by Mike Wild
The feel of the control panel much more familiar now, the magnets moving at her whim, Kali began to concentrate instead on the panel, which seemed to have warmed beneath her hands, so much so that she could feel the flesh of her palms beginning to tingle. Then she realised that it wasn’t heat that was causing the sensation but the softest of magnetic pressures being emitted by the metal. As she moved her palms across its entire surface once more it was like moving them over a series of small, invisible hills and valleys – a miniature topography made of magnetism.
That was it!
Eager now, Kali placed her palms above the three spots that represented the positions of the Engines and there felt peaks of magnetic push far sharper than elsewhere on the etched map. As she began to gently manipulate them they actually began to soften in their resistance and began to move.
I have you now.
It would take a good deal of concentration and dexterity but, in theory, she should be able to move the Engines anywhere she wanted.
Kali set to work.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KALI MADE THE rendezvous that evening, helped along by three jumps from Horse, the last of which brought them atop an escarpment overlooking the dark border of the Sardenne. The forest stretched to the west and east as far as the eye could see, as did, about half a league back, the Final Faith cordon. Dotted by campfires along its vast length, it was as yet impossible to make out the individual figures waiting around them, but the numbers involved were staggering. Bolstered now by legions from both the Vossian and Pontaine militaries, the force represented the first time the two armies had come together since the Great War, and the first time ever that they had done so in peace. It was a reflection of the seriousness of the threat they faced. As Kali watched them from on high she felt almost like a party pooper knowing she had to tell them they had no choice but to stay their arms.
Her gaze rose into the azure twilight. As massive as the cordon was, the escarpment afforded a ringside view of something even more daunting – something now utterly unavoidable. The thick pillar of souls rising from deep within the Sardenne was now twice the height it had been when Kali had last seen it. A vertical maelstrom that swirled endlessly and chaotically and, whether it was her imagination or not, seemed to scream out at the darkening sky. Maybe the poor souls trapped within sensed their time was coming, Kali thought, because the pillar appeared, from her perspective, to be already piercing the outer layers of Kerberos, actually making contact with the gas giant itself. It wasn’t – yet – but at the rate the pillar was growing she reckoned she’d been more or less bang on with the deadline she’d estimated.
Tomorrow was when it would happen.
Kali bit her lip and spurred Horse gently on, walking him down the hillside and to the perimeter of the central camp. Two Faith guards nodded in acknowledgement and parted to let her pass. She tethered Horse near a gathering of tents, clustered around a crackling campfire. A few acolytes were clustered around the fire, where Slowhand was fleecing them in a game of quagmire. By the look of his upturned cards, the archer had just stymied his opponents with a five-card plop and was raking in a handful of silver tenths.
“Hooper, how you doing?” He said casually as she approached. He nodded to the acolytes, a request for privacy, and they left shaking their heads and pulling less than pious faces.
“Oh, you know. Been introducing the pure of heart to the evils of gambling?”
Slowhand inclined his head to the east. “Didn’t fancy a walk in the woods.”
“Understandable.” Kali sat herself down beside him and cracked open a bottle of thwack from her backpack, downing two thirds of it and heaving sigh.
“Introducing the pure of heart to the evils of drink?” Slowhand countered.
“Nope. It’s all mine.”
Slowhand smiled.
“Besides, there’s no such thing as evil drink, only evil empty bottles.” She took another swig and then upturned the one in her hand, scowling. “See.”
“Rough couple of days?”
Kali shrugged. “No more than usual. Discovered Bastian Redigor is an elf, travelled a few thousand years into the past, give or take a teatime, almost got sliced apart by spectral hags, and then nearly turned into a doily by magnets the size of farking mountains.”
“Right.”
“Oh, and I had a kebab.”
“Ooooh. There’s that death wish again. But I take it the elf thing is what I should be paying attention to?”
Kali nodded. “I need to talk to the others.”
“Well, Freel’s patrolling the camp. Fitch is off somewhere, avoiding me. And Dez – sorry, Gabriella – is in her tent. I think she’s... you know, the thing with the hands.”
“Praying?”
“That’s the one.”
“For once, it might not do any harm. Which tent is she in?”
“The one behind you,” DeZantez said. She was folding up a shnarlskin prayer mat as she exited, appearing casual, but by the look of her Kali had risen in her estimation for having returned. “Did I hear you say something about an elf?”
Kali stood. “I think you’d better get your people together.”
Gabriella studied her, then nodded.
A few minutes later she, Freel, General McIntee, Fitch and assorted other senior officers were gathered in war council, listening to what Kali had to say. The relief of the magic users following their realisation that magic was, as it were, back on line, dissipated when Kali told them what she had discovered. There was almost universal silence, the only person to speak Gabriella DeZantez. And perhaps because what she heard conflicted so much with her own faith – everything she believed about the sanctity of souls and Kerberos – the only word she was able to utter was an incredulous, “What?”
“The return of the Ur’Raney,” Kali said. “It’s what the Pillar of Souls is for. To act as a conduit between Twilight and Kerberos, allowing the exchange of the human souls Redigor has taken with those of his dead elves. One for one, every one of his subjects reincarnated, right here, as an army, in the bodies of the soul-stripped.”
“The bodies of farmers and their wives, their children?” General McIntee said doubtfully. “I do not see how they could pose much of a threat.”
“I seem to remember them being pretty threatening under your cathedral,” Slowhand countered. “To say nothing of the shit that’s been hitting the fan everywhere else.”
“Actually, the general’s partly right, ’Liam. When the Ur’Raney inhabit the soul-stripped they will be alive again, and physically vulnerable as a result. But it’s my guess that during whatever ritual Redigor is going to conduct he’ll also transfer some of the physical essence of the Ur’Raney to alter the hosts.” She turned to McIntee. “If I’m right, General, they’ll be transformed, and you won’t be facing farmers, their wives and their children, you’ll be facing thousands of elven biomorphs.”
“That’s the bit I don’t get,” Slowhand said. “This necropolis you mentioned. It’s got to be just bursting with pointy-eared stiffs, yes? So why doesn’t Redigor just ‘ritualise’ the Ur’Raney back into their old bodies?”
“That, I don’t know,” Kali admitted. “Maybe it’s just been too long.”
Freel took a pensive breath. “You called them Redigor’s ‘subjects,’” he said. “Are you saying Redigor was some kind of elven king?”
“King, no. Lord, yes. The elves had no monarchy as such. What they did have were elven ‘families’ or courts – the Ur’Raney, Pras’Tir, Var’Karish and others – each autonomous but led by their Lord and twelve lieutenants who made up a kind of high council called the rannaat.”
“Coincidence?” Gabriella pointed out. “The Anointed Lord and the other dignitaries who were taken by the soul-stripped?”
Kali nodded. “I think Redigor has them marked as hosts for his lieutenants.”
“Except thirteen were taken,” Freel pointed out. “Thirteen, not twelve.”
“Yes, wel
l,” Kali said slowly.
She had her own theory on that particular discrepancy and her mind flashed back to the portrait in Redigor’s tower. Makennon’s resemblance to his one time mu’sah’rin must have seemed to him to be a gift from the gods or, at least, his gods.
Because, at one and the same time, the ‘First Enemy’ had the opportunity to behead the Final Faith of its leader and humiliate them in a way only the Ur’Raney knew how. The effort of reactivating the Engines of the Apocalypse might have been worth it to him for that alone.
“I think I can explain that,” Kali continued carefully, considering the loyalties and sensitivities of the company she was in. “The Ur’Raney had little respect for the females of their court and I don’t think Makennon has been taken to be one of his lieutenants.”
“Then what?” Fitch queried.
“It’s... difficult to explain. Mu’sah’rin. A kind of... submissive partner.”
Slowhand almost coughed up his tonsils.
“Sorry,” he said, after a moment.
The reactions from the others varied slightly. Freel took a second, then nodded. Fitch turned away to stare into the trees. Gabriella flared with anger and embarrassment. The only vocal reaction came from General McIntee.
“We order the advance immediately,” he growled. “End this now.”
“You can’t,” Kali said.
McIntee looked to the west and east, nodding to the ranks of soldiers and Swords of Dawn, and the mages amongst them. In an ever extending line in both directions, weapons were drawn and determined fists flared with fire, lightning and ice. “Oh, young lady, I assure you, we can.”
“No!” Kali persisted, slapping a palm solidly on his chest as he moved to lead them. “That isn’t what I mean.”
The general halted, glaring. Freel stepped in to draw Kali’s hand from his heaving chest, defusing the confrontation. “What do you mean, Miss Hooper?” He asked.
“Think about it, Freel,” Kali said. “All along we’ve been assuming the soul-stripped are lost to us, dead, but if Redigor plans to use them as hosts for the souls of the Ur’Raney, there may be a way we can return the souls of our own people to their bodies.”
Gabriella stared at the pillar of souls, thrusting into the night sky. “She’s right, Enforcer. They haven’t reached Kerberos yet.”
Freel looked helplessly between the two women.
“Bring them back? Is such a thing possible?”
“Obviously Redigor thinks so,” Kali said. “Right at this moment those soul-stripped are as much hostages as they are threat. Could you live with yourself if you at least didn’t try to save them?”
“Madness,” McIntee growled. “This might be our only chance!”
“You know what?” Kali shouted. “He’s right. If Redigor manages to get his people into those bodies, they are going to march from the Sardenne and they are going to absolutely kick your arse. They drove an entire dwarven subrace to the point of extinction, for fark’s sake. Clan Martak was helpless, utterly defeated, yet still they routed them, massacred them, drove those they couldn’t kill into the sea to drown. Freel, your predecessor Munch himself told me – and believe me, that little bastard wasn’t averse to a bit of carnage himself – they just never stop.”
“We will hold them,” McIntee insisted.
Kali slapped his chest again. “Are you listening to me? These elves were an Old Race who enjoyed rape, torture, pillage – even amongst their own kind. They sacrificed every tenth newborn to Yartresnika, their god of destruction. They added blood to their wine to make it tastier. Are you forgetting what happened when your lot first encountered The First Enemy? All you faced then was just one man. What happens when Redigor brings his friends to the party, eh? Thousands of them?”
“You seem to have defeated your own argument,” Freel pointed out.
Kali shook her head. “Only if they’re not stopped. Freel, let me ask you again – do you really want to slaughter thousands of your own, innocent people if it isn’t necessary? Give me a chance.”
“The girl was enlisted to shut down the Engines,” McIntee said. “She’s done that. Send her home.”
“I was also ‘enlisted’ to save Makennon,” Kali reminded him. “Let me try to do that. And the soul-stripped, too.”
One at a time, Freel stared them in the eyes. His gaze, however settled on Kali.
“What if you fail?”
Kali faltered, swallowed. “Then you’d better hope your general here is as good as he thinks he is...”
“At least,” Gabriella added after a moment, “you won’t have the blood of your own on your hands.”
Freel let out an exasperated sigh. The lives of thousands hung in the balance.
“What do you propose we do?”
“We go in as a strike team to find Makennon as planned. But with fifty mages and some Swords of Dawn, the best you have, as support. And while we’re there, we do as much damage as possible to Redigor’s ritual. Hopefully enough.”
“Any ideas how?”
“One, but it’s a long shot. I tend to work on the hoof.”
Freel turned to Slowhand, the beginnings of an actual smile playing on his lips. “I heard a good way to deal with resurrectionists is to put an arrow in their head.”
“Damn right,” Kali and Slowhand said at the same time.
“There is one problem we still haven’t resolved,” Gabriella said. “If Fitch is right about the Pale Lord’s eyes being everywhere, how do we bypass the soul-stripped?”
“With eyes of our own,” Freel said. “I’ve already adapted an Eye of the Lord to make a low level reconnaissance and determine a safe, or at least safer, route through them.”
“But wouldn’t the Pale Lord still detect its presence?”
“I’m gambling his eyes can’t be everywhere at once. There has to be some kind of trigger that opens them. Something alive, for example.”
Kali nodded at Gabriella. “Makes sense. When can you send it in?”
“Right now. But before I do...”
Freel turned back to General McIntee, who seemed to have taken the reality of the situation facing his forces a little more on board. “Keep your people here,” he instructed. “If this doesn’t work, if we don’t come back... just... do what you can do.”
McIntee swallowed, and nodded. “Good luck, Sir.” He turned to Kali, Slowhand, DeZantez – even Fitch. “Good luck to all of you.”
The war council disbanded. Freel moved off to despatch the Eye of the Lord and, knowing once more that it would take some time to report its findings, to personally assign the mages and Swords Kali had requested. Slowhand decided to use the hiatus to fletch more of his special arrows and settled himself back before the campfire. Kali and Gabriella took up positions on the other side of the flames, giving him the room he needed to work. They sat in silence for a while, the Enlightened One regarding Kali carefully before she spoke.
“Why do you do it? What you do?”
Kali prodded the fire with her gutting knife, a fresh flare of flame illuminating her face. “What? You mean rub people up the wrong way?”
Gabriella smiled. “You know what I mean. Spend your life digging around in the dirt, trying to learn what’s gone?”
“You admit finally that I was just looking for the Deathclaws? That I had nothing to do with the Engines?”
“Oh, I think you’re pretty much off the hook. So why?”
Not so long ago Kali would have said to find out what happened to the Old Races. She hadn’t yet even shared it with her friends, and she certainly wasn’t ready to share it with DeZantez, but her goals had changed – to find out what had killed them, yes, but now also to find out what ‘the Darkness’ was.
“Urm, because they were there?” She said.
“And now they’re not?”
“That’s right. It’s important I find out why.”
Gabriella nodded, poked the fire again. “Did they leave much behind?”
Ka
li shrugged. “It varies from site to site. Most are empty shells, stripped by tomb raiders down the years, or by your mob, if they manage to beat me somewhere. But you’re one of them, you should know that.”
“I tend to avoid that side of the Faith’s affairs. They... don’t sit well with me.”
Kali raised her eyebrows. She remembered their meeting outside Solnos, how she had felt that DeZantez was a lot like herself – following a calling, doing good, trying to help – but that somehow the world had changed beyond her control.
“The more inaccessible sites offer the occasional trinket,” she continued. “And, every now and then, there’s a special site that delivers something like the Deathclaws. Also those that promise much but usually – when you’ve worked your arse off for days trying to get into the thing – deliver bugger all. The Lost City of Fff, for one.”
“The Lost City of Fff? You’re making that up.”
“I promise you, I’m not. Learned about it from the Followers of Fff at their annual Faff. Should have known better than to listen to people who Faff.” Kali shook her head. “Treasures undreamed of, they told me...”
“And what did you find?”
“A chest full to the brim with crap.”
Gabriella laughed, an actually quite embarrassing bass, guttural bellow, but the first genuine humour Kali had seen the Enlightened One display. Clearly, she needed the release that a little laughter brought but it soon faded, her smile dwindling until she wore her impenetrable mask of introspection once more. Her guard seemed to have lowered somewhat, though, and Kali couldn’t resist asking the question that had been bothering her almost since they had met.
“The graveyard in Solnos,” she said. “It’s obvious you’re not from the town but I got the impression there was –”
