by D. P. Prior
Sabas was back up, but one of his arms was horribly mangled and he had deep gashes across his chest and face. He clenched a cutlass in a meaty fist.
‘Let me at them!’ he bellowed, prowling towards the stairs.
‘Stay where you are,’ Podesta called over his shoulder as he gutted another mawg. ‘You’re too badly hurt.’
‘Don’t have time to hurt,’ the black man growled. ‘But I’m gonna give them a whole load of hurt for what they did to my Elpidio.’
He pushed past Shader and Podesta and cannoned into the mawgs. The cutlass swept down and a head flew through the air. Sabas drove into the pack like a one man phalanx, heaving and hacking with the fury of a titan. He cut a swath through the mawgs until he set foot on the quarterdeck. Shader ran down beside him, expecting the big man to stop there, but Sabas pressed on into the mass of mawgs still filling the deck. Within seconds they surrounded him and he went down amidst great spouts of crimson blood.
A passage of gore opened up in the scrum of mawgs who’d smothered Sabas. Limbs flew, oily blood sprayed, and the mawgs scattered from the big man’s body. Osric was clearly visibly now—a translucent death-knight defined by the clinging black blood of his foes. The creatures backed away from him, and for a moment Shader thought the tide had turned. Then, the big mawg with the piercings and skulls stepped through their ranks with dark mist rolling from its claws. Osric gusted towards it, but the creature made a clutching, twisting gesture with its hands and a tiny black aperture appeared in the air before Osric. The wraith caught like a sail in a gale, stretching and fluttering towards the black hole. His sword arm was caught by some unimaginable force and corkscrewed into the opening, dragging the rest of him after it. Osric twisted his head, his crimson eyes flaring right at Shader. He held out his free arm as if Shader could catch hold of him and tug him clear, and then even that was gone. The mawg clapped its hands and the black hole vanished along with Osric.
Shader’s knees weakened and he had to steady himself on the banister. He now stood alone at the foot of the steps. He glanced back up at the aftcastle to see Podesta ordering the survivors to take up crossbows and line the railing.
‘Ready the oil, lads!’ the Captain bellowed.
A mawg leapt and Shader stepped back as he impaled it. A thrill ran up his arm from the hilt of the gladius, which had once more started to hum and glow. Heat flooded his veins and cleared his head. It felt as if he’d rested for a week.
He met a vicious claw swipe with the blade and severed the mawg’s arm at the elbow. Two more charged him at the same time and he gave a little ground, retreating to the bottom step. The first mawg snapped out its jaws, but Shader rammed the gladius through the top of its mouth and into its brain. The second lunged at his legs. Shader tripped on the next step as he slashed the mawg across the face and then kicked it back into the pack. He found his feet just in time to meet a clubbing blow from another mawg. Its hand flew over the rails into the sea and torrents of black blood spouted from the stump. Shader ducked under a strike from the remaining hand and buried the gladius in the mawg’s belly. He ripped it clear and slashed across the creature’s neck. Two more mawg’s pounced, and Shader gave up another step.
The thrum of crossbows sounded from above and the mawgs fell, skewered with bolts. A couple more replaced them and Shader retreated again, parrying claws desperately until he was once more on the aftcastle. Podesta joined him and they resumed their position at the top of the steps, cutting down the mawgs in pairs. There was no let up, though. The mawgs just kept coming and Shader was already starting to tire. Podesta looked like an animated corpse. His face had lost all colour and he was spattered with mawg blood. His eyes, though, burned with frenzy. Behind him, the sailors continued to fire into the mass below, but it was like spitting on a bushfire. One man leapt overboard, obviously thinking his chances were better with the sharks than with the mawgs. Another stood by a keg of oil, eyes tracking Podesta, but the Captain showed no indication he was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice yet.
A snarling beast dived at Podesta’s legs and bore him to the ground. Shader spun and stabbed it through the eye, but another came up behind him. He backslashed across its throat, but already others had made it to the aftcastle. Podesta scrambled to his feet and they backed towards the stern. Shader glanced left and right.
‘The oil, Captain?’ he said. ‘If we’re going to do it…’
‘Not yet,’ Podesta said. ‘Not yet.’
A dozen men on either side had thrown down their crossbows and taken up cutlasses. They looked finished, like dead men, but their jaws were set and he knew there was no give in them. The mawgs roared their triumph and swarmed forward. The sailors leapt to meet them, screaming a chilling battle cry. Shader’s blows were weakening as he cut and thrust, twisted and spun back into the wall of fur. A man’s arm fell at Shader’s feet, where the deck was already awash with red blood. He glimpsed Podesta whirling and hacking like a demon. Something struck Shader on the back and he flew towards the gaping mouth of a mawg. He slashed wildly with the sword, missed, but managed to roll out of the way of a sweeping claw. He came up and rammed his blade into the groin of another mawg, wrenched it free and parried a clubbing forearm.
Shader felt a strange calmness. He moved with speed and efficiency, but it was as if everything had slowed down and taken on a dreamlike quality. This was it, his final moment on earth. This was how it was to end, and yet he fought on as if he didn’t have a care in the world. It was a hazy game, a practice bout, maybe even someone else’s nightmare, but part of him retained its grip on reality; part of him knew that this could only end one way. He risked a glance at the sailor by the oil keg.
Amber light flooded the deck and Shader shielded his eyes from its brightness. The mawgs started screeching and thrashing the air. They lumbered about the aftcastle, some stumbling down the steps. A savage roar sounded from the quarterdeck and Shader peered over the rail to see the big mawg with the bone piercings pointing off the bow and gesturing for the pack to follow. As the mawgs started pouring down the steps, Shader squinted out to sea where the small ship he’d seen had taken up a position between the reavers and the Templum fleet. Someone stood before its single mast holding aloft a blazing amber object. Podesta handed Shader the spyglass and once he’d got it focused he gasped with recognition. It was Maldark the Fallen, armoured in banded mail, grey hair and beard streaming in the gusting wind. He held his war-hammer aloft, its stone head shining with the radiance of the sun.
The mawgs started leaping into the sea and swimming towards the dwarf’s boat. The same was happening on all the reavers: the mawgs were piling into the water, and soon the sea was a mass of dark shapes converging on Maldark.
‘What the shog are they doing now?’ Cleto growled.
Shader couldn’t take his eyes off the scene. A remote part of his mind registered that Cleto was still alive, a fact that didn’t surprise him in the slightest.
The mawgs streaked towards the little boat in a tide of slick fur. As the first claws raked against the hull and mawgs started dragging themselves aboard, the blaze from Maldark’s hammer burst across the waves. Flames scorched the swimming mawgs, who screeched and dived below the surface, but to no avail. The water may as well have been oil fuelling the fire. Shader looked away, blinking against the flash-blindness. When he looked back, ash coated the sea around Maldark’s boat. Hundreds of mawgs had simply been incinerated, but those at the rear were surrounded by a greenish glow emanating from the big mawg with the bone necklace. Under the shaman’s protection they were still battling the waves in a ragged semicircle.
The dwarf had his back to the mast and nearly fell. He took a step forward and tried to lift the hammer again, but he dropped to his knees with the effort. He looked up as the air above him ripped open. An icy thrill ran up Shader’s spine as he recognized the cobalt skies he’d glimpsed during the mawg ritual on the Anglesh Isles. It seemed as if a blue veil had been rent to reveal a separate real
ity behind. Maldark’s body sagged with what looked like resignation as a gigantic black hand pushed through the aperture and swooped towards him. Dark fingers curled around the dwarf, dragged him away from the hammer. Shader wanted to shout a warning as the mawgs closed in on the boat. He entertained vague ideas of stripping off his armour and flinging himself into the sea to go to Maldark’s aid, but he did nothing. There was nothing he could do. Half a dozen mawgs dragged themselves dripping onto the boat. The shaman went for the hammer, while the others yelped as the giant fingers uncurled and offered the dwarf to their frenzy.
Do something! Shader urged. Stand and fight!
The shaman raised the hammer as cobalt swirls formed a sphere above. Amber scintillated from the head of the hammer for an instant, then sputtered and died. The shaman barked at the other mawgs who howled and tore into Maldark, smothering him beneath a mass of fur.
Shader couldn’t even shut his eyes as the blood began to spray and the hammer burst into crimson flame. The sphere swelled into a vast rent in the sky, and the grey-clad figure appeared once more, reaching forward from his metal throne, fingers curling around the haft of Maldark’s hammer.
THE GREAT WORK
Sektis Gandaw opened his eyes and allowed himself the barest of smiles at the war-hammer lying across his lap. Electrodes withdrew from his skull in quick succession, the wires retracting into the centre of the array above the projection seat. He frowned, but only ever so slightly, as the skin punctures ringing his head like the marks of a thorny crown tightened and then sealed with a fresh dermal layer. He withdrew his hand from the black gauntlet and stood—a little too soon. Giddiness swamped him and he half fell, clutching the arm of the chair for support. A hundred needles pricked his skin, restoring equilibrium, and he sucked in a long, deep breath.
He flinched as something twitched in his peripheral vision. The sedatives calmed him even before he could berate himself; it was nothing but the holographic black hand upon its tray, extending and flexing its phalanges. He punched a sequence of buttons and the hand flickered away.
The hammer-head was still warm from the transition, and Sektis Gandaw felt an uncharacteristic thrill as he caressed it. He was almost disappointed when chemicals flooded his arteries to return him to homeostasis. Curling his fingers around the haft, he felt the whir of circuits in his exoskeleton that enabled him to lift it as if it were a feather. He strode to a circular section of floor, which detached itself and bore him down to the ground level.
Mephesch was checking the connections on the body of the serpent statue. It was mounted upon a pedestal and wired into the nerve centre of the symmetrical mountain. Microfilaments were attached to every inch of the statue, like the tendrils of a luminescent anemone.
‘Not the piece I was after,’ Sektis Gandaw said, ‘but a fortunate find in any case. You were right about the Arnochian granite blocking our sensors. The recalibration worked perfectly. Now let’s just hope we weren’t deceived. These dwarves are as cunning as…’ He wanted to say ‘your lot,’ but thought better of it. Nevertheless, it was true. After all, had he not augmented his original dwarves with the genes of the homunculi?
He handed Mephesch the hammer. The homunculus staggered under the weight and then set it down at the foot of the pedestal.
‘At least now we can now account for all five pieces,’ Sektis Gandaw said.
One was definitely amongst the Templum fleet that had set sail from Latia. The Kryeh had detected its power, and with the acquisition of the body of the statue, Sektis Gandaw had been able to maintain a trace through his network of spies in the sky.
Mephesch rubbed his hands together and cocked his head.
‘Is it ready?’ Sektis Gandaw asked, stooping to inspect the panel displays around the base of the pedestal.
‘We have limited control,’ Mephesch said. ‘If a piece of the statue really is concealed within the hammer it should reveal itself to the body.’
Sektis Gandaw nodded, his eyes flicking from the hammer to the serpent statue’s gaping mouth. ‘Proceed,’ he said, stepping back and stroking his chin.
Mephesch tapped the screen on his vambrace and then threw a switch set into the pedestal. There was a waft of ozone, followed by a low drone. The microfilaments surrounding Eingana’s petrified body started to dance with multi-coloured lights, and then the black stone of the statue began to shimmer. Amber radiance burned away the black until the statue shone with its brilliance. Sektis Gandaw’s optics darkened against the glare, and he watched in satisfaction as Maldark’s hammer began to pulse and glow in response. The top of the hammer-head rippled like water, and a shard of amber began to emerge. A ray of golden light shot from the mouth of the statue to connect with the shard, coaxing it free from concealment.
It was a fang, Sektis Gandaw observed. His second piece of the Statue of Eingana. It travelled along its beam of light until it hovered in the serpent’s maw. The sinuous body writhed and the mouth snapped closed. When it opened again, the fang was embedded in the upper gum. The serpent coiled and twisted, and then grew still as if suddenly fossilised. Mephesch flicked the switch and the droning died down. The amber radiance around the statue pulsed a couple of times and then winked out, leaving dull black stone in its wake.
‘Good,’ Sektis Gandaw said. ‘One step closer.’
Mephesch lifted his black eyes to meet Sektis Gandaw’s. His lips parted like a gash, curling upwards at the edges in a smile.
Sektis Gandaw didn’t like that look; didn’t trust it. But no matter, he thought, Mephesch was proving his usefulness, but it was a usefulness that would ultimately lead to his own demise, along with that of everything else in the imperfect universe.
‘I’ll be in my chambers,’ Sektis Gandaw said, instructing the floor disk to rise. ‘The slightest glimmer from the other pieces, call me.’
Mephesch nodded as Sektis Gandaw was borne to the very top level of the mountain.
The disk set him down on a narrow walkway flanked by an army of sentroids. The spherical robots beeped and flashed as he passed them, scanning his vital signs and then standing down when they perceived no threat. They guarded the only way into his quarters, which were inaccessible from the outside. A thousand feet above ground level and shielded by fifty feet of scarolite. The only way into the mountain was from below, and even he wouldn’t want to set foot in the passageways down there. If he wanted to get out, he could, but it would involve exterminating the aberrations he’d left roaming the lower levels. That would be a waste, though. Not only did the monsters he’d created over the centuries serve as a deterrent to would-be intruders, but there seemed little point eradicating them when he had no intention of venturing outside. It was utter chaos out there. At least in the mountain he had absolute control. Outside it was all so random, so many ungovernable factors that further evidenced the blindness of creation. Inside, Sektis Gandaw was the sole architect of everything that happened. There was no dissent. It was a microcosm of all he intended to create.
He paused outside the shimmering black door of his study and tapped in the code. The door slid open and he stepped inside. Two Sentroids descended and he stood still as they scanned him. The door hissed shut and the Sentroids spun off to take up new positions either side of it.
He tapped out a sequence on his vambrace and a dazzling display of numbers and geometric shapes sprang into the air, whirling, dancing, gyrating. Arcs upon arcs, circles within circles; squares, lines, dots and digits, all held in perfect balance. It was a visual symphony of perfect harmony, the blueprint of the life to come, the promise of the future world.
A stool spiralled its way up from the floor and Sektis Gandaw sat upon it with a satisfied sigh. One step closer. Even after all these centuries the desire burned strong. It was the only desire remaining to him, and that’s as it should be, he reminded himself. Once you have everything, you have no need for anything else.
He was close. Closer than he’d been in centuries. The dwarf, Maldark, was out of the wa
y, so there’d be no repeat of what happened the last time he’d harnessed the power of Eingana.
The idiot who had two of the other pieces of the statue had gone quiet. At first their power had been used carelessly and Sektis Gandaw had drawn near. The other piece was with the Templum fleet, on its way to Sahul. The mawgs had been decimated by Maldark’s attack and would never be able to take it from so strong a force.
Think, he told himself. Reason. Three pieces so close together, so close he could almost touch them. Maybe he didn’t have to do anything. After all, the wheels had already been set in motion. Armies were gathering in the vicinity of Sarum, presumably in response to the recent uses of the statue. War was coming, of that you could be certain. From what he had observed of Sahulian Emperors, there was no way a Templum force was going to be tolerated on their soil. Conflict was bound to arise, and conflict leads to desperation. Desperate men make mistakes, Sektis Gandaw reasoned, and he’d be watching, biding his time. He’d waited this long; he’d mastered the art of patience. Nothing good came quickly. He could wait as long as it took. After all, he was Sektis Gandaw, the Technocrat; the Übermensch they’d called him during his rise to power on Earth. The over-man. They couldn’t have been more right. Man was nothing more than a beast, the biological bi-product of chemical reactions and random fluctuations. Nothing but an ape, and yet to most men the idea was seldom entertained. To think of themselves as apes was preposterous; but no matter how much higher they considered themselves than primates, humans were always bound to their intrinsic flaws, their status as brutes. The Übermensch, though, he was something more. He wasn’t just a development of man, he was over and above him. Humanity was a pitiful laughing stock to him. The Übermensch was lord of his own destiny; he was self-made; there was nothing he couldn’t do. They had known that and disapproved. Monkeys withholding their consent from a god.
