Against the Unweaving

by D. P. Prior

  Shader merely stepped back and to the left a little, his sword arm relaxed and moving in easy motions to parry Gaston’s fury. Sunlight glinted from the blades, momentarily blinding both fighters. Gaston withdrew, breathing heavily, whilst Shader began to circle him. Elias nodded knowingly. The old dog was getting out of the sun’s glare.

  Gaston blinked repeatedly and shielded his eyes with his free hand. He moved in again, more cautiously this time, and began to probe Shader’s defenses with a series of thrusts. Shader did likewise, the combat resembling a simple warm up exercise but increasing in tempo as their bodies limbered up and hand-eye coordination became more assured. Suddenly, Gaston feigned a wild slash to Shader’s neck, but at the last moment dropped his elbow and lunged at his belly. Shader caught Gaston’s blade on his own, spun on his heel and sent a vicious riposte across Gaston’s face. Gaston swayed back, sword coming up in the nick of time to block, steel juddering, arm trembling with the force. He skipped away, twirling the blade in his hand and twitching his fingers, wincing all the while.

  Elias had seen many duels, and had written poems to commemorate the more important ones. He could see that Shader was the more skilled swordsman, moving with greater economy, reading each of Gaston’s moves; yet he had only launched one attack. Gaston, on the other hand, was relentlessly looking for openings, and sooner or later he would find one. Elias started to scrawl some notes, but Gaston attacked again, his sword a glittering blur in the sunlight. Again Shader parried easily, but this time his own sword snaked out in a tight arc causing Gaston to spin away and block the blow awkwardly. Shader reversed his swing and jabbed the blade deftly at Gaston’s midriff where it was again met with defensive steel. Shader pressed home his advantage and brought a vicious blow down on Gaston from above. Elias half closed his eyes, expecting to see splattered brains and shards of skull, but Gaston swept his own sword above his head with both hands, metal chinking, sparks flying. Even so, he was jolted backwards by the force of Shader’s attack. He sought desperately to regain his balance, but Shader advanced with a combination of thrusts and slashes that caused Gaston to trip and tumble to the earth. Shader placed a booted foot on Gaston’s sword arm, the tip of his longsword pressing into his throat.

  A terrific clatter and rumble coming down the Domus Tyalae stole the moment. Elias stood up in his cart and watched as the sleek black carriage of Dr. Cadman pulled up in front of the templum. A man in scarlet robes, oiled black hair tied in a neat ponytail, climbed out of the carriage followed by the velvet clad bulk of Cadman. The driver sat motionless beneath a chimney-stack hat.

  ***

  Shader swore under his breath, but secretly he was relieved. He stepped away, sheathing his sword. Would he have actually done it, pressed down on the hilt, driven the point all the way through Gaston’s throat and out the back of his neck? Gaston was watching him with bloodshot eyes, every inch the frightened, stuttering kid he’d been when he’d first plucked up the courage to ask about the training. Could he have left him squirming there, pinned to the ground, blood frothing from his mouth? Shader shut his eyes, tried to summon happier images. A wave of remorse washed over him as he remembered the lad coming to him, face streaked with tears, after he’d run away from home. He’d fallen out with Bovis again, neither being able to stomach the other’s take on Nousianism. Shader had held him while he sobbed himself dry, and then without a word they’d gone to the practice barn and fenced till their palms bled.

  Shader opened his eyes. Gaston was still looking at him, lips quivering. He returned Gaston’s sword and allowed him to scramble to his feet.

  “Gaston, my boy,” Cadman called out, opening his arms wide.

  Gaston ran into his embrace, let the fat man stroke his hair and whisper in his ear. Shader took a step towards them, but then stopped and lowered his eyes. Part of him wanted to protect Gaston, punch Cadman right in his pudgy face. But it wasn’t Cadman the lad needed protecting from, he acknowledged. The stinging truth of Rhiannon’s words came home to haunt him: he was nothing but a violent jerk.

  Mater Ioana approached the man in the scarlet robes. “Welcome to our templum, Governor,” she said. “Even if it is a somewhat unexpected honor.”

  Zara Gen looked decidedly uncomfortable and could not meet Ioana’s eyes. “In the name of the Emperor Hagalle,” he announced to the group in front of the porch, “I am here to inform you of the dissolution of the Templum of the Knot. My men will soon arrive to search the premises…” He looked fleetingly at Cadman. “…and once they’ve confiscated anything suspicious, you will be escorted to Port Sarum, where you’ll board ship for Nousia.”

  That didn’t sound much like Hagalle’s style, Shader thought. He’d have just sent the Sicarii. Zara Gen was lying, but he didn’t exactly look comfortable about it.

  “But you are … you have always been a friend to us, Zara Gen,” Ioana said. “What’s happened?”

  Cadman stepped away from Gaston and pulled two pieces of amber from his pocket, one curved and pointed like the fang of a serpent, the other round and looking suspiciously like the eye of the Gray Abbot’s Monas. “These! Relics of your esoteric sect that have brought pestilence upon us.”

  Shader touched the statue in his pocket and shot a quick glance at Elias, who was watching the scene intently.

  “It would seem, Mater,” Zara Gen said, “that the plague is generated by these pieces of amber, one of which was brought to Sarum by Jarmin the Anchorite.” Zara Gen shut his eyes for a second, his face creased with tension. “And the other was found on the person of the Gray Abbot of Pardes.”

  “It was you who attacked Pardes?” Ioana asked, a trace of fear in her voice.

  A confusion of emotions crossed Zara Gen’s face, but he could not find the words to reply.

  Cadman spoke instead. “My suspicions were aroused when it was observed that, of all the people in Sarum, only you priests were unaffected by the plague. Some swift enquiries revealed that the Gray Abbot was the ringleader of what increasingly looks like a Templum plot. My visit here yesterday showed me that there was nothing exceptional you were doing that would ward off contagion. Ipso facto, as they say in Aeterna, your protection from the plague must be altogether more … sinister.”

  “Don’t look too poorly yourself,” Hugues said, patting his stomach and coming to stand with Ioana.

  “Not yet,” Cadman said, “but who knows when my time will come?”

  “You’re no fool, Dr. Cadman,” Ioana’s eyes narrowed. “You know full well this is no ordinary contagion. There are occult forces involved.”

  “You have knowledge of the workings of the plague?” Zara Gen’s hand went to his ponytail.

  “I have started to sense something of its nature. It has more of the feel of pollution than disease.”

  “Pollution from what, Mater?” Zara Gen asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Cadman said, holding up the eye and the fang. “My theory is that those closest to the power of the amber are immune to its negative effects. None from Pardes have grown ill, and it is my contention that another piece of this artifact lies somewhere within the Templum of the Knot.”

  “Perhaps you can explain, Doctor—” Shader eyed Cadman coolly. “—why the Abbey of Pardes was attacked by living corpses.”

  “Creatures that fled before your unsurpassed evil, Deacon Shader. I think we have all seen enough of that on display today.” Cadman gestured towards Gaston. “Mater, I must say I’m surprised to see you permit such violence in front of your templum. Whatever would the Ipsissimus say?”

  “Living corpses?” Maldark stepped alongside Shader, war-hammer grasped firmly in both hands. “Explain thyself, Doctor.”

  Zara Gen shot Cadman an uneasy glance.

  “They were but men.” Cadman shook his head. “I fear our friend Mr. Shader here is attempting the age old Nousian strategy of demonization. What would you say, Mater?”

  “Zara Gen,”—Ioana ignored Cadman—“this is such a sudden turn of e
vents. I know you must have your reasons, but I don’t understand. Give us time to answer these charges, or at least to work out what to do.”

  Zara Gen’s face creased with discomfort. “I’m sorry, Mater. We have to act now.”

  “But you can’t just expect us to pack up and walk away.”

  Zara Gen turned and climbed back into the carriage.

  “This is our home!”

  Cadman draped his arm around Gaston and pulled him close to whisper in his ear. Gaston shook his head and tried to pull away. The fat man took a firmer grip, both hands on Gaston’s shoulders, and fixed him with an intense gaze over the top of his pince-nez. Shader strode towards them and barged into Cadman.

  “Terribly sorry, Doctor,” he said. “I hope you’re not hurt.”

  Cadman made a show of dusting himself down and resituating his pince-nez on his nose. “No, no, I’m perfectly all right, Mr. Shader.” He shot a questioning look at Gaston, who lowered his eyes. “No harm done, eh?”

  Ioana held out a hand and Gaston took it. She pulled him into an embrace and glared daggers at Cadman, who ambled over to the carriage and then turned back to face them.

  “Horses for courses, Mater,” Cadman said, thrusting his hands in his pockets and puffing out his cheeks. And then a little more somberly, “Horses for courses. Well, Gaston, I’m here if you need me.” And with that he clambered inside and the carriage clattered away down the Domus Tyalae.

  Shader stiffened as Gaston broke away from Ioana and walked towards Rhiannon. Her fists were clenched and she kept looking from Agna to Shader. Gaston went down on one knee, looking like he was proposing, but with his head hung in shame. Shader’s hands went to his hips, the skin of his face tightening until he thought it might split.

  “I-I-I don’t deserve to ever be f-f-forgiven for what I’ve done,” Gaston said in a shaky voice. “B-B-But please let me t-t-try to make things right.”

  Rhiannon raised a hand as if to strike him. Her fingers were trembling, her breathing rapid and shallow.

  Gaston flinched and stood, taking a quick step backwards. “I’ll do whatever it t-t-takes. Just tell me what you n-n-need and—

  “Shog you!” Rhiannon shoved him in the chest and stormed into the templum, Soror Agna following close behind like a clucking old hen.

  Gaston turned to Ioana, face flushed and eyes glistening with moisture. “Mater, you said Ain was merciful. Please, tell me what he wants from me.”

  “Maybe he wants you to sod off with your fat friend,” Elias said, standing up in his cart and scribbling away at a notepad. “Actually…” He cocked his head as if he were listening and flung the notepad over his shoulder to land amongst the rest of the junk in the cart. “…that’s exactly what he’s saying right now. ‘Piss off, Gaston, and everyone will feel a whole lot better.’ Wow, what do you think of that? My first mystical colloquy! Praise Ain, I’m saved!”

  “Shut up, Elias,” Shader said, pointing a finger at him and holding it there until the bard threw his hands up and started to fuss around with his instruments.

  Gaston opened his mouth to say something, but the din of scores of horses cantering down the Domus Tyalae averted everyone’s attention. Shader frowned as he recognized Justin Salace riding at the head of the White Order.

  The knights spread out around the front of the templum, nearly forty men, heavily armored and cloaked in pristine white. They each carried a light lance and wore a cavalry saber at the waist. Shader wondered where they’d come by such impressive armaments. He glanced over at Gaston who look dumbfounded.

  “Justin,” Gaston said stepping forward, “what’s going on? Where’d you get this gear?”

  “Thought you knew, man,” Justin said. “It was delivered last night. Thought that’s why you’d gone.”

  Gaston glanced at Shader, looking once more like the lost boy who’d fled the family home. He drew himself up straight and threw his voice so that it would reach all the knights. “Why’d you bring the Order here?”

  “Governor Gen showed up first thing with Dr. Cadman,” Justin said. “Told us all about this amber crap causing the plague. There’s something wrong here, man.” Justin glanced at the templum as if it were the entrance to the Abyss. “Magic, or some shit. Bad magic.”

  “You’ve been fed a bunch of lies, Justin,” Shader said, stepping towards him.

  “Master Shader.” Justin acknowledged him with a curt nod, but continued to address Gaston. “Our orders are to search the templum and everyone here, then escort the priests to Port Sarum and see them off.”

  “You take orders only from me,” Gaston said.

  “I assumed it’s what you’d have done, if you’d been there when the governor came. I thought we were pledged to his service, or have I got it wrong?”

  There was something like belligerence creeping into Justin’s tone. Shader scanned the other knights, trying to read their intentions. He hoped to catch sight of someone he could trust, thought he glimpsed Barek, but the lad’s eyes were cast down.

  “We’ll ride back to the barracks,” Gaston said, “then I’ll discuss the matter with Governor Gen and Dr. Cadman.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Justin said, looking to the knights around him. “The governor couldn’t have been clearer. So come on, man, get your leader head back on and help us carry out his orders. You know it makes sense.”

  There was an expectant silence as all eyes turned upon Gaston. Shader crossed his arms over his chest and prayed, for Gaston’s sake, the lad gave the right answer.

  “We are Nousians first, Justin. I’ve promised to do whatever Ain wills, but I’m not too good at hearing what he has to say.” Gaston cast a wry look in the direction of Elias’s cart. “So I’ve decided to put myself, and the Order, under the authority of Mater Ioana.”

  Justin leaned over the bow of his saddle. “Then you’re shogged, Gaston. Can’t you see this ain’t right? Our own lads grow sick and yet these priests are unaffected. Dr. Cadman is right: it’s the work of the Father of Lies. Never much believed that stuff before, but now it’s starting to make sense. The Demiurgos is prowling around us, man, looking for ways to deceive.” Justin shot an accusing look at Shader.

  Maldark hefted his hammer to his shoulder and moved to stand directly in front of Justin’s horse. “Boy,” he growled, “turn around and get thee hence, or I’ll smite thee, so help me God.”

  God? Shader felt a thrill run up and down his spine. He didn’t know whether to be outraged or intrigued, but now was not the time for either.

  Justin snarled and started to draw his sword. Before the blade was even halfway clear of the scabbard, Maldark swung his hammer over his head and struck the ground. There was a crack like thunder, and stones flew up startling the horses. Justin struggled to keep his saddle, but still managed to bark a command to the knights: “Attack!”

  As Maldark raised his hammer for another blow, Shader drew both his swords and stood alongside him.

  “No!” Ioana shouted, the command in her voice so strong that the knights froze with indecision. “There will be no more fighting. Everyone inside.”

  The priests scurried into the templum with Gaston, Maldark, and Shader reluctantly following. Once they were all in the narthex, Hugues shut and bolted the doors.

  “Will they break in?” Cadris was already beginning to perspire.

  Ioana glared at him before moving to look from a window. “Looks like they’re waiting for something,” she said.

  Shader glanced at Gaston, but then realized the lad probably knew as little as he did. What hold did Cadman have over the Order? And more worryingly, what had made Zara Gen, the only leader in Sahul with any sympathy for Nousians, change so dramatically?

  CADMAN’S COUP

  “Looks like we’ve lost Gaston to the Templum,” Zara Gen said, settling himself into the broad leather chair behind his desk.

  Cadman stroked his mustache idly for a moment before moving to the drinks cabinet.

  “
Master Rayn has his demons to lay to rest,” he said with a pronounced note of cynicism. “Don’t worry, Governor, he’ll be back.” And if he wasn’t, Cadman didn’t really give a damn. Justin Salace might have been an opportunist little runt, but he was ideal for the task in hand. “Can I get you something? Whiskey? Water?” Which looks about all he’s got in here, puritanical nincompoop. Not at all like Councilor Arkin.

  Zara Gen’s brow furrowed, as if he didn’t quite approve of Cadman helping himself. He sighed and leaned back in the chair.

  “Whiskey—a small one, mind. Need to keep a clear head in these matters.” He tugged on his ponytail and grimaced. “You’re sure these pieces are to blame?”

  Cadman unscrewed the cap on the whiskey and filled a glass before handing it to Zara Gen. “Sorry,” he said. “Bit over-zealous with the pouring.”

  Zara Gen accepted it with sigh. “Don’t suppose it’ll hurt this once.” He took a sip that turned into a glug and then waved the glass under Cadman’s nose. “The pieces, Doctor.”

  Cadman topped him up and replaced the bottle.

  “Ah, yes, the pieces. Well, you know the legends as well as I do.” Actually Cadman doubted anyone did after the amount of reading up he’d been doing, but that was the way to talk to politicians: make them feel superior, or at the very least equal. “The Statue of Eingana is shrouded in superstition—Dreamer mumbo-jumbo in the main, but it’s generally supposed to be a force for good.”

  Zara Gen took another swig and leaned forward, eyebrows raised.

  “However,” Cadman said, pausing for effect, “like all such powers, it’s something of a mixed blessing. In the right hands, Eingana is the bringer of life…”

  “And in the wrong?” Zara Gen was getting his point.

  “Absolutely, Governor. It’s the combination of raw, atavistic power with the dubious morality of Aeterna that has led to our problem.”