Moontide 02 - The Scarlet Tides

by David Hair

  In her vision she’d seen the bald man, Delta, kill these people in front of Ullyn Siburnius’ Fist, she told Seth and Ramon. ‘The Fist surrounded them and he killed them, one by one,’ she said plaintively.

  Seth looked away.

  ‘Delta has killed at least fifty people – that we’re aware of,’ Ramon added. ‘And he’s just one of several branded magi who’re always aided by Inquisitors.’

  Seth stared off into the middle distance, to the dust clouds raised by rumbling wagons and marching feet. ‘So what? They’re just Keshi.’ He sounded as if he would really rather not have known any of this.

  ‘They’re human beings,’ Severine snapped.

  ‘They’re enemies. And heathen.’

  ‘They’re not even soldiers,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s driving me mad.’

  Seth sniffed. ‘Then this is about you. If you can’t take this, get out.’

  ‘I’m indentured,’ she reminded him sarcastically. ‘I’m stuck here.’

  ‘Until you can get yourself plumped,’ Seth sneered. His eyes flickered to Ramon. ‘You reduced to him, now?’

  Severine opened her mouth then closed it furiously.

  Ramon put a hand on her shoulder. he sent her. ‘Seth, can we have a private word?’

  ‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ Korion replied.

  ‘Nevertheless.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Very well. But she can get out of my sight.’

  Severine stomped away and Ramon waited until Seth climbed down off his khurne. He whispered something to it and the horned steed snorted, and trotted obediently away.

  ‘Well?’ the general’s son asked.

  Ramon stared after the khurne. ‘There’s something about those things … the hulkas too. Animals shouldn’t be able to understand so much.’

  Seth shrugged. ‘Jealous? In my father’s legions, all the magi have them. There is even a khurne cavalry century. And Father has warhounds too, packs so intelligent they’re more effective than human scouts.’

  ‘But here you are, in poor little Pallacios XIII,’ Ramon observed. ‘And I know why.’

  Seth stiffened. Ramon observed the inner turmoil with a little sympathy. There had never been much to like in Seth Korion, a spineless, gutless child of privilege. But the silver spoon had been snatched from his mouth. Though he’d been awarded a gold star by Turm Zauberin, Ramon knew as well as every other students who’d seen Seth blubbing in fear during the exams that he shouldn’t have even been given a pass. And that was only one of the secrets Ramon knew of him.

  If it was any other pure-blood but you, Lesser Son, I’d fear for my life to be alone and threatening you. But you’re a coward, and we both know it.

  ‘There’s nothing you could tell anyone that they don’t guess already,’ Seth said miserably.

  Ramon cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ he said, looking Seth in the eye.

  The general’s son flushed. ‘But … you wouldn’t—’

  Ramon shrugged meaningfully. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  Seth hung his head. ‘Echor will never listen to me,’ he whined.

  ‘He has enough interest in you to have had you assigned to one of his legions.’

  ‘I’m a hostage against my father,’ Seth complained bitterly.

  Ramon shook his head. ‘No, if that were the case, you’d be a captive in his staff tent. He knows your father has all but disowned you. But you’re still a Korion: the name has weight. And it will please his ego.’

  Seth said resignedly, ‘All right, I’ll try. When the army reaches Peroz, there will be a muster. I’ll ask then.’

  Ramon patted his shoulder, making the general’s son flinch. ‘Thank you, classmate.’

  24

  The Cut

  The Kirkegarde

  When the worship of Corineus was instituted as the religion of the Rondian Empire, the next logical step was the formation of the Kirkegarde, a religious army, to safeguard and spread the word of Kore to a continent full of Sollan heathen. They were brutal, harsh and uncompromising. But they are as nuns compared with the Inquisition.

  ORDO COSTRUO COLLEGIATE, PONTUS

  Pontic Peninsula, Yuros

  Noveleve 928

  5th month of the Moontide

  ‘What is it?’ Virgina was staring, her composure for once awry. She wasn’t the only one. The creature Dranid had captured looked like the aether-form of a daemon, not something that actually lived and breathed – but breathe it did, in rasping swallows as it clutched its shattered right shoulder.

  Have we left reality and fallen into a Lantric myth? Malevorn couldn’t take his eyes from the … thing.

  The entire Fist had come to examine their prize. Commandant Vordan’s stern face was filled with righteous disgust, as was Filius’. Malevorn wanted to shake Dominic, who looked like he was going to throw up. Raine was prodding at the thing’s nethers with brutal dispassion, trying to determine its gender. The creature was naked. Its skin was human-soft on the chest, belly and inner thighs, but ridged and scaled on its back and the thick single snake-trunk that sprang from its hips. They’d had to chain the tail down to prevent it lashing its way free. Its face was an abomination, somewhere halfway between human and the giant lizards that inhabited the coast of the Gulf of Lantris. There was a kind of hair on its scalp that moved like the tentacles of a river-squid. Its eyes were amber, with black-slitted pupils, currently fully dilated with pain.

  ‘Vordan, you say you’ve hunted these things?’ Adamus Crozier asked. His voice was as cool as usual, as if this creature didn’t surprise him at all.

  Perhaps it doesn’t, Malevorn thought. He’s likely just pretending not to know.

  ‘Aye: it’s a construct. This is one of those who took down Seldon, I’d swear to it. Just like those we hunted back in 917 – and just as those Sydian savages described them.’

  It had been a frustrating month for Vordans Inquisitors. Boron Funt’s scrying might have pinned down where Alaron Mercer and Cymbellea di Regia were heading, but they’d arrived in South Sydia too late to apprehend them. It hadn’t all been bad news, though: they’d found some Sydian tribesmen and managed to capture some of the stragglers who were apparently fleeing a ‘demon attack’. Torturing the riders had elicited a garbled tale of demonic creatures who had snatched away a bride-to-be, on the girl’s wedding night. Even with this progress, Funt had failed to make solid contact with Alaron Mercer again.

  It was Elath Dranid’s vigilance whilst hunting – he was the only one of them to think to continue to search behind themselves – that had revealed that in their haste, they might have overtaken their quarry. He had been patrolling their back-trail when he’d spotted the lone creature as it was scuttling for cover. He’d managed to take it alive after driving a lance through its shoulder. That made him the hero of the hour, though he was not the type to milk such moments. Even now he was remaining in the background, taking little part in the discussion. His role would come later: as well as being the best bladesman in the Fist, he was also the Fist’s torturer.

  ‘Does it speak any language we would understand?’ Adamus asked.

  ‘Those in the breeding reserve were taught Rondian,’ Vordan replied, ‘but this one looks too young to have been a part of that group.’ He bent over the creature. ‘Do you speak Rondian?’

  It looked up at him mutely, its inhuman eyes ablaze with hate and pain.

  ‘If it doesn’t, teach it,’ Adamus suggested. ‘Force-teach it through mysticism and then we’ll see what it has to say.’

  Raine raised a hand. ‘I’ll do it.’ Her sour face had a nasty leer to it. Mysticism might not be much physical use in a fight, but you could destroy someone’s mind with it. She licked her lips. ‘I’ve done this sort of thing before.’

  I bet you have, Malevorn thought. One could almost feel sorry for the wretched creature.

  The process of force-learning took nearly a week, and the creature’s cell was filled with hooting, sobbing
and pleading for hours on end, day and night. Malevorn couldn’t begin to imagine what terrors Raine’s imagination must have come up with to break down the creature’s resistance.

  Octen ended, and as the new moon’s rise heralded the start of Noveleve, the room grew quieter. Whenever Malevorn was on dinner duty, he found Raine bent over the captive like a lover, whispering into its vacant eyes. There was something disturbing about her fervid gaze.

  Meanwhile Vordan had the rest of the Fist flying wide patrols, to no avail. They’d been concentrating on the coastline, but no one had found any evidence of these creatures. The land was too vast, and they were too few. And evidently Pallas was becoming impatient; Malevorn had come across both Adamus and Vordan getting urgent messages via relay-stave from superiors anxious about the lack of progress.

  One evening, Adamus confided that Mater-Imperia Lucia herself was taking an interest – she was threatening to send in more Inquisitors. ‘She’s bluffing, of course,’ he told Malevorn confidently. ‘She can’t afford this matter to spread any wider than it already is.’ Neither he nor Vordan had requested replacements for the three men they’d lost, for they couldn’t be certain they’d be able to trust any newcomers.

  Finally, during the week of the new moon, their fortunes changed. Raine emerged from the foetid little cell to announce that their captive now understood basic Rondian. She looked tired, but she was filled with a restless energy.

  When she led Vordan to the cell, the captive creature shrieked at the sight of her face. It got so hysterical that Vordan sent her from the room. Its pleading was in Rondian.

  With a quiet smile of satisfaction, Dranid brought out his bloodstained leather satchel and unwrapped the tools of his trade: the pincers and knives and cutters and hammers and graters. He rolled up his sleeves and set to work. One by one, the other Inquisitors left the room, until only Adamus, Vordan and Dranid remained.

  Malevorn lost interest quickly. Torture was something he dreaded. Let me die fighting.

  He was alone in the cabin he shared with Dominic when Raine slipped in through the door. She didn’t say anything, just pulled her shift over her head, revealing her naked, muscular body. It might be too blocky for his taste, but his cock stiffened anyway as she climbed onto him and pulled his clothes from his body, before spearing herself on his member, grinding against him until she came to a grunting, almost bestial orgasm.

  Afterwards, she lay on top of him, her squat face inches from his, sweating and panting until she caught her breath.

  ‘What brought that on?’ he asked curiously, studying her face. Up close, her skin was horribly unhealthy. She really was an ugly girl, but there was something in her eyes he recognised: bloody-minded ambition.

  ‘All that mind-fuckery got me wet. I needed to work off some steam,’ she told him stroking the hair from his forehead. ‘Thanks for obliging.’ She kissed him tentatively, and he shut his eyes and let her. He swirled his tongue about hers, tasting her: sour, tangy. It had been months since he’d had Gina Weber in that office in Norostein. Life owed him a fuck, he decided, and ugly or not, she smelled good: of musk and blood.

  ‘Did you finish?’ she asked, and when he shook his head, she said, ‘Then lie back and let me sort that out.’ She pulled herself off him, slid down his body and took him in her mouth. He tangled his fingers in her hair, closed his eyes and let the rare indulgence sweep him away.

  She knew her work and, slurping and grunting, she worked him to release.

  Afterward she spat his semen onto his belly and climbed off the bed. As she picked up her clothing, she said, ‘Vordan would call you out if he knew what we’d just done – right after he gutted me.’ She pulled her shift back on. ‘You’re in the wrong camp, Malevorn. Adamus is a pussy.’

  Then you know nothing about him.

  ‘You’re wrong – but thanks for the fuck.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Let’s do it again some time.’ She slipped away, leaving him feeling soiled and sated.

  *

  Vordan called a meeting next morning. If he had any notion Raine had been unfaithful to him, he gave no sign.

  ‘These creatures are called lamiae, after the Lantric legend,’ he reported. ‘They have this Alaron Mercer and the Rimoni girl, Cymbellea di Regia. They are travelling towards the Leviathan Bridge via Gydan’s Cut.’ He looked at the bloody remnants of their captive. ‘They appear to be going to Antiopia – they regard it as their “Promised Land”.’

  Everyone snorted derisively at this heresy, then waited for Vordan to finish.

  ‘We’ll fly to Gydan’s Cut. The hunt is on again, Acolytes.’

  Immediately after the meeting, Malevorn was summoned to Adamus’ cabin. Their windship was sailing eastwards through a strong northerly gale and driving rain.

  ‘Was there word of – well, you-know-what?’ he asked the Crozier.

  Adamus smiled grimly. ‘The creature confirmed that they really are being guided by Alaron Mercer, and that they recovered a leather scroll-case from the Sydian tribe.’ He poured Malevorn a glass of wine. ‘The pieces are beginning to fall together and come clearer. This girl must have been the one with the prize all along. She went first to her people, with Muhren and Mercer in tow, but somehow she later became separated from them. Now she and Mercer are together with the prize, and these lamiae.’

  He stopped and frowned. ‘This Alaron Mercer seems to be far more capable than either you or Funt have suggested.’

  Malevorn flinched at the implied criticism. ‘Mercer is a buffoon, my lord, pure and simple. I cannot believe he has been anything other than lucky. The girl will be the real leader: Rimoni are known for their cunning.’

  Adamus looked unconvinced. ‘Perhaps. Regardless, this matter will soon come to a head. I have sounded out all of the Acolytes. You are with me, as is your friend Dominic.’

  Actually Dominic is with me, not you, my lord. ‘Any others?’

  ‘Virgina understands that I will outmanoeuvre Vordan.’

  Since his encounter with Raine, Malevorn had started to find Virginia’s porcelain beauty curiously uninteresting. Virginity was an unappealing trait when combined with fanaticism, he decided. But she was capable, and that counted for something. ‘She’s more than just a pretty face, my lord,’ he said helpfully. ‘She can fight as well as any mage.’

  ‘I’m aware of her skills, my friend. And her weaknesses.’ Adamus considered him. ‘Raine currently cleaves to Vordan, as do Filius and Dranid, so we are split four against four.’

  ‘Dranid and Vordan go back a long way, my lord. But Filius is like Virgina.’

  ‘I’m working on him,’ Adamus told him smugly. ‘He too has his weaknesses. I don’t think it will take long to make him see the error of his ways.’ He sipped his wine. ‘In the meantime, why don’t you work on Raine? I think perhaps you’ve already made a start on that.’ He arched an eyebrow knowingly.

  Outside, the venators shrilled miserably as the windship ploughed on through the rain.

  *

  In the three weeks since Alaron had rescued Cym she’d adapted remarkably quickly to the reality of the lamiae and their situation. The Sollan faith acknowledged the creatures of Lantric myth as real, so Cym had no problem with their actual existence – if she found anything difficult, it was the fact that the lamiae were constructs. Even so, she had quickly charmed Kekropius with her open-eyed acceptance of his people.

  Alaron had managed to remove the Chain-rune – it hadn’t been easy, for the Sydian shaman had also been a quarter-blood, but in the end, his superior training had triumphed. She still bore the Vlk tattoo on her forehead, though. They’d not worked out how to remove it without leaving scars.

  He made no attempt to dissuade her from taking the Scytale east – handing it over to Justina Meiros and her godlike father was obviously the logical thing to do now that Langstrit and Muhren were dead. He loved having her beside him, but although he still wished that she would magically fall in love with him – especially as
he’d rescued her from a dire fate – she was as spiky, unreachable and mysterious as ever.

  Cym was soon eating and sleeping normally; whatever trauma she’d faced in the Sydian camp she stored deep inside, where no one could reach. Alaron wanted to comfort her, but she refused to even acknowledge that anything had happened – it worried him, but what could he do? He couldn’t voice his feelings, and he knew she wouldn’t want to hear of them even if he could. Their relationship had quickly reverted to their usual amicable teasing and banter, friends, but a little distant – more like brother and sister than the lovers he so desperately wished they were.

  Foolishly, he’d confessed to her that he’d not just saved Anise from the massacre but he’d kissed her too, and now she teased him mercilessly about what she’d dubbed ‘the Great Anise Affaire’ – almost as if to avoid thinking about her own narrow escape from the Sydians.

  ‘You’re practically married to her, Al. I hope you’re learning our language. Parli Rimoni, signor?’

  ‘Huh? No! I’m not married to her! I’m just—’ Unable to define exactly what he felt, Alaron’s words evaporated.

  After a few moments he remembered that he currently had the perfect comeback: ‘Anyway, you were two seconds away from being a Sydian bride.’

  That shut her up. For a while.

  *

  Alaron peered furtively from the cave-mouth. The view was spectacular: a massive gorge which cut through granite, running for miles from northwest to southeast, cutting the Pontic Peninsula in two. Gydan’s Cut was one of the great wonders of the world. The carefully censored versions of the Ordo Costruo texts which were used to teach geography and the other sciences in the Arcanum spoke of the Cut as a place where the Yuros ‘plate’ had fractured relatively recently – by which they meant less than a million years ago. The claim annoyed the Church, which believed that Kore had created all of Urte only ten thousand years ago; the Sollans were no less angered, as they had their Smith God forging Urte around forty thousand years ago.

  Despite its theological impossibility, the Cut was truly majestic: a watery defile that seemed to go down forever, with white waters constantly boiling far below. The dense bushes which overhung the cliff tops were a blaze of colour in their autumnal red and gold livery. The skies were filled with birds and the air was misty with spray. And to the east, Alaron could just make out the spires of Veiterholt Bridge.