by Tom Lloyd
Firnin set the bag down and sat cross-legged on the ground, tugging at her breeches and shirt to put them perfectly in order. That done, she pulled a flask from her pocket, took a long slug of what smelled like brandy, and poured the rest down her front, ignoring the expressions on their faces.
‘What’re you doing?’ Doranei snapped as he watched her. This wasn’t what she’d outlined to him the previous day when he’d told her to take care of the beggars — that was what the saddlebag was for.
Firnin opened one eye and scowled at him, which twisted a scar down her face into an even more jagged line. ‘Trying to avoid the death of innocents; the bag can help you get out instead. Have Cetarn signal me when you want the way cleared.’
‘What are you doing now?’
The mage didn’t reply, and Doranei realised he wasn’t going to get an answer without interrupting her concentration. Camba Firnin’s main skill might be as an illusionist, but she was still powerful, and now wasn’t the time to anger her. Instead he made himself comfortable and stared out over the white-shrouded figures that even now knelt at the gates in prayer. There weren’t as many as he’d feared, and he mouthed his thanks to Cerdin, God of Thieves, whom the Brotherhood had adopted as a patron God.
It was hard to gauge in the darkness but he guessed there were a little more than a score of them, perhaps thirty faithful, all in a circle with heads bowed. Along the wall fluttered scraps of paper and cloth, reminding him of prayers to Sheredal, the Aspect of the Goddess Asenn called the Spreader of the Frost. From the sheer number on show Doranei realised it wasn’t just a handful of Byorans who were praying for intercession with the Gods. He couldn’t begin to estimate how many prayers had been attached to the wall, but it looked like hundreds.
The scene of still reverence continued for a dozen heartbeats, until, without warning, a white misty figure stepped out from the compound gate. Doranei’s heart gave a lurch. It was a child, robed in cloth-of-light, and resembling the ghostly Aspect of Vasle inhabiting Morghien, King Emin’s long-time ally. Even before the praying figures had noticed it the figure set off down the main avenue, oblivious to the gasps it provoked as it passed the beggars. By ones and twos they struggled to their feet, looking around in bewilderment — one reached his hand out to the illusion, but when he tried to speak the words faltered in his throat.
‘Karkarn’s horn,’ Doranei spat, ‘you’ve just reaffirmed their faith, you stupid bitch!’
‘Stop your whining,’ Firnin said in a breathy whisper. ‘Are they following?’
Doranei looked at the beggars, who were all staring after the child as it reached the top of the street and started off down it. When it became clear the child was leaving, they stumbled after it, a few crying out in wordless fervour.
‘Yes, they are.’
‘Good. Leave me here.’ He could hear the strain in her voice now. ‘I’ll lead them as far as I can, then give them a nightmare that’s hard to worship.’
Doranei opened his mouth to argue before realising it would waste precious time. ‘Damn. Okay.’ He signalled the rest of the company forward, carefully draping the saddlebag over one shoulder.
They came in a sprint, with Daken and the battle-mage Ebarn at the fore. There was no time to talk; everyone already knew their established positions, and they all knew how vulnerable they were out in the open. It was reasonable to think that news of the fire in Breakale had already reached the Ruby Tower — with luck the gate wasn’t barred but they couldn’t afford to make assumptions. Once she was standing in front of the gate Ebarn planted her feet firmly. Doranei gently placed the saddlebag on the ground to one side and took his place in the second rank.
‘Close your eyes.’ She stretched her arms out and braced herself while the soldiers immediately behind her, Telasin, Coran and Veil, were careful to give her room. The silver thread and crystal shards attached to her tunic began to glow, and sparks darted through the air around her. A moment later her skin glistened pale green and Doranei, knowing what was coming, ducked his head.
With a great gasp Ebarn threw her hands forwards and a flash cut the darkness, twin streams of magic leaping forward and exploding on the compound gates with an ear-shattering crash. The gates were ripped from their hinges and launched into the compound, while Ebarn staggered backwards into Veil’s waiting arms.
As Doranei blinked and cursed at the effect on his night-sight, the white-eyes leaped eagerly forward, weapons raised. Telasin followed, into the stink of the Dark Place that filled the air and the chaos caused by the inrush of Brotherhood troops. A roar of wordless rage that could only be Coran cut through the clatter, shouting and screaming.
Once Doranei met the bewildered Ruby Tower Guards inside, his training kicked in. A spear jabbed out of the dust-filled gloom and he dodged to the side, feeling it catch the side of his brigandine. The fear flaring inside him came out as a shout and he launched himself forward before the Byoran had a chance to withdraw. His sword had pierced the man’s throat and before he’d even fallen Doranei had turned and chopped with his axe into the arm of the next guardsman.
Past him there was only empty ground, and though Doranei looked around, there was no further threat. The wave of Brotherhood had crashed over the outnumbered defenders and slaughtered them with savage speed. It was only a matter of seconds before the attackers were the sole people standing, taking great gulps of air as Daken’s laughter echoed around the compound walls.
‘Let’s go find more,’ he roared, heading for the main entrance to the tower. Doranei followed him, as did Telasin, whose body now appeared to have fat strands of dancing black smoke attached. Osh, the Mystic of Karkarn, joined them, together with the four thieves and Mage Cetarn. The mage-killer, Shim the Bastard, hurried along in the rear, his axe as yet unblooded.
Coran led the rest to the barracks, in the other direction.
The cackling Daken was first to reach the entrance. He sidestepped a spear point with surprising agility and rammed the spiked tip of his axe into the guard’s gut, driving him back through the tall double-doors. Doranei raced to follow and found himself staring at an empty throne in a dimly lit audience hall. There were no guards in the room so he followed Daken across the hall and headed for the smaller of the two doorways on the far wall.
Beyond it was a bare room with three more open doorways. It looked like this was the way to the rear buildings where the servants lived and worked, so he backtracked to the main hall. In the gantry above he saw a soldier with a crossbow looking down at him, and an unmistakable figure in mail and a steel skull-cap: Ilumene.
‘Catch me if you can, puppy!’ Ilumene yelled as the soldier levelled his crossbow.
Doranei ducked back through the doorway, shouting a warning to his companions caught in the open. The bolt went through the throat of the nearest, one of the thieves, who fell without a sound.
‘Damned traitor!’ Cetarn roared, his face scarlet with sudden and rare fury.
The mage looked around for a moment before his gaze alighted on Telasin Daemon-Touch. As Doranei ran for the other door to find a staircase he saw Cetarn run around the possessed soldier and place his hands on the man’s back. Telasin, knowing what was going to happen, tensed, weapons at the ready.
With a burst of green-tinted light Cetarn punched forward and Telasin was propelled up to the landing. He hooked a leg and arm neatly over the balustrade as he reached it, in the same movement hacking at the archer’s neck.
Instead of fleeing, Ilumene threw himself forward with a roar, his bastard sword swinging at Telasin’s head with such ferocity that the daemon-touched soldier was almost driven back over the balustrade by the blow. Ilumene didn’t give him a moment to recover, cutting again and again at Telasin with his longer sword and forcing the soldier back against a wall. In desperation Telasin smashed at Ilumene’s sword with both weapons, knocking it to one side to avoid a killing blow, but he was head-butted by the bigger man.
Telasin grunted in pain and rode the blo
w, throwing himself to one side and half-falling back through the open doorway behind him. His khopesh crashed against the stone pillars on either side as he fought to remain upright.
‘Where the fuck did he find you, freak?’ Ilumene laughed, lunging with his long sword as he spoke.
Telasin batted the blade away, but succeeded only in deflecting it down and it nicked his thigh. He staggered and slashed wildly at Ilumene’s head, forcing him to retreat a precious pace. They found themselves in a corridor where long, densely embroidered tapestries covered the inner wall. It was narrow, but still high enough for Ilumene to raise his sword without impediment. Telasin continued to retreat, a quick glimpse behind having shown him a short flight of stairs before the corridor widened.
He leaped down the half-dozen steps and raised his khopesh again. The stench of decay filled the corridor and a sudden hot wind blew past him towards Ilumene. The darkness wrapped around him was raised by the wind and grew to become thick tendrils that rapidly spread through the corridor.
‘You think shadows can cow me?’ Ilumene called contemptuously, and launched himself into the swirling black mass.
Holding his sword in both hands, Ilumene struck once, twice, matching Telasin’s speed and continuing to drive the daemon-touched soldier back. Telasin tried to lure Ilumene on too far, but the big man caught one khopesh on his sword and leaned away in time to watch the other flash past his chest.
Telasin kicked out, but Ilumene rode the blow and smacked an elbow into his opponent’s shoulder — then he surged forwards to slam Telasin into the stone wall, where he pinned one arm down. With his sword still locked with Telasin’s other khopesh, Ilumene again lunged forward, skull-capped head leading, and caught him a glancing blow on the chest.
This time he followed up with a hefty punch in the stomach, thumping Telasin back into the wall, before grabbing a dagger from his belt. Quick as a snake Ilumene drove the knife up between the scales of his armour to pierce Telasin’s stomach, then he made sure of his kill by slashing at Telasin’s throat. He stepped away and Telasin staggered clumsily sideways, unable to bring up his free khopesh in time. The bastard sword hacked down and Telasin fell, a shriek of supernatural rage exploding through the corridor as the daemon was banished.
Ilumene wiped his sword, panting for breath as a sly smile spread across his scarred face. He looked around for threats and found none. The others had clearly taken the wrong stairway, or run into more guards. Then his face froze.
‘They’re not here to kill me,’ he muttered, looking up and summoning a mental picture of the Ruby Tower’s many staircases. On the east side was a servants’ stair — though it was steep and narrow, it was the faster route up. ‘They’ll have to check each room; Ruhen’s small enough to hide anywhere. We still have time,’ he muttered.
CHAPTER 14
Doranei paused and stared at the stairway ahead, leading up and down. Daken had run off so fast he didn’t have a clue which way the white-eye had gone — but before he could choose he heard footsteps and found Cetarn, Osh and the remaining thieves following him, with Shin the Bastard slinking up behind.
‘You three, check every room on the ground floor, then head up the tower, in case I need your God’s blessing with a door,’ Doranei ordered the thieves. They turned back without question, far from unhappy at missing the bulk of the fighting.
‘Cetarn, can you find Aracnan?’ Doranei asked.
Before Cetarn had the chance to reply Osh suddenly launched himself forward at Doranei. The King’s Man dodged to one side, turning and striking blindly. His sword caught nothing, but he caught a flash of movement before Osh swept past, his scimitars swinging in unison. The bulky Mystic of Karkarn moved with shocking speed, throwing his whole body into a full-extended lunge that felled the first attacker and left him crouching awkwardly as the second slashed above his head. With a roar of effort Osh lunged again and the scimitar point caught the guard in the throat and opened one side of his neck as Osh jerked it back.
‘Fires of Ghenna!’ The mystic hissed through gritting teeth, catching his balance on the wall and taking his weight off his left leg. ‘Merciful Gods, that hurt!’
‘Your knee gone?’ Doranei asked, reaching out in case the older man needed a hand.
‘Aye, right and proper,’ Osh said, his face tight as he fought the shooting pain in his leg. ‘Piss and daemons, an old man’s wound. You’ll have to go on without me — I’m not climbing any more stairs.’ He waved Doranei away. ‘Don’t stand there gawping, get moving, boy!’
‘That way,’ Cetarn said, pointing as he knelt at Osh’s side.
Doranei moved past, beckoning to Shim to follow, while the oversized mage clamped his meaty hands around the man’s injured knee. Osh gave a strangled gasp and dropped one scimitar as he fought to keep his balance. Cetarn ignored him and began to mutter a mantra, clipped Elvish words, as strands of green light danced between his fingers.
‘Better?’ he asked, heaving himself upright.
Osh put his foot tentatively back on the ground and gave a wary nod.
‘I’ve done nothing to heal it,’ the mage warned as Osh tried his weight on the leg and winced. ‘I’ve only dimmed the pain. It’ll come back, and worse than before. Any weight you put on it will cause further damage.’
‘Better crippled than dead,’ Osh said with feeling, and gestured for Cetarn to follow Doranei. ‘I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.’
At Cetarn’s direction they ascended the tower as fast as they could. He could sense Aracnan somewhere near the top of a building that had twelve floors in four distinct steps, connected by a confusing network of stairways. Doranei’d worked out from his hard-gathered intelligence that the duchess had private chambers near the top, just before the tower narrowed.
Following Cetarn’s directions, he estimated Aracnan was a few floors below that. They could tell nothing more, but Cetarn warned him that the immortal was surrounded by a wild, unfocused corona of magic.
‘It’s a good sign,’ Cetarn continued, seeing Shim’s face pale. ‘It means he cannot concentrate properly, that he will be sloppy, and will act without thinking.’
‘Seadiamond venom’ll do that to a man,’ Doranei said, his face darkening as Sebe intruded on his thoughts. ‘Also means he’ll not use all his power if he can help it — the more he uses the more it’ll burn.’
‘Still hope we find the Mad Axe ’fore Aracnan,’ Shim muttered in the gravely voice of a man who smoked a lot and spoke little.
Doranei didn’t have to agree with that. They all knew Aracnan would outmatch any single member of their company, and the fact that Doranei couldn’t smell rotting flesh any more made him fear for Telasin. They moved from floor to floor as fast as they could, the only opposition a pair of scared-looking guards running headlong towards them. Doranei killed one and knock the other off-balance for Shim to finish. The mage-killer was as quick as the rat the mercenaries called him.
‘He’s on the floor above us,’ Cetarn said in a low voice after a while.
‘Right, here’s how we go,’ Doranei said. He turned around to look both Shim and Cetarn in the face; the mage was careful to keep Doranei between them. ‘Shim, you first, when you see him, you break left. I’ll be going right, and Cetarn, you hit him with everything you’ve got. Your object is to keep him distracted. With luck he’ll still be deciding between you two when I reach him.’
Not giving them time to argue, Doranei shoved Shim ahead and on up the last flight of stairs, bodily pushing him towards the door Cetarn indicated. The mage was silent now, and pale, and a silver-encased shard of crystal glowed white in his hands as he prepared to fight a vastly more powerful and experienced mage.
Doranei kicked the door open and charged through, the pommel of his sword in the small of Shim’s back. The room was pitch-black and Shim yelped in fear as he stumbled blindly forward, then howled as two flashes of light illuminated the room. Doranei let him run and stepped right, dropping after a few steps into
a forward roll across the rug-strewn floor. The lightning came again, deafening cracks of raw power lashing at Shim, who kept wailing even as he was thrown against the wall.
Cetarn replied and struck with a shimmering flood of light that hissed and crackled uselessly against a white shield Aracnan produced. Doranei caught his first glimpse of the immortal - he looked barrel-chested, until Doranei realised one arm was bound to his chest. Aracnan’s face was so emaciated it looked desiccated, and zigzags of red blisters spread up his exposed throat. As he attacked Doranei found his blows parried with ease, Aracnan’s sword spitting sparks each time metal caught it. With a contemptuous flick of the wrist Aracnan sheered through the haft of Doranei’s axe and kicked him square in the gut.
Doranei hit the bookcase behind hard enough to drive the wind from his lungs. For a moment all he could do was watch, gasping for breath, as Cetarn threw a spiralling coil of green magic that wrapped around Aracnan before melting into nothingness. Aracnan howled in pain as he struck back, his sword tracing arcs of light that raced forward to hit both Cetarn and Shim.
The mage-killer was unaffected, but Cetarn, defending himself desperately, fell in a way that told Doranei he was badly hurt. Aracnan himself reeled against a long table in the centre of the room as a gout of blood burst from his shoulder, but when Doranei forced himself to attack, the mercenary continued to turn his strokes with ease. He would have died there and then, had a roar not suddenly come from behind the Demi-God.
Aracnan rolled back over the corner of the table as an axe crashed down on the last spot where he’d been. Daken barrelled on and batted an armoured forearm into Aracnan’s throat, ripping his axe out of the table with his free hand and spinning into a second blow using all his Gods-granted speed. Aracnan caught the blow, but he couldn’t move fast enough to stop the butt of the axe being smashed into his bound arm. He staggered back, checking a moment to let Daken follow then chopping savagely upwards. The glittering black sword would have torn Daken in two - but instinct made the white-eye dodge.
