Dead Man's Steel

by Luke Scull

  ‘Love’s a powerful thing,’ Kayne said.

  ‘There are other reasons for us to marry,’ Thanates admitted. ‘I wish to reclaim my throne. Once I rule Dalashra again as its rightful king, an alliance through marriage with Thelassa will be of immeasurable benefit to us both.’

  ‘Politics,’ Kayne said ruefully. ‘I ain’t got time for that shit, as a rule.’

  ‘Consider yourself blessed,’ said Thanates, with a wry twist of his mouth. ‘Some of us lack that luxury. Ah – the young lovebirds arrive.’

  Kayne turned to see Corinn and Brick making their way towards Carn’s tent. The crowd parted for them, cheers and the occasional bawdy comment accompanying the nervous girl and her grinning husband-to-be. Corinn’s gown reminded Kayne of the dress Mhaira had worn during their joining ceremony. He felt a tear roll down his cheek and wiped it away with the back of his hand.

  You’re getting soft, a voice said inside his head. A moment later he realized it no longer mattered. He was done fighting. The Sword of the North was a weapon that no longer had a purpose. Perhaps it was time he allowed his edge to dull. Though the scowling warrior standing next to him might have something to say about that.

  ‘Kayne!’ Brick exclaimed in delight. Much to his shock, and against all etiquette, the smartly dressed youngster wrapped the old Highlander in a hug as he came close to him. ‘I thought you weren’t coming!’ he said excitedly.

  ‘I weren’t going to miss it was I?’ Kayne replied, with a big grin. Jerek gave Brick a nod and offered up an ‘all right’ that might even have held a bit of warmth, if you closed your eyes and listened really carefully.

  Corinn still looked very nervous. Nervous, and maybe a little bit unsettled. ‘Something wrong?’ Kayne asked gently.

  The young sorceress stared down at the grass. ‘My father always wanted to give me away,’ she said. ‘He wanted to accompany me down the aisle. But he’s dead and I have no one.’

  Kayne knew what he had to do then. He held out a hand, ignoring the numbness in his arm. Most likely it would never be quite the same, would never allow him to wield a sword as he once had, but that was okay. He was no longer a man of violence. ‘I’d be honoured to stand as your Spirit Father,’ he said. ‘If you’ll have me.’

  Corinn stared at him with her blue eyes, and then her pretty face broke into a smile. Her soft hand took hold of his weathered palm and together the three of them made their way to the veronyi waiting on the platform.

  The wise man conducted the sacred rituals of earth, fire and water, offering up prayers to the spirits of the land and sea. Brick looked shocked when he was asked to take the flame from the veronyi’s wrinkled hand, but Corinn smiled at him and Kayne threw him a wink and the boy did it with only a slight hesitation, delight spreading over his freckled face when he realized it didn’t hurt but rather filled him with a warmth that symbolized the brightness of their love burning throughout the years.

  Finally, the wise man presented the new couple with a wreath moulded from the branches of trees felled in the forest to the west. ‘Let this wreath remain forever untouched by the passing of the seasons,’ the veronyi announced. ‘Just as their marriage grows stronger, so shall this symbol of their love grow harder. May it never break.’

  Brick and Corinn held the wreath up between them to a chorus of cheers. The ceremony was brought to a close, and Kayne was suddenly overwhelmed by memories. A lifetime passed before his eyes in an instant.

  The demon attack on his village, massacring his entire family, leaving only a terrified boy to escape, his brother’s screams following him through the years.

  Joining the Wardens. Spending a decade at Watcher’s Keep helping to defend his homeland.

  Meeting Mhaira for the first time. Her smile, which could light up a room. Marrying her, surrounded by friends and comrades.

  Many years spent in darkness, doing his best to cling to the light. Always it lay within her – within Mhaira and a second light within his son. One was extinguished now, never to light his way again, but the memory of it would keep him warm until the day he died. The other was dimmed, struggling to stay alight. It was his responsibility to nurture that light, to make it burn brilliantly once more.

  He remembered the Seer’s vision.

  You sent the Broken King to his death.

  The vision had proved false. Magnar was here, and he was safe. He and his son had been given a second chance. An opportunity for a new beginning. Kayne vowed silently that he would seize it, and do the best that he could in the years remaining to him. He would do it for Mhaira.

  ‘You’re crying,’ observed Corinn. She and Brick had exchanged rings, and now both wore gold bands on their fingers.

  ‘Tears of joy,’ he said. ‘Congratulations, lass. You chose well. Prophecy or no prophecy, this one’s destined for big things, I reckon.’ He embraced the young sorceress, and then it was Brick’s turn for a hug. ‘You take care of her,’ he said.

  ‘I will,’ Brick promised. ‘Will you come and visit us? After you’re back from the City of Towers?’

  ‘Course I will,’ said Kayne.

  ‘And Jerek? What about you?’

  The Wolf was hanging back, never one for open displays of affection – or hidden displays of affection, or just affection in general. But, much to Kayne’s shock, Jerek reached out a hand and patted Brick on the shoulder. ‘Aye,’ he grunted. ‘I’ll visit you.’

  Kayne bid a final farewell to the newlyweds. The effort of standing as Spirit Father for Corinn had left him exhausted, and so he wasn’t entirely pleased to see the bard, Shakes, hurrying towards him, a sheet of parchment in one hand and a quill in the other.

  ‘Brodar Kayne!’ he called. ‘A moment of your time! I’m hard at work on that poem I told you about.’

  ‘Maybe later,’ Kayne grunted. ‘Stop by my tent if you like. I could use the company. Right now I need to rest.’

  ‘I quite understand.’ Despite what he’d just said, Shakes hovered for a moment as Rana went to offer Brick her congratulations. The flame-haired youngster said something and turned to point at Kayne, who saw the sorceress glance up at him.

  ‘Something the matter?’ Kayne asked Shakes.

  ‘No. It’s just ironic, that’s all. The last thing any of us expected was a happy ending.’

  ‘Life is full of surprises.’ Kayne glanced over at Brick again, expecting to see Rana glaring at him, perhaps remonstrating with the youngster to steer clear of the ageing killer across the way, the infamous Sword of the North. A man who had nothing left to offer anyone, especially not a bright young boy with the world at his feet.

  Instead, she met his eyes and held his gaze. A moment later, she smiled at him.

  The Grim Company

  ✥

  THELASSA, THE CITY of Towers, shone like a pearl in the brilliant sunshine.

  Sasha had never fully appreciated just how beautiful the city was. Perhaps it had taken a journey through hell, both personal and very almost literal, to allow her to see the good even among all that was wrong. The streets were teeming with people all the way to the palace. She remembered walking this very same avenue at night alongside her sister, hearing ghostly instruments plucking notes out of thin air. On this occasion, the music they were playing was joyous rather than the hypnotic swell that had preceded the Seeding. Under a perfect summer sun and surrounded by smiling faces, it was easy to forget the horrors the White Lady had inflicted upon her city to keep it safe.

  The marble palace melted out of the shimmering air ahead. It was there the White Lady of Thelassa and Thanates, wizard-king of Dalashra, would seal both a marriage and an alliance five hundred years in the making.

  She saw the Highlander contingent waiting by the palace gates. Carn Bloodfist and Brandwyn each headed up a small retinue of warriors. A little behind them lurked Brodar Kayne and Jerek, together with a younger man who might have been Magnar, Kayne’s son. The old warrior noticed her and gave her a wave. She smiled and waved back. It was
good to see him up and on his feet.

  Davarus Cole, however, wasn’t faring so well. He’d swapped his leathers for a pair of fresh trousers and a white linen shirt with flared cuffs. He looked dashing, though the forlorn expression on his disturbingly pale face slightly spoiled the effect. The glistening sweat on his brow appeared to be the result of something more than just the heat. He was shaking his head, as though listening to something only he could hear and not liking what it was saying.

  She leaned in to whisper to him. ‘Are you feeling okay?’

  ‘Do I look okay?’ he snapped back.

  ‘No. That’s why I’m asking.’

  ‘Don’t pretend you care.’

  Sasha stopped dead in the middle of the avenue. ‘You know I fucking care,’ she hissed. ‘This isn’t about you, Cole. If you were going to be an arsehole, you shouldn’t have come.’

  The look he gave her chilled her blood. It wasn’t just the fury in his eyes that disturbed her; there was a hunger there. Of all the things Cole had made her feel over the years, threatened had never been among them.

  ‘The Reaver hasn’t fed in months,’ he said, his voice a ragged whisper. ‘I love you, Sasha – but you need to know that I want to draw Magebane and shove the sharp end through your chest. I want to turn on this crowd and slaughter them all. Make these marble streets run red with blood. This is my curse. Don’t ever confuse me being a monster with me being an arsehole.’

  She struggled for words, overwhelmed by what he’d just told her. ‘I’m sorry—’ she began, but he was already turning, storming into the mass of city folk. She watched him go, guilt and fear waging a war in her mind.

  As she contemplated chasing after him, there was movement at the palace gates up ahead. They swung slowly open and a member of the Consult stepped out and politely asked the assembled Highlanders to move away from the entrance. A gong sounded from somewhere in the city, so loud it must have been magically amplified.

  A squad of armed Whitecloaks came marching towards the palace. The crowd cleared the avenue, and Sasha found herself bundled to the side along with scores of onlookers. A moment later she understood why. Making her serene way towards the palace, utterly resplendent in her wedding dress – a work of art that had apparently taken several of the best seamstresses in the city a month to create – glided the White Lady of Thelassa.

  Behind the Magelord trailed her handmaidens. Sasha gasped. There were hundreds of them, a winding snake of porcelain-skinned dolls following their mistress in a great line that wound all the way back to the city.

  The White Lady reached the gates of the palace and turned to the assembled crowd. There she waited as the Unborn formed three great ranks behind her.

  The Magelord of Thelassa slowly raised her hands towards the heavens. Sasha was a good distance removed and didn’t have the best view. She focused on the ageless wizard, her augmented eyes adjusting themselves until the White Lady’s unearthly beauty filled her vision. The immortal wizard spoke, and in her voice was a great regret. A regret so deep it rivalled the waters of the city’s great harbour.

  ‘I stand you before you on this most joyous of days to offer an apology,’ she said, her voice carrying down the long avenue like a soothing wind. ‘For five hundred years I have sought to make this city a beacon of light in the darkness. Yet, where there is light there is also shadow. I have done things – terrible things – to preserve the autonomy of our city. I cannot take back those actions, or the unreasonable sacrifices I have demanded of you.’

  Silence followed the White Lady’s words. Then a murmur began, confusion spreading like wildfire. They don’t know, Sasha reminded herself. The Consult poisoned the city’s water supply and erased their memories. Why is she telling them this now?

  She remembered the White Lady’s handmaiden – her proxy? – in the cave of the Nameless cultists. The disquiet on her face. Was that the moment when the city’s Magelord had understood the extent of her crimes? Did she seek to unburden her guilt before she wed? Or had the love she had apparently rediscovered fixed something broken within her? For some reason, Sasha felt guilty. She searched around for Cole, but even her enhanced vision could not pick him out among the crowd.

  ‘To you, my subjects, I offer an apology,’ the White Lady continued. ‘An apology and a promise for a better future. The magical barrier around the city is no more. When the sun rises tomorrow, Thelassa will be open for trade with Dorminia, and with the Shattered Realms to the south and the Unclaimed Lands to the east. Together we will make Thelassa the most prosperous city in the north. But first a great injustice must be addressed.’ Below the Magelord’s purple eyes, tears streaked her cheeks. She turned to face the ranks of the Unborn. ‘You have suffered enough,’ she announced. ‘I now release you from your servitude.’

  The handmaidens began to crumble. One by one they disintegrated, collapsing into a fine dust that rose and floated out to hang suspended above the avenue, sparkling in the sun’s rays. The first rank of Unborn was destroyed, and then the second, and then the third, until eventually Thelassa’s Magelord stood alone, her army of unnatural servants all reduced to dust, only the great golden cloud above the city giving any indication they had ever existed.

  The Magelord lowered her arms. There was a pregnant pause and then the cloud fell from the sky, covering the crowd below, which reacted with a mixture of horror, surprise and eventually amusement when it became clear it would not harm them.

  Sasha scooped a handful of the dust from her scalp and stared at it. She half expected it to be vile to behold, but it resembled nothing more than fine golden sand. It glowed and then began to dissipate, its magic fading away.

  ‘Soon the memories I stole will return to you,’ the White Lady announced. ‘I will offer no further explanation at this time, except to say that I will accept your wrath. I will accept your fury. But I will not accept your judgement, for none but those charged with the responsibility of shepherding their people through a godless world could understand my burden. I leave you now to enjoy the celebrations. Tomorrow we begin again. A new age for humanity.’

  With those words, the White Lady turned and swept into the palace. Sasha shook her head, dislodging the remaining dust. The day had already offered up a host of surprises and it wasn’t yet noon. She met the eyes of the woman opposite her, a lower-ranking member of the Consult. Sasha gave her a smile, trying to be friendly, but she received only a blank stare in return. The woman’s face seemed strangely vacant.

  Sasha left the avenue to search for Cole again, but a moment later she stumbled, unfamiliar thoughts and memories invading her waking mind, bringing a chaotic assortment of images that made little sense. They passed quickly, but the experience left her badly shaken. She had experienced such episodes more frequently of late, but this was the first time they had occurred during the day.

  ‘I hope the augmentations aren’t troubling you.’

  She spun and stared up into the face of a familiar Fade. He smiled down at her, the dark blue cloak he wore hanging lazily over his shoulder.

  ‘Isaac!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Well met. I feared I might be late for the wedding.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. Thanates hasn’t arrived yet. What are you doing here?’

  The Adjudicator raised a hand to shield his face from the sun. ‘Prince Obrahim is running late and so I come in his stead. He is making preparations for his brother’s lifebonding ceremony. Saverian and my sister will shortly arrive in New Malaga, having finished their work in Dorminia. It seemed proper that at least one of my kind be present to witness this marriage between our new allies.’

  Isaac noticed he had golden dust flecking his cheek. He wiped it off and examined his fingertips with a wry smile. ‘You know, this reminds me of a ritual our kind practises upon the completion of our lifebonding ceremony – a tradition that dates back to our ancestors in the Time Before. Our records of that epoch are almost non-existent, but from what little we do know it is surpr
ising just how many echoes of Old Terra can be found in these lands.’

  ‘Perhaps that is why your Pilgrims chose this place to settle,’ Sasha ventured. ‘It was familiar to them.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Isaac agreed. ‘Or perhaps these lands and those belonging to my ancestors share a common Creator. He went by several names in the Time Before, all of which are now forgotten.’

  ‘That is the fate of all things,’ Sasha said. ‘To be forgotten.’

  ‘A dark thought for such a glorious day,’ Isaac replied drolly. His expression shifted and suddenly he looked pained. ‘I would have liked to have shared it with another.’

  ‘Another?’

  ‘Yes,’ Isaac replied. ‘The Halfmage. I looked for him in Dorminia. I thought to bring him here to witness the wedding. But I was too late. He was already gone.’

  ‘The Halfmage?’ Sasha repeated. ‘He was the one who made you change your mind? About humanity being beyond redemption?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘How?’ she asked. It hardly seemed credible. The Halfmage she remembered was a bitter husk of a man.

  Isaac was silent a moment before replying. ‘I saw in him a truth about mankind. That the ugliest among you are capable of surprising beauty. That no matter how your short lives may seek to break you, there is something within the best of you that will not shatter. He showed me that a hero may be found in the most unlikely of forms. That no imperfection cannot be tolerated when a heart is good.’

  Sasha listened to Isaac, growing more agitated with every word. She saw Brodar Kayne place an arm around his son and guide him into the palace. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, turning away from the Fade, towards the harbour where Cole had slipped off, lost in the depths of his own personal nightmare.

  ‘You’re leaving?’ came Isaac’s voice behind her. ‘What about the wedding?’

  ‘They’ll manage without me,’ she called back. ‘I need to find someone.’

  *

  The White Lady’s palace was unlike anywhere Kayne had ever laid eyes upon. The opulence beggared Heartstone’s Great Lodge; the glistening marble and golden statuary put to shame the musty furs and tarnished suits of armour that had stood so proudly in the king’s chamber. Up on the dais in the centre of her throne room, the White Lady looked every inch a goddess made flesh. Thanates cut a decidedly ragged figure beside her, though he wore a new overcoat and had decided to cover his eyeless sockets with a strip of black silk. Above the throne, sunlight bleeding through a window set in the arched ceiling above bathed the couple and their assembled guests on the benches before the dais in a warm radiance.