Dead Stars - Part Two (The Emaneska Series)

by Ben Galley

  Farden wore a vacant look. It was odd hearing his uncle speak about such things, and in such a way. Tyrfing grunted. ‘Never mind.’

  Farden smiled. ‘Tyrfing the politician. The Arkmage. Who’d have thought it? I don’t know what to try to believe first; that the hermitic, outcast, Written Tyrfing has taken to the throne of the Arka, or that he shares it with an ex-vampire, daemon halfbreed.’

  Tyrfing paused to cough. Farden resisted the urge to clap him on the back. ‘We live in strange times.’

  Farden whistled. ‘And getting stranger by the day.’

  The Written had made a home for themselves just forward of amidships, down in the hold where there was room and privacy from the narrowed eyes of superstitious sailors whispering nervous nothings to Njord. They mingled with the cargo, training in twos and threes. Some fought. Some fenced. Some had set up little targets of wood and straw at the far end of the hold and were taking it in turns to hurl ice, rock, or splinters at them.

  The three there for a time, wandering between the little patches of furious activity. Tyrfing ran the mages through some drills. Farden and Lerel sat on the sidelines amongst the crates of fruit and fresh water, wearing two very different facial expressions indeed. Lerel’s was one of quiet awe, while Farden’s was one of blankness, of distance. One might have glimpsed a hint of jealousy there maybe, as his eyes flashed with the reflection of fire and lightning. Perhaps it was longing. All in good time, he told himself. It almost sounded like a wish.

  Several hours passed in the hold of the ‘Blade, and with every hour that passed, the ship began to rock and buck that little bit more. The ship shuddered every time it ploughed into a wave in ways that would make even the hardiest sailor cringe.

  A bell soon tolled throughout the ship, and the urgent order for all hands to batten down the hatches was called. Lerel began to shout orders. The Written and the mages quickly rushed for the stairs. Farden, who had finally given into temptation and joined in with the sword practice, ran alongside them, hurtling through narrow corridors and ducking through low-ceilinged quarters. With every step they took, the roar of a storm grew louder.

  Outside, the world had turned a furious black. The sky was a roiling stew of rain and wind, and it battered them mercilessly from the very moment they battled their way on deck. Farden was wet through before he had a chance to think. He hoisted his hood up but the wind forced it down. Hair lashed his face like tiny whips. He grit his teeth and shielded his eyes as he sought the safety of the mainmast. Behind him, Nuka was battling the wheel, Lerel only just reaching his side. Heimdall still stood cross-armed and stoic beside them, looking for rocks or gaps in the storm with his godly eyes. Sailors swarmed the deck like bedraggled rats. The ship mages were already at the railings, trying their hardest to bring the wind into check. They weren’t having much luck.

  The Written and the mages sprang to help wherever they could. They hauled ropes and slammed hatches shut. Some even scrambled up into the rigging to help drag down the extra sail before it ripped. Farden did his best to help, but whatever task he spied was already in hand by the time he had sprinted to it. He went up to the aftcastle and the wheel, to see if he could help there, but again he was lost in the commotion. As he stood there dumbly beside the ship’s wheel, he couldn’t help but gawp at the hills of grey water that were rolling past the ship on every side. They towered high above them, looking to crash down upon them at any moment. Farden suddenly felt very small indeed. Small, and endangered.

  A flash of lightning split the black sky in two, painting everything a ghostly blue-white for the briefest of moments. It happened so leisurely and silently that half the ship paused amidst the busy chaos, stunned, wondering if they were imagining it. Then there came the ear-splitting crash of its sibling thunder, and a blood-freezing howl as the tip of the mizzenmast was sliced in two. Lightning flashed and sparks flew as the wooden spar, its nest, and its unlucky occupant plummeted into the freezing water. Smoking rigging fell and snarled the deck. Sailors cried out as a shower of wind-blown splinters and sparks fell with it. The Waveblade lurched as the tangled, fallen mess began to drag her sideways onto the waves.

  ‘Farden!’ yelled Nuka. ‘Make yourself useful and hold this wheel. Lerel is needed below!’

  Farden dashed to the captain’s aid as Lerel sprinted to the deck. Even for a man as strong and as large as he, Nuka was struggling. The ship was turning its flank to face the oncoming waves, whether he liked it or not, and it was all he could do to make it happen as slowly as possible. He was already bent to one knee when Farden seized the wheel. His knuckles turned white as the lightning as he bent his back to it and pushed. Nuka bellowed a strangled order through teeth grit like stones in a wall.

  ‘Axes, Lerel! AXES!’

  ‘We’re turning into the waves,’ Heimdall warned, his voice somehow calm and low over the roar of the wind and the waves and the rain and the bellowing of the crew. As if to prove his point, the ‘Blade lurched again, and a wave washed over her port railing, knocking a dozen men flat and Nuka to his stomach. Farden fumbled for the wheel as it began to slip and spin. His hands were thrown aside, and he yelped as the wooden handles flew past, rapping his knuckles. Where were his gauntlets when he needed them?!

  ‘Grab her, Farden!’ Nuka yelled as the receding wave began to drag him away. He scrambled to get upright, but the water and the wind were too much.

  Farden watched, horrified, as the wheel began to spin. The handles were a blur. The ship was pitching violently to port as the rudder was left to her merry, sadistic devices. It didn’t matter that the fallen mizzen had been hacked away and freed; the ship was now battling its own momentum. The Waveblade had just bared her vulnerable side to the onslaught of the waves. In any moment, she could roll, and sink.

  It was a nightmare moment.

  ‘Farden, there’s a wave coming,’ Heimdall said, as clearly as if it were a summer’s breezy day and he were inches from his ear. In truth, he was a dozen feet away, his lips barely moving.

  Farden looked up and saw it. It was a pure monster. A sheer wall of rippling grey water. It bore down on the ship like an avalanche waiting to pounce.

  ‘Njord help us!’ yelled the crew as one.

  Not again, was all Farden could think.

  ‘NOW Farden!’ screamed Nuka.

  The shout ran through his body like a spark, jolting him forward. Without even thinking, he threw his hands into the spinning blur of handles. He half-expecting his arms to shatter, but instead, the wheel stopped dead, his hands firmly grasping two of the handles in a terrifyingly fierce grip.

  ‘Turn her!’ came the shout.

  And turn her he did.

  Farden stamped his feet and pushed with all his might. Strength forgotten and lost surged into his feet and arms as he pushed the wheel up and over. His hands clamped onto the next handle, and the next, and the next, until the wheel was turning. The pressure was nothing short of almighty. His bones were surely close to splintering. He could feel the huge ship bucking and straining against his arms and legs, pushing against his every muscle, but he knew if he stopped to think, he would lose hold of it. Suddenly, Nuka was at his side, and the wheel began to gather speed.

  ‘Wind mages!’ Nuka ordered, and down below they sprang to it, filling whatever sails were left with as much wind as they could steal from the storm. Just as the wave came crashing down, the Waveblade turned her bow into it, and she rose up with its frothing roar, riding it high into the sky, ready to plummet down once more. Safe, for now.

  Farden stumbled back from the wheel, hands and legs half-dead. Nuka didn’t have time to thank him. He might have grunted, he wasn’t sure. All Farden knew was that he was done. He staggered back and stood dazedly, rain-whipped and wind-harried, in the centre of the aftcastle, letting the chaos swirl around him once more. He caught the eyes of the sailors and mages as they hurried by. They nodded briefly as they dashed past him.

  He caught the eyes of Heimdall too. The god was lo
oking back over his shoulder. Farden saw his lips move. His voice echoed in his head.

  ‘Perhaps you are fit to wear the armour of the Knights, after all,’ Heimdall said. It sounded as though it stung him to admit it.

  It was all Farden could do to keep his smile from breaking into a grin. He must have looked a fool, he thought, swaying from side to side with the ship and the wind, enjoying the feeling of the rain lashing his lips and teeth.

  Chapter 16

  “Make merry whilst the beer flows.”

  Old Arka saying

  Malvus was wearing the marble thin. His new, expensive boots had long ago given up squeaking on the polished stone; those bits that had protested had been trodden into submission and silence. Still Malvus paced. He paced like only a nervous, impatient man could.

  His visitors were late.

  ‘Curses,’ he spat, wringing his hands. He tried to remember the last time he had been so nervous, so agitated. ‘Calm yourself, Malvus, dear boy,’ he told himself, whispering to the wind.

  Malvus went to the edge of the Nest and looked down at his shimmering city. It was uncharacteristically quiet, for such an early hour, and for such a city as Krauslung. It was barely midnight. Despite all odds and all its training, Krauslung had managed to drink itself into a slumbering stupor. It was all thanks to the celebrations Malvus had ordered. He smiled. If you give a man a loaf, he’ll thank you kindly. If you give a man a keg of beer, he’ll toast you to the morning light. Malvus had given Krauslung its keg, its excuse. He had climbed even deeper into their hearts. He thoroughly intended to stay there.

  Malvus drummed his manicured nails on the marble railing and hummed something tuneless. His new boots tapped a rhythm. He took a deep breath, and that’s when he smelled it. Sulphur. Soil. Burning stone. Cooking meat.

  Malvus looked down and forced himself to swallow. Tendrils of black smoke were curling around his arms and fingers. Pasting a brave smile on his face, he turned slowly to face the creatures.

  He had heard the stories of the battle on the field, and now he saw the stories were true. The daemons, although no taller than seven feet tall, eight maybe, were huge in every other sense of the word. Their mere presence bore down on Malvus like the blunt fist of a hammer. The smoky darkness spread out behind them was so deep it made his eyes ache. One of them was grinning at him, rather disturbingly. ‘Gentlemen,’ he bravely began, unable to hide the little waver in his voice. ‘I bid you most welcome.’

  The two daemons looked at each other. ‘I have never been referred to as a man,’ said one.

  ‘Nor gentle, for that matter, brother,’ chuckled the other.

  Malvus cursed this most immediate of slip-ups. He stepped forward, clasped his hands together, and dropped to one knee. ‘My apologies, lords.’

  ‘That is better, mortal. It took your Siren counterpart considerably longer.’

  ‘I imagine Lord Saker finds it difficult to bow to anyone, even to powerful beings such as yourselves.’

  ‘Flattery too, Hokus. We are being spoilt.’

  ‘Rise, Malvus Barkhart,’ the one called Hokus ordered. Malvus quickly did as he was told. He had already figured these creatures out. Treat them like kings, that was the trick, he told himself. Treat them like emperors, so long as they believed you.

  The grinning daemon stepped forward to run his hands over the marble trees that formed the Nest, empty as it was without its gryphon. Wherever his fingers graced the stone, thick black soot-smears appeared. As his brother slowly painted the white trees black, the other daemon questioned Malvus.

  ‘You summoned us.’

  ‘Yes. Saker informed me of your presence.’

  ‘And are we to assume it is for the same reason as Saker?’

  ‘That depends on what that reason was.’

  ‘Are the two of you not in league with each other?’

  ‘We are, in a fashion.’

  ‘Explain yourself, worm.’

  Malvus gestured to the city behind and below him. ‘This is now my domain. Nelska is now his. We have been plotting our moves together for many years, but our goals have always been separate. I have no interest in that frozen rock he calls home.’

  ‘He insists that you do share a goal.’

  Malvus nodded. ‘If by that he means power, then yes, we do.’

  ‘War,’ said the daemon behind him, his voice sounding closer and hotter than Malvus would have liked. ‘Something man and daemon can both enjoy.’

  Malvus nodded again. ‘The Crumbled Empire is ours for the taking. That was, of course, until you arrived, my lords,’ he replied, raising a finger.

  ‘Has our presence disturbed your plans?’

  Malvus decided to be bold. ‘Yes.’

  The daemons laughed then. Even though their mouths glowed orange, it was a cold sound. ‘Our apologies, lordling!’ cried Hokus.

  ‘We would hate to inconvenience you!’ chuckled the other.

  Malvus bowed his head and waited until their laughter had died. He could feel a bead of sweat on his hairline, slowly making its way down to his nose. ‘Disturbed them for the better, I hope. I saw how you fell from the sky. In that moment I felt a change in the wind. I had the Arfell scholars come and tell me the old stories of you and your kind. The city and its people may believe you gone, and a fleeting threat, but I know what power you have, and have heard what kind of a person brought you here. How much power that takes. I also know that Saker has failed in his task of stopping the Arkmage and Farden, and that they are now chasing that particular person north as we speak, where I assume more of your kind will be falling to meet them. I do believe I am on the right track?’ He paused for a moment before continuing, watching their faces. ‘I thought so. Well then, if that is the case, then I do believe it is time to choose a side. I wish to choose the winning one. You, my lords. And whatever master you speak for. I believe we can form a lucrative partnership.’

  The smaller daemon rubbed his hands. ‘Ah, he seeks to profit from our falling, does he not, brother?’

  Hokus nodded. ‘It would appear so, brother Valefor. And he asks for much. Saker simply asked for immunity.’

  Malvus’ eyes searched the marble floor. Curse that scaly idiot. ‘And what did you say?’

  The one called Valefor put his snout in Malvus’ face. ‘We agreed. For now, that is.’

  ‘What was your price?’

  ‘We are but simple beasts, Barkhart,’ rumbled Hokus. He had crossed his arms. ‘Eradication of Towerdawn’s kind. Undivided allegiance. Obedience. Worship. Land, should we need it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Malvus, inwardly groaning.

  ‘And what is your offer, mortal?’

  ‘Eradication of magick in the common man. Undivided allegiance. Worship. Land, should you need it. Oh, and an Arkmage.’

  Hokus and Valefor both twitched at that word. ‘An Arkmage, did you say? They are in the north, as you said,’ answered Valefor, suddenly very serious.

  Malvus saw his opening and sprinted for it. ‘Only one is, lord. The other is under lock and key. As my prisoner.’

  Hokus stepped forward. The cracks in his face burnt a hot yellow. ‘Which Arkmage?’

  ‘Durnus, the blind one,’ said Malvus. He watched as the two daemons traded a long glance. If his years as a merchant had taught him anything, it was to recognise desire when he saw it. The merchant in him rubbed his hands. ‘He is yours, if you want him. You can have him tonight, if you please. For a price.’

  ‘Dare you barter with us, mortal?’

  ‘Trade, my lords, nothing more. My gifts, for immunity and the safety of my ventures. My people.’

  Valefor grinned. ‘You don’t look the benevolent leader, little man.’

  ‘I…’ Malvus began, but a scuffing sound interrupted him. The daemons whirled around to face the noise, claws bared and smoky wings arched. They found a tall, thin woman standing on the stairs, painted yellow by the light of their fiery glow. She was reaching out, fumbling at thin air. Her eyes w
ere blind. Valefor slid to her side, silent as a zephyr, and held a claw mere inches from her neck.

  ‘Malvus?’ Jeasin called. ‘You ‘ere?’

  ‘I am,’ replied Malvus, watching the daemon and his razor-edged claw. ‘Stay where you are,’ he said.

  ‘What’s goin’ on? I ‘eard voices. And what’s that awful smell?’ Jeasin asked, looking very confused.

  ‘It’s the wind in the city, woman. Go back to your room.’

  Jeasin crossed her arms. ‘I never ‘eard the wind talk before,’ she answered.

  Malvus stamped his foot. ‘The room, whore! Back to it, before I show you what the back of my hand feels like,’ he ordered.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Jeasin shrugged. Her bare toes found the lips of the stairs and she slowly retraced her cold steps back into the darkness. Valefor watched her go. ‘A blind pet,’ he chuckled, once he heard the slam of a door.

  ‘We mortals have our needs,’ Malvus shrugged, hiding his relief that Jeasin had escaped unharmed. She was a means to an end, true, but a pretty one. Malvus had grown to like her company, however brief and fleeting it had been in the past few days.

  ‘You were saying… Barkhart?’

  Malvus nodded. ‘You said I don’t look like the benevolent leader,’ he said. ‘Power lies in people as much as it does in coin and swords. A king isn’t a king without his subjects.’

  Hokus looked to the starry sky above. ‘No, he is not.’

  Malvus knew it was time to seal his wily little deal, his future. He tried a smile. ‘Do we have a deal, then, my lords?’ he ventured, inwardly clenching. His heart beat a frantic rhythm while he waited in the silence for their answer.