by Tom Lloyd
He nodded dumbly to General Chotech and struggled to his feet, raising a hand to stop Major Jachen jumping up to help him. Side by side with the ageing Knight of the Temples, Isak ascended the remaining two steps and began to walk down the main aisle towards the obsidian block of the high altar.
Their footsteps echoed around the empty building, the sound rising up to the thick black rafters above where more drapes hung undisturbed by the breeze outside. The floor was uneven and Isak, looking down to avoid missing his step, realised each huge flagstone was actually a tombstone, carved to record the names and final prayers of those whose ashes were contained in urns buried underneath the floor.
Isak suddenly remembered the time he’d been taken to the Temple of Death as a child, when the notion of walking over the dead had terrified him. Now he found it strangely comforting that their presence remained for eternity in this place of calm and reflection. The hoof-beats became louder behind him, making Isak smile in the darkness. His friends had reached the Temple Plaza; they would surround him soon enough.
As they reached the altar and Isak slid his shield from his arm, he caught a blur of movement out the corner of his eyes. He had half-turned when something smashed across his chest and glanced off his breastplate. The impact drove him back against the altar, and his arms were momentarily pinned. Unable to reach for Eolis, he kicked out at a dark shape, which roared and fell against the general, twisting as it did so to punch hard into Chotech’s gut. The general gave a sharp gasp and doubled over.
The attacker pulled away and in the faint light Isak saw a long blade, and felt a hot line of blood spurt across his cheek. Chotech collapsed, his legs twitching weakly, and Isak knew the man was dead.
In the darkness he couldn’t make out much of their attacker, but what detail he could see was enough: a blade in each hand, a deformed, bony head, a single horn extending backwards. No human looked like that … The memory of Lord Chalat appeared in his mind. Hadn’t the Chetse white-eye fought something like this when he’d interrogated Mihn in the Temple of the Sun? A soldier possessed by a daemon.
He launched himself forward and smashed an armoured elbow into its face before bringing his knee up to its groin. He was much larger than his foe, which stood no taller than a normal Farlan, but as it hit the ground and bounced up, Isak realised it was just as fast as he was, and it was unnaturally strong.
The attacker flew forward again; Isak caught the creature by the wrists and spun around to throw it, but somehow the creature whipped around and slammed both heels into his stomach. Isak felt a sharp pain and realised it had spiked feet. He winced as he flung the creature against the high stone altar, and as it bounced straight back at him he brought down his fist, as hard as he could, on the side of its head. The blow slowed it down enough for Isak to draw Eolis. He let it come; he had its range and speed now.
The creature snarled and shook its mane of black fur, as if clearing its wits. It had bony growths instead of hands, the length of a long dagger; that was what had killed General Chotech.
There were footsteps, and voices behind them, but Isak knew help had come too late. The creature seemed to know it too, for it wasted no time in springing forward, daggers reaching for him. Isak stepped smartly to one side and caught its left arm. Eolis cut its wrist with ease and the creature fell to the tombstone floor, howling in pain. Isak lunged forward, intending to run it through and finish this, but somehow it sensed the blow coming and rolled aside, slashing wildly up towards his face. He dodged the dagger-hands and caught the creature’s forearm with his left hand, twisting it upwards and back, feeling the elbow crunch and snap. It gave a shriek of pain, but Isak knew that as long as it was still standing, it was still dangerous.
He forced it around and slammed it against the altar again, then pulled his sword back to deal the final blow. The creature pushed itself upright, the arm Isak had just broken hanging crooked and useless.
‘Isak, no!’ screamed a voice behind him and he caught a glimpse of Tila sprinting towards him, Jachen and Vesna on her heels. She looked terrified, but before she could say any more Isak turned back and lashed out with a foot, kicking its legs away again. The blow spun the creature off-balance and it smashed the bony ridges of its head on the altar steps as the ring of metal on metal pealed out through the temple.
The Land went quiet; the running feet behind him were dulled. Isak hesitated. Metal? He levelled his blade and took another look. He’d kicked the creature in the side of its knee, where he now saw a rough steel brace had been fitted over its trouser. His sword wavered as the creature writhed in agony and he caught sight of its twisted face. Inside his mind, Aryn Bwr spoke words he didn’t recognise, and the Crystal Skull on his chest pulsed briefly.
Another blur of movement as an indistinct shadow was torn away from the creature, and a howl of fury rang out to the black-stained rafters. Isak ignored it. The creature howled, but this time it was a human sound, of fear and pain. Eolis fell from Isak’s hand as he took a closer look at the man at his feet.
‘Father?’
ENDGAME
A reluctant sun rose above the horizon and began its slow climb through the cloudless skies above what had once been known as the city of Scree. The dawn light illuminated a dead place, scarred by the hand of man and now almost bereft of life. Here there was no rich warble of birds, just the occasional zip of jewel-winged beetles and darting dragonflies, and the sharp hum of less harmless insects. The city was once a warren of cramped houses with ramshackle eateries on every corner, a place where extended families lived and ate together, gossiping and arguing all the while. Now there was an unnatural quiet, broken only by the faint sigh of ash shifted by a listless breeze, and the occasional crack or crash as one of the few remaining walls fell.
The firestorm had scoured the city of anything larger, consuming the southern part with a quick and savage hunger, and burning out to leave this devastated wasteland of smoking pyres and vast mounds of rubble. In the north, a few isolated fires smouldered on. Throughout Scree the stones on the ground were still hot enough to cook on, radiating heat like a thousand ovens.
When two silent figures set out through this desolate landscape, it was the blistered ground that scorched their skin, rather than Tsatach’s yellow eye. They covered the ground quickly, even the bulkier of the two, who was clad in armour. His companion wore only a black patchwork tunic and trousers, and would have looked like an ordinary traveller, were it not for the swords sheathed across his back. His face was smooth and pale where the skin wasn’t tattooed, while his larger companion displayed a lifetime’s accumulation of scars on his weathered skin. The strange pair walked silently, with purpose, though no casual watcher would have been able to fathom what that purpose might be. They appeared to know their route, despite the lack of discernible landmarks, almost as if a voice were whispering directions in their ear.
Once in a while Ilumene, the larger man, would pause and turn to look back. Trailing a hundred yards or so behind, like an errant child, was another figure, obviously suffering greatly from the growing heat of day. He had a sheet loosely wrapped around his head and body in a feeble attempt to protect himself from the sun. Dark, bloody scabs had formed on his exposed face, and his hands were a mass of red blisters. He held them turned inwards, trying to protect his palms, but when he tripped instinct caught him off-guard and using his hands to break his fall left him whimpering in agony. Neither Ilumene nor his companion, Venn, waited to help him. Ilumene contented himself with ensuring their follower was still within sight; beyond that they appeared not to care about him in the slightest, keeping a good distance away so they were not bothered by the sounds of his laboured breathing or cries of pain.
Almost half an hour after the first rays of dawn had touched the treetops, Ilumene decided they had arrived at their destination. The only difference to the rest of the city that anyone might have noticed was the increase in the number of charred bodies lying around. He and Venn stopped and watched the
progress of the tattered man.
Jackdaw, panting hard, stopped before he reached them, pushing the now-filthy sheet back from his head for a moment to mop the sweat from his face. His pale face was emaciated; even the midnight-black feather tattoos on his cheek contrived to look ragged and crumpled after his time in Scree.
Jackdaw hesitated when he reached them, looking fearfully from one to the other as though worried about how they would react to his presence. Ilumene gave a snort and tossed the man a half-full waterskin. Jackdaw took it gratefully, sucking down long gulps until he caught the scarred soldier’s stare. He handed it back quickly.
Ilumene allowed himself a mouthful and hung the waterskin back around his neck, then made his way into the wreckage of a building. Jackdaw looked past him at the bodies, many burned beyond recognition. He paused as he stared at the nearest corpse, a man lying at rest, his hands folded at his throat as though laid out for burial. It was a strangely peaceful sight, especially when compared with the charred heap of long, strangely distorted limbs and hooked talons a few feet away. Ilumene walked up to it and gave the massive body a kick, knocking off some blackened lumps of some unidentifiable material. Whatever it might have been, it wasn’t human.
‘Was that his Aspect-Guide.?’ asked Jackdaw breathlessly as Ilumene cursed and tried to shake the mess from his boot.
‘Unless you think it likely some other beast this size wandered into the city last night,’ growled Venn.
Jackdaw didn’t reply, afraid of saying anything that might antagonise either of the other two men. They kicked and beat him whenever they pleased, and the mage had been too frightened to do anything in return to Rojak’s favoured sons. He stood now with his eyes on the ground, shoulders slumped, looking for all the world like a skeleton hung on a peg.
Ilumene moved through the rubble where the house had once stood, dragged aside a long, blackened timber and kicked chipped slate tiles and other debris out of the way until he found what he was looking for. Jackdaw surreptitiously leaned to one side to get a better look until something snapped under his heel, drawing furious looks that made him scramble back, biting his lip to stop the gabbling apologies that so infuriated them.
Illumine finished glaring at Jackdaw and descended the handful of steps he’d uncovered. A battered wooden door at the bottom wouldn’t budge until he kicked it hard, splitting it enough for him to be able to smash through the rusted iron hinges with a lump of stone. Jackdaw didn’t need to see Ilumene’s face to know how much he was enjoying himself; the former King’s Man took an almost childish pleasure in destruction, anything that could break, anything that could bruise.
‘What are we looking for?’ Jackdaw muttered.
Ilumene said nothing as he ducked his head under the sagging lintel and disappeared from view. Jackdaw allowed a few minutes to pass before he sighed, cleared a space on the nearest flat piece of ground and eased himself down. Venn stared at him for a moment, then stepped up onto the broken door and positioned himself so he could see both Jackdaw and the steps.
They waited in silence. Venn looked off to the northern horizon where he’d once said his home was located, then, murmuring something under his breath, he balanced himself on one foot, keeping remarkably still without any apparent effort. He glared disdainfully at the twitching figure in a ragged sheet.
Jackdaw ignored him, staring morosely at the patch of dirt at his feet.
After a while Ilumene’s voice echoed out through the doorway and Jackdaw, grimacing, clambered to his feet. Astonishingly, Ilumene was guiding out a large woman with long, straggly grey hair and a bewildered look in her eyes. Jackdaw could see she had a powerful body underneath her torn and damaged leather armour, and a younger face than her hair-colour indicated. Her solid frame surprised Jackdaw, most people in the city had become gaunt and emaciated after the weeks of chaos. This woman showed no ill-effects of the minstrel’s magic, but he could see a dozen more mundane injuries, both recent and half-healed. One eye was half-closed by a long grazed bruise down the side of her head. She was hugging something close, a book, maybe, wrapped in cloth.
‘It’s all over now, you’re safe,’ Ilumene was saying soothingly. Jackdaw almost convulsed in surprise, at the man’s tone as much as anything. Ilumene sounded as kind and reassuring as the monks in Vellern’s monastery - until now he’d never known the man from Narkang to be even civil to anyone but the minstrel. He wanted to warn the woman to not be such a fool, to scream at her to run, not to trust whatever poisonous schemes Ilumene had in mind, but instead he looked down and said nothing, paralysed by his own cowardice. All he could do was bite his lip and hate himself a fraction more, if that were even possible.
‘What happened here?’ she murmured through cracked lips. She looked startled, blinking against the light and wary of the ruined Land she’d awakened to. Jackdaw saw incomprehension in her eyes and realised she didn’t even know where she was.
‘War, and the cruelty of Gods,’ Venn answered distantly, not even bothering to look at her. The woman shrank towards Ilumene when she heard the coldness in Venn’s voice and he immediately put a comforting arm around her shoulders. She leaned gratefully into his body, bigger even than hers, not noticing the bloody lattice that covered the back of his hand.
‘What happened here is nothing for you to worry about,’ Ilumene repeated. ‘It’s all over now. A new dawn has come.’
‘Who are you?” she whispered. ‘How did you find me?’
‘All that matters is that you’re safe now,’ he said, stroking her hair.
The woman’s face twisted. Jackdaw realised she was trying to smile at her rescuer. Breath of Vellern, she’s forgotten how to smile.
‘Can you tell me your name?’
The woman thought for a moment then blanched and shook her head.
‘You’ve forgotten it?’ Ilumene asked, adding comfortingly, ‘That’s of no matter. We’ll find you a new name; the most beautiful name there is.’ Ilumene sounded so benevolent Jackdaw could scarcely believe this was the same man who’d awakened him just before dawn by punching him in the face. He probed a tooth with his tongue; yes, it was still broken; it hadn’t been a dream.
‘Are you going to take me with you?’ she asked uncertainly. It was strange to see such vulnerability from someone who looked as if she was a mercenary, but if she could not remember her own name, she doubtless had no memory of her years of fighting too. It looked to Jackdaw like Ilumene’s brutal appearance was causing her to hesitate - as it damn well should; run, you fool, run from him! - but there was a hopeful innocence to her weathered and battered face. He could see she was desperate to believe any promise of protection against this blasted world in which she found herself.
‘Of course we are,’ Ilumene replied, and then gestured towards the object she was still clutching to her stomach. ‘Come now, you have had a terrible time and you will be weak for a while yet. Would it not be easier if my friend carried your burden?’
The former Harlequin hadn’t moved towards her, but he was watching her with rapacious intent.
She pulled the book closer to her chest and shook her head. The movement created a faint cloud of dust and Jackdaw realised her hair was not actually grey, just covered in ash. ‘It is mine,’ she whispered hoarsely.
As you wish,’ Ilumene said gently, ‘but can you tell me what it is? So I know best how to help?’
‘I-‘ The woman looked up at him for a moment then hunched protectively over the book. The wrapping had slipped a little, but still Jackdaw couldn’t make out the words on it. He thought it looked unremarkable, just a plain leatherbound work like the dozens in the monastery library. ‘It’s my treasure,’ the woman said finally.
‘Treasure and ashes,’ Venn said suddenly.
She looked up fearfully as Ilumene chuckled beside her and brushed her sleeve, raising another cloud of dust. She coughed and spluttered, but never let go of the book.
The phrase banged around the inside of Jackdaw’s head; ha
d he heard it before? It sounded like the sort of hateful pronouncements Rojak had come out with from time to time; was this all still part of the minstrel’s final plan?
‘They were burned,’ she replied, holding out her fist. Jackdaw saw she was gripping a piece of scorched paper in it and he frowned: the cellar hadn’t been touched by fire, so why had a book been burned? ‘All burned except this one,’ she went on, ‘all but my treasure.’
Jackdaw’s stomach tightened into a knot. Abbot Doren had fled with the monastery’s books, as well as the Crystal Skull entrusted to their care. It looked as if the senile old bastard had tried to burn the books, as if they had been part of what they were after when the Skull of Ruling sat in his possession. He stopped. Had they?
Ilumene nodded as the woman opened her hand and let the remains inside flutter down to join the other ash at her feet. He cocked his head sideways so he could see the book’s cover and made a small sound of approval.
Jackdaw couldn’t stop himself this time. ‘This was all about a book?’ he asked, incredulous. He squinted at the cover himself, and this time made out an embossed symbol, partly obscured by the girl’s hand. There was a pair of entwined initials above it, a pair of Vs, maybe, indicating the book had belonged to a nobleman once.
‘This is no mere book,’ Ilumene said, answering the question, much to Jackdaw’s amazement. ‘This contains the writings of a madman.’
‘I betrayed my God for a book?’ he asked in a daze.
‘Indeed,’ Ilumene said with satisfaction, taking the lady’s hand and starting to lead her away from the cellar steps, ‘a book - or a journal, to be precise: the journal of Vorizh Vukotic’
Now Ilumene was finally talking, Jackdaw was determined to find out as much as he could. ‘The vampire? But he’s insane.’
‘Among other things,’ Ilumene conceded, ‘but does that not strike you as strange? He is a man cursed with sanity by Death himself, like his siblings, and yet, unlike his siblings, he goes insane. As a mage, tell me, what sort of power could overcome Death’s own curse?’
