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

by A J Dalton

  Thomas’s eyes widened in recognition. ‘Maria and Jedadiah from New Sanctuary? Did they end up in Godsend then? I’d always wondered what happened to them. You do not know what it means to hear they are well. They were sensible to disappear – dark days back then. And you’re their lad, are ye? Figures. It all makes a bit more sense now. Well met, Jillan of Godsend! It’s an honour. But you’re not from Godsend, are you, Aspin, judging by your accent?’

  Aspin shook his head. ‘I’m from close by, though.’

  ‘Well, Aspin-from-close-by, it is also an honour. Praise the gods that they have brought us together.’

  Jillan shifted uncomfortably at this open lauding of the pagan gods, while Aspin nodded in agreement with the blacksmith. Thomas did not miss the difference in their reactions and smiled to himself.

  ‘What is Haven?’ Jillan asked, to distract him.

  Thomas gave him an assessing look. After a moment he said, ‘Haven is here,’ placing his hand over his heart, ‘here,’ touching his head, ‘and here,’ touching his stomach. ‘It is the home of the Geas, our life energy. It is the energy we all share, the thing all life shares. It is that which keeps us quick, keeps us animated. You need not seek it, for it is here, all around us, Jillan.’

  He’s not telling you everything. The Saviour was sure it was a place that could be found. You’re right not to trust him.

  Aspin threw the branch he was holding onto the fire and moved between the two of them. ‘As Jillan says, we need to be moving along. We cannot afford the time to visit your hamlet with you, Thomas, unless it will see us equipped with horses.’

  ‘Of course, Aspin-from-close-by! The way I see it, I owe you two my life, so two horses are the least I can do. My wife would not have it otherwise. She will also insist on making you the best home-cooked meal you’ve ever had, I’ll be bound. She will insist, and I can’t see the two of you refusing, judging by how famished you look.’

  Aspin nodded and turned to Jillan. ‘What do you think? The horses will buy us valuable time,’ he whispered.

  ‘It’s good you thought of that,’ Jillan replied gratefully, more pleased than he could say that Aspin had not sided with Thomas, and had apparently decided to travel to Hyvan’s Cross with him. It was like having a friend again, although no one could ever take Hella’s place. It meant he wasn’t on his own any more. It made him feel braver, stronger. ‘Why didn’t you tell him you were from the mountains? I thought—’

  ‘I know, I know, but I sense you have doubts about him. He’s as good as his word, I’m sure of that, but I get strange flashes from him every now and then. They’re so quick, though, that I don’t catch them properly, as if he’s deliberately smothered them before I can read them. I’m happy to follow your lead, Jillan, as I was when you got me out of that cell and out of the town safely. I’m sorry about before … you know, when I said you were too young and all that. It wasn’t right. And you were right about not just leaving Thomas to die by the roadside.’

  Jillan couldn’t help smiling. ‘And I’m sorry I called you a … a murdering pagan.’

  You’re not really sorry, though, are you?

  ‘Well, I would have been, were it not for you.’

  ‘You were just doing what you thought best. And who’s to say you were definitely wrong? We’ll only know if we get through this without any more trouble. A home-cooked meal does sound good, though, doesn’t it? If I never have to look at dried meat and hard biscuits again, it’ll be too soon.’

  ‘If you’re still worried about lost time,’ Thomas called over, ‘I’ll show you shortcuts and secret ways through these woods. I’ll get you to Hyvan’s Cross in next to no time. Come, Jillan, and meet our wizard. He may be of help to you. Moreover, on our way I’ll tell you tales of when your parents were young and you were but a twinkle in your father’s eye.’

  Laying it on a bit thick, isn’t he?

  ‘All right, we’ll come along, but we will need to leave tomorrow morning,’ Jillan consented as he tested his weight on his legs. ‘In the meantime I’ll have my sword back, thank you, Thomas Ironshoe.’

  In desperation, she’d thrown everything to the winds, and now she found she could foresee nothing. What hope was there for an organising intellect that could not anticipate events in order to manipulate and control the outcome? Yes, she’d temporarily thwarted D’Selle and she’d won herself a stay of execution in persuading Elder Thraal to unleash the Peculiar, but now all the others had scented blood and were circling her. D’Shaa was not fooled for a second that D’Zel’s offer of an alliance would secure her power or position in any way. His Declaration for her was more surprising and promising, and had probably caused consternation among the other organising intellects, but from what she’d read none of the Declarations among her kind through the ages had ever ended happily. Invariably, one of the parties to the Declaration became Dominant and undid the Lesser. Certain Lessers had survived for millennia before capitulating, but in the end the result had always been the same. D’Shaa was in no doubt that D’Zel would quickly wish to become the Dominant party to their Declaration, so that everything she was and that she organised would become his.

  Not only was she unable to anticipate and pre-empt the others of her rank: now she could not even pre-empt those under her sway in her own region. She’d been far too indulgent of Azual for far too long, she decided. He was impulsive, wilful and erratic. She should have had him put down immediately after the episode in New Sanctuary. Why hadn’t she? Because she was the most inexperienced of the organising intellects and had feared to undermine her position further at the time. Now look where that initial lack of confidence and foresight had got her. Now look at what it had resulted in: a lackadaisical Saint leaving a boy Undrawn for far too long; meaning the boy’s magic became manifest; meaning that the boy had the power to frustrate and overcome the Saint; meaning that the boy had learned to use the Saint’s own nature against him; meaning that the boy had now found access to her in the waking dream through the Saint. It was beyond belief. The boy was an abomination. Just contact with him had been so abhorrent and unsettling to her that she found it hard to maintain the mental discipline required to remain within the waking dream. See how close it was to destroying her! If she was absent from the dream for too long, Elder Thraal would immediately be aware of it. He would see how the magic of the Geas had spread like a virus through her region and her own organising intellect, and he would have no choice but to destroy her before the virus could spread further through the rest of the hierarchy. What if it had already spread to D’Zel as a result of the Declaration?

  With panic beginning to eat away at her mind, she performed drill after drill, as if she were a novice again, just to retain her sense of self. The calm centre which is both the self and the absence of self. Enter the waking dream. Become infinite once more. The demands of the physical vessel disappear, for it is no longer the vessel. Yes, she had lost control of her region and yes, she had allowed the Geas a foothold, but she had also begun to expose the Geas and bend the boy to her will. Azual held the parents hostage and unexpectedly seemed to be making progress in the mountains. And the Peculiar was in play. All the mechanisms of her will and control of the region were still in place; it was now a matter of exerting that will more forcefully, of imprinting her desires on the thoughts of the People and thereby even the most simple of day-to-day events, of seeing herself writ large across the entire history and definition of this world and its energies.

  ‘Azual!’ she projected through the waking dream.

  Holy one, came back the surprised and nervous thought. What is your will? Command me!

  ‘You have failed thus far.’

  Hesitation. Fear. Yes, holy one. There is no excuse.

  ‘You are inadequate, Damon, unworthy of Sainthood.’

  Mortification. Anguish. Self-hatred. Yes, holy one.

  ‘The fault must also be mine for ever having raised you up.’

  No, holy one! Forgive me, but I
must have deceived you in some way in the beginning.

  ‘Silence!’ D’Shaa had to admit that she admired his devotion, however. In that, he had never been lacking. ‘Your deception aside, how has this happened? There must be traitors working against us, or innocents being used against us without their understanding. Who or what has been using the boy? As you do not yet know, then your search has been neither subtle nor exacting enough.’

  Doubt. Irritation. Suspicion. Holy one, I am neither wise nor skilled in divining the truth of the past, but the boy has definitely been aided by strange agencies of which I cannot identify the origin. His parents were of New Sanctuary, but what was the origin of the force that was using them? I eradicated most of those that the force used, but I now believe I did not eradicate the force itself. Through me, you will have seen the guard Samnir and heard he was Drawn by another. Perhaps he was an agent of another Saint. Also, there was the strange warrior who was captured in Saviours’ Paradise and freed by the boy. I did not recognise the warrior and do not know from where he came. How can he have any connection with the boy when it is the boy’s first time beyond Godsend? Then there is the plague, which muddles things even further.

  ‘There is a range of forces arrayed against us,’ D’Shaa decided. ‘All operate through and around the boy. He is a powerful organising focus for them. Yet he is still within the web of my region and will, and I shall instruct you so that he remains so. Before that, however, there is something which you should know. I have unleashed the Peculiar, and he will soon enter my region. He is our ultimate guarantee that forces that depend on the boy will ultimately fall to the Saviours, even if it is not directly to you and me.’

  Surprise. Uncertainty. Dread. The Peculiar exists?

  ‘By the definition of this world, it must.’

  I have only read fragments and subsumed half-memories of him. I assumed he was just a pagan myth. If he truly exists—

  ‘Enough, Azual. You will not dwell upon such things, for it is beyond your understanding, and you well know the dangers of only partial understanding. Similarly, you will avoid any encounter or confrontation with the Peculiar.’

  What if he seeks to take the boy from me?

  ‘You will ensure the boy is dead long before any such eventuality can arise, Azual. It means that you must act quickly now, however, and follow my instructions precisely. So attend well to my words. Here is what you will do in my name …’

  ‘Most splendid Chief Blackwing …’ Torpeth sonorously addressed the fat old man in the outlandish throne, who eyed them suspiciously from his seat fully ten feet off the ground.

  How did he even get up there without breaking his neck? Minister Praxis wondered. There’s no ladder that I can see. Surely he didn’t fly up there with that cape of feathers, did he? No, there aren’t enough feathers to carry his weight.

  ‘I bring this lowlander to you …’

  He may once have had hair and beard as dark as a raven, but it’s all grey now. He is vain then, this pagan chieftain. Still, there’s nothing vain about his men, the Minister decided as he took in the hall full of lean and undecorated warriors.

  ‘… to … ah … Well, that’s it really. I bring this lowlander to you.’

  There were tense long moments. A warrior broader but slightly younger than the others pushed his way forward, stood at the foot of the throne and faced them. He looked the Minister up and down with obvious contempt and then asked Torpeth, ‘Is this the best gift that you can bring the upper village, holy man? It is worthless to us. Is it one of your mad jokes, perhaps? No one is laughing. Or is it a deliberate insult?’

  ‘Brave Braggar,’ Torpeth declaimed theatrically, ‘how have you been?’

  ‘Answer me,’ Braggar growled dangerously, whether because he didn’t want to lose face in front of the stranger and the assembled warriors, or because he genuinely wanted to tear Torpeth limb from limb wasn’t clear.

  ‘It is no gift, jest or insult from me,’ Torpeth replied lightly, hopping from one foot to the other. ‘It is a lowlander the gods have allowed to come here. It may be gift, jest or insult from them, therefore. I suggest you take your issue up with the gods, brave Braggar.’

  ‘Do you mock me?’ Braggar growled, but his voice broke just before the end and the word me came out in a squeak.

  Torpeth froze mid-hop, one foot level with his knee, his testicles slapping down against his thigh. He tilted his head. ‘I thought I heard a bird. Have you been stealing them from their nests and devouring them, Braggar, thinking that it will give you the power to ride the wind and come closer to holy Wayfar?’

  Rage darkened Braggar’s face and he raised a clenched fist, but Chief Blackwing now spoke in harsh tones. ‘Enough, troll! You have only been here moments and you have already outstayed your welcome. I thought I warned you last time that if you ever returned to the upper village we would throw you from the highest peak to see just how dear you were to the gods, and whether holy Wayfar would allow his winds to break your fall.’

  Torpeth stifled a giggle. ‘I thought your words were mere wind born of poor digestion and a diet too rich. Maybe you should try pine nuts instead. I swear by them. They keep me quite regular. I suspect your sour moods and grudges are born of a backed-up bowel, great Chief. Not even your feathers tickle you loose and put a smile on your face, no?’

  ‘This is not wise, pagan,’ Minister Praxis sighed.

  ‘Seize the troll!’ the chieftain bellowed to the dozens of lithe warriors in the hall, some of whom had already begun to move towards Torpeth.

  The holy man continued his strange hopping dance, skipping over a warrior who had dived low, and then jumping behind the Minister to avoid another. He bumped into the Minister so that he fell forwards with a squawk.

  ‘That’s it, lowlander! Wayfar is also known as the Screaming God!’ Torpeth nodded as he leapt to stand momentarily on the Minister’s bent back. ‘So now I will begin a prayer to him. Wayfaaaaaa …’ He began ululating and kicked off the Minister’s back to meet the chins of two warriors with the hard soles of his feet.

  ‘… aaaaaaa …’

  Torpeth landed nimbly and instantly bounced high, allowing two more warriors to collide together in the space directly below him. He landed on top of them, a foot on each of their backs, smacking their foreheads against the compacted floor.

  ‘… aaaaaaaa …’

  ‘Catch him, you sluggards!’ the chieftain spat, almost toppling from his perch, so angry was he.

  ‘… aaaaaaaaa …’

  Four warriors rushed at Torpeth from the sides, front and back. There was surely no escape. The small naked man waited for the backs of the warriors beneath him to flex and heave and then sprang at the warrior directly ahead, landing hands on his shoulders and vaulting over his head. The four warriors tumbled to the ground on top of each other.

  ‘Use your weapons, you stoneheads!’ Chief Blackwing cried in red-faced apoplexy. ‘Kill him!’

  ‘… aaaaaaaaaa …’

  Braggar picked his moment and moved with deadly speed for the holy man’s back. Torpeth nodded as if he felt the breeze of Braggar’s movement and approved. He darted forward between warriors to the hall door and flung it open, letting in an icy blast that staggered the chief’s son and unbalanced all those nearby.

  ‘… aaaaaaaarr …’

  Torpeth put his back to the wind and flew with it into the faces of those still coming for him. His loose hands whipped into eyes and throats; a hard heel thudded into a solar plexus; his feet climbed into the air, and he was over the heads of the warriors as they cowered behind upraised arms to protect themselves.

  He is a veritable imp of mischief, a devilish elemental! How these pagans like to cause trouble, as much for themselves as for any other.

  ‘… rrrrrr …’

  ‘For the love of the gods,’ Chief Blackwing pleaded, ‘someone grab or stab him!’

  The wind circled round the hall, faster and faster, torches guttering and the air arou
nd Torpeth seeming to blur the eye. A vortex wove and danced towards the rocking throne.

  ‘… rrrrrrrRR …’ the ululation deepened until it was a grinding and clashing storm over the mountains.

  A warrior managed to loose a wobbly arrow, but it was hurled wide of its mark to clatter into the wall. Overwhelmed and in fear of his life, Minister Praxis went to his knees, bent low and put his hands over his ears. Were those feet upon his back once more, lifting off straight towards the chieftain?

  ‘… RRRRR!!’

  Then came a shriek, the creak and crack of breaking wood, and a heavy thump as Chief Blackwing unceremoniously came back down to earth.

  There was a sudden silence and pained stillness. Men feared to start breathing again lest they attract the attention of the spirit that had chosen to punish them. All feared to move lest they discover they had died as part of the righteous vengeance. At best, bruised and broken bodies awaited them. The chieftain groaned.

  ‘That was by way of introduction to the lowlander,’ Torpeth said mildly, ‘for he has been sent to test us all. Remember that when you hear his words in the days ahead. Remember that the greatest warriors of the upper village were defeated without difficulty by an unarmed naked warrior. Remember that they were undone by just an old man, and a dirty one at that. Think on it when you wonder if you have the strength to take on the Empire. Think on it again so that you may know whether it is true faith or mere vanity that urges and inclines you to fight. Ask yourselves if it is better to die gloriously or live with the inner peace of the Geas. And if you find an answer to that last one, let me know, would you?’

  And then he was gone, so the warriors of the upper village could start breathing and moving again.

  Hella pulled her cloak closed and hurried through the pale light of the dawn to the Gathering Place. She found him sat there, as always, staring vacantly at the ground just before his feet.

  There was no one else around, of course, because it was so early. Added to that, the town had been in a subdued and sluggish mood ever since the incident, the visit of the holy Saint and the spread of the plague. People seemed to seek the shadows whenever they moved through the town, and seemed to have less reason to seek out their neighbours than in the past. There were fewer disputes than usual, less cause to approach the council of elders and a general unspoken agreement that the season had turned, that there was little to be gained from sending workers out into the fields, and that most right-minded individuals would spend their days by the fire at home. Hella didn’t even see her classmates any more, for no replacement Minister had yet arrived from Hyvan’s Cross.