Empire of the Saviours (Chronicles of/Cosmic Warlord 1)

by A J Dalton

  Cooking pots on the campfires of his personal guard rattled and jumped as he paced up to his Captain. ‘Bring the cage!’ he blew at him and turned away without waiting for a reply. The Saint started to make for the fortified walls just beyond his camp.

  A stray dog whined and rolled onto its back submissively as the Saint passed it. He would have grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and bitten its head off by way of a light repast to keep him going, but the thing looked emaciated and was probably riddled with burrowing worms. Goza had had an infestation of worms in his back once and it had itched terribly. On another occasion he’d even lost weight, which had been truly worrying.

  Even though there was very little sun in evidence in the white sky, sweat had already begun to lather his magnificent physique. The exertion required to keep such a formidable bulk moving could have easily toppled these moss-covered walls, no matter how long the Old Fort was said to have stood. The People had no true idea of strength and eternity, no genuine understanding of how lucky they were to have him among them and watching over them. After all, how could they? They were little more than another type of burrowing worm really. They made him itch.

  He powered onto the training ground inside the walls, and several hundred new recruits and Heroes abased themselves before him. He moved to the centre of the wide space and came to a stop. The soldiers would continue to lie on their faces until he instructed them otherwise. He settled in to wait, knowing it wouldn’t be long. He started to daydream about the meal waiting for him. Just what was that other ingredient in the sauce? Its smell reminded him of a particularly red and toxic berry found only along the shore of a hidden lake in the far north. Surely the cook didn’t have the inspiration and wherewithal to procure an item so rare, did he? Goza smiled. Perhaps he did, at that, given he’d been told money was no object and he might use the holy one’s name as necessary.

  The Saint dribbled freely as he thought of the dressing for the meat. He was now so long-lived and of such a size that he did not need to fear any sort of poison. If anything, the hallucinatory effects of poisons brought whole new dimensions that were beyond the physical to his gourmand delights. They gifted him with visions and vistas far beyond this world of anaemic worms. They transported him beyond the tawdry limits of this world and its thin range of tastes and flavours. They spread his will across the reaches of the cosmos, where he would feed on new and greater energies and begin to expand, until even the furthest corners of existence were his.

  He blinked slowly and stepped out of the puddle that had formed around his feet. She was coming. Being led by the hand. Bandages over her sensitive eyes, the only part of her that was at all soft. Perhaps when he peeled off that hard shell, though, he would find moist and tender flesh below, as with a crab or lobster, and hopefully as tasty.

  ‘Oh my! The holy one is here,’ the woman exclaimed with equal surprise and excitement and threw herself to the ground.

  Freda gazed through her bandages at the shadowy figure blocking out half the sky-cave. She was confronted by something as big as the rock god, but it was all wobbling rolls of flesh instead of chiselled granite. Was the figure a god of the soft people, then? Should she bow to it, even if just to be polite? It must at least be an Overlord, and that meant she would be in trouble for escaping from the mine. She couldn’t help feeling guilty.

  The huge hammer of sun-metal that the god – or Overlord – held was painful to look upon and she had to shield her eyes with one of her hands. It was like the orb that sometimes shone high in the sky-cave. Had the god or Overlord of the soft people dragged it down from on high so that he could use it as a weapon against her? Now she felt afraid.

  ‘I am very angry with you!’ the giant roared, his voice making the walls around them and her stony skin ring painfully.

  Instinctively, she hunkered closer to the ground. ‘Don’t be angry! Don’t send me back to the mine and Gang-leader Darus!’ she begged.

  ‘Silence!’ he bellowed, the sound threatening to crack her open. ‘You have not been given leave to speak in the presence of holy Saint Goza. You are young and ignorant, for you have not yet been Drawn, but I cannot forgive your other crimes. I sheltered you in the mine, allowing you life, and this is how you repay me. You not only defy your Gang-leader, but also your Overseer! Then you escape the mine and sow division among a squad of Heroes. Worst of all, however, you pull me from my breakfast to deal with you. I might well suffer indigestion later because of this inconvenience. Is there no end to your wilful blasphemy? You even presume to tell me how I should not punish you. Tell me then: how should you be sanctioned?’

  ‘I cannot return to the mine. I will not! There is something I must do for Norfred.’

  ‘Incredible. Would you now defy me? Would you topple me, as if I were something less glorious than the very mountains?’ the Saint asked in outraged disbelief. ‘Would you then defy the blessed Saviours, those who have given life and protection to all the People including yourself? Topple the Empire, would you? You are ungrateful and undeserving of the Saviours’ gifts then. Your utter self-obsession has warped and twisted your mind as much as your body. You are truly corrupted by the Chaos both without and within. There can be no salvation for one such as you, for there is no longer anything left of what you may once have been. There is only one sentence I can pass – your existence is forfeit. Our judgement and justice will swallow you up and break you down until you are nothing more than a stinking slurry to be fed to the pigs or spread on the fields.’

  The Saint smiled and licked his lips. ‘To be honest, I do not think I have ever tasted one with the rock blight. Does it lend a particular flavour to the meat, I wonder? I suspect the crackling will be a bit tough, though, eh?’

  He meant to eat her! It was unimaginable. She felt sick. She dived for the ground and ploughed it up in her haste.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going? Surely you know there is no hiding place from the will and might of the Saviours and their apostates! All realms and matter are theirs to command. Still, it can be an interesting eating experience to devour something while it’s still struggling for life. Yes, catching you will serve to whet my appetite all the more.’

  The Saint raised his hammer high above his head and slammed it into the ground in front of him. The concussion waves that spread out bounced Freda up out of the ground and left her flopping and flailing like a fish out of water. She desperately tried to submerge herself once more, but the hammer smote the ground again, blasting a crater in it and causing fissures in both the ground and her skin. Screaming, a number of people tumbled into the yawning earth and were slowly ground into nothing. Rocks the size of cabbages rained down on others, crushing limbs and skulls.

  The Saint moved down into the crater, where Freda lay in the bottom. The sun-metal rang on and on, hammering a nail through her head just as the rock god had been pinned and left helpless so long before. She couldn’t think, see or hear anything. She lost her sense of place entirely.

  A swollen fist wrapped itself around one of her ankles and began to drag her up and out of the crater. She lashed out, striking folds of flesh savagely.

  ‘Oo, that tickles!’ Saint Goza laughed.

  Freda heaved herself up so that she could reach her ankle. She smashed down on one of the Saint’s shell-like fingernails and was relieved to see it crumple and start to bleed.

  ‘Ow! You bitch!’ he cried, releasing her. ‘You’ll pay for that!’

  She managed to get several feet into the earth before he caught her with a looping swing of his hammer, which lifted her and threw her a dozen feet through the air. She landed on a soldier, crushing him. She was badly injured herself – the Saint’s blow had caught her in the stomach and chest. She thought her ribs were shattered and it felt like her guts had been torn out. She wanted to be sick but her body seemed too broken to even manage a gag.

  The Saint lumbered towards her, smearing several of his own men underfoot. ‘Out of my way, everyone!’

&nb
sp; At last having permission to move, the recruits and Heroes rolled away or leapt up and scattered in panic. One unfortunate was disorientated and staggered across the Saint’s path. He collided with the prodigious holy personage, was knocked to the ground and crushed. The smell of blood, sweat, ozone and fear pervading the air was overwhelming.

  Saint Goza reached down for one of her wrists and hauled her up into the air. Separated from the ground, she was weakened even further. The Saint placed one of her fingers in his vast mouth of tombstone teeth and bit down. She squealed in shock and terror. He chewed thoughtfully for a second and swallowed.

  ‘Hmm. Not the best. Even with plenty of salt, I’m not sure I’d bother with any of your other fingers. I don’t really know where they’ve been, do I? Still, it serves as a lesson to you for the fingernail, does it not?’ He shook her and yelled into her face. ‘Does it not?’

  Freda whimpered. ‘Please, no more! I’ll go back to the mine. I’ll apologise to Gang-leader Darus.’

  He shook her again. ‘You’re just not getting it. It’s too late for the mine. Now, must I repeat myself? It serves as a lesson, does … it … not?’

  ‘Yes!’ she choked.

  ‘Really, you should be thanking me for wasting my valuable time on teaching you, but it’s all too boring. Besides, I need to get back to my tent to replenish myself. I feel like I’m wasting away out here. In fact, if you think about it, every moment I’m not eating, I’m using and losing energy and getting thinner. Now, just hold still and we can get this over with, without any more fuss.’

  Holding her with one hand, he dropped his hammer and reached inside his voluminous tunic with his other. He pulled out a pair of manacles made of sun-metal. He clapped one manacle around her wrist.

  ‘It burns!’ she moaned quietly, tears running down her face as wisps of smoke rose into her eyes.

  He ignored her, lowered her to the ground and put the other manacle on her. He let her go. She didn’t even try sinking into the earth, knowing her sizzling bracelets would prevent her from travelling any distance.

  ‘Captain, where are you? Ah, there. The cage if you please. Have one of your men hurry to the cook and tell him to serve me in my tent in a hand of minutes from now. And have a large cauldron obtained from the town. I will have this creature boiled in it for my evening meal.’

  A swarthy Hero with no trace of emotion on his face signalled two men to bring a gleaming cage over to Freda. It was made of rods of sun-metal so thin that they were almost a net.

  ‘Inside!’ the Captain ordered and she crawled into the small space. ‘I wouldn’t struggle to get out if I were you, for sun-metal is far stronger than it looks. If you fight, you will end up wrapping it more and more tightly around you, and as you have discovered, it burns something fierce.’

  ‘See that she doesn’t struggle then, Captain,’ the Saint rumbled. ‘I don’t want my meat too seared, now do I? You know how I get if a meal is spoiled. In my upset I might just have you for dessert.’

  ‘Yes, holy one, as is your will.’

  Wearing a delivery cap and crisp white shirt he’d liberated from a washing line, and carrying a firkin of ale under each arm, Jillan whistled jauntily as he made his way through the dark. As he passed the gibbet, he spat over his shoulder, as was the custom, to keep restless spirits away from him.

  ‘Halt! Who goes there?’ called one of the Heroes gruffly.

  ‘Smiddy from the Recalcitrance Inn, that’s who,’ Jillan replied musically.

  ‘What do you want, Smiddy from the Recalcitrance Inn, eh? Don’t you know we’ve got dangerous criminals down here?’

  ‘It’s not a matter of what I be wanting, sir, but a matter of what your good Captain orders and a matter to which ye may be partial.’

  ‘Speak plainly, boy,’ the same Hero advised, although his voice became softer as his eyes alighted on the two firkins.

  ‘Well then, sir, your good Captain plainly ordered that I should bring’e a nightcap, see, if that be plain enough for’e. He further ordered, plain as ye like, that ye should drink this here nightcap which ye can plainly see here, even if it be a darkish night.’

  ‘He did?’ the second Hero asked in wonderment, clearly struggling to believe their luck. ‘Not like the Captain. Call it an indulgence, he would, and indulgence makes you soft, he says.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know much about that, sir.’ Jillan shrugged. ‘If ye like, I can return this best brewed ale and tell the good Captain ye refuse his orders … or, for a small consideration, I can make the ale disappear and tell him ye gratefully received it.’ He put the firkins down, coughed and put out a palm.

  The first Hero would have none of it. ‘Be off with you, you cheeky rapscallion. Enough of your plain this and plain that, and your ye may and ye might. Think to blackmail the Saint’s own guard, would you? That would be a terrible sin, wouldn’t it, Jack?’

  ‘Certainly would.’ His comrade nodded.

  ‘So, Smiddy from the Recalcitrance Inn, just leave the ale here, where it will be well looked after, and be on your way, see?’

  Smiddy gave a tired soldier’s salute and a ‘Yessir, sir! Yes! Sir!’ Then he jumped away as the Hero tried to put his boot to his backside. Smiddy stuck his tongue out and disappeared into the night.

  ‘Kids today, eh, Jack? In need of a thrashing or three to help them respect their elders.’

  ‘Say, this ale ain’t half bad, though.’

  Jillan returned half a clock later to find both guards soundly asleep. The herbs he had bought from a physicker woman had more than done their job, judging by how loud and deep the men’s snoring was. He took the ring of keys from the first Hero’s belt and then crept down the stairs to the punishment chambers below.

  ‘Who’s there?’ whispered a thin voice from one of the cells. It was the youth Jillan had seen arrested at the main gate. He was slumped against a grimy wall and looked the worse for wear. He was wearing manacles secured to the ends of two long adjustable chains that passed up through a metal hoop in the roof before reaching an attachment on the far wall.

  ‘Is there anyone else here?’ Jillan asked quietly.

  ‘No. Just me. I’m Aspin. Who are you?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’

  Aspin gritted his teeth. ‘What do you want? How did you get past the guards? Bribe them, did you, just so you could have a look at me and tell all your friends. Honestly, you people …’

  ‘No, no! I’m here to get you out. Look, I have the keys.’

  Aspin was silent for a few seconds. ‘You have? Why?’ His voice was thick with suspicion. ‘Some trick, is it? We’ll escape together and then, overcome by gratitude, I’ll tell you everything, is that it?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Jillan asked in confusion. ‘I thought they’d arrested you because they thought you were someone else.’ He hesitated. ‘So what sort of things do you think I want you to tell me?’ Now he thought about it, once the Heroes had spoken to Ash and spotted Jillan at the inn, why hadn’t they realised the youth was innocent and released him? Perhaps the youth wasn’t innocent. Perhaps it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity after all. Perhaps this Aspin was dangerous. Jillan backed away from the bars to the cell.

  ‘Why the hell should I trust you?’ Aspin spat.

  ‘Because I was the one who was going to free you, although I have to tell you I’m having doubts about it now. Quite frankly, I couldn’t give a prickly fig if you do trust me or not. Some thanks wouldn’t hurt, though, now would it?’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ came back a surly voice. ‘All right, sorry. I’m tired and hungry and my arms are killing me. I hate this place, I hate that damned Saint of yours and I hate you stupid lowlanders! But thank you anyway. There, are you satisfied?’

  ‘You should keep your voice down too. You called me a … lowlander, was it? Does that mean you’re from th-the …’

  ‘The mountains? Yes.’

  ‘B-but that means you’re a-a pagan!’

>   ‘So you lowlanders call us, but we’re just the same as you. Not exactly the same, of course, but … well, you know what I mean.’

  ‘But if you’re a pagan, surely you have magic and can get yourself out of here?’

  ‘Magic? Pah! I don’t know where you got that from, but if we all had magic, we wouldn’t have been murdered in such numbers and driven out of our lands, now would we? Your Saint has far more magic than any of my people, that’s for sure. I’ve been told I’m a soul-reader, but all that means is I have an instinct about people’s characters, whether I can trust them, that sort of thing. It’s never been much use to me, though. It didn’t stop me getting thrown out of my village. And it’s not helping me get out of this cell any faster.’

  ‘So what does your magic tell you about me?’ Jillan asked warily.

  Aspin frowned and squinted, as if having trouble. ‘One moment it tells me to trust you, and the next it says I shouldn’t. It’s like there’re two of you or something. See, I told you it wasn’t much use.’

  Jillan recoiled. The taint! The youth knew.

  It’s hardly a secret, is it? Everyone knows you’re a twisted killer. If you killed everyone who knew that, there’d be no one left alive, now would there? Let him out. He might be useful to us. And if a bit of panic is sown about a pagan being on the loose, that can only work in our favour. The more confusion there is, the easier it’ll be for us to avoid capture.

  He couldn’t let the youth out. He was a pagan! Dangerous.

  Aren’t you forgetting that you’re now a pagan as well? Aren’t you forgetting that you’re the one who’s used dangerous and forbidden magic? You’re just the same as he is. Worse, probably.

  No. It was an accident. I can’t be a pagan. They’re evil. Besides, the youth said his people didn’t have much magic. The Saint has magic.

  Nothing made sense any more. If the pagans didn’t have magic, then was everything Minister Praxis had told him untrue? Was the Book of Saviours untrue? How could that be? It would mean nothing in his entire life had been true. It would mean nothing in the world was true. Impossible. There was only emptiness and lies. Just a whisper on the wind. Just a shattered reflection on water. A shadow cast by flame. Just ashes on the earth. Just the void. Nothing.