God of Night

by Tom Lloyd

  Last of all he slipped on the white leather mask he’d had made to cover half of his face. It had been useful at first to keep bandages in place, but quickly Bade had found people didn’t argue much with a masked man. Hiding the burns from curious and horrified eyes became a secondary concern as he healed slowly.

  Bade remembered little from that day in Jarrazir. From the moment that madwoman Toil had blown them all up. After escaping the arena he’d staggered through the retreating troops, babbling like a madman and incoherent with pain. Some Torquen officer had recognised him, Bade thought, and had his troops sweep the burned lunatic up until his injuries could be tended to.

  The Exalted was waiting in the small hall directly outside his cell. Normally there were at least a few men and women there. Ten cells led onto it and drew their heat from the fire there, but clearly the sight of the Exalted had frightened those other convalescents away. The table in the hall was bare, the chairs arranged haphazardly around it.

  ‘Am I going to need my coat?’ he asked, holding up the leather fleece-lined jacket.

  ‘A cloak will do,’ she replied. ‘The day is not cold. Is your face cold?’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Only you seem to have a little something on it. Or is it purely aesthetic?’

  ‘Aesthetic? Oh aye,’ Bade growled. ‘You want one? Come over to the fire and we’ll sort you out.’

  He gave her a proper long look. Her accent said she’d been born or raised in the north, though she was squat with dark frizzy hair that spoke of a different heritage. Her uniform was pristine, as he’d expect from any officer attending the Lord-Exalted, but the way she carried herself suggested the appointment wasn’t just ceremonial. The Exalted of the Torquen were senior officers and many commanded elite units, but he’d been told they were bureaucrats instead of warriors round here.

  ‘What was your name again? Or don’t I need to remember it?’

  ‘Olebeis,’ she said with the slow pronunciation of someone talking to a child. ‘I think you will remember it well enough in time.’

  He blinked at her. ‘Seriously? You’re my new liaison? Bit young and green around the ears for the Pentaketh regiment ain’t you?’

  The Pentaketh regiment was the Torquen’s division of irregulars, men like Bade with useful skills who’d never fit in the normal structure of the Order. In some parts they might be considered troublemakers who required an experienced hand, not some idiot child.

  The comment didn’t appear to rile Olebeis. ‘My age is no concern of yours, old man.’

  Shattered gods, mebbe I’ve got a live one here. Praise be to Insar or whoever else was involved. He faltered as his memory of the dream loomed but Bade forced it down again.

  ‘True, I don’t give two shits about your age. Whether you drink on the other hand, that’s more important. Brandy?’

  She shook her head. ‘You’ve had enough for now. You don’t want to be late for your appointment.’

  ‘With the big man?’

  She gave a curt nod. ‘I’d say clean yourself up first, but it seems that is as clean as you get. I’m aware Pentaketh troops tend to be somewhat grubby in body and soul.’

  ‘You won’t mind me scratching my balls then. That’s good to hear.’

  Bade limped to the corner where his cloak hung. Something in his knee hadn’t healed right after the explosion in Jarrazir either, but he was content to put that down to age and just blame the burns on Toil.

  ‘If it gets annoying, I can always have you fixed,’ Olebeis said. ‘His Lordship’s master of hounds is rather deft with a knife I’m told.’

  Bade pulled his cloak around his shoulders and fetched up the walking stick he’d been using, three feet of gnarled oak almost black with age. He considered responding to her suggestion as he steadied himself but couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t rising to the bait.

  ‘We’re going to the palace? Normally the likes of me gets summoned to a back room somewhere.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Palace?’

  ‘Oh right yeah, your boss doesn’t like it called that. You young folk, all keen and precise, eh? Coldest night, just looking at you makes me feel old.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the ladies.’

  That made him smile at last. ‘More an’ more these days. Get the door then.’

  ‘I’m not your servant, old man. You’ll be working for me, remember?’

  ‘Breath o’ Banesh, and there was me just starting to like you too.’

  Bade laboured over to the door while Olebeis watched – a fixed little smile on her face. Maybe she was regretting that small pettiness, maybe she was actually the sort of vicious little zealot he expected to see round here.

  Or mebbe a bit o’ both. Would that be a good thing or the worst o’ both worlds?

  He headed through the door and made an extravagant gesture for her to follow. ‘I’ve had a few liaisons over the years,’ he added as she headed into the tall flagstone corridor beyond. ‘Some last longer than others.’

  ‘Nothing more tragic than an old man boasting,’ she replied. ‘Keep the sordid details of your past where they belong, Sotorian Bade.’

  ‘My last one now, Exalted Kastelian, he was a good one,’ he said, ignoring her as they went towards the main courtyard. ‘Pious and the like, a good son o’ the Order, but he had some basic decency too. Man knew that not everyone was of the faith. That some of us didn’t need to be preached at or kept to Temple-Militant standards.’

  ‘Your point?’

  ‘That the converts were the worst zealots – and they lasted the shortest time.’

  ‘Is that a threat, Sotorian Bade?’

  There was an edge to her voice, but it was cautioning rather than angry.

  ‘Nah, just an observation. The Pentaketh regiment are irregulars for a reason. Our world’s a grubby one so, if you ain’t willing to lie down in the dirt, well …’

  ‘Yes?’

  He laughed. ‘Then some fucker might shoot you for being the only stupid bastard still standing. That happened once – it was the funniest thing for the rest of us.’

  She stopped. ‘Interesting that you think me a convert.’

  ‘Well you’re hardly the usual sort of bastard round here, even less compared to all the Torquen I’ve ever met. Foundlings tend to go into infantry and you’re too young to have been drafted in on merit then promoted.’

  ‘Indeed. Does that tell you something, perhaps?’

  ‘Tells me nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing for certain.’

  ‘Maybe there’s hope for you after all.’

  She led the way in silence through an arch of mage-carved stone into the lesser cloister and on to the monastery’s bustling courtyard. Bade scowled at the light as he followed, and he pinched the ends of his cloak together against the breeze. It might be summer here but the northern wind still had an edge.

  The robes were an austere black; senior figures made obvious by their white hoods. Those who noticed their passing were careful not to stare at the unusual presence of an Exalted, Bade noticed. Olebeis walked straight out of the gate, nodding as the porter touched the brim of his hood. Bade hurried along as best he could.

  The street was cobbled, the buildings on either side low affairs with their slate roofs hanging forward like furrowed brows. The narrow towers and great dome of the temple stood tall over the city. Even the Lord-Exalted’s not-a-palace kept a respectful foot or so below the highest dome. The more civilian parts of the city were modest – a wide range of craftsmen serviced both the monasteries and the valley beyond, but few merchants and no noble houses.

  They crossed a bend of the narrow river that wound through the city and reached the walled perimeter of the Halls of Congregation, the various administrative blocks that served as the hub for all Torquen activities. At their heart was the Holy Office of the Congregation, which looked very much like it should be called the Palace of the Exalted, but definitely wasn’t.

  The average Ex
alted wasn’t welcome there without an invite, or so Bade had heard. Certainly the clerks in red Torquen collars steered well clear of the palatial structure that boasted a glass-roofed dome at its heart where the Lord-Exalted might privately worship his god under Insar’s cold light.

  The not-palace itself was a three-storey block of ornately mage-carved stone, tall glass windows and a jutting prow of a balcony above the great beaten-metal doors. Silvery-grey, those depicted the same images as the huge statues at the high pass while busts of past Knights-Charnel occupied seven or eight alcoves in the wall. There were armed dragoons on the door despite the greater compound already being well guarded. Rarely had he seen dragoons with such polished boots, pristine uniforms or shining gun barrels. The undisguised suspicion they eyed him with was more familiar, however. He guessed they weren’t strangers to the real world. That they let Olebeis and Bade pass without challenge told its own story.

  In the grand entrance hall there was a huge white statue of Insar, picked out in gold. Or rather an acceptably human version of Insar compared to the one or two Duegar versions he’d seen. There were lesser statues of the other gods without the same scale or adornment, but what caught Bade’s eye was the secondary tier of pieces on show. Behind a row of three pillars on either side was a short gallery of recessed spaces. Each one displayed a Duegar artefact. He stopped dead at the sight of one and turned that way, leaving Olebeis to walk on a few paces until she noticed.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Olebeis called.

  ‘Nothing,’ Bade replied, pointing. ‘I’ve just seen that one before.’

  She joined him and followed his gaze. ‘Ah, one of yours is it?’

  ‘Yup.’

  The piece in question was a stone-sided sarcophagus, perched at a forty-five-degree angle to present visitors with the upper face of green-tinted glass. There was no body inside of course, not after thousands of years, but the ceremonial armour had been fixed in place to represent where the dead Duegar would have lain.

  Bade coughed, waking himself from his memories. ‘Cleans up okay,’ he croaked. ‘Better’n when I saw it last.’

  ‘Then why have you paled?’ Olebeis asked. ‘You look like someone’s just walked over your grave.’

  ‘None o’ your damn business,’ he snapped.

  ‘Everything is my business. Haven’t you realised that yet?’

  Bade scowled at her. ‘Then fucking figure it out yerself.’

  Instead of getting angry, Olebeis turned thoughtful. She faced the sarcophagus and considered the point.

  ‘The jewel of Shal-io-Sakuet,’ Olebeis intoned as though reading off a plaque. ‘Last resting place of a renowned Duegar mage-king, discovered by Sotorian Bade and removed by the Coritis Antiquities Corps. Once contained several God Fragments as part of the funerary treasures, a necklace of five pieces of Ulfer’s mortal form. Also notable for the unparalleled quality and condition of the tomb artwork, several mage-artefacts and gems in addition to the ceremonial headdresses. Sold to the Order by their discoverer.’

  ‘Bit of a fan of mine, eh?’ Bade asked, recovering himself.

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said, ‘but the Torquen hold jurisdiction over several fields – some practical, others historical.’

  ‘I’m historic am I?’

  ‘Mostly just old.’ She paused. ‘Ah, how foolish of me. Of course.’

  ‘Worked it out then?’

  Olebeis nodded. ‘Lord Insar’s hand is ever subtle,’ she intoned. ‘Our faith demands we see the clues offered by our god. The woman from Jarrazir – your report mentioned she was a survivor of that first expedition.’

  ‘The Sakuet Shaft, aye.’

  Olebeis wrinkled her nose at the name most relic hunters used for Shal-io-Sakuet, a large Duegar ruin to the south-west. Bade guessed she had to resist the urge to correct him.

  ‘You see a warning in the placement of this artefact?’ she asked.

  ‘Hah, sure – let’s look at some chicken entrails next, just to confirm matters.’

  ‘What, then?’

  Bade shrugged, then winced at the effect of that on his unhealed skin. ‘Just a reminder,’ he muttered. ‘She an’ I got unfinished business.’

  ‘As does she and the Order,’ Olebeis said. ‘There may yet be a reckoning between you.’

  ‘Will I get that chance?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘Perhaps. Her name and description have gone out to the networks. Whichever city-state she works for, either we will catch her or she’ll move against us again.’

  Bade stiffened. ‘Is that why I’m meeting the Lord-Exalted?’ Suddenly he could taste the mission, the hunting of a hellcat.

  ‘It is not,’ she said. ‘There are more pressing matters.’

  ‘Not for me there ain’t.’

  She turned and faced him, just a few inches away from the mask.

  ‘There are more pressing matters,’ she assured him in the tone of a true zealot. ‘The events of Jarrazir have had wider ramifications – there is no space for a private vendetta here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  With disconcerting speed Olebeis broke out in a smile. ‘Come and find out. We should not keep the Lord-Exalted waiting.’

  Chapter 5

  As they passed through the Holy Office of the Congregation, Bade wondered if he was getting an insight into the Lord-Exalted or merely told what to think. Beyond the grand entrance hall it was uniformly austere. Coldly pale marble was everywhere, mage-carved and done with artistry but with little in the way of decoration or furnishings.

  This ain’t a place for comfort, he thought as they worked their way up and back towards the Lord-Exalted’s private domain. No palace for the living this – Knights-Charnel indeed.

  The relic hunter in him found much to admire still. Appreciated perhaps only by a niche audience, the palace served as a museum for the efforts of those like himself. Emerging into a great central atrium, the weak daylight was complemented by four chandeliers suspended on chains and each bearing five large light-stones. The light they cast seemed to cause the colours of ancient, painstakingly recreated mosaics to come alive and glow with warmth. The sight stopped him dead as they entered, the largest mosaic angled to present a white willow tree faintly glowing. Long fronds of green hung down at its sides while elusive flashes of colour, red, purple and blue, shivered through its pale limbs.

  On the left-hand wall, an alcove contained half a dozen squashed spheres with metallic ribbons emerging from each. Bade had never worked out their purpose but he’d seen one slice men apart years back. Past that was a recessed corridor ignored by those scuttling back and forth. The mouth of the corridor tapered for five yards until it reached a grey stone arch adorned with Duegar glyphs made from jet and carnelian.

  He gave a cough of surprise when he recognised it: a blood-gate. He’d almost died encountering one not that long ago. This time Olebeis laughed at his reaction.

  ‘You found the key to pass through it?’ Bade asked in surprise.

  She gave a nod of confirmation. ‘After no little experimentation,’ she said darkly. ‘Don’t bother asking what.’

  ‘I’m more interested in what you keep beyond something that can instantly boil a man’s blood!’

  ‘That’s the secure archive. Your file is in there somewhere, along with many hundreds of others.’ She gestured forward. ‘Would you like to test your luck?’

  Bade snorted and started off in the other direction, where Olebeis had been heading. There, a stairway to the second floor brought them to a large gate of wrought iron encased in glass, of all things. It clearly separated the private quarters from the rest of the palace – hardly a strong defence for the modest keep that lay beyond it, but one that possessed a few surprises if Bade was any judge.

  The keep itself was a tall square tower with wide windows topped by the glass dome of the Lord-Exalted’s private chapel. Enclosed on the far side by a wall and guard towers, this appeared to be the only point of entry. Dragoons admitted th
em through the gate after briefly questioning Exalted Olebeis. They crossed a covered bridge that spanned the gap over an ornamental garden. The large gate at the far end opened before they had reached it and a servant bowed as he ushered them through.

  Inside was a more functional hallway and a stair leading to the private offices of the Lord-Exalted himself. This deep in there were no guards, only a pair of clerks toiling at laden desks on either side of an open door.

  At the very heart of it all the Lord-Exalted waited. He stood stiffly in front of a tall window of intricate leaded windows while a huge and pristine desk of polished walnut occupied the centre of the room.

  ‘Did you enjoy my collection?’ he called as Bade approached.

  Bade hesitated, surprised at the informality. ‘Aye, what I saw of it. I’m guessing the guards won’t be impressed if I take a closer look at some?’

  ‘Correct. Come, sit.’ He indicated one of the chairs, his gaze flicking towards a servant who’d been waiting inside the door. ‘We will have spiced wine.’

  Feeling awkward but glad to sit, Bade did as directed. Olebeis stationed herself to his side, standing almost to attention while the Lord-Exalted took his own seat on the other side of the desk.

  The Lord-Exalted cut a strange figure to Bade’s eye, certainly within the rigid and elitist society of the north, dominated as it was by the aristocracy of two ancient tribes. Broad in the body, his uniform was impeccably cut but there was something bulky and awkward about him – a detail reinforced by thinning dark hair and a softer accent than the high-born officers.

  That’s right – don’t some call him the cloth merchant behind his back? Bade recalled. Quietly though, like little boys daring each other.

  ‘Your report made for an interesting read,’ the Lord-Exalted said. ‘Overly brief perhaps, but understandably so.’