by David Hair
An officious little man who gave his name as Clement met them off the landing platform. Wringing his hands, he drew Inquisitor Vordan and Adamus Crozier aside. Malevorn let his eyes trail over the city basking in the cool sunshine. This high up, even the summer days were chilly if the wind was blowing off the mountains.
Norostein … Names and faces came back to him, the boys of Turm Zauberin mostly: Francis Dorobon and Seth Korion. Gron Koll. Boron Funt. That imbecile Alaron Mercer and his lowlife friend Ramon Sensini. And the teachers: Fyrell and Yune and the rest. Principal Gavius. Then his mind roved on to the tavern girls he’d screwed, and the Arcanum girls he’d had too. The two guardsmen he’d almost killed in a tavern fight. There’d been a few fun times, but mostly it’d been dourness, rain and boredom. He’d hoped to never see it again.
They descended to the ground by a pulley-lift and Brother Alain, a poor flyer, touched the ground reverently. The rest eyed Vordan, who was looking grim. There was no affection for their Commandant, but there was a certain justified fear: Lanfyr Vordan was known for executing Acolytes who failed him in the field.
‘Gather,’ Vordan growled, before making a grudging gesture towards Adamus Crozier. ‘The Crozier will address you.’ Clearly having a churchman installed above him for this mission rankled.
Adamus inclined his head in acknowledgment. ‘Hearken. This is the situation: last month, Governor Vult was on a diplomatic mission in Hebusalim when he sensed an attack on the security wards of his offices here in Norostein. He immediately returned here to hunt the perpetrators.’
Malevorn raised an eyebrow, wondering how the governor’s domestic security outweighed his ambassadorial duties.
‘When he returned, he sought the thieves,’ Adamus went on, ‘but he did not discuss the theft widely. Master Clement here tells us that only three others knew fully what was going on. The Watch were not involved in the hunt.’
The Acolytes looked at each other, all wondering the same thing: what had been stolen that the governor would not use the full resources of his office to recover? Something illegal, obviously. Malevorn glanced about him, saw Filius and Raine draw the same conclusion. The rest just looked puzzled. Conspiracy required a certain type of mind.
‘Subsequently,’ Adamus continued, ‘a midnight skirmish began in the mercantile quarter, which split into two separate chases: one south to the mountains and the other north to Lake Tucerle. There was fighting at the lake and the Watch got involved, but the only bodies found were several construct creatures, and one young Council aide.’ Adamus looked at Malevorn. ‘The aide was one Gron Koll.’
Malevorn blinked. Gron Koll? Dead? An acne-ridden face flashed before his eyes. Gron Koll had been a loathsome toad, but his cruel imagination had been amusing. That someone might murder him was not entirely unexpected. Is this why I’m here: because I knew Koll?
‘The other pursuit involved the governor himself. Clement only learned of it the next morning, when the watch captain took a detachment south into the foothills and returned with the governor as his captive. He also brought back two more bodies: a councilman called Eli Besko and a pilot-mage named Olyd Krussyn. Whoever they were pursuing appears to have escaped.’
Malevorn recalled Grand-Magister Besko – he’d been senior in the council. Fat, obsequious, ambitious – and one of Vult’s. He’d never heard of Krussyn.
‘This brings us to the crucial point: we were assigned this mission three days ago, when word finally reached Pallas of these events. At that time, the governor was in prison, awaiting our arrival and questioning. But two days ago, while we were still in the air, someone went into his cell and murdered him.’
Kore’s Blood! Vult’s dead?
Everyone stiffened, and their focus intensified. Virgina and Filius ostentatiously crossed their Sacred Heart badges.
‘The last man believed to have seen Belonius Vult alive was Jeris Muhren, the Watch Captain. He has since left the city.’ Adamus glanced at Vordan. ‘He is our chief suspect.’
Malevorn recalled Muhren: a highhanded prick he’d clashed with sometimes while out drinking. Muhren was a Revolt veteran who’d probably hated Vult’s guts since Lukhazan.
‘There is another man missing who is also probably involved,’ Adamus continued. This time his look at Malevorn was even more pointed. ‘His name is Darius Fyrell. You know him also, Brother Malevorn?’
Fyrell too? Incredible! ‘I do, my lord Crozier,’ he said aloud. ‘He was a teacher at Turm Zauberin.’
‘And a young man Vult had been observing is also missing. Clement knows the name, but not the reason. Alaron Mercer.’
Alaron Mercer. Malevorn almost choked. Earnest, naïve, obstreperous, self-righteous, pig-ignorant Alaron fucking Mercer, the boy he’d relentlessly pummelled and pounded through seven years of the Arcanum. A quarter-blood scum who’d never known his place. The last he’d seen of him was being dragged screaming from the graduation hall, condemned as a failed mage: a fate Mercer so richly deserved that Malevorn’d felt like celebrating for days afterwards.
‘Mercer is an imbecile, my lord. This type of intrigue is beyond his ken.’ Tying his own laces is beyond Mercer’s ken. ‘It must be coincidence.’
‘Keep an open mind,’ Vordan admonished him. ‘We have no preconceptions here.’ Malevorn ducked his head. Vordan looked about the circle. ‘We will commence our questioning of those involved. Firstly, to the Governor’s Palace. After that, we shall see.’ He glanced at Adamus. ‘With your permission, my lord?’
‘Proceed.’ Adamus Crozier licked his lips, and raised a finger. ‘There is something important at stake here. A man like Jeris Muhren does not commit murder for anything as petty as revenge. He was Watch Captain for almost a decade.’
Horses were waiting, saddled and ready. Malevorn shouldered Seldon away from a fiery-looking chestnut stallion, quelled its disquiet with animism-gnosis, and swung himself onto it. As Vordan pushed his own mount into a trot, the Fist fell in behind him, jostling for position.
*
The Governor’s Palace dominated the central plaza of the city, the focal point from which the upper town radiated. Once it had been the dwelling of the King of Noros, but he now resided in a far smaller manor two blocks away. The Fist rode into the plaza and fanned out, driving frightened citizens from their path. Clement led them to where the other officials waited on the stairs, their faces apprehensive. Inquisitors had rights to question that even lords did not, and licence to punish heresy wherever they found it. And as the Acolytes were discovering, heresy was wherever you wanted it to be.
Malevorn had graduated from Turm Zauberin last November as a gold-star trance-mage. He could have chosen any career at all, and he had been courted by absolutely everyone, from the Pallas Guard to the Kirkegarde, from the Legions to private mercenary companies. One middle-aged pure-blood heiress topped the military bid, offering a life of indolence and debauchery, provided he married her and got her with child. But she could not give him what he wanted above all: a way to restore his family to the uttermost heights of the empire. His father had been Supreme General of Rondelmar until the Noros general Leroi Robler had humbled him, humiliated him and driven him to suicide.
While the military might eventually have given Malevorn some prominent role, that would take decades. Only one institution could get him to the top fast enough to suit his ambition: the Inquisition. They only took the best, at everything – fighting, gnosis … and intrigue. They needed minds cruel and cold enough to cut through lies and blasphemies and skewer heretics before their venom spread. In the courts of law, the Inquisition outranked the Crown. He might have to go without some status and creature comforts for a few years, but should he excel, in a few years he would be supping with governors and kings.
And should I not excel, I’ll have a knife in my back, put there by one of my so-called ‘Brothers’. He glanced at the angel-face of Virgina, climbing the stairs alongside him. Or one of my ‘Sisters’.
The cloud of offic
ials hovered about the Inquisitor and the Crozier, fluttering like anxious butterflies. As they entered the foyer, Vordan beckoned his seniors, Alain and Dranid, to follow him to the dungeons, along with the Crozier. Apparently the governor’s body still lay as it had been found. Malevorn would have liked to see it, but Vordan abruptly turned on him. ‘You know people here, Brother Malevorn? Speak to them.’ He was left alone with Dominic and a suddenly deflated crowd of minor functionaries. Humans: why would I know them? All the magi had gone east to Pontus. He glanced about, already bored, until he saw Gina Weber.
Ah, now then …
He put a hand on Dominic’s shoulder. ‘Stay with this lot,’ he whispered in his friend’s ear. ‘Ask about Koll’s death. And Fyrell.’
‘But—’ Dominic followed his gaze to the blonde girl in the corner who was obviously already transfixed by Malevorn’s face. ‘Oh.’ His face fell.
Poor Dom: you want me to be perfect, but I’m not.
‘Miss Weber,’ he said, striding through the irritating fug of officials, letting his smile transfix her. Her face swelled with apprehension and pleasure.
He’d fucked her once, three years ago, when he’d found out she was betrothed to Alaron Mercer. He’d only done it to spite Mercer; there was little about her that excited him. She was slightly dumpy, too pallid, overly prim. But she’d genuinely believed his lines – she really thought he’d loved her. She’d cried as he penetrated her, and bled like a good virgin. She probably still dreamt of it.
‘Malevorn?’ Her hand went to her mouth. Her eyes took in his Inquisition badge. ‘You’re here,’ she said lamely.
‘I am indeed. And delighted to see a familiar face.’ He bent over her hand, noticing the engagement ring. Betrothed, but not yet wed. And Mercer was missing. This might be more amusing than he’d thought. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ He didn’t let go of her hand.
‘But …’ She looked about uncertainly. Every pair of eyes in the room seemed to be on them both.
‘Clearly I can’t question you in front of everyone.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘But … question?’ She visibly gulped.
‘You’re engaged to a fugitive,’ he reminded her. The bovine bitch actually looked puzzled. ‘Your fiancé is missing …’
‘He is?’
She’s even dimmer than I remember. ‘I’m told Alaron Mercer is involved in this case, and that he’s missing.’ He took her arm, and guided her firmly towards the nearest office. ‘Where has he gone?’
‘But—’ She looked up at him, her lower lip trembling. ‘I’m not engaged to him any more. Father broke it off after … you know.’
Malevorn felt himself smiling. Of course they would sever any connection to a failed mage. Mercer must’ve just died inside. Magnificent. He seized the door handle, jerked it open. A secretary of some sort looked up, his mouth falling open. An ornate door lay beyond: obviously the office of someone important. He pulled Gina Weber towards it. ‘You,’ he told the secretary, ‘out!’
He had the girl inside the next office before she could squeak again. It was empty. He locked the door behind him with a gesture. ‘A lucky escape for you,’ he told her. ‘Mercer’s in trouble now.’
‘I know,’ she said, still apprehensive. He stroked her shoulder, and the stupid bint took it as a sign that she was safe and sagged a little. ‘Someone broke into the governor’s offices. I saw Alaron the day before, but I’m sure he couldn’t have done it.’
Mercer was here the day before the break-in? Great Kore, is he involved after all? ‘Tell me about it,’ he told her, touching her reassuringly, non-threateningly, all the while working at her gnostic defence with Mesmeric gnosis, allaying her wariness and breaking down her resistance to what was to come.
Gina looked up at him. ‘Your friend Gron Koll was here. He had a job as an aide to the governor. The night of the break-in the house staff found him drunk in a downstairs lounge.’ Her face was pale. ‘The weird thing is, they said that they’d thought he was with me.’ Her voice rose with indignation. ‘I was never here that night.’
Someone disguised themselves as you to get in and to nail Koll. Fancy. He smiled down at her, stroked her arm gently. She was a little fleshy for his tastes, but her bosom was generous. He looked into her eyes, fishing for that return spark. Remember, Gina? I wrote you secret poems and letters, then climbed in your window and took your precious virginity. Do you remember how I sank into your soft arms?
She did.
He worked her slowly backwards towards the desk as he talked, talking to distract her from his sly movement. ‘This is so valuable,’ he told her. ‘The Inquisitor will be delighted. You must tell me all you know. There will certainly be a reward.’ Oh yes, there will.
Her breath was coming in rapid, shallow bursts. Her pupils were huge as he stroked her cheek. ‘It is a shame circumstances have kept us apart,’ he said, interrupting her blathering about her fiancé. She was one of those woman magi whose skills and temperament did not suit the frontline, or anywhere close to it. She was only good for one thing: breeding. He gently turned her so he’d not have to look at her. Even she realised what he was doing now, and surrendered to it. Pathetic … but his cock hardened.
She looked backwards and up at him. ‘I didn’t think I pleased you,’ she said, her voice tremulous. ‘You stopped writing, after that one night …’ He could feel her whole body quivering to her heartbeat.
‘The Principal found out,’ he lied. He leant over and kissed her nape. She tasted of fear, but she was utterly passive, already capitulating. As he slowly unbuttoned the back of her dress, she sighed needily. He let the shift slide down her body while he cupped her ample breasts and began to massage them, pinching her engorged nipples, working them hard. She gasped, somewhere between pleasure and pain and need. He could smell her wetness.
He pushed her dress and petticoat over her hips, baring her white buttocks. She tried to turn and face him, but he kept her turned away. While his left hand toyed with her breasts, his right slid down her back and stroked her, sliding his fingers down the crack of her buttocks, teasing her anus, then sliding them into the wet depths of her quim. She emitted a soft, surrendering sigh, then moaned, trying to squirm about and seat herself on the desk, but he kept her turned away. Your face is the least pleasing part of you. He worked her with his fingers, increasingly roughly, while unfastening his own belt and wrenching his trousers down over his rigid tool. His scabbard clattered to the floor as he stepped out of his clothes and bent her over the desk.
‘Let me face you,’ she pleaded. He tightened the grip of his hands on her breast, pinned her and then pushed her down, face flat to the desk. ‘Mal, I don’t like—’
Someone knocked at the door. ‘Malevorn?’ Dominic called.
‘Two minutes,’ he called, positioning his full, rigid cock in the cleft of her buttocks, right against her puckered anus. She twisted her neck, her face pleading, and it excited him in a way her willingness never could have. He shoved himself all the way in as she howled silently, her body going rigid. He gripped her hips and without gentleness began to pump himself into her. Skin slapped skin as she gasped in agony. He felt the animal inside him, let it give voice, grunting exultantly as he rammed himself deeper and deeper. He came with a bellow, a molten lava-flow of his seed spurting into her as she cried in pain, then he held her there, transfixed on his shaft, his whole body caught up in the rapture of the moment, rigid and shaking. It felt like aeons of sheer bliss.
Eventually the sound of knocking intruded again.
‘Fuck off, Dom,’ he shouted.
‘Vordan’s back. He’s looking for you!’
He heard himself growl, then sanity returned. He braced himself, felt his legs shaking at the exquisite release, and pulled himself out of her. Her legs gave way and she slid to the floor.
‘Well, it has been lovely to see you, Gina,’ he smirked. Insipid cow. You got what you deserved.
He dressed quickly and left her coiled in
a foetal huddle on the office floor, her face hidden, her shoulders heaving.
Dominic glanced past him when he opened the door, then looked at him in consternation. ‘Is she all right?’
‘Sure. She’s just recovering from her big moment.’ He winked, and pulled the door shut behind him. ‘Let’s go and find our beloved leader.’
*
The questioning of the council people was initially fruitless. A servant had glimpsed Muhren coming and going, but though Vordan entered the man’s mind and ripped it apart, leaving him a semi-sane wreck, there was nothing further to learn. It seemed clear that Jeris Muhren was the murderer.
Malevorn reported his little findings concerning the break-in directly to Adamus Crozier. He’d be damned if he’d let Vordan take what he’d learnt without giving credit. The Crozier was pleased, and quashed half-hearted complaints by Clement about an ‘alleged incident with the Weber girl’.
See, Gina? I’m untouchable now.
The breakthrough came the next day. Malevorn and Dominic were in Lower Town, on the shores of the lake, seeking the site of the conflict that had happened there a week or so before. They found more than expected.
A roped-off piece of grass and stonework contained the burned and mutilated remains of five construct creatures, ghastly things the size of ponies that were part-scorpion, part-wolf. Malevorn recognised them at once: Darius Fyrell had once shown them off to his pupils.
Where are you, Fyrell?
Perhaps he projected the thought; perhaps it was just coincidence, but whatever it was, it triggered something unexpected. A shape rose from the water, fifty feet away. The onlookers gasped, and someone screamed. He felt a thrill of fear before a rasping mental voice shouted into his skull,
It was Darius Fyrell, or what was left of him. He collapsed at the water’s edge as the crowd backed away.
The Magister looked like an animated corpse. His hair and half the skin on his face were burned away. Nothing of his clothes remained except for a scorched undergarment about his groin. His right arm was a stump that finished at the elbow; his biceps had been burned or carved away to the bone. His left leg was so twisted he could barely stand.
