by Duncan Lay
With shields up around him, most of the Kottermanis could not see what he was doing and, besides, they were facing outwards, watching for Fallon’s men as they attacked out of every cursed alleyway and street they went past. There was no shortage of wounded and men falling from random arrows. He did not have the beautiful obsidian knife that had been Brother Nahuatl’s but he had his bone knife, which was more than sharp enough for the task. A fire would have been perfect for the sacrifices but his God would understand. A wounded soldier, his chest split open, lay in the street, his life leaking away. Swane ripped the wound wider with his knife and then tore out the heart, muttering prayers to Zorva as he did so. It was not the huge surge of power that he had felt when Durzu died but it still made him gasp. He tossed aside the bloody heart and hurried over to the next wounded man. This heart gave him even less power than before and he hurled this heart away angrily. He needed power and he needed it now! Then it struck him. There was little life left in these dying men. He needed something fresh.
“Finbar!” he shouted.
The wizard staggered over, his face gray and his eyes red-rimmed. “They are tiring, but so am I,” he croaked.
“I need the power to speak Kottermani, so I can make the Emperor give out orders,” he said irritably.
Finbar’s eyes widened. “I cannot give you much time, sire,” he warned. “I am exhausted.”
“Give me all you can and I shall do the rest,” Swane said irritably.
“And what happens to me?” Finbar asked.
“You will collapse soon anyway. Help me and I shall order you carried. Hesitate for another heartbeat and I shall slit your throat myself,” Swane snapped.
Finbar closed his eyes and Swane felt his throat grow warm. He was about to strike back with his own power when it stopped.
“It is done. And I am too,” Finbar groaned and slumped to the ground.
Swane turned to the nearest soldiers. “Carry him,” he ordered.
The pair of them immediately sheathed their swords and picked up the fallen wizard and Swane nodded happily to himself. He understood the words and they did also. He smiled at the unconscious Finbar but his smile was quickly wiped away by screams from the back of the column, where magic was being used to drag down the rearguard.
“Emperor! Order your men to let me cut out their hearts!” he commanded.
The Emperor nodded and pointed at a pair of soldiers. They looked shocked but their officers echoed the order and some of their comrades hauled off their armor and pushed them down to their knees. Swane hurriedly prayed and then used his bone knife to tear out their hearts.
This time he felt the ecstatic surge of power and laughed with delight, heedless of the fact he was splattered with blood and holding quivering hearts, or that the surrounding Kottermanis were looking on in horror.
He turned to where the Gaelish were tearing into the Kottermani rearguard and pointed up at the nearest houses. Like all of Berry’s terraces, they were solid brick on the first story and then grew more rickety and unstable as they reached higher. The fourth floor on both sides of the road was a sloping wooden construction that looked as if it had nearly fallen in winter. Swane used his power to bring first one side and then the other down, falling both on Kottermani and Gaelish.
“Hurry now! They will not follow us!” he shouted, heedless of the casualties he had inflicted on his allies. After all, there were thousands more of them outside. The important thing was, pursuit had been stopped.
“More hearts!” he called.
The surrounding men began to edge away but when their Emperor issued the orders they reluctantly obeyed. Swane bent to his task, chuckling as he did so, anticipating the power that would soon be his.
*
“He’s killing his own men and using the power to stop us,” Rosaleen announced.
Fallon lifted a fallen beam up to let Gallagher drag one of his men out, howling at his broken leg. “Really?” Fallon asked sarcastically.
“We cannot let him get away,” Rosaleen insisted.
“Don’t you think we know that? If he gets outside then he brings the rest of the army in. We have to get to the Emperor,” Fallon growled. He waved at his men, who were hurriedly clearing a path through the debris so they could follow the retreating Kottermanis. Any wounded they found were dragged clear, although it was obvious there were more under the rubble and it was taking too long.
“We’ll use the roofs. We can overtake him that way,” he said.
“Wait!” Bridgit grabbed him and kissed him. “Don’t get killed, not after I saved you.”
*
The Kottermanis still had arrows, crossbow bolts and slingshots raining down on them from all sides, as well as small companies of men attacking them from side alleys. Some enterprising townsfolk had even dragged a wagon across the road as a barrier and fighting swirled around it as the Kottermanis tried to break past. Fallon looked down to see they were overtaking the Kottermanis. He had a mixed group of men, old faces from Baltimore, his best recruits who had been captured with him, as well as Kemal and some of his men and a handful of both Padraig’s wizards and Rosaleen’s priests.
They raced over the rooftops, jumping the narrow gaps between the houses. Fallon pushed his legs onwards, feeling his muscles shake in protest at the lack of rest and food he had put himself through over the past few days. But then he looked down to see Swane magically pick up the wagon and smash it into smithereens and he told himself to forget about exhaustion. He could rest later. Then they struck a road that was too wide to cross on their above-ground path.
“Get down, we’re ahead of them now,” Gallagher said. “That’s too far for us to get across.”
“But the wall is so close,” Fallon said, looking longingly at it.
“I have some of my priests over that way. I can get them to hold the gate against Swane until we get there,” Rosaleen said swiftly.
Fallon could feel time slipping away. “Do it,” he said, then used his boot to smash in a nearby window. “The rest of us, get down fast.”
*
Swane could feel the thrill of triumph coursing through his veins. Though it might have just been the thrill of the power he was getting from Zorva. Either way, it was intoxicating. The nearby soldiers were watching him with something close to terror on their faces. They were more afraid of him than the arrows and other missiles landing from above. Only those carrying Finbar were safe from him and so the wizard had a dozen men holding him, with others trying to help.
Swane did not care. The power he had taken made him unstoppable. Gaelish rushed out of an alleyway, howling cries of hate and fell onto his right flank but he simply clapped his hands together and a gust of wind picked them up and tumbled them back down the alleyway.
“Keep moving! Get me outside and then we shall go back and kill everyone!” he bellowed. The hilt of his bone knife felt sticky with blood and he had to grip it tightly. He was tempted to use it again on another Kottermani, just for the feeling it gave him—then he saw the gates ahead and thrust it in the air.
“Stop for nothing!” he roared.
Then the screaming began.
*
Fallon leaned against the wall as the alleyway seemed to revolve around him. His legs felt shaky and his arms weak. But, considering he should have had his intestines pulled out and limbs chopped off by now, things could be worse.
“Are you all right?” Gallagher asked.
Fallon rubbed his eyes and pushed himself upright.
“Let’s get that bastard,” he said, taking a deep breath. Finish this and then he could eat, and sleep. At least it gave him much more sympathy for what wizards went through. That made him think of Padraig, and Caley, and he used that anger to spur him on.
The Kottermanis were hurrying past, a solid wall of shields. But Kemal had two score of archers, and a volley of arrows peppered Swane’s Kottermanis, punching holes in their lines and turning their retreat into a shambles. Beyond the chaos, F
allon could see Swane’s head and felt hatred feed his body.
“Now!” he howled and led a fevered rush down the street to crunch into Swane’s Kottermanis. Kemal’s men stayed back, loosing arrows over the top so as not to get caught in the confusion. Fallon had Gannon at one shoulder, Gallagher at the other, and Bran right behind, powering him forward every time a Kottermani tried to check him.
A soldier with an arrow in his shoulder tried a feeble thrust but Fallon smashed him aside and hurdled his body. The street around him seemed to blur and it felt as if he were back in the castle, surrounded and outnumbered, watching his men die, as well as in Baltimore, fighting off the raiders and protecting his family, yet also here, trying to stamp out Swane’s evil once and for all.
He hooked his guisarme under a shield and reefed it up, allowing Gannon to thrust his blade into the soldier’s chest. He jabbed with the spike, time and again, aiming for eyes and faces. He either made Kottermanis duck down and away, where they were easy prey for Gannon and Gallagher, or they died where they stood, the sharp steel slicing through eyes and mouths and into their brains.
He raked his hook across, the edge catching a Kottermani’s mouth and ripping his cheek open. The man let out a bubbling scream as the force of the blow spun him around, and then Fallon lunged, the spike lancing into the back of the man’s neck and dropping him instantly. He looked up over the man’s body to see Swane and the Emperor just paces away.
Swane was screaming something in Kottermani but Fallon ignored that. The foul Prince’s hands and forearms were covered in blood and spatters were across his chest and face, while his eyes were wild. There did not seem to be anything human in there.
A group of Kottermanis carrying the limp form of Finbar dropped the wizard and rushed at them but a group of Baltimoreans, led by Craddock and Donnchadh, met them and the two sides shoved and hacked at each other. Fallon stepped around them—and then a figure flew through the air at him. He tried to bring his guisarme around but a boot slammed into his chest and sent him flying.
*
Kemal hefted his sword and hurried after Fallon and his men.
“High One, is this wise? It is hard to tell who is who,” Mahir warned.
“Wise? Of course it is not wise. But now is not a time for wisdom,” Kemal snorted and charged forwards.
He sensed his men were at his back but he did not care. He could see his father and Swane through the press of fighting men. Just get to them and he could end this senseless slaughter.
Then he saw the Emperor’s guards attack Fallon. One kicked Fallon backwards, a blow that was too good, for Fallon flew, avoiding the second’s killer strike.
Kemal did not think twice. He jumped over Fallon’s fallen body, standing between him and the pair of deadly guards. A heartbeat later, Mahir was beside him and then a line of his men. The guards hesitated, instinctively looking back to make sure they protected the Emperor.
“Father! Stop this! You are controlled by evil!” Kemal bellowed, seeking to be heard over the clamor of the fighting.
The Emperor stood, unmoved.
“Release him, foul one!” Kemal shouted at Swane. Swane gestured and Kemal felt his heart lurch but then it steadied and he caught sight of Rosaleen pointing at him, her power blocking Swane.
“Give up, Swane! Let my father go!” he cried, feeling a surge of triumph.
“Fool! He obeys only me, doing whatever I say!” Swane roared back.
Kemal smiled. Swane had forgotten he was speaking Kottermani.
The struggling soldiers instantly pulled back, while the guards looked at Swane.
“Kill Prince Kemal and the rest of them!” Swane ordered.
The Kottermani soldiers did not move and Kemal held out his hand to the Gaelish. “Hold! They want to come to our side and destroy Swane’s evil!” he called in Gaelish.
The Emperor repeated Swane’s words, pointing at Kemal and, while most of the soldiers just stood their ground, two guards raced forwards. One jumped high but Kemal was waiting for that and rammed his sword upwards, slicing open the guard as he came down. The other slipped past a thrust and struck back with an open hand, snapping back Mahir’s head, then pivoted and elbowed Gannon in the head, knocking him away. Kemal lunged but had his blade knocked away, then a knife appeared in the guard’s hand and he ducked, expecting to feel sharp steel slicing into him at any moment. But, just as the guard was about to throw, his leg was jerked by Fallon and his dagger flew upwards as he slipped. Before he could steady himself, two of Kemal’s men jumped in and stabbed him.
“Now let’s finish this,” Fallon said, clutching his side as he pushed himself to his feet with his guisarme—the same one he had just used to hook the guard’s foot.
Kemal glanced at him. “Thank you for my life,” he said.
“Thanks for mine,” Fallon replied. “Now let’s take Swane’s.”
*
Swane watched the Emperor’s guards go down with fury. Could nobody do what they were told? He had the Emperor order the nearest soldiers to kill Kemal and Fallon. But these soldiers, who had watched him slaughter eight of their fellows on the retreat down the street, simply shook their heads and backed away.
“Fools! I shall watch you all die for this!” Swane snarled. He clapped his hands together, creating a thunderclap that sent Fallon and his friends tumbling backwards.
They came to their feet, many of them gingerly, and he swiftly knelt and slapped his hands against the cobbles. These rippled, as if they were made of water, the ripples growing bigger as they surged towards Fallon and Kemal. It was not the slow death he had planned for them but it was still a death.
Then a priestess in white appeared, placing her hands on the cobbles. The waves Swane had created stopped as if they had struck a barrier, bursting up before falling down again, thumping into the dead and wounded who had been lying there.
Swane cursed. He wanted to destroy this priestess, take her heart and give it to Zorva but he could not trust the Kottermanis. They might try to attack him while he was fighting her. So he grabbed the Emperor’s arm and hauled him down the street.
“Stop! Do not touch the Emperor!” one of his erstwhile soldiers cried, and three of them made to block his escape.
Swane pointed at them and the metal discs on their armor began to glow red, then smoke, as they burned through the leather backing and through to the skin.
The trio collapsed, screaming in agony as they burned to death, but Swane just hustled the Emperor away past them. “The Emperor is in danger! Save him!” he shouted.
There were still plenty of Kottermanis who hadn’t seen what was going on and now they sealed the street behind him, allowing him to hurry towards the gate. Finbar was lost and that was a shame but he would find some Kottermani who spoke Gaelish and replace him. He did not need the man’s power anymore. He could feel his own growing with every sacrifice he took.
A handful of townsfolk trying to stop their progress were swept aside and then the gates were before him, held open by two companies of Kottermanis. He dragged the Emperor onwards, heedless of the shocked glances he was getting from the Kottermanis around him. Outside, ten thousand Kottermani soldiers waited.
One order from the Emperor and they would smash Berry into dust.
CHAPTER 82
Fallon groaned as he rolled back onto his feet. His ribs were shrieking with pain now and even his hatred could not summon up more energy. Kemal offered him his hand and he took it gratefully.
“Swane’s losing the Kottermanis. Now’s the time to take them back from him,” Fallon said.
“My thoughts exactly,” Kemal said grimly. “We have to stop him before he’s completely taken by Zorva. Though every time he uses his powers he drives my people away from him, I’d rather he did not have them.”
Fallon looked around and waved over one of Padraig’s wizards. The closest one had a familiar face—a woman who had risen in the Guild through sheer ability and persistence, rather than her skills
at playing politics with the Guild leaders. But it took him a moment to remember her name.
“Michelle,” he said. “The country rests on your shoulders now. You have to make it so every Kottermani in this street can hear Prince Kemal.”
“That is not a problem,” she assured him, then nodded to Kemal.
*
Kemal took a deep breath. He knew he didn’t need to shout, because his words would echo across the street and he was more concerned about the words he needed.
“Soldiers of the Empire. It is your Crown Prince Kemal speaking to you. The Emperor is a prisoner of a creature of Zorva. The Gaelish Prince Swane is covered in the blood of your comrades that he has sent to the Dark God. My father cannot speak for himself but if you have any love for the Empire or want to live up to the oath you swore, then stop Swane. Make him let go of my father, your Emperor.”
The closest Kottermanis had all stopped fighting and now went down on one knee to Kemal. He waved them upwards and the two sides, who had been tearing into each other just a short while ago, looked at each other doubtfully.
At that moment Bridgit, Feray, Gallagher and the rest of the Gaelish arrived, having cleared the street.
“So they are obeying you now?” Bridgit asked.
“Getting there,” Kemal said. He pointed at his new men. “Swane is the enemy. We must stop him!”
He signaled down the street and they saluted and ran down the street after Swane, the Gaelish alongside them.
*
Swane cursed as Kemal’s voice boomed down the street. The Kottermanis who were around him had already been looking doubtful—now they were almost hostile.
“He lies! He is the traitor! I am the new heir to the Empire and he is jealous!” Swane shouted. He let go of the Emperor’s arm. “Hear it from your Emperor’s own mouth.” He lowered his voice. “Tell them that I am to be obeyed at all times and am saving you from Kemal the traitor.”
The Emperor stood there dully, unmoving and unspeaking.
