by Emma Miles
‘I’m going to enjoy showing Joryn this,’ he said into her hair. His breath smelt of spicy meat.
With a roar she pushed up with all her strength, gaining enough room to get her teeth to his neck and bite as hard as she could. He locked a hand around her throat and ripped his flesh from her grip. He punched her hard in the face with his free hand while she gasped and choked for air. Bright light flared behind her eyes and her consciousness swam away and back.
Azrael shrieked, the curtains and the edge of the bed caught fire as he battled against the necromancer’s wind. Tantony gave a groggy shake of his head and tried to drag himself up against the wall.
Kesta brought her knee up but there was no strength behind her attack. She tried to feed her fear to him, but she couldn’t focus.
‘I won’t kill you, don’t worry about that.’ The necromancer’s grinning face was just above her own. ‘You are much too valuable. You’ll be tattooed with forbidding runes to restrain your power.’
She called the wind. The window blew inward showering them all in glass. She called on the earth. Hundreds of rats in every cellar, in every sewer, pricked up their ears and heard the call to come; come and fight. She called fire. His clothes began to smoulder, and he leapt up to counter her magic with his own. As soon as his weight lifted she drew the short sword and plunged it up under his ribs. His weight dragged her down to her knees as he collapsed to the floor.
‘Kesta!’ Tantony crawled toward her, trying to get to his feet.
She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t bring herself to move.
Tantony grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. ‘Azrael … Azrael, we have to get out!’
The drake blew the door to the room open and Tantony dragged Kesta out into the hall. He grabbed her by the chin and looked into her eyes. ‘Don’t you dare go weak on me now, lady!’
Kesta shook herself, her ears ringing. She squeezed his arm, and they raced along the hall to the stairs and down. From below came shouts of alarm and squeals of fear.
‘The rats.’ Kesta grinned.
‘What? Come on!’ Tantony led them back to the room they’d first entered. Another cry went up within the inn.
‘Fire! Fire!’
‘Ow!’ Kesta’s hand went to her chest as something burnt her. She fumbled at the message cylinder and pulled it out from under her tunic. It was glowing and scorching to touch.
‘Kessta!’ Azrael darted about joyfully. ‘He is back’
‘What?’
‘You did it, Kessta! Jorrun iss back! You must find water, quick! Quick!’
She looked about the room and saw a jug and washing bowl. She poured the water in.
‘Do we have time for this?’ Tantony demanded through gritted teeth.
‘The blood! Three drops!’ Azrael said urgently.
Kesta fumbled at the cylinder and after opening it, let three drops fall into the water. She drew in a sharp breath as Jorrun’s image appeared before her, distorted by the ripples of the blood as they settled and stilled.
‘Jorrun!’
‘Where are you?’ he demanded. His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot.
‘We are in Promise. We kille—’
‘Get out of there,’ he said angrily. ‘Get out of there now!’
‘There are people here still fighting, we can’t abandon them.’
‘You can’t take on the whole God’s damned Chem army!’ He hit the water with his fist, causing Kesta to step back. ‘Get yourselves back to Taurmouth!’
‘You’re in no position to lecture me about taking stupid risks.’
‘I’m not arguing with you, Kesta, meet me at Taurmouth.’
The water went dark. Kesta threw the bowl across the room. ‘Of all the arrogan—’
‘Kesta, the inn is on fire!’ Tantony frantically indicated the window.
She let out a cry of frustration but followed Azrael out through the window and across the roof to the alley. Dawn was just beginning to seep past the burning horizon.
He was alive. She swallowed, landing in the alley and wrapping one arm tightly around her body. Jorrun was alive.
Chapter Seventeen
Osun: Covenet of Chem
Osun chewed at his nails, staring into the water and following the familiar lines of the runes in the bowl. It was the fourth night in a row that he’d tried and failed to contact his master. Anxiety gnawed at his stomach as well as the traitorous thought that perhaps he was free. If his master was unable to contact him, then the Elden King would never be able to find him; he could finally have his own life.
But his master was also the only person in the entire world who his life meant anything to.
With a growl he stood up and tipped the water back into the jug. He placed the scrying bowl back in its chest and he paused to regard the vials of his master’s blood. They had dwindled hugely over the years. It had always been intended that he return to Elden before it ran out. He wondered if he would ever set foot in that heathen land again.
He jumped down from the wagon and tied the canvas shut. He thought he might have got used to the awful smell by now, but it still churned his stomach. He was sure his clothes must stink of rotting flesh by now.
Inside the inn a few guardsmen sat around a table, two of them gave Osun a friendly nod.
‘Master Osun!’ The innkeeper, Gulden, came hurrying toward him. ‘Some good news at last! These fellows here tell me that word has come from Lord Adelphy that he’ll be here tomorrow! The Overlord of the Covens has opened up his house for him by all accounts.’ He scowled. ‘It’s a shame he didn’t make some amends for my loss of trade by staying here.’
‘Your inn is certainly worthy of accommodating a coven lord.’ Osun commiserated. Silently he cursed his luck. He’d hoped to get close to the necromancer but there was no way he could gain access to the palace. Even if he did, it would be suicide; there would be servants and slaves there who might recognise him. He touched his long beard. He had worn the soft face of a child when he’d fled with his master.
‘Still, we should be rid of those things soon.’ Gulden gestured toward the door. ‘And not a moment too soon.’
‘You think they’ll be heading out to finish our conquest of Elden soon? It must be going well then.’
Gulden shrugged and looked at the guardsmen.
‘We don’t get told anything.’ One of them spat on the floor and Gulden gave a horrified gasp.
Osun tried to hide his own disgust. ‘Will you have to go on the ships with the dead?’
He winced as the guardsman went to spit again but the man caught Gulden’s expression and thought better of it. ‘Nah, thank Monaris. It’s home for us when this lot are shipped out.’
‘Well, all the best to you.’ Osun politely took his leave and went up to his room. Milaiya had already gone to bed; he didn’t blame her. For the first time, he wondered if she got bored being trapped in the room while he went out around the city. He told himself that it wasn’t his concern and that it didn’t matter.
***
He got up early the next morning and, going down to the wagon, picked out some of the new items he’d acquired that had been looted from the Borrows. He added some cloths and metal polish to the crate and took them back up to his room. Milaiya was standing by the table using his left-over water to wash. She quickly covered herself.
He dumped the crate on the bed and without looking at her said, ‘Give these a good clean.’
‘Yes, master.’
With a glance at her he went back down for his breakfast, as always, he struggled to eat much with the God’s cursed smell from the creatures outside. Several of the things had fallen over since he’d come to the inn and lay unmoving where they’d collapsed. It occurred to him that he’d never seen any flies despite the stench and the slow rot. He went outside and watched them for a while, confirming his observation. By rights they should have been crawling with maggots – his breakfast nearly came up at the thought – but there wasn’t
even the buzz of a single fly. Just like the birds and the rats, no living thing wanted to be near.
He shuddered.
So, where would he most likely get a glimpse of Adelphy Dunham? The man liked to be worshipped so there was no doubt he’d make a show of his arrival in Navere. The main gate would get him a view but probably little chance of any information. Would he come to the marketplace to inspect his creatures? Very likely, but he wasn’t going to discuss his business with the guardsmen or with Gulden. For all his bluster he doubted the innkeeper would dare approach the coven lord, let alone ask him when he’d be on his way to Elden.
Where else might he go where he might ask questions or be questioned? The last two ships had arrived from Parsiphay two days ago; surely Adelphy would want to check them over and see if they were ready for his use? He’d watched them being loaded with supplies, including long coffin-like crates. He’d seen no fresh goods taken aboard as yet.
Did he dare simply follow Adelphy? Would his warriors notice one merchant in the crowd trailing them and think it odd? They might.
It occurred to him that with his master missing he might even be doing all this for nothing. Concern crawled through his intestines. What had happened to Jorrun? As much as he dreamt and plotted his freedom he’d never been without a master. First his own father, Dryn Dunham – although it had been Jorrun’s mother, Naderra, who had secretly commanded his love and loyalty – and then his half-brother. Even as a small child Jorrun’s magic had been astounding. They’d hidden it as much as they could, afraid that Dryn would take him away much earlier than the traditional eight years old.
There had been rumours from time to time that after they’d escaped Dryn had sired another child of exceptional skill on a woman with Elden magic in her blood. Quinari was the name that was whispered. If it was true, it was not someone Osun had ever seen, and the boy had been hidden away from the common people.
Looking up, he realised he’d made his way toward the palace. He stared up at the place where he’d been born. He should have died there too; the child of a coven lord with no magic in his blood was worthless. A waste of resources not to mention a possible threat.
He jumped as someone barged past him, scowling as though it was Osun who had been at fault. He would go to the docks, he decided, and turned to stride off in that direction.
***
He slowly made his way along the stalls and browsed the shops that lined the wharves, the smell of fish was actually a relief from the smell of the marketplace. He’d already traded away all his fresh goods and purchased the few objects he thought he could make a profit from. He found himself standing outside a flesh house. Two women stood in the window, one of them fully veiled to show that they carried virgin stock. The other was stunningly beautiful with hair that was almost silver and grey eyes. Her eyes looked as dead as the creatures in the market place.
Not for the first time that day ice prickled Osun’s skin.
A buzz of excitement stirred the wharves and Osun quickly purchased a fish pastry from one of the stalls and hurried toward the ships. His morning of observation had given him the opportunity to establish who seemed to be in charge of the two warships. He found a spot opposite the main gangplank and leaning up against the front of a shop began to slowly nibble at his pastry. A small crowd surged from the main street onto the wharves, swaggering warriors yelling for them to move. At the centre of it all Adelphy Dunham strode with an air of disinterest. His eyes fell on the ships and a covetous smile grew on his face, showing just a gleam of teeth.
A huge man with wild mousey hair hurried down the gangplank and reached out to clasp Adelphy’s wrist. ‘Welcome back, Lord Dunham. Please, follow me.’
Osun cursed as the necromancer followed the captain up the gangplank. He should have realised they would never stand about in the open discussing their plans. Perhaps it was just as well his master had vanished, he’d have little to tell him. With a jolt he wondered if that were it; he’d failed to provide warning of the attack on Mantu. Would King Bractius have harmed Jorrun for his failure?
He forced himself to breathe and pushed away from the shopfront and wandered along the dock, weaving through the curious men who had come to curry favour with one of the most powerful sorcerers of the Coven Seats. He was considering giving up and returning to the marketplace when he heard voices above him. He halted and held his breath.
‘She is a good ship, it’s only fitting that she conquers Elden on her maiden voyage.’
‘When can you be ready to sail?’ Adelphy’s voice made the hairs stand up on the back of Osun’s neck and a growl came to his throat.
‘Oh, we are almost loaded. We can take on fresh water and food as soon as you command it and be on our way within hours.’
‘Well I command it! I want to be on my way early tomorrow. We’ll get my chattel on-board tonight and the warriors first thing.’
There was a pause. Osun could imagine the ship’s captain contemplating having the necromancer’s dead ‘chattel’ aboard.
‘You father’s attack on Mantu goes well then?’
The captain’s voice faded as they moved away from the ship’s rail and although Osun strained his ears, he couldn’t hear Adelphy’s reply.
‘Oi, you there! What are you doing?’
Osun jumped up from the crate he’d inadvertently sat on. ‘Trying to eat in peace.’ He glared at the warrior who had sauntered over and shoved the rest of the pastry into his mouth. He folded his arms and continued to hold the man’s gaze while he chewed angrily. The warrior gave him a derisive sneer, not impressed by him at all; but he didn’t move closer. Osun swallowed, giving the man another angry stare, before striding off toward the market. The further he got, the easier he breathed.
***
It was two hours before one of the guardsmen rushed into the inn, hissing at his fellows to get out quick as the master was on his way. Osun swallowed down his brandy, trying to drown the instant fear that rose up to weaken his muscles.
‘Perhaps the Lord would appreciate some refreshments?’ Osun suggested to Gulden as he went over to the window that overlooked the market square.
The innkeeper yelled to one of his servants, ‘Get Keppa to warm up some of his best pastries! Fetch some fresh geranna cakes and the best brandy!’ He glanced at Osun with a wince, realising he’d given away the fact he hadn’t been giving his guest the best.
Osun pretended not to notice. His hand went to his beard. Would Adelphy see through his scruffy appearance, long curling hair, and broken nose to the Dunham features below? Did he dare? A huge part of him wanted to prove his strength and courage by looking the man in the eye; the man who had beaten him as a child. The man whose father had killed his mother.
He wanted to look him in the eye and stab him in the heart.
The guardsmen were all standing to attention for the first time since Osun had come to the marketplace. Adelphy’s warriors fanned out around the edge of the space before the coven lord himself showed his face. Gulden was flapping about his servants, rearranging the cakes and checking his crystal cut glasses were spotless. Satisfied, he opened his doors wide and bustled out. Osun automatically put his hand over his nose as the powerful stench wafted in.
‘My Lord Dunham.’ Gulden beamed, giving a low, sweeping bow. ‘Welcome back to Navere. May I offer you some refreshments?’
Adelphy’s face wrinkled in disgust. ‘How could anyone eat here?’
Gulden’s smile crumpled as Adelphy snatched a glass of brandy and swigged it down.
Osun’s hatred got the better of his fear and he jumped up and strode out to stand beside Gulden. He gave a begrudging bow, saying as he did so, ‘Lord Dunham, it’s an honour to meet you.’
Adelphy looked down his nose at him, his lip twitching in distaste. ‘And you are?’
‘Osun, master.’ Oh, how that word choked him inside. He had only one master, a man worth ten of Adelphy. A man who was missing. ‘Just a humble merchant. I came to admire y
our great work of magic.’ He pointed to the undead.
Adelphy laughed, making Osun’s bones crawl out of his skin. He became very aware of the dagger on his belt, heavy against his hip.
‘Oh, this is nothing.’ Adelphy’s hazel eyes glinted and the already tall man seemed to grow even taller. ‘This is magic!’
He raised his hands dramatically to head height and a glow seemed to form about his fingers. At once all the terrible, pitiful, creatures in the market place began to stir. No life came to their dead eyes, no sound came from their rotting mouths, but they twitched and moved; the fallen ones getting to their feet.
Gulden gave a shriek and ran for his inn which seemed to delight Adelphy. Osun refused to budge and Adelphy’s eyes narrowed. He regarded Osun more closely.
‘Alas, that my blood is so poor.’ Osun sighed, dropping his eyes. ‘That is amazing.’
Adelphy seemed satisfied. ‘We could have conquered Elden long ago had the old covens not been so afraid of necromancy,’ he complained.
‘I wish you luck on your conquest, not that you need luck. I … I imagine that once you have taken Elden there will be many great opportunities for those willing to put themselves forward.’
‘There would be indeed.’ He looked Osun up and down. ‘Come and see me when I am sitting on the Elden throne. I like a man with ambition – just not too much ambition. The bloodless have their place.’
‘Indeed, master. You honour me.’
‘Yes, I do.’ With a sniff Adelphy turned to concentrate on his creatures, bidding them to head toward the dock. The warriors and guardsmen hurried to follow them although they needed no herding. Without a glance at Osun, Adelphy Dunham walked casually away, cutting straight through the undead without flinching.
Osun let the air out of his lungs and clutched at his stomach, bending forward as though he’d been punched. His muscles loosened and tingled with pins and needles and his vision blurred a little. Then he drew himself up straight, and a smile grew into a wide, almost manic grin. He hurried back inside the inn to throw himself into a chair.
