by Tom Lloyd
‘But who is it you pray to?’ asked the witch of Llehden. He turned to see her standing behind him, her face shadowed from the late morning sun by a white mourning shawl. ‘Myself, I find I do have not the strength for it.’
She carried an oak sapling in both hands, one recently pulled from the ground, to be planted over Xeliath’s body in the Yeetatchen fashion.
‘Yet you wear the devices of Gods on your mourning shawl,’ Mihn pointed out, though he didn’t recognise the images.
Her hand automatically went to the old brass brooches pinned to the shawl.
‘They are Kanasis and Ashar, the local Gods of Llehden.’
‘Aspects of Amavoq?’
She shook her head. ‘Kanasis is a stag Aspect of Vrest and Ashar’s the Lady of Hidden Paths, an Aspect of Anviss. The God of Woods is more welcome here than his queen and mistress. We prefer not to fear the creatures of the forest.’
Mihn snorted and looked around at the dark trees of Llehden. ‘That’s something of a surprise; these woods are as unfriendly after nightfall as the Farlan eastern forests.’
‘Llehden is a place of power, it attracts all kinds of creature, but that doesn’t mean we should live in fear. Enter a gentry den and you’ll be torn limb from limb; see one in the wood and your luck will hold all day, I’m told.’
‘You’re told? Surely you see them more than most?’
She shrugged. ‘A witch makes her own luck. Even a drunk on a winning streak wouldn’t be so foolish as to gamble against a witch.’
Mihn turned back to the grave he’d dug. ‘Even a drunk knows luck will eventually run out,’ he said with a heavy heart. ‘Only I failed to see it coming.’
‘Don’t be a fool. You knew it was coming; you just assumed the price would be one you could bear to pay.’
‘So what do I do now then?’ he snapped. ‘Just accept it?’
‘Unless you are about to place yourself above the Gods, yes.’
The witch’s calm voice angered Mihn, but as he scowled at her the trees nearby shuddered under a breeze he couldn’t feel on his face.
‘Death’s a part of life, had you forgotten that? Don’t start getting above yourself, Grave Thief.’
His head dropped as the dull ache in his gut intensified and eclipsed the anger of grief. ‘How can you be so accepting?’
‘Because there is no other choice. Xeliath was one of the Chosen; and she died in the boat with us, not on Ghain. She isn’t bound for Ghenna - and what more can we ask of Lord Death? To choose the time and manner of one’s death? She died to save Isak when he could not protect himself - a charge given to her by the Gods themselves when she was Chosen - and she died fighting, strong and fierce. Do you think Xeliath would have had it any other way?’
Mihn reluctantly shook his head. ‘I know you’re right, but — Is there nothing I can do?’
‘You can remember her fondly, and thank her for her sacrifice. I suggest you keep away from the afterlife for as long as possible - you pledged your soul to a daemon, remember.’
He nodded, not wanting to get into that argument again. Offering his soul had not been part of the plan.
‘It’s time. Go and fetch Isak, if you can shift him.’
‘And if I can’t?’
‘Bring Xeliath by yourself.’
He set off along the lake shore towards the small house. Daima was keeping watch inside, a grim expression on her face and a thin pipe clamped between her teeth. The only table in the main room was taken up by Xeliath’s body, wrapped in a length of green canvas.
‘It’s time,’ Daima said, grimacing as she pulled on her pipe, as if the tobacco had soured. It took her a while to get up; she had been sitting with the body for hours while he dug the grave.
Mihn looked at Isak, who was lying on a makeshift bed, his back against the far wall, staring at the floor. His arms and legs were drawn into his body and his lips moved slightly, as though he was whispering to himself, though Mihn could hear no sound. Every once in a while Isak’s eyes would widen, then he would take a heaving breath, almost as if he was surprised at the need to breathe once more. He was oblivious to anyone else’s presence.
‘Did you expect anything different?’ Daima asked. ‘It most probably felt like years to him.’
‘Have you checked his bandages?’
‘Aye, and he’s healing even quicker than you’d expect of his kind. Still hasn’t spoken, though.’
‘Not at all?’
‘Hasn’t even noticed I’m here. Give him time; some things don’t heal as fast as others.’
Mihn walked over to Isak, and his body tensed a little more as Mihn’s shadow fell over him. His scars seemed to darken, even more than they should in the shadow, and Mihn heard the faintest of whimpers break the silence.
‘Isak,’ Mihn whispered, crouching down beside him, ‘Isak, can you hear me?’
There was no response, but when Mihn tried to take Isak’s hand he felt the massive muscles tense and it was drawn in protectively. Mihn applied a touch more pressure, but he got nowhere. However gaunt he now looked, the white-eye was more than double Mihn’s body-weight; it would be impossible to move him if he decided to resist.
Mihn gave up for now and went to gather Xeliath in his arms.
‘Isak, we have to bury Xeliath,’ he said, trying one last time, but there was no response. With a sigh Mihn headed for the door, leaving Isak to shiver and whisper alone.
‘A wounded animal takes time to coax round,’ Daima said as they rounded the house and headed for the grave. ‘Let it happen at its own pace.’
At the tree-line Mihn could see the pale faces of the gentry watching them. The forest spirits wouldn’t help or hinder, but they often watched funerals from afar - the one act of reverence they appeared to approve of. Mihn was startled when the caw of a solitary raven overhead prompted low mutters and growls from the watching gentry.
‘That is what worries me,’ Mihn replied after a while. ‘The animal inside Isak is a dangerous one. What if that is all that is left?’
It was night by the time General Gaur returned to the Akell quarter of the Circle City. With his right arm bandaged he rode awkwardly, accompanied by a disordered group of his huntsmen. It was only the quality of his armour that distinguished him from the ragged champion Lord Styrax had extended a hand to in the fighting pits of Kravern, the great city at the entrance to the Ring of Fire. The decades since had not touched the beastman other than the faintest of silvering around his dark muzzle.
He passed Lord Styrax’s guards without being challenged; a grey-haired huntsman at his side. They entered the dark officers’ mess without knocking and sank to their knees.
‘My Lord,’ the men said in unison, their heads bowed.
‘The Duchess of Byora came to see me,’ Styrax said, his voice sounding tired. ‘She came to remind me of my duties as her liege lord.’
When Gaur saw the fatigue in his lord’s eyes he felt a flicker of alarm. Never before had he seen the white-eye appear so weak, so exhausted. The room smelled of old smoke and sweat, and whatever was burning in the fireplace hadn’t been stored properly; though it took the edge off the chill in the room, it smelled sour, and smoked badly.
‘In that case she’s got more balls than the rest of the Circle City,’ Gaur said.
‘We knew that before the invasion.’ Styrax rubbed his hands over his face, trying to massage away the ache behind his eyes. ‘Nonetheless, it’s a timely reminder. Our schedule does not allow for grief.’
‘The dragon? I’ve heard it’s battered Ismess into submission as effectively as Lord Larim was going to.’
Styrax nodded. ‘I hadn’t expected that, a dragon staying so close to human habitation. The spell that kept it sleeping must not have been as accomplished as its creator intended - unless she’s more of a vicious bitch than we had heard. Its mind must be permanently damaged.’
‘Wouldn’t be the only one,’ Gaur added with a twitch of his black mane. ‘Word from By
ora says the mercenary, Aracnan, has lost his mind; the poison’s driven him mad. Chade suspects it’s seadiamond venom.’
The huntsman bowed to Styrax when his name was mentioned. He was a small man, and his pinched, battered face made his age difficult to gauge. A hard life had left its mark: his teeth were yellowed, misaligned, and several were missing, and his cheeks were pitted with smallpox scars. On such a face the eager expression he was displaying looked far from natural.
‘Don’ know it well misself o’course, but I remember hearin’ about it years back. Damn stuff’s easy t’cure, so they say; supposedly alcohol kills it, so prob’ly all you’d need is to get yersel’ blind drunk - but magic, that excites the stuff, makes it work faster — ’
‘So it’s perfect for killing mages,’ Styrax finished. ‘How very like King Emin. His inventiveness is not to be underestimated; something to bear in mind when we march west.’
‘West? You mean after we’ve dealt with the Devoted?’ Gaur asked.
‘After several things,’ Styrax agreed. ‘Chade, there’s wine over there, pour us all a cup.’ When the man was out of immediate earshot, Styrax asked, ‘Apotheosis?’ He gave Gaur a meaningful look.
‘Yes, my Lord,’ the general replied. ‘He knows a little - not all - and I believe he’s the man to run it.’
‘Good. I don’t have the energy to speak in code.’
The huntsman returned balancing three goblets. General Gaur took one and Chade handed the second to Lord Styrax. He waited for the Menin lord’s nod before raising the goblet to his lips.
‘It’s time for the next phase of our conquest,’ Styrax said after a moment. ‘Duke Vrill is scouting the northeast, sounding out the remaining Knights of the Temples. Embere is the weaker of their two cities there, so Vrill is focused on Raland and General Telith Vener. The Knight-Cardinal is confined to quarters, and I doubt the general will be over-eager to liberate the only man to outrank him in the Order.’
‘Not if Vrill offers him the right deal,’ Gaur agreed. Vener would most likely accept a title; he’d rule over both cities as the Menin vassal happily enough. Duke Chaist, the ruler of Embere, wouldn’t be so happy, but his army had been mauled pretty comprehensively by Vener’s men the previous summer. The Menin’s recently recruited Chetse legions would help solve any future argument there.
‘In the meantime, a little confusion among the Devoted here would be a good idea. Start Apotheosis in Akell, then send word back to your men in the Chetse cities. The north is going to be more of a challenge, but it’s important they head there too - it’s the body-count that matters, and there are a lot of targets in the Farlan cities.’
Chade, aware of the significance of drinking with his lord, ventured to ask, ‘We holdin’ off in Tor Salan for the time bein’?’ He didn’t know much about Apotheosis, but he was aware that this secret undertaking was the principal driving force behind the Menin lord’s invasion of the West, and the rewards for those involved would be commensurately great.
‘There’s been enough bloodshed there, for the present at least,’ Styrax said. ‘The city’s unstable right now, and this is a long-term operation. There will be time enough for Tor Salan next year, if it’s needed - our final phase will not take place before next summer, at the earliest. Send your agents to Sautin and Mustet to continue Apotheosis there, then have them work their way further west.’ Styrax paused. ‘I hope I don’t need to remind you that you must be careful about whom you select for this operation.’
Chade nodded hard. ‘All in hand, my Lord. At the general’s orders I’ve bin pickin’ soldiers out’ve the stockade all this last year. They’s an evil bunch; half of ’em would cut a man’s throat for lookin’ funny at him, so they’ll bloody jump at the bounty you’re offerin’. Piety’ll be the least o’ my problems.’
‘Good. Keep them in close teams and have them led by men with sense, preferably your huntsmen. We want this done properly, and that means covering your tracks and ensuring any suspicion is directed elsewhere. If you need to kill rival priests, the bounty will be paid on them too.’
Styrax raised a warning finger to Chade. ‘I want it made damned clear: they follow orders and be careful, and they’ll be rewarded the rest of their days. If they’re sloppy or lazy there’ll be a bounty on their heads big enough that even the mothers who bore them will be eager to claim it.’
‘What about the Mortal-Aspect?’ Gaur said. ‘He can’t be ignored.’
‘Agreed. We need a Raylin to deal with the problem, and a powerful one at that. Aracnan would have been my first choice, but it appears he’s no longer an option.’
‘Aye, he’s dead, that’un,’ said Chade eagerly, ‘or leastways as far as our use goes, and if he survives, he won’t be the man he once were. Smart money is on a slow an’ painful march to the Herald’s hall for that’un.’
‘Then the Poisonblade is our best alternative, don’t you agree?’
General Gaur’s tusks rasped through the bristles on his cheeks. He hated all Elves, instinctively, down at the very basest level, for no reason he could explain. Styrax had told him his own private theory: that Gaur’s ancestry included some of the warrior races created to fight in the Great War. ‘What will be his price?’ the general said at last.
‘I think we can safely assume it will be high. Offer him Lord Chalat’s sword. It’s one of his race’s ancient relics, after all. I’m sure Major Amber will understand; I will provide compensation for the loss of his spoils.’
‘I will instruct Larim to begin negotiations.’ Gaur finished his wine before adding, ‘So: our goal is to have severely diminished numbers in the Circle City, the Chetse lands, the southwestern states and the Farlan lands by the coming winter.’
‘By which point,’ Styrax went on, ‘we should be getting established in Narkang territory, with the aim of implementing Apotheosis there some time the following summer. ’
‘But we do nothing about the Farlan Army?’ Gaur asked. ‘We gave them a mauling, but they’re a long way from beaten, and not pressing the advantage for a whole year gives them time to regroup, recover and rebuild numbers - more than we can deal with if Narkang isn’t beaten by winter.’
‘We can stir trouble up there with minimal effort. They’re currently leaderless; that’s means they’re likely to be arguing amongst themselves all the time we’re hunting in the west. We’ll buy some suzerains and that’ll help to further undermine Farlan unity. But you do have a point; perhaps we should send a peace envoy now, to give them one more thing to disagree about, and stall them further? I’ve a long way to go before I complete my collection; there’s no rush here.’ His hand went to a pouch hanging from his sword belt. It held something the size of a man’s fist.
‘Is that why we’re going west?’ Gaur asked, surprised. ‘All because of dodgy intelligence provided by some low-grade necromancer that King Emin has the Skull of Ruling?’
Styrax shook his head. ‘The conquest comes first, although it won’t hurt to see if we can prise it from him. When we do move, ensure a messenger has gone to speak to the king in advance - perhaps he’ll barter it away since he’s no mage himself.’
Gaur felt sceptical, but it would cost them nothing to try. ‘There’s one more for the taking, much closer,’ he pointed out.
‘Aracnan, yes,’ Styrax said, ‘but let’s not move yet. Zhia and Koezh will doubtless be watching him carefully. They know I have several Skulls already, and if I look too keen to kill Aracnan they will feel threatened for their own.’ He gave a humourless snort. ‘Besides, right now I have a dragon to kill. Aracnan can be next week’s problem.’
Knight-Cardinal Horel Certinse, head of the Knights of the Temples, glowered and paced restlessly as he demanded, ‘What news of the other quarters, Captain?’ He’d been unable to concentrate or sit still all day.
Captain Perforren reported, ‘Nothing of great interest, sir. Akell has seen more of note than anywhere else today.’ The tall soldier glanced nervously at the door wheneve
r he heard a sound elsewhere in the townhouse. It was a modest building for the Knight-Cardinal and his staff to be confined to, and the attendant priests installed as his ‘spiritual advisors’ to monitor Certinse’s activities made it even more cramped.
The Knight-Cardinal stopped dead and frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ His house-arrest was making him feel powerless and frustrated, emotions he was quite unused to.
‘The duchess came to petition Lord Styrax, so I’ve heard. He made her wait several hours, but he did eventually admit her to his august presence.’
‘Yet I am ignored by even Styrax’s subordinates?’ Certinse scowled. ‘This cannot just be grief, or Styrax showing me my place. That I am so cut off must be of more significance. Does he not care at all about going to war with Raland and Embere? Could he have secured an alliance with that worm Vener without me knowing?’ He looked at Perforren and shook his head. ‘No, the Serian still reports to me, however gutted the Devout Congress has left it.’
