The Call of Kerberos

by Jonathan Oliver

  Querilous didn't understand such people. He himself had experienced some of the incredible pain the machine was capable of delivering and that was only because he had accidentally touched one of the contacts during the powering-up process. He couldn't imagine anyone putting themselves through such suffering voluntarily.

  The prisoner was strapped into place and Querilous's assistants opened the valves that allowed the flow of arcane energy to suffuse the frame of the machine. The inquisitor donned a pair of smoked-glass goggles. He had no such protection to offer his assistants. However, their ensuing blindness would be the insurance the Faith needed to avoid them accurately describing the mechanisms of this wondrous toy to any potential Brotherhood spies. Sadly such impostors were everywhere.

  The power of the machine rolled from it in cool waves, goose-pimpling Querilous's skin and making him wish that he had kept his shirt on. There was a raw mineral smell in the air and the hairs on his arms started to prickle. The crystals embedded in the frame glowed a deep umber, gradually changing into an intense lavender as the power levels rose. The torches on the walls flickered out and Querilous found himself momentarily deaf as the air pressure in the room increased. But then his ears popped and the roar of the device at full power came at him.

  Querilous turned one of the valves attached to the frame and the webbing holding the Chadassa in place started to glow. And now he really did see a change in the prisoner's attitude for, as the smell of ozone intensified, something like fear glittered deep in the creature's eyes.

  "Now, will you talk?" Querilous shouted, the howling of the machinery almost drowning out his words.

  The Chadassa reached for him, its talons weakly opening and closing just inches from his face.

  Querilous smiled and removed a crystal from the frame.

  A jagged shard of lightning arced between the creature's shoulders and it cried out.

  "What, what was that? I can't hear you."

  Querilous knew that he wasn't supposed to enjoy the act of torture - it was a holy rite, a spiritual duty to be treated with the appropriate reverence - but sometimes he allowed himself just the merest hint of pleasure.

  The creature did now appear to be about to say something and Querilous powered down the machinery so that he could make out its words.

  "Mercy. I said mercy. I'll talk."

  The prisoner broken, Querilous loosened its bindings, allowing some respite before sending for a scribe to take down the monster's statement.

  Several days later, in a cove not far from the bustling port of Turnitia, lay the fleet of ships the Faith had prepared to deal with the Chadassa threat. It was true that none of the vessels were as magnificent as the Llothriall or would be able to weather the tumults of the Twilight seas for long, but then not one of the ships would be returning. Each vessel was manned by a crew consisting of a selection of the most fanatical and devoted members of the Faith. These men and women did not care that, moments after they had delivered their deadly payloads, their bodies would be broken on the rough seas. In fact, their faith burned so fiercely within them that they considered this sacrifice the least they could offer up.

  Katherine Makennon was a little in awe of such martyrs, even some of the highest-ranking Archimandrites would be hard pressed to equal their levels of devotion. In turning themselves into holy weapons they had assured their passage to Kerberos. Makennon couldn't believe that she hadn't considered the use of such martyrs on the battlefield before. Such suicidal devotion may have shortened the last war between Vos and Pontaine considerably and may even have seen the destruction of the Brotherhood. Once this foray was over she would certainly look into the benefits of a programme of radicalisation.

  Katherine looked down at her feet as the iron floor began to vibrate. She was standing in the lamp room of a lighthouse, the entire structure of which had been converted to accommodate the magical equipment that would teleport the fleet. In the centre of the room a tangle of hair-thin wires rose from the floor. Katherine watched as a mage poured a tray of metal balls into the steel web. As they fell they emitted sparks where they came into contact with the wires, before falling through a trapdoor in the floor. Katherine could hear their progress beneath her as they raced through the interior of the lighthouse, crashing through more trapdoors, setting off cantrips and making the wires sing with arcane energy.

  Beside her, Querilous Fitch was talking to a mage as he polished the great lens that stood before the equipment, the circumference of which was inscribed with runes and lines of prayer.

  "Brother Querilous, you are certain that the fleet will be transported to location of the Chadassa citadel?" Makennon said.

  "Oh indeed, Anointed One. I broke through the prisoner's lies and truly did I see the seat of all their blasphemies."

  "And the weapons aboard the ships will work?"

  "A fire that burns underwater and cannot be extinguished. It will destroy their city entirely and Twilight shall be free of their kind."

  Katherine hoped that they would also soon be rid of the black sphere that had been plaguing Kerberos. Brother Incera had still not discovered anything further concerning the planetary body and it was beginning to affect the morale of her flock. It had even been rumoured that a cult had sprung up near the Drakengrat mountains, dedicated to the worship of this aberration. Makennon would make sure that they were put down by the Swords before she delivered her next address at Scholten Cathedral.

  "Anointed One, the equipment is ready if you would like to make a blessing?" one of the mages said.

  As her attendant lit a censer Katherine sketched the symbol of the Faith in the air. Those gathered before her bowed their heads as they prepared to receive the blessing.

  "Lord, send these ships to enact your will. Remove from the face of our blessed seas this unnatural scourge and call into your arms these brave holy warriors. Amen."

  "Amen," chorused the Faithful.

  "Anointed One, it will be safer if we leave the tower," Querilous said. "There is a slight risk of backlash and we wouldn't want to put you in any danger."

  Katherine followed Querilous to a bluff that overlooked the cove where the ships were readying themselves for the voyage. She was pleased to see that each of them had raised the flag of the Faith, the sight of the crossed circles snapping in the wind instilling within her the fervour of hope.

  To their left the room atop the lighthouse began to blaze with a light so intense it was as though a new sun had appeared in the sky.

  A jagged crack ran up the side of the building and there was a rain of crumbling mortar.

  "Querilous," Makennon said, as stone began to grind against stone, "I think that something is wrong."

  "Don't worry Anointed One, the structure has been reinforced, it won't topple."

  As the lighthouse began to sway Katherine wondered what it was like, at that moment, to be one of the mages in the lamp room. The light above them intensified even further, bathing the cove in a startling brilliance that threw the shadows of the ships far across the waves. There was a sudden cold wind and then the ships were following their shadows across the sea; though as Katherine watched it was almost as though they weren't moving at all, rather it was she who was rushing away from the fleet. She got the impression of a sky heavy with boiling clouds above a landscape of mountainous waves, but then she blinked and the vision was gone, along with the ships.

  The wind died as suddenly as it had risen and the light above them winked out. Katherine found herself plunged into absolute darkness. She was beginning to fear that the spell had backfired and she had been transported to the void when she detected the soft sound of the waves.

  The cove and the lighthouse gradually emerged from the gloom, bathed in Kerberos's glow.

  "Anointed One, are you okay? You appear shaken."

  "I must admit, Querilous, that sometimes magic scares me." Katherine sketched the symbol of the Faith in the air before taking the Inquisitor's arm. "Back to Scholten I think. I wish
to spend time in prayer while we await the news of our glorious victory."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bestion's pen skidded across the page, digging a shallow trench in the paper as another tremor struck the ruins of Morat.

  In the aftermath of the attack that had seen the majority of the city devoured, the power of the stone of the Allfather had been utilised to draw together the remains. Bestion sat at the centre of this tiny archipelago of ruins, working in a chapel attached to the house of the Stone Seers.

  He had set himself the unenviable task of documenting the last days of Morat - for already the power of the stone was waning - and he had finished his account of the attack and was now moving onto his recollections of the strangers. In particular, the extraordinary individual Silus.

  Bestion had been astonished to discover one with such a strong link to the Allfather - especially one who was not from Morat - and for a moment he had even contemplated the possibility that Silus was the herald of their God, sent to lead them on the journey home. If anything, though, he had turned out to be a portent of destruction. Yet Bestion had been with Silus as his soul had left his body to commune with the Allfather, and he had sensed no malice within him. Bestion would have given anything to know what Silus had learned during the ritual, but the stranger had taken that knowledge with him.

  However, the visitors had left something behind. The magnificent vessel they had arrived in - the Llothriall.

  The ship lay anchored near the ruins of the palace and Bestion had visited it often, mainly to study the stone that sat at its centre. This was clearly the sister of the stone of the Allfather. Indeed, it had begun to respond to the death song that now emanated from the temple, harmonising with that melancholy hymn as though in sympathy. Bestion had contemplated taking the Llothriall, loading up the survivors and leaving Morat. But while the stone of the Allfather still sang he could not leave his home, not while there was the merest chance that He would call them into His arms. For surely the Allfather could see the suffering of His people, surely they were now worthy of His forgiveness? Bestion was beginning to wonder, however, whether the Allfather cared at all.

  The room shook and Bestion was thrown out of his chair and over the desk. He rolled across the floor, the pages of his journal fluttering around him, before coming to rest at the foot of the altar. A crack appeared in the chapel wall and through it Bestion could hear the churn of the angry sea. He closed his eyes and waited for the water to find him. But then he heard the song of the stone, and this time it wasn't a song of death.

  "Bestion, Bestion!" It was Joseph, one of the Stone Seers. "The stone, Bestion! It's calling to something. Something is coming."

  Maybe this was it. Maybe the Allfather had heard their prayers after all. Suddenly Bestion felt ashamed for ever doubting his god.

  He followed Joseph and saw that something of the former brilliance of the stone had returned. The grey veins that had begun to marble its face were filling with a glow like the gentle fire of sunset.

  "When did this begin?" Bestion said.

  "Just a moment ago. The song suddenly changed. We believe that it is a call."

  "To whom, the Allfather?"

  "We don't think so."

  "Then who?"

  "Captain Tyron has spotted something approaching Morat from the east."

  Bestion felt a chill grip him then as he remembered the maw that had risen from the sea to devour them. Joseph noticed his pallor change and placed his hand on Bestion's arm. "If Morat was in danger from this thing, I can assure you that the cadences of the song would be far different. Come on."

  Bestion followed Joseph out of the temple and across to the next island in the archipelago.

  The fragments of the broken city now orbited the power of the stone, each small island linked by a hastily constructed bridge. Bestion looked around him at what they had lost and wondered how much longer they could survive.

  Six islands away from the house of the Stone Seers Captain Tyron stood on an outcrop, watching the approach of a strange mound that moved swiftly through the water towards them, sending up plumes of spray in its wake.

  "I spotted it on the horizon not long ago," the Captain said as they approached. "And when I trained my glass on it, I saw what appeared to be a human riding on its back. Look."

  The Captain handed his telescope to Bestion.

  There was indeed something riding the mound of grey-green flesh, a figure with its arms outstretched and head raised. Bestion adjusted the magnification and the tattooed face that sprang at him out of the mist of spray was instantly recognisable.

  "My God, it's Emuel. The strangers are returning! They must be the ones the ship's stone is responding to. Maybe they have brought Silus with them, maybe there is hope after all."

  The Llothriall sat not far from where Bestion and the two men stood and as the strange mound neared Morat, he could have sworn he saw the ship shudder, the wood of its hull briefly flaring with lines of magical fire.

  The mound slowed as it drew alongside the small island and a hole dilated open in its surface. Through this scrabbled Kelos, Father Maylan, Ignacio and Jacquinto. Bestion got Captain Tyron to lower a rope and soon the visitors were before them.

  "Gentlemen, I had thought I'd never see you again," Bestion said, taking each of their hands in turn.

  "And we had not reckoned on seeing Morat again," Kelos said. "I had thought it destroyed."

  "It may as well have been, as you can see. Sadly, what little we have won't hold together for much longer. It is only through the stone that we have managed to save this much and there have been few survivors. How did you find us?"

  "We followed the song." Emuel said. "We sought the Llothriall."

  "Well you've found her and your vessel has certainly faired better than our city. Anyway, after your journey you must be hungry."

  "Starving," Kelos said. "But time is not on our side. Silus is in great danger, as is the rest of our world."

  "At least spare a moment to tell me your tale. Perhaps we can help?"

  Kelos looked unsure, but at the urging of the rest of the crew he finally relented.

  When they had finished their story, Morat finally began to fall apart.

  Bestion and his guests only just managed to flee the chapel before it fell down around them and Jacquinto took a glancing blow to the head from a falling shard of masonry. The most appalling thing about the death of Morat was not the scale of the destruction or the sound of buildings tumbling into the sea, but the silence coming from the house of the Stone Seers.

  As Bestion rushed into the building, not willing to believe that which he could no longer hear, Kelos raced after him.

  "Bestion bring whoever you can find, we need to get out of here now."

  The cradle that had supported the stone for millennia shattered, shards of rock skittering across the floor as dust filled the air. For a moment the stone remained where it was, gently rocking from side to side. Then it dropped through the floor and into the sea below, a huge plume of water erupting from the hole it left behind.

  Bestion and Kelos raced from the building to find the crew standing outside, trying to decide on the best route back to the ship, aware that they had only moments left before the whole of Morat sank.

  The many islands that made up the ruins of the city were now beginning to drift apart, ropes snapping as the bridges that had connected them were torn in two.

  "For Gods sake what is wrong with you lot? Don't just stand there, go! Get to the Llothriall!" Kelos shouted.

  Following the crew Kelos all but carried Bestion across the first of the bridges, the supporting ropes beginning to unravel even as they raced over the planks. At one point Ignacio's foot went through a rotting board, shards of wood gouging into his ankle. Emuel tore the smuggler free, supporting him across the remaining span. As the crew cleared the bridge the island they had left behind cracked into two huge pieces and rapidly sank.

  Bestion stared at the place where
the house of the Stone Seers had been and then started to turn as the wave thrown up by the sinking island rushed towards them.

  The island on which they now stood was suddenly shoved forwards by the wave. One of the Moratian survivors who fled with them stumbled as he tried to clear the gap to the next island, only to fall between the two islands just as they clashed together. Bestion looked away as a geyser of blood fountained into the air, but he could still feel the warm rain on his skin as they made it to the next rock in the chain.

  Bestion looked towards where the Llothriall was anchored and realised that they were rapidly running out of stepping stones. As they leapt over the gap between one chunk of rock and the next the sea was already beginning to lap at their heels. He could see the strange, mound-like vessel that had brought the crew to the island skirting the scene of the tumult, as though it was searching for a way in to help them. However the sinking islands were packed too tightly for it to reach them.

  The next island they leapt to lay just below the surface but, with a lurch, it suddenly rose from the water. And then Bestion saw the next island rising also, and the next, creating a clear path of stepping-stones to the ship.

  "What's happening?" he shouted to Kelos, but then he saw.

  Emuel was singing.

  The stone of the Allfather may have died but it was now the stone on the Llothriall that was forging them a path as Emuel reached out to it. Ahead of them the ship blazed with the power of the song. Bestion gestured to those remaining survivors who were close enough to follow as they made their dash towards safety.