“What’s happening?” asked Choss.
“I can feel something in the air. It’s like that calm moment just before a lightning strike.”
“The air does smell strange,” said Choss. Fray took a deep breath, noting that the usual smell of the sea and the city had become muted. A dry, crisp tang tickled his nose and the hairs on the back of his hands itched.
Fray felt the first trickle of nervous sweat run down his back. He wanted to say something witty to show Choss he wasn’t scared, but nothing came to mind. Instead he just kept a firm grip on his sword to stop it tripping him up, and wiped the sweat from his brow.
With a slightly uneven gait because of his injured leg, Choss jogged down the street, his eyes constantly scanning for signs of trouble. Fray did his best to keep up and ignore the prickling against his skin as they crossed over into the meat district. He’d thought it would be a net of energy that would be hollow inside, but every street was the same, full of jostling sparks that pinched him.
After a few minutes at a slow jog Choss stopped abruptly and held up a hand. A couple of seconds later Fray heard the faint scuff of approaching footsteps. Choss pointed at a side street and they sprinted into it a few seconds ahead of a patrol. Three local men came into view, dressed in an assortment of armour, and all were armed with axes or swords. Fray and Choss crouched down in the shadows of a shop doorway, hands on weapons as they waited to see what the patrol would do. Fray expected some sort of idle banter, but the three men spoke tersely in harsh whispers. They were nervous and unsettled. Perhaps they could feel what was coming as well.
As they neared, Choss drew a punching dagger from his belt, slowing and quietly. There wasn’t enough space for Fray as well, but he readied himself as best he could, bunching up the muscles in his legs and tightly gripping his sword. As he’d been instructed, he studied the men and their movements and picked out a target. His heart started to thump as they came closer and closer.
They were only half a dozen steps away. All one of them had to do was turn his head slightly and he’d see them hunched down in the meagre shadows. Fray’s breathing sounded impossibly loud in his ears so he held his breath, sure that it would give them away. A tight band of pain started to form across his chest, but he ignored it as he willed the men to turn away. When black spots started to dance in front of his eyes he saw the men turn. Only after they’d disappeared around a corner did he dare breathe again.
Choss sheathed his dagger and led the way. Five more times they had to quickly duck into alleyways and once they were forced to hide on the bed of a cart between barrels of fish. Whether it was the stink or something else Fray didn’t know, but the patrol went past them without stopping.
“Not much further,” said Choss. “I’ve never seen so many patrols.” His grimace held more than annoyance, but it took Fray a while to realise it was guilt. The stories of the destruction of several buildings in one night had reached the Guardians, but it had sounded ridiculous. Tales of a giant masked man dressed in black, carving a bloody path through the meat district, burning buildings with a flaming sword. A God made flesh, daring men to fight him and then mocking their weakness when they failed. The fiery sword might have been an exaggeration but looking at Choss he suspected the rest contained an element of truth.
As they slid off the cart something caught at the back of Fray’s throat, a metallic tang that filled him with a sense of dread. It was blood. A lot of old blood. Run-off from the bulky slaughterhouses that loomed all around him. A giant congealed river of what had once been the essence of life ran in a sludgy mess beneath his feet. Someone had dipped into that river and summoned the pain from those final moments, twisting them into something for their own purpose. The Flesh Mage had fashioned it into a weapon, one that no one could see or touch, but Fray could feel it vibrating in the stones beneath his feet. It was the catalyst and a spike of terror. The Flesh Mage would then use the pain and suffering from the street war as a hammer to tear open a tiny fracture. He didn’t want to think about what would happen after that.
Fray stumbled and would have fallen if Choss hadn’t caught him by the elbow.
“What is it? Are you all right?”
Fray tried to find the words but knew that it would sound like gibberish. Instead he went with a version of the truth.
“He’s summoning his power. I can feel it starting to build.”
Choss’s eyes widened in alarm. “Quickly.”
They raced down narrow alleys, splashing through puddles of blood, their boots crunching bones and bits of gristle into dust. Past rotting skins and carcasses of long dead animals stacked like firewood, forgotten and now nothing more than feasts for flies. Fray didn’t stop or look down, afraid that none of what he saw was real. At first he thought that only he was being affected but then he heard Choss muttering to himself.
Finally they reached the heart of Don Kal’s territory, but all of the streets were closely guarded. Choss gestured at a nearby building set close to its neighbour. The alley between the two stank and the ground was littered with rotting filth and red sludge. The back door of the building had been forced open by someone in the past and poorly repaired. It flew open with a well-timed kick and then sagged on its hinges, the wood rotten and warped. Inside, the carcass of the building looked no better, black mould climbing the walls and more rotting filth clinging to the floor, making their feet stick. Everything of value had been stripped away, leaving nothing but a grimy green and black shell of a building that smelled like an open sewer. Fray gritted his teeth against the assault and followed Choss up the stairs, which creaked alarmingly under their combined weight.
In one or two places the wood had completely rotted through and they had to jump up a few steps or cling to the metal railing and pull themselves across a wide gap. It slowed their progress, which made Fray sweat even more, but not from exertion. Being this close to the centre of the Flesh Mage’s power made his skin feel as if it were covered with a host of writhing maggots.
Eventually they reached the top floor and crouched down beside a window. Peering through the grimy pane into the street below Fray could see the front of one building which seemed to be the centre of activity. The faces weren’t clear at this distance but he could still see a tall Morrin giving orders. A large group of people started to gather in front of the building.
“That’s Don Kal,” said Choss, gesturing at the Morrin. “And those at the front are his Gold and Silver jackals.”
As they watched even more people came out of nearby buildings, lining up in front of Don Kal. The Morrin climbed up onto the back of a cart and began to speak to the crowd. After a few minutes two figures appeared from one of the buildings and made their way to the front of the crowd to stand beside Don Kal. The appearance of the newcomers sent a ripple through the assembly. From the way everyone reacted it was clear they recognised the two identical-looking women.
“Who are they?” asked Fray.
“Dońa Parvie and her sister,” hissed Choss. More armed people started filtering into the square at the back. “We all assumed Don Kal had lost his mind. It would be suicidal to take on the other Families alone, but he was working with Parvie all along.”
Fray heard what Choss said but he was focused on scanning the crowd. Choss had described the unusual albino he’d seen with Don Kal and he’d hoped it would turn out to be the Flesh Mage. After a few minutes of frantic searching Fray realised that if the Flesh Mage was in the crowd he would be in disguise.
The cold prickle along his scalp and the churning energy in the air meant he was close. Don Kal’s speech started to excite the crowd and even though he couldn’t hear every word, Fray picked up on the general theme of riches and ruling the city.
“Is he down there?” asked Choss.
“I think so, but I need to be sure,” said Fray, tapping the side of his head. He reached out for his magic and it flowed into him with ease. Fray braced himself mentally for the onslaught and then peered out the wi
ndow. His heightened eyesight sharpened until he could clearly see every face in the crowd and hear every word. The air crackled with the build-up of energy, and sparks of what looked like lightning flashed out from the centre of the crowd towards the sky. Most surprising of all was the Morrin himself. Whereas everyone else in the crowd had become suffused with a mix of orange and yellows, colours that spoke of their passion, Don Kal stood apart. His body was nothing more than a shadowy outline of a man filled with an endless black void.
“By the Maker,” whispered Fray. “Don Kal is the Flesh Mage.”
“Then where’s the real Don Kal?”
“Dead. The Flesh Mage has become him. He doesn’t care who wins or dies in this war, he just needs there to be as much violence as possible.”
“We need to tell Don Jarrow. He has no idea what he’s getting into.”
“Wait, something is happening,” said Fray. Disguised as Don Kal, the Flesh Mage started to pass out packets of something from the back of the wagon. Each person in the crowd ate something before passing it on to the jackal beside them. Almost immediately Fray saw a change among the crowd. The Flesh Mage started talking again, whipping the crowd into a greater frenzy with provocative words and promises he couldn’t keep. But they were too drunk, too stupid or too arrogant to realise, and whatever he’d fed them started to affect their mood.
Cheers and shouts became something wild, a chorus of animalistic rage and wordless cries that hungered for blood.
“He’s feeding something to the crowd. It’s making them feral, almost like they’re berserk.”
“I’ve seen something like that before,” said Choss, the blood draining from his face. “It happened at the arena.”
It had to be to create more chaos and bloodshed. The Flesh Mage would need a vast amount of energy to open a rift. He didn’t want any of his people losing their nerve and running from a fight. This way they would feel no pain and keep killing until they dropped dead from their injuries. The other Families would have no idea what was about to hit them.
Fray let go of his magic with some relief, suddenly glad he couldn’t see or feel the Flesh Mage in such detail any more.
If they didn’t warn the others and somehow convince them to work together, there would be slaughter among the Families unlike anything they’d seen before. The Flesh Mage would get exactly what he wanted. The rift would open and the nightmare that his father had died to prevent would be unleashed upon the world.
“Even with Parvie and her people, I don’t see how they can win,” said Choss, staring at the crowd.
Just then a beautiful woman with dark skin stepped out of a nearby building and moved to stand beside the Flesh Mage and Dońa Parvie. Fray heard Choss gasp in surprise and a ripple of displeasure ran through the crowd at her presence. From the stance and gestures of the Flesh Mage he was doing his best to tell them she was a friend but the jackals seemed unconvinced and were visibly angry. A tall man with golden skin from Shael stepped up beside the newcomer and, if anything, that seemed to make the crowd even more upset.
“Who’s that?” asked Fray.
Choss clenched his teeth and shook his head. He seemed unable to answer and was shaking with rage. Fray could see the muscles tensing across his shoulders and arms. With considerable effort the big man regained control of his emotions, although when he spoke his voice was ragged.
“That’s Dońa Jarrow. She must have been working with Don Kal all the time as well. She manipulated me, used me to start this war.”
“I don’t understand.”
“By himself Don Kal couldn’t win, but with Parvie’s people behind him, and if Dońa Jarrow has convinced people to follow her, I don’t know what will happen.”
“Then we need to go,” said Fray, but the big man didn’t move. He tried pulling Choss’s arm but it was like trying to move a mountain. “We need to tell the others. What about Don Jarrow? Do you think he knows about his wife?”
The question caught Choss by surprise and he sat back on his haunches, staring into the distance.
“I bet he has no idea about what his wife has done,” said Choss.
“Or any of this,” said Fray, waving at the square below them. Finally Choss started to move, but not before glaring at Dońa Jarrow. The war was almost upon the Families and they were totally unprepared. It would be a massacre and the Flesh Mage would get exactly what he wanted. Time had run out.
CHAPTER 35
Talandra really tried to listen carefully as Hyram detailed her security arrangements at the palace but her mind kept wandering. He was still sulking with her for having gone on ahead of the main caravan, making him escort Sasha her body-double in her place during the long and slow journey, but he would get over it. He was on more familiar ground now, protecting her in an environment he could control, with doors and walls.
The few days she’d been able to operate in Perizzi without being observed had been wonderful. She had squeezed in so many meetings every day and yet still managed to get seven hours of sleep at night. Normally she managed six but since finding out about the baby, and with the trip here sapping her stamina, she needed that extra hour. Even now she had to fight back a yawn.
“She doesn’t need to know every tiny detail,” said Alexis, cutting off Hyram mid-sentence.
“I trust you, Hyram. You’ve been very thorough,” said Talandra, offering her brother a smile to soften the blow. Hyram grunted and turned towards the door. No doubt he’d have a good sulk about this later. Alexis mimed weaving a noose and hanging herself behind his back and Talandra fought back a snigger.
Alexis had proven to be the perfect foil for her brother. Her sense of humour balanced out her brother’s moods and she understood subtlety and how to read body language far better than Hyram.
Alexis had known about the baby without being told and had promised to keep it a secret. No one else knew yet, not even her husband, as she’d left for Yerskania before he’d returned home. When she got back to Charas she intended to tell him first. When it became impossible to hide her growing waistline others would be told.
Alexis followed Hyram to the door. “Get some rest,” she called back over her shoulder.
“I can’t. I don’t have time,” said Talandra.
Alexis raised an eyebrow. “Nothing is happening for a couple of hours, then the harpies will descend to dress you up like a solstice duck, so what else are you going to do until then?”
Talandra didn’t have an answer. Alexis glanced pointedly at the bed and then closed the door behind her. It did look tempting and had proven to be very comfortable last night. Queen Morganse had been incredibly generous with the accommodation she’d provided, giving Talandra an entire wing of the palace for her staff. In addition to her royal guards, who were stationed in the rooms closest to hers, there were also rooms for her maids, house staff and all of the others who were required for such an important visit.
For now there was very little to do except rest, and most of her people were taking advantage of the lull before the storm. After the banquet, the formal greetings with local dignitaries, and necessary ceremonies had been completed, Talandra would be able to have some important meetings. From the tone of the letters she’d received from Queen Morganse she too sounded keen to get past the formalities and move onto the business they had been discussing.
A loud knock repeated three times on the door disturbed her thoughts. Three knocks meant someone important had arrived. Talandra heaved a long sigh, stared with longing at the bed and then composed herself.
“Come in,” she said.
Alexis pushed open both doors and then stepped inside, Hyram moving to stand with his back against the opposite door. A small balding man dressed in crimson and white tottered in before clearing his throat.
“May I present Her Royal Majesty, jewel of the Argent Sea, noblest daughter of—”
“That’s enough Poe,” said Queen Morganse, sweeping into the room and dismissing the little man with a wave. He shu
ffled off and she watched him depart with a fond smile. “If I don’t stop him early he will go on and on.”
Many people had described the Queen of Yerskania to Talandra, but this was the first time that they’d met in person. For a woman who had four grown children, and grandchildren too, she looked surprisingly young. A closer look revealed fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and deep ridges between her eyebrows. Given everything that she’d been through, even just the events known to the public, Talandra thought she still looked amazing for her age.
With a generously curvy figure that Talandra somewhat envied, and flawless pale Yerskani skin, the tall Queen was a striking woman, even wearing a plain green dress, bereft of any jewellery or trappings of state.
Her dark brown eyes studied Talandra carefully as one hand casually played with the loose plait of her hair. Even if Talandra had not been watching she would have felt it when Morganse entered the room as her presence filled the space. She could see it affecting the others as they twitched at their posts.
“Your Majesty,” said Morganse, curtseying formally and inclining her head.
“Majesty,” said Talandra, imitating her and sinking slightly lower as this was Morganse’s palace and she was the more senior. She was also a woman who had successfully ruled her nation for many years by herself after the death of her beloved husband. Talandra admired the woman and all that she had achieved, so was happy to bow just a little lower.
Morganse approached and warmly clasped her hands before kissing her on both cheeks.
“It’s so good to finally meet you.”
“You also.”
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