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

by A J Dalton

  The Peculiar arched one of his perfectly expressive eyebrows. ‘His Pigginess awakes! Prepare a trough and a bucket of slops.’ The Heroes still under his spell tittered.

  ‘Who dares disturb my camp?’ a large voice echoed around them, blowing open the small hill that was the Saint’s tent.

  ‘Did someone hear something? Sounded like flatulence. Oo, be so good as to bring me a wagon, would you? I think it will be a while before my friend here is able to walk properly.’

  Saint Goza emerged with his hammer of sun-metal and powered towards them, casting a shadow over all. ‘Where do you think you’re going with my dinner? Captain, what is the meaning of this?’

  The Captain, who still stared raptly at the Peculiar, only managed an incoherent mumble. He dribbled from both corners of his mouth.

  ‘I think he’s in love.’ The Peculiar beamed at the Saint. He fluttered his eyelids winsomely. ‘My, you’re a big one! Surely you have more than enough to spare. You do not need the rock woman.’ He made his voice resonate with a full range of coercive and sympathetic tones.

  The Saint shook his head as if troubled by flies. ‘I rule here! Guards, seize him!’

  The Peculiar raised a forbidding hand and the Heroes around him froze. Now he used more discordant and strident vibrations to instil fear in the Saint. ‘You will release her to me! It is the will of your Saviours! You must bow to that will!’

  The Saint sounded like he’d all but lost the ability to speak. ‘I … represent … their … will … here.’

  Then the sweet and seductive song of compulsion: ‘Come, dear one, you must know who I am. You know it would be futile to oppose me. It would only end in heartache and grief. You would be risking everything, for what? Just this harmless blighted woman, who is surely very far from a tasty morsel? You are merciful, magnanimous and enlightened. You will give her to me, knowing that the Saviours will reward you for your loyalty and faith. You will become prime among the Saints and all regions will hearken to your word and will. Come, nod your beauteous brow, dear one.’

  Goza let his head fall forward as he said woodenly, ‘Yes, I give her to you, to show my generosity and greatness. Take her.’

  ‘Thank you, holy one. You are as wise as you are fat. Oh, just one thing before I go.’ The Peculiar’s voice became flat and deep to imprint itself on their minds and memories. ‘You might want to think about bathing a bit more. There must be a lake big enough somewhere in this region, no? Or would that cause a drought? Someone your size must sweat constantly, I imagine, which creates quite a body odour, so most people no doubt smell you long before they see or hear you coming. I wouldn’t be surprised if your Saviours in the Great Temple could smell you even from this distance. And maybe bits of food get caught in your folds of flesh and then rot. Just how many chins do you have? Lost any attendants recently? Maybe they got trapped in one of your folds or chins and found themselves unable to fight their way free. Or perhaps you sat down too hastily one time and your crack swallowed … Anyway, you get the idea. Time I was off, I’m afraid, good people. Now, don’t cry. Busy, busy, you know how it is. Build a shrine to me or something if you really are going to miss me that much. That’s it. Get my friend up into the wagon there. That’s it. Well done. A fond farewell to you all. Come on, you’re all big soldiers. No weeping and wailing now. Bye, bye! Bye, bye! That’s it, wave. You’ll feel better.’

  Heroes sobbed in each other’s arms. The Saint blew his nose on his sleeve, the strength of the blast knocking his manservant over and splattering him with mucus. Some cheered as he left, others groaned as if they must surely die because they were so heartbroken. One sensitive soul tried to compose an impromptu ode to the wondrous stranger and ran after them, declaiming it loudly.

  The Peculiar flicked the reins to increase their pace. ‘We’d best get out of here before someone with brains about them questions what happened here. Once one of them starts having doubts and suspicions, it quickly spreads and the shared illusion is shattered. If they were to chase us, things would get extremely tedious, not to mention messy.’

  ‘Thhhank you,’ Freda enunciated carefully, her tongue and the rest of her so swollen that she did not feel like she was in her own body. ‘I am Fffreda. What is your name?’

  The Peculiar gave her his sunniest and most loving smile. ‘You’re welcome, Fffreda. In return for saving you, I want nothing but your friendship. I say nothing, yet such friendship would be of great, great value to me. I try to do good things to make good friends, you see. It doesn’t often work, but you seem nice.’

  ‘I do?’ the rock woman asked with shy happiness. ‘I would like to be your friend. I don’t have any other friends in the sky-cave of the Overlords, you see.’

  ‘That’s good then.’

  ‘But what is your name, friend?’

  He grinned, wondering which name it was safest to give her. One of his few strictures was that he might not invent a name for himself. ‘Many have called me Anupal. How about that, Freda?’

  ‘A-nu-pal,’ she repeated, trying it out.

  ‘That’s it. Now, in return for my name, Freda, will you promise not to run away and leave me alone in this scary … sky-cave?’

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course, Anupal. I don’t want to be alone here either. I promise.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, dear Freda. You don’t know what that means to me. And, tell me, do you think I’m handsome?’

  Now she did hesitate. ‘Er … of course, Anupal.’ She sounded like she was being polite or didn’t want to upset him. He did not like that, not one little bit. This one would need watching, very careful watching.

  ‘Why don’t you get some rest, dear Freda? You must be quite exhausted after all you’ve been through. I will keep us heading south, although the clever horse seems to know where I want it to take us.’

  At his suggestion, her eyes began to droop. She yawned, ‘What does south mean, Anupal?’

  ‘Hmm. It’s like down, Freda, whereas north is like up, if you see.’

  She tried to frown, but couldn’t hang on to it as she was dragged into sleep. ‘I probably like south far more than north then. Explain it more to me later though, Anupal, when … when …’

  Jillan wandered through the ruined landscape, searching for signs of life, anything. All that remained of the trees were burned-out hulks or drifting piles of ash. The sky was one continuous pall of black smoke, precious little light getting through from above. Superheated rocks and smouldering remains glowed enough for him to see by, although he was not sure what there was left to look at and how much more of this devastation he really wanted to see. It was stifling hot and the air was thick with cinders and dust.

  He coughed and staggered over the next rise, kicking up plumes of ash with each step. Ahead of him was a large green hill. On the top grew fruit trees and cattle were grazing. Clear air and sunlight surrounded the heights. A sea of desperate people surged up the slopes, but they broke against an unyielding line of Heroes who stabbed down with spears tipped with sun-metal. On the very crest of the hill was a large throne on which basked the one-eyed Saint Azual.

  The Saint immediately saw Jillan. ‘What are you doing in my dream, pagan?’ he roared across the gulf separating them.

  ‘Are these your thoughts?’ Jillan asked, sickened.

  ‘Get out of my head!’ Azual howled, leaping from his throne and across the divide, landing ten yards short of Jillan. ‘How dare you presume to judge me? All this is far beyond your understanding.’

  ‘What’s to understand? Is this all you desire? Or is it some nightmare?’

  ‘Your intrusion is destroying its beauty,’ Azual asserted and ran at Jillan, delivering him a glancing blow to the head.

  Jillan blinked and looked up at a blue sky. He breathed clean air and was relieved to see healthy trees passing on each side. There was another jolt and he realised he was in the back of a moving wagon.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Aspin smiled back at him. ‘This road isn’
t as smooth as the one from the main gate out of Saviours’ Paradise. Lot of loose stones. How’re you feeling? They don’t appear to be chasing us, but I thought it wise to put some distance between ourselves and the town rather than waiting for you to wake up. We’ve been travelling all night.’

  ‘Water?’

  Aspin passed him a leather water bag and Jillan sluiced the phantom ash from his mouth.

  ‘That’s better. Thanks.’ Jillan picked his way past the unconscious blacksmith and joined Aspin on the top board. Feeling a bit woozy, he asked, ‘Got anything to eat?’

  Aspin passed him a small slightly shrivelled apple. Jillan swallowed it in a few bites. It would do until they stopped and ate something more substantial.

  ‘He hasn’t woken up at all then?’

  Aspin shook his head. ‘Hasn’t even moved. And he looks awfully pale. I haven’t gone too close to him, obviously, but he’s clearly in a bad way. Nearly all his hair has fallen out now, and there’s blood on his lips and around his nose. Unless we can get him to eat something, he’ll only get weaker and weaker, and then he’ll die. But I don’t want to touch him, so we can’t feed him either.’

  Jillan rubbed at his forehead, a stabbing headache between his eyes making it hard to think. ‘If he comes round, the Saint will be able to see us through his eyes too. He’ll know everything we say and do, where we’re going, everything.’

  ‘That settles it then,’ Aspin said through tight lips.

  ‘What does?’

  ‘We’ll have to leave him somewhere.’

  ‘What? We can’t just leave him!’

  Aspin looked at the younger boy as if he was crazy. ‘Of course we can. It’s not our fault he’s got the plague. There’s nothing we can do to help him. And the longer we keep him, the greater the chance we’ll catch it too.’

  If only he didn’t have this headache. ‘Look, it’s just not right. Don’t you understand? We took him from the town just so we could escape. If we’d left him with the physicker-woman, she might have cured him. We’re responsible. We can’t just leave him by the road, knowing that will kill him.’

  ‘Everything dies, Jillan,’ Aspin replied flatly. ‘It’s just his time, that’s all. Perhaps you’re too young to understand. Or just squeamish. Have you ever seen a dead person before?’

  ‘I didn’t hear you saying I was too young when I rescued you! And of course I’ve seen dead people. I’ve killed people! I bet you haven’t.’

  Aspin’s face became scornful. ‘I’m a warrior and a hunter. I understand fighting and killing better than other types of people. And, anyway, I’d have escaped without your help.’

  ‘You liar!’

  ‘I am no liar. You’d better not be insulting my honour. You’d better be careful.’

  ‘Honour?’ Jillan sneered. ‘How is leaving a man to die by the road honourable? You’re just a murdering pagan!’

  ‘Take that back!’ Aspin snarled, putting his hand to his knife. ‘I’m warning you.’

  Jillan drew on his magic, the headache exploding through his mind. Seeing only red, he flung Aspin off the wagon. He saw the warrior’s heart beating in his chest, saw how easy it would be to burst it. Yet that would be too quick and not at all satisfying. He would make the pagan suffer first, pouring more and more into him. He felt so strong, so right, when he burned with power like this. Surely now he would become one with the Saviours and ascend to godhead. At last, he would rule all the People of this pathetic world.

  I will not let you destroy me like this, the taint rattled, trying to deny Jillan its magic.

  ‘Yes!’ Jillan belched in the Saint’s voice. ‘My will is all powerful. I rule here!’

  Jillan felt himself being torn apart as the taint and the power of the Saint’s blood warred for control; as his magic demanded release, the Saint sought to kill and his mind begged him to save Aspin. He was going to die like this!

  ‘Jillan, stop!’ Aspin pleaded from where he lay on the road, lightning arcing and crackling wildly around him. ‘I’m sorry! We’ll take the blacksmith with us.’

  The blacksmith! Jillan turned towards the dying man and deliberately unleashed the pent-up fury within him. With that energy gone, the energy that had sustained him as much as it had poisoned him, Jillan was left helpless. He pitched off the wagon and onto the road next to Aspin.

  ‘Wow, that’s some temper you have,’ the mountain warrior observed. ‘Remind me never to get into an argument with you again, eh? Jillan? Jillan?’

  Children and villagers alike chased along behind Minister Praxis as Torpeth led him up through the lower village of the mountain people. Most wore furs or goatskins, the warriors tending to go bare-armed and bare-legged. They were full of curiosity, the women stretching to feel the material of his coat, the children shouting questions at him and the men deliberately standing in his path to see if he would challenge or step around them. Nearly all of them had wide flat faces, blunt noses and heavy brows.

  Inbred savages, the Minister thought to himself, slapping away a few of the hands that pawed at him, causing general merriment among the crowd. How could such people even be worth saving? Surely they could add nothing of value to the Empire except, perhaps, as slave labour. Yet even then they looked too clumsy and unruly to be worth the trouble of supervision. How could such vermin actually be a threat to the Empire? Ah, but the Chaos was subtle and cunning. Appearances were always deceptive when it came to the ancient enemy. Simple they might look, but that was sure to be some disguise for their devious and divisive nature. These people had secrets, secrets that he must discover for the Empire. How else could they have resisted and survived for so long?

  There didn’t seem to be a level path anywhere. A twisted and crooked place, just like its people. His calf muscles were soon sore and burning, but he refused to stop amid this rabble. He kept his head above them, where the air was no doubt cleaner. At least he and Torpeth had divested themselves of the mule upon entering the village, so the moody beast was no longer around to add to the Minister’s vexation and torment. With luck, one of the savages would make a stew of it, boil its bones down for glue, or some other suitable punishment.

  Between the stone hovels in which the savages lived the Minister spied an occasional area of roughly turned and raked ground. Very little grew here in the cold and among the stones, however. Even the earth is loath to support these corrupt creatures, the Minister decided. Nothing of beauty could ever grow here. On the slopes above the village some terraces had apparently been cut, but they seemed abandoned. He looked more closely at some of the people. They seemed well fed nonetheless. There didn’t appear to be enough goats around to feed them all, and surely there wasn’t much game to be found in this inhospitable environment. It was plain to him, therefore, that the pagans either regularly descended into the Empire to steal food or consumed their young. After all, did the Chaos not multiply wherever and whenever it could? These mountains would have been buried in pagans were it not for their apparent cannibalism. Furthermore, did not scripture say that all corruption ultimately consumed itself?

  Evil, unholy creatures. How could they laugh and smile, knowing what they’d done? Grinning ghouls. Perhaps they were eyeing him up even now for their cooking pots. Trying to get a measure of the length of spit they’d need to roast him. Blessed Saviours preserve him. Was there no end to their shamefulness?

  ‘Torpeth, wait for me!’ he called, lifting his long legs in as spritely a manner as his cramping calves would allow.

  This caused the villagers much hilarity and they all tried to mimic his ungainly gait. Torpeth stopped to watch, twining his beard through his fingers. ‘Perhaps you have hidden talents, lowlander. For all your strange aloofness, it seems they like you. Share some of your magic with me and I’ll rethink that curse I’d intended for you.’

  ‘You would think to lay a curse on me?’ the Minister asked in outrage. ‘How dare you! My faith need have no fear of you or your curses.’ Then he considered for a moment.
‘Yet I will share some of my … magic with you in return for your secrets.’

  Torpeth stuck a finger in his ear and waggled it about vigorously. Examining the end of it, he tasted it experimentally and mumbled, ‘I’ll think on it. You want to taste some of this? It’s good, although not as good as pine nuts. Suit yourself. This way then.’

  They moved up through the village to the large hovel at the end. It seemed to sit across the path that wound up into the peaks.

  Torpeth tried to drag his fingers through his hair and only succeeded in getting his hands caught. He jumped and skipped as he tried to yank them out. At last they came free, but with clumps of hair ripped from his scalp. Next he spat in his hands and wiped his hair as flat as it would go, which wasn’t flat at all. Finally he grabbed an old piece of rope from somewhere and tied it around his waist, the ends dangling between his legs and almost covering his manhood.

  ‘How do I look?’ he asked the Minister anxiously.

  ‘Er … like a haystack?’

  Torpeth nodded. ‘Good, good. What’s a haystack? I can’t remember. Never mind, it sounds exotic.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Always does well to look one’s best for the headwoman, if you know what I mean.’

  The Minister nodded.

  ‘But don’t get any ideas, you hear!’ Torpeth added fiercely, waving his dirty finger beneath the Minister’s pinched nose. ‘I’ve been wooing her for decades. I saw her first. I’ve known her since she was a child. I won’t have any outsider coming in here with his fancy ways and sweeping her off her feet. And don’t go using any of your magicks to befuddle and infatuate her, neither.’

  ‘My friend, how could I ever be a rival to one such as you, you being such a fine example of manhood and all?’

  This seemed to mollify the pagan. ‘True enough. Not everyone seems to have your clarity of vision, for some reason.’

  ‘Well, they’re self-deluded fools, my friend, self-deluded fools. You should pity them. Yet there is a problem I foresee.’