, dear boy? I knew that my trust had not been not misplaced. Now, let’s see if we can get our newest acquisition to sing, shall we?”

  LATER, KELOS WAS allowed to bring Emuel some food and water. Keldren had thoughtlessly left the eunuch bound to the table, and when the mage freed him, he was barely able to stand. Keldren hadn’t so much coaxed the boy to sing as torn the songs from him.

  Kelos held a stone jug to Emuel’s lips, and he drank thirstily.

  “Why are you doing this, Kelos? Why are you helping that man?” he said, after he had quenched his thirst

  “Because if I don’t, things would be so much worse for you and Silus. Emuel, I’m doing what I can. I’ve been trying to work on Keldren, but it’s taking time.”

  “If I have to endure this for much longer, I will die.”

  Emuel was right. There was only so far he and Silus could be pushed. And once Keldren had concluded his experiments, what then? Kelos wondered at what cost the wizard’s sorcerous knowledge had been brought. Were all the great works that he so admired – that had formed the foundation of Kelos’s life in magic – so steeped in the blood of others? It sickened him to kowtow to a man of such lax morals and disregard for others, yet it was the only way he would get the measure of him. The wizard seemed to know the ultimate fate of his race: their destruction in an apocalypse that would wipe all but the smallest traces of their civilisation from the map. What if he could offer Keldren the means to survive? If Kelos could appeal to the vanity and hunger for knowledge that so obviously drove the wizard, would he abandon his own kind?