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

by A J Dalton

  He came up out of the punishment chambers and emerged into the moaning winds that always circulated around Hyvan’s Cross and its unusual sandstone formations. He mentally called to Captain Skathis and told him to come to the temple at the top of the sculpted crag upon which the town was built. Azual had captured the place from the pagans centuries before and made the ancient temple his home. Like most of the other original buildings, it had been hollowed out of the soft rock. There were no straight lines or flat surfaces to be seen on it because the harsh winds moulded the rock into smooth curves and strange fluid shapes. By rights, he should have had this place of pagan worship and power demolished, but there was something about it that relaxed him. While the wind was droning or haunting around most of the town, its sound here, as it funnelled through circular openings and yawning arches, was soothing and almost melodic. He found it easy to meditate in the temple, whereas elsewhere his thoughts would interrupt each other, snarl and fight.

  And he seemed to see better when he allowed the temple to calm his mind. Indeed, he imagined he could now see far more than he had when his eyes had been working. It was almost as if his eyes had held him back from seeing properly. Now that he saw exclusively through others, there was no primary vision forcing others out. Now he usually saw every object and event from multiple perspectives at once, meaning that he also understood them in a more complex manner than before. His consciousness had expanded. Was this what it was to be a Saviour, to be a god?

  Perhaps he did not need to restore his eyes, then. He could manage without them. Yet he chafed against having to be dependent on others – lesser beings at that! – for what he saw. Yes, he’d developed his skills to the point whereby he could see simultaneously through the eyes of every being in Hyvan’s Cross and not miss a single detail, but it was a constant drain on his power. He never had enough power, whether it was to restore his eyes or maintain his expanded consciousness. He had to have more. Nothing else mattered. He had to have the boy! The boy would give him everything he needed, whether he was willing or not. And once Azual had drained every last vestige of power from Jillan, then he would wreak his full and bloody revenge on the boy.

  As Azual reclined on his temple throne, the attendant Hero blinked wearily. Azual’s immediate view of himself bobbed and weaved, without his ability to correct it. He felt queasy seeing himself in his own mind as if through a broken mirror. He would never get used to this, could never accept it. It was humiliating to be tied to such a gross lumpen creature as this soldier.

  ‘Get out of my sight!’ the Saint seethed. ‘Send a replacement.’

  As the soldier hurried out, Azual switched his view so that he saw through the eyes of the arriving Captain Skathis instead. Azual watched himself lean forward in his throne and appear to glare down at the man.

  ‘Neither hide nor hair has been found, Captain. Nothing!’

  Azual was suddenly looking at the floor in front of Skathis’s feet. He realised that the damnable fool had bowed to him.

  ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Captain? Got some explanation as to the spectacular failure of your men, hmm? Better make it good.’

  ‘Holy one, Saint Izat has invited all southerners wishing to flee the plague to enter the western region,’ the Captain replied impassively. ‘It could be that the warrior and the boy—’

  ‘What?’ Azual hissed. ‘How dare she! It is an outrage! I cannot believe … Wait. Have extra guards sent from Saviours’ Paradise to close the border on our side.’

  ‘I have already done so, holy one.’

  ‘Excellent, Captain. I can see I chose well when appointing you.’

  ‘We are patrolling the border in good numbers, holy one. Unless the fugitives chose to head into the west immediately upon leaving Saviours’ Paradise, they will not have escaped. They will be found.’

  ‘I doubt they will have headed west so quickly. Why would they? I still have the boy’s loving parents. He knows he has but one week left to present himself here. Yet, to be on the safe side, I will lay an aegis on the minds of all the People in the region to watch for the fugitives and immediately report any sighting. I will plant an image of the fugitives in the minds of everyone. It will tire me, though, so see to it that the punishment chambers are full of new criminals by tomorrow morning, Captain. And have all children who have not yet been Drawn brought to me at the temple, no matter their age.’

  ‘As is your will, holy one.’ The Captain bowed, giving Azual a moment of motion sickness.

  ‘Jillan must not be killed, do you understand? I would prefer the warrior taken alive also, but if that is not possible then so be it.’

  ‘Of course, holy one.’

  ‘Good. Only leaving the issue of the plague. I know it is rife in both Godsend and Saviours’ Paradise. I will instruct the Captains there to prevent any from leaving and all from entering. Hyvan’s Cross is still unaffected, however. Hmm. Captain, it would be a dreadful shame for the west if some of the plague victims were to find their way through our border guards, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Very much so, holy one,’ the Captain replied, for once allowing himself a smile, a small ugly thing.

  ‘Have any victims that still walk rounded up. Saint Izat may yet come to regret her generous invitation, eh?’

  ‘As you will it, holy one.’

  Azual’s replacement pair of eyes arrived, allowing him to switch his view and regard both himself and the Captain at once. Azual nodded and rose. ‘Then I must now see the mother.’

  Maria sent out as strong a call as she could manage, but there was no reply. Either there were none of her people nearby, or the strength of the Saint’s power in this place blocked all her projections. She gave up. She’d been trying for days now and was exhausted. If she didn’t rest, then she’d have no strength to take advantage of any real opportunity that presented itself.

  She’d been kept in a small empty chamber carved into the solid rock. There was no window. There was a single blanket, an unyielding floor, a metal door and that was it. It was devoid of anything she could use to scry for Jillan, Jedadiah or any others who might help her. She would have used the cups of water that were brought with her morning and evening meals, but one of the guards always stood over her while she ate and then took everything away. She’d urinated into her cupped hands at one point, but – as she had feared would be the case – was unable to scry the outside world using her own bodily fluids. No, this was a prison that not even her magic could free her from.

  She fretted for her dear Jedadiah, who had never been able to control that temper of his, even when it was in his own best interests. She didn’t think any less of him for it, for he was a man of strong passion and principles – qualities for which she could only love him, even when it got them into trouble. He was a fine man and a fine father. There was much of him in Jillan.

  And how she fretted for their beloved son. More than fretted. Her nerves were shredded. She now feared she’d been wrong to hide him from the world. Perhaps she should have encouraged magic in him when he was younger, so that he would now have control of it. She thought she’d been oh-so-wise to flee New Sanctuary and make for the more remote and less noteworthy town of Godsend with her young family. She thought they would be able to remain relatively anonymous and have a semblance of happiness. Now she wondered if she’d been more cowardly than wise. And the life they’d led in Godsend had been a constant trial, always watching over their shoulders, guarding every word they said, keeping potential friends at arm’s length. It had limited them in ways she’d failed to anticipate, cruelly confining Jedadiah’s free spirit and harming Jillan’s development. And all for what? Where had it got them? Jillan accused of murder and a fugitive. Jedadiah and herself imprisoned by an increasingly suspicious and deranged Saint. If the Saviours’ vassal decided they knew more than he’d so far gleaned and chose to break them, then the consequences didn’t bear thinking about. More than just her precious family would be lost. The entire world!r />
  It began to occur to Maria that it might have been better if they’d all died in New Sanctuary after all. Death was not to be feared, she knew, for the Geas continually remade life. She feared it anyway, because it meant leaving behind and forgetting her sweet husband and innocent son. And it was that fear, that weakness, that had ultimately led her here and might still prove to be the undoing of everything.

  ‘No, Maria, you are not wise. You are a coward,’ she told herself.

  Tears ran down her cheeks. If she twisted the blanket or tore it into strips, she would have a rope she could tie around the bars of the small grille at the top of the metal door. If she used her weight just so, she could snap her neck before—

  There was a scrape in the lock and the door squealed as it was dragged open. A huge frame ducked into the cell. She backed away from the grotesque and looming figure, who had to be nearly twice her height. Too late! She’d delayed too long, agonised self-indulgently during the precious seconds she should have used to end her life. What have I done? Geas forgive me! I am unworthy, have always been so. Do not receive my spirit! End it instead. Strike me down here and now so that I may not betray you to the insatiable and parasitic Saviours. End me! I beg you, Geas! Please!

  But there was no reply, just silence, as silence had greeted all the projections she’d attempted in the last few days. The Saint’s wide nostrils quivered as he scented the air to locate her. He moved towards her, hearing her shift to press against the back wall of the cell. Then he suddenly seemed able to see her. He came closer, his shadow casting her into darkness, and then his face was an inch from hers, smelling her fear and dribbling in anticipation. His hot breath smelt of death, the bloody pits where his eyes had been oozed pus and bloody tears. Surely this creature of nightmare had never been human? There was a greenish tint to his skin that spoke of poisons so lethal they could have no place in the life and nature of this world. Her flesh crawled at the sight and closeness of him. Her lungs spasmed in terror. Her mind teetered.

  ‘Are they treating you well?’ the ghastly thing whispered.

  She wanted to be sick. She couldn’t nod because she couldn’t stand the idea of coming into contact with his loathsome flesh. He was anathema to everything she knew and believed in. Her throat was constricted. She couldn’t speak.

  ‘Ahh, but you are afraid. I do not mean to scare you.’ He grinned, tilting his sightless head and taking a step back. ‘I apologise. I imagine I am not looking my best. This has all been quite … unfortunate, as difficult for me as for you and your husband. I wish it had not come to this, truly. You feel the same, yes, Maria?’

  She finally managed to prise her head away from the wall and nod weakly. The word escaped her: ‘Yes.’

  He went down on his haunches, his head all but level with hers now. There was an air of sadness about him. No, she would not feel sorry for this insane monster, not after the things he had done. But his magic was influencing her, appealing to her maternal and nurturing capabilities. She tried to shore up her mental defences, but she’d drained herself in the last few days and had hardly slept. To her unending shame, although rationally she knew none of the fault was hers, she’d been Drawn by him when she was young. He was inside her and could not be denied if he became violent and determined.

  ‘I have not come seeking your forgiveness, woman, understand that. I am a holy Saint, remember. You owe me your faith and allegiance. You are in debt to me for your life.’

  ‘Yes, holy one. You have my faith and allegiance. I recognise my debt,’ she replied glibly, trying to convince herself she was deceiving him.

  ‘It is not your place to forgive me, but I will admit to you that circumstances have forced me to do things of which I am not entirely proud.’

  ‘I am sure they were unavoidable, holy one.’ You have a tongue so forked I cannot believe it does not end up in knots.

  ‘Indeed, they were. I wish to restore your family to you, Maria.’

  No, you devil, do not say so. Anything but that! I could resist any temptation or torture more easily than that. ‘I pray that it can be so.’

  ‘I hold no grudge against Jillan, you must understand. Like all of us, he has suffered circumstances that, as with me, forced him to do things of which he may not have been proud, but things that were unavoidable nonetheless. How can I condemn him while behaving in the same way? I cannot, Maria. Like me, Jillan has a special gift, a gift that is often a responsibility, a gift that is often a burden and a gift that is sometimes … is sometimes a curse. Do you understand what I say, Maria?’

  ‘Yes.’ I do not want to!

  ‘Jillan and I are the same in that respect.’

  She shook her head, eyes wide and blurring.

  ‘I know your faith fears to elevate your son to my position, but I say it is true and therefore your faith must accept it. He will be a Saint one day, a protector of the People, holy within the Empire, a divine representative of the blessed Saviours themselves.’

  Never! He is nothing like you. He will never become the monster you are. The killing was an accident. He was defending himself.

  ‘And I will give him back to you. I am having him brought to this place, Maria. In return, though, I must ask you to honour your debt to me. Will you pay your debt to me?’

  No! Tell him no. Do not think of Jillan returned to you. It is a lie. Do not think of holding him as a mother and keeping him safe from all harm. My sweet son, I love you! ‘I will pay the debt,’ she choked.

  ‘You understand that this will become a binding aegis, an inescapable compulsion?’

  ‘Yes.’ She had not spoken the word out loud, had she? She wanted to take it back.

  ‘Very well, then. When he comes to you, you will tell him to hand himself over to me. Reassure him that I have sworn his safety and that all will be well. He will not be able to refuse you. You know how to command him. You are his maker. Do you understand and agree, Maria?’

  ‘You will not kill him!’

  ‘I will not. The aegis will bind me as much as you. Is it a compact between us, for the life of your son?’

  The faintest of nods. An impossibly slight zephyr. A ghostly ‘Yes’.

  Azual smiled. The boy would live and learn the true nature of suffering. He would yearn for death but be denied it, for death would be a kindness, and kindness was the last thing Azual intended. The boy would be made a living horror. He would be a son of sorts, the son Azual had never had.

  Saint Izat picked her way carefully along the muddy road. Her grey boots were of the finest calfskin, so it would be a crime to get them dirty. She couldn’t believe just how backward the south was: in her region of the west every road was properly paved and maintained. Well-kept roads meant faster transport of goods, fewer spillages, fewer accidents, more efficient trade, lower prices, greater profits, happier people and, ultimately, greater power for her region. The rutted puddles before her now were not just unsightly, but also offensive to her very philosophy and being.

  ‘See how the land embodies the nature of its Saint! See how the mad one has made this region.’

  She picked her way along a narrow strip of firm ground between the mud and trees. Her foot slipped and she screeched, frightening roosting birds up from the forest. She used her power to move at an unnatural speed to recover her balance and preserve what she could of her dignity. At this rate, she would be drained of magic before she’d travelled more than a few miles into Azual’s territory. And she could not just replenish herself with any of the People she came across, as they belonged to the mad Saint, who might see her through their eyes, even if he did not sense one of his own People being drained. Izat needed to be frugal with her magic, or she would be powerless to deal with the boy when the time came. Were it not for that, she would have been able to imbue her limbs with the strength required to cross the land with prodigious leaps, and skim across the ground so quickly that it did not have time to soil her feet.

  Not for the first time Izat cursed that she ha
d not thought to bring a horse, not that she knew how to ride one, as she’d never had cause before, and not that she would have been able to tolerate it publicly defecating and urinating wherever and whenever the fancy took it. Besides, it wouldn’t have been at all necessary if the blasted gnome hadn’t proved himself so incompetent. Not only had Bion failed to detain the boy or persuade him to head west, but he’d also gone and got himself killed. Worse than careless! It was positively inconsiderate. Izat could not abide poor manners at the best of times, and these were very far from the best of times, what with puddles and muck all around her.

  ‘I am holy! Divinely pristine. What an outrage it is that I must be here. And the smell is quite weakening. There aren’t even any flowers here to sweeten the air. Winter would be no excuse, were they but civilised enough to have heard of mahonia, winter jasmine and box. There should be avenues of such blooms for everyone.’

  Another slight slip and she had to resist the urge to draw energy again, instead grabbing a slimy tree branch to keep herself upright. She turned her hand over and flinched to see a greeny blackness on her palm. She held it out away from her as if to show and shame the world.

  ‘Everything here is contaminating! I think the plague must be innate to all life here, so corrupted is it. None of it is worth saving. It is right that I have come to undo this region, as then a fresh start can be made. Yes, I will cleanse this region and make a beautiful garden of it, a place where people can innocently frolic, gambol and gad. I will be their holy gardener and artist. I will grow the People’s sensibility and elevate them above this mud in which they grovel, as if they were still waiting to be born from the primeval ooze or primordial soup. The hold of the Geas must be broken so that the People can grow and discover potential in and of themselves. I will free them so that they can one day find their place among the stars rather than the fetid and infested bog of this region.’

  The region – as it currently was – represented an assault on her very person. It would merely be an act of self-defence to drain many of the People here. Some would have to die so that the rest could live more ennobled lives. And she needed their life energy if she was to be strong enough to travel quickly, retrieve the boy, potentially fend off both Azual and the Peculiar and break the hold of the Geas. So much to do! But she had to find a way to drain the People without being detected by Azual until it was too late. Then she had an idea. It would involve a disguise.