Dead Man's Steel

by Luke Scull

  An hour later they finally got close enough to the coastline to begin looking for a place to dock. It was then that the bodies began thumping against the hull.

  Sasha stared overboard, fresh bile rising in her throat. There were hundreds of them floating in the bay: the headless corpses of the Pioneers who had sailed from Dorminia with dreams of returning rich, or at least something more than destitute, bright in their minds. The fehd had slaughtered them all.

  A sudden overwhelming need to blunt the horror seized her and her eyes alighted on Fergus. He had that shit-eating smile on his face already, as if he had known exactly how all of this was going to play out. She hated him for it, despised him.

  But that didn’t stop her going to him and thrusting out a hand. He passed her the pouch of hashka without a word.

  He doesn’t see people, she realized. He sees projects. Puzzles.

  She had the cord half undone when a cry went up from the lookout. Sasha managed to avoid fumbling her precious cargo and stowed it in a pocket just as tiny shapes became visible on the coast. They were still too small to see in any detail, but seconds later she heard a sharp cracking noise and the decking just to her right shattered, fragments of wood and dust exploding into the air.

  The Unborn beside the forecastle jerked suddenly. Black blood began to ooze out of her chest, smelling foul, causing the humans aboard the Luck to reel away in disgust or hold their noses. All save for Fergus, who merely watched with interest. The handmaiden didn’t seem unduly concerned by the wound, but there was another cracking sound moments later and her skull fell apart like a melon, rotting brains spraying the mast behind her.

  Sasha threw herself to the deck as further cracking sounds split the air, one after another. Chunks of wood and flesh and rancid black blood were flying all around her. She saw several Unborn plunge over the ship’s railing and dive into the ocean, making for the Islands, trying to reach their assailants before the ship was sunk.

  How are they are attacking us? she thought desperately. They’re hundreds of yards away! The sound of thunder shook the skies above and black lightning arced down from the clouds to strike the coast in a small explosion of stone and spray. The assault on the ship stopped momentarily. Sasha climbed back to her feet, wiping putrid gore off her face. The scene aboard the Lady’s Luck was utter carnage: dead and wounded crew were sprawled against crates, flopping on the deck or staring numbly down at jagged holes in their bodies. Though only a few of the Unborn had been destroyed, many were missing limbs. Sasha could see the ripples made by those that had leaped overboard still swimming towards the coast.

  More lightning lit the sky, spearing down to strike the section of coast where their attackers had been spotted. The cloud of dust thrown up by the lightning made it hard to see exactly what was happening, but the cracking noises swiftly returned. Strangely, none of this newest wave of attacks seemed to target the ship.

  Fergus ambled over. He appeared unhurt, and indeed mostly unmoved, by the madness playing out around him. ‘It seems we have an unexpected ally,’ he mused. He pointed up at the sky. ‘There is a mage in the clouds above. A mage, or some other being capable of summoning and directing lightning.’

  Surely enough, more lightning forked down. It was answered by those below, a renewed burst of cracking, whistling shots sent up into the clouds.

  Sasha’s heart was already hammering in her chest, and when she spotted the huge vessel ghosting out of the mist around the side of the coast it almost burst. This new ship was unlike any she had seen before: a metallic, angular behemoth the colour of a leaden sky. The Lady’s Luck was perhaps the finest vessel in the Trine but even the White Lady’s flagship was small and primitive in comparison to this.

  ‘We must flee,’ announced the captain. ‘The fehd have not abandoned the Isles. We cannot survive a confrontation with that ship.’

  The Lady’s Luck was brought around with all haste and the sails hoisted as they turned and fled the approaching vessel. Surprisingly, it didn’t immediately attempt to give chase. Lightning tore through the sky behind them and Sasha saw the fehd warship outlined in black fire.

  The mage is attacking the ship. He’s trying to slow its advance.

  They sailed at full mast, knowing that if the pursuing ship caught up with them they were all doomed. Somehow they lost sight of the fehd vessel and in the early evening the captain announced that it was not evidently giving chase. Sasha was halfway through her pouch of hashka by then and so when the harsh croak of a crow interrupted the stillness of the night, she didn’t immediately make the connection. All she could think of was mighty magic being unleashed, of harsh words being tossed at the most powerful woman in the world. Of her sister, Ambryl, sacrificing herself to ensure her younger sibling survived. Somehow everything connected in her delirium and the identity of their unexpected ally dropped like a stone in her hashka-addled mind.

  ‘Thanates,’ she whispered.

  The crow fluttered down out of the night sky and landed on the deck. The bird began to glow and change shape and then he was standing before them: a tall man sporting a black overcoat, tattered and torn in a hundred different places. The red rag he had once worn to cover his missing eyes was gone, stripped away by the White Lady during their duel. In their empty sockets burned black fire.

  There was a moment of stunned silence and then one of the Unborn leaped at Thanates. He raised a gloved hand and she was flung overboard, plucked off the deck and dumped into the churning waters below like so much flotsam.

  The grim wizard took a step towards the crew. He smelled of black powder, and ash, and death. ‘Servants of Alassa,’ he snarled. ‘Where is your mistress?’

  ‘Protecting her people,’ replied the ship’s Unborn captain. ‘You are not welcome here, Crow.’

  Thanates laughed, an ugly sound like a bird’s caw. ‘You misunderstand. I do not ask your permission. Your mistress and I have unfinished business. She had me flogged and hung from the walls of her city. She even stole my memories. Now I am here for vengeance.’ The wizard raised a fist wreathed in black fire.

  ‘Wait.’ Sasha stumbled forward, falling to her knees and scraping them painfully on the deck. ‘You were fighting the fehd. Why?’

  Thanates paused. ‘The Ancients murdered hundreds of innocents here. A wizard-king of Dalashra does not allow an injustice to pass without answering in kind. This I remember. You, servants of Alassa, will now answer for the crimes of your mistress.’

  ‘Wait,’ Sasha said again. ‘You know me. I’m Sasha. Davarus Cole spoke of me.’

  Once again the mage hesitated. ‘Davarus Cole? Ah. The child of murder. You are the girl he professes to love.’

  Love? No one could possibly love me. Sasha blinked desperately, willing away the hashka-induced fog clouding her mind, knowing this was one her one chance to avert a catastrophe. ‘He said you were a good man. We are not responsible for what the White Lady did to you. We came to these Isles seeking magic to help combat the fehd.’

  Thanates grimaced. ‘I thought to do the same. The Ancients will allow no one close. The weapons they carry reach further than any bow or cannon.’

  Unexpectedly, Fergus cleared his throat and raised a thin hand. ‘Excuse me. Allow me to posit you a question, if I may. Does a thirst for vengeance outweigh a duty to mankind?’

  Sasha stared at Fergus. The man’s eyes glittered. There was no fear, no sense that he understood how close he was to magical evisceration. Only curiosity at yet another mystery to untangle.

  The self-proclaimed wizard-king of Dalashra frowned. ‘Speak not to me of duty. A king’s duty is always first to his people.’

  Fergus nodded. ‘Then your duty must be to put aside your vendetta against my mistress and help us fight the fehd. For if you do not, all of humanity is doomed.’

  The black fire surrounding Thanates’ clenched fist flickered and died. He scowled. ‘Easy to say. Alassa cares nothing for duty. Deepest of all her desires is to be a saviour. That was what dr
ove her rage as much as the loss of our child: the denial of her wish for us to unite the Congregation and the Alliance. Instead, we doomed it.’

  ‘You can still save us,’ Sasha whispered. ‘You and the White Lady. Please. There’s no one else.’

  For a long time, silence reigned. Thanates stared around the ruined deck as though he could see the damage wrought by the fehd. ‘I have learned of what the Ancients did here. The bodies. I do not care for it.’

  ‘So you’ll help us?’ Sasha pleaded.

  Thanates gave a heavy sigh. His jaw set, and he stared seemingly unseeing at the sky, until finally he nodded. ‘You must arrange a meeting between us. I cannot promise we will not kill each other. But if Alassa and I are able to put aside our hatred, I will tell her of my time in Dorminia and an individual fehd I grew to know well. His name was Isaac.’

  Transcendence

  ✥

  THE HALFMAGE STROKED the hand of the woman beside him, marvelling at how soft it felt. She rewarded him with a smile that in the circumstances almost broke his shrivelled excuse for a heart.

  The thundering blast of a horn split the air and the giant transporter ship carrying the weapon that heralded Thelassa’s Reckoning crawled into harbour. It was almost of a size with the two great flagships of the First and Second Fleets – but this vessel carried no artillery and only the most skeletal of crews. Most of the main deck was occupied by a metal cylinder so vast it rivalled the towers Eremul had glimpsed from Thelassa’s harbour: a monstrous barrel of steel that pointed towards the heavens. Isaac had referred to it as the ‘Breaker of Worlds’ and had intimated that in this mysterious Time Before it could be deployed in much more compact form; a factor that ultimately led to the mass devastation of their ancestral homeland when thousands were utilized at the same instant.

  The Fade and mankind. We both share a proclivity for mass murder that would humble the gods, except we killed them too.

  The Halfmage felt Monique’s fingers squeeze his hand. He tore his gaze from the harbinger of their doom and met her gaze. ‘Will it hurt?’ she asked him. ‘When it is our turn, will it hurt?’

  Eremul shrugged helplessly. ‘I do not believe so. It will be instantaneous, or so I understand. We will not have time to feel pain. One second we shall exist. The next...’ He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

  ‘But you are a wizard. Your magic can protect us?’ The hope in Monique’s voice made him feel six inches tall.

  And I am barely three feet on a good day.

  ‘My magic will not protect us,’ he said weakly. ‘Even the White Lady’s magic will not protect her city or her people. The weapon that will be deployed from that ship, the Breaker of Worlds, unravels the fabric of all things. The explosion will be vast. Nothing will survive for miles around.’

  A trumpet sounded and the Halfmage stared down the docks to where a procession of fehd approached to meet the incoming vessel. General Saverian strode purposefully along at the front of the group. At his side was a female fehd whom Eremul remembered being present at the bloodbath on the day of his intended execution. Isaac and his sister Melissan – whom he had once known as Lorganna – followed behind, a score more of the Ancients marching behind them. Resting over Saverian’s right shoulder was a much larger and bulkier version of the deadly hand-cannons the Ancients employed.

  ‘Time for us to go,’ Eremul muttered. They had needed a break from the Refuge, not to mention Mard and Ricker’s endless litanies of crazed bullshit. Privacy was a luxury afforded to no one under the current occupation of the city. Strange though it seemed, the harbour was about the safest place for a notorious pariah. Unlike his fellow Dorminians, the fehd bore him no particular ill will. No more ill will than Eremul had for the rats that infested the Refuge. He would be Reckoned when the time came, and that was that. Petty cruelty was, it seemed, for the lesser races.

  As Eremul and Monique departed the harbour and began the trek back to the Refuge, a melodic voice the Halfmage knew well called out his name. He twisted around to see Isaac gesturing at him to remain where he was. To Eremul’s rising panic, the Adjudicator uttered something to General Saverian. Sudden dread turned to pant-pissing terror when the two began making their way towards him and Monique. Not only them, but Isaac’s sisters also.

  Shit, he thought, trying not to let fear master him. Keep calm. If they wanted you dead you would already be in a hole in the ground. Or, more likely, ash drifting in the wind.

  Monique clung to him and he knew he had to keep it together for her. Isaac and his sisters he could somewhat countenance; it was the white-haired general who utterly terrified him.

  ‘So this is the human,’ uttered Saverian, staring down at the Halfmage with eyes blacker than despair, older than the land itself. It might have been a question – except that the cold certainty in Saverian’s voice left absolutely no room for doubt. ‘Your pet.’

  ‘I would not word it that way, sir,’ replied Isaac.

  Melissan laughed, a sound like the tinkling of a hundred silver bells. ‘I fear my dear brother is quite besotted with his little project. I dare say he might even consider him a friend – preposterous though the notion is.’

  The other female at the side of Saverian raised a perfect hand and flicked away a strand of golden hair. The Ancients were a uniformly beautiful people – tall and slim and with features that might have been carved by the most skilled sculptor. But this particular fehd was truly beyond words. ‘Is this its life partner?’ she asked curiously, giving Monique a tiny nod.

  ‘“It” is a “he”, Nym,’ Isaac said gently. The look he gave her was one of pure joy. Eremul had never had a brother or sister. Whether it was the Adjudicator’s empathetic projection or just the expression on his face, he knew for that one instant the intensity of the love one sibling might feel for another. The passing of it left him empty. As it always did, bitterness welled up to fill the void.

  ‘Humans rarely have life partners as we understand them,’ Melissan interjected. The Halfmage could feel the venom dripping from her voice. ‘They are like dogs. They rut and then leave to find another with whom to share their seed. A consequence of their minute lifespans.’

  The Halfmage wanted to spit his anger in the arrogant face of the fehd who had manipulated him so effortlessly. It had been Melissan’s doing that he had come within seconds of dying at the end of a noose. And now she dared insult the only thing that gave his life any meaning?

  I have spent my thirty-five years on this earth being ridiculed, spat upon and made to feel utterly worthless by my own kind. I can tolerate whatever you can throw at me. But don’t insult her. The four perfect immortals were staring down at Monique as if she were a fly-speckled piece of shit. Three, he corrected himself. Isaac seemed discomfited by the whole situation.

  General Saverian placed a gloved hand on the shoulder of the female named Nym. ‘For a thousand years Nymuvia has been promised to me. One day we will lifebond and spend the rest of eternity together. I pity you transient things and your illusions of relevancy. Of permanency.’

  Don’t do anything rash. Don’t do anything rash. Eremul repeated it over and over, the gnashing of his teeth his only, pathetic, outlet for his rage. He so desperately wanted to unleash his magic against this Saverian, but fear stopped him. Fear, as well as Isaac’s words.

  Magic runs off us like water. The elves, too, thought to bring their sorcery to bear against us during the Twilight War. It availed them little.

  Saverian was five thousand years old. If killing this legendary general with magic were easy, it would have happened a long time ago.

  ‘The Breaker of Worlds awaits our inspection,’ the general announced, repositioning his shoulder-cannon and spinning on his heel. ‘We have wasted enough time on these animals.’

  Eremul finally snapped. ‘Don’t call her an animal, you arrogant fuck!’ he snarled.

  Saverian paused. Melissan whirled around, mouth twisting in anger. Nym gasped softly. Isaac just closed
his eyes, as if he had half expected this outcome but hoped tragedy might be avoided nonetheless. The general turned slowly.

  An arrow struck Saverian.

  It hit him in the chest and skittered off his silver armour, though judging by the pain that flashed in his obsidian eyes, the impact hurt. Eremul, too, squealed in pain – a result of Saverian’s emphatic projection, stronger even than Isaac’s.

  Battle cries tore through the air. Pouring out of an alley came a mass of armed men. There were ex-Crimson Watch, militiamen – veterans of the brief wars with Shadowport and Thelassa – as well as common citizens brave enough to pick up a sword in a desperate last stand against the city’s occupiers. The ambush had been planned perfectly, or else had proved incredibly fortuitous: the rest of the fehd party was hundreds of yards away, leaving the four officers utterly exposed.

  ‘For Dorminia!’ and other largely uninspired but commendable cries went out. In spite of everything Eremul felt a small surge of pride. Someone in the city had organized a last-ditch resistance. He was shocked to see a familiar face among the rebels – Lashan, the one-time harbourmaster and a man Eremul had humiliated twice in the recent past. Lashan’s eyes locked on the Halfmage as he charged, a shortsword clutched awkwardly in his recently healed hand. Eremul had broken his fingers beneath the wheels of his chair back in the summer. The man had been a coward among cowards then, but he had found his courage from somewhere.

  ‘Traitor!’ Lashan screamed, spittle spraying from his mouth.

  It’s not what it looks like, the Halfmage wanted to protest. Clearly whoever had organized the attack had not trusted him enough to be involved in their plans. He understood that. He didn’t even care if they killed him while taking down the fehd command. But Monique was in their path, too. There were at least thirty armed men already within bowshot, and more behind them.

  The three Adjudicators stepped out to defend their commander – but Saverian raised a hand and they fell back. Alone, the white-haired general took a single long stride towards the massed ranks of the ambushers.