Chaosmage (Age of Darkness)

by Stephen Aryan

  As he went through the front gates of the palace, his bodyguards finally peeled off, leaving him alone to wander the halls. He passed some enormous paintings and curious glass sculptures, but right now he wasn’t in the mood to study them. All Bowyn wanted was some time alone to be himself before his role required him to be that other person. There were times when he struggled to remember who he’d been before he’d put on the crown.

  He unlocked the door to his room, went inside and locked it again out of habit. No one would come into his room without permission, but Bowyn had spent too many nights in places where you always locked the door and put a chair against the handle. You also slept with one eye open and a weapon within arm’s reach.

  “Hello, brother,” said a familiar voice. Bowyn spun around, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. No one was allowed to carry weapons in the palace except the royal guards. Even if he’d had a blade it wouldn’t have helped much.

  The man sat at his table drinking whisky was dead. They’d watched him fall to his death from the walls of Charas during the war. “It’s been a long time, Black Tom. Or should I call you Bowyn?”

  Vargus looked exactly the same as the last time he’d seen him three years ago. It was impossible. It had to be a trick.

  “You’re dead,” said Tom. “We saw you go over the battlements with two Vorga. I went to your funeral.”

  Vargus shrugged. “And yet, here I am. I see you’ve stopped chewing tarr,” he said, pointing at Tom’s teeth.

  “The wife said it was a disgusting habit,” he muttered, still reeling with shock. He’d not chewed any tarr in years and gradually the black staining of his teeth had faded.

  “Sit down before you fall down,” said Vargus, kicking out a chair. “Join me for a drink.”

  Vargus poured a second generous helping of whisky and topped up his own glass. Tom sat down and picked up the glass, but then hesitated.

  “How? How are you here?” he asked. Vargus sighed and glanced away. “We searched for your body. For days Hargo and me waded through mounds of rotting bodies, but couldn’t find you.” Despite the early hour Tom gulped down a large mouthful of whisky. He felt it burn and then settle in his stomach but he couldn’t stop staring at his dead friend.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “How did you even get in here?” asked Tom, glancing at the door. It had been locked when he came in and the corridors of the palace were always busy with people. Surely someone would have seen him. Then there was the solid ring of guards around the outside of the palace. It didn’t make any sense. Tom took another mouthful of whisky but didn’t feel it. For a while Vargus said nothing and just sipped his drink.

  “I came here because I need your help,” he said eventually. “Isn’t that what we agreed in the Brotherhood? To help each other when we were in trouble.”

  Tom scoffed. “If you can come back from the dead, I’m not sure what help I can offer.”

  “There’s something very dangerous nearby. I need your help to stop it spreading,” said Vargus, putting his drink aside. Tom stared at him, trying to find some detail that would tell him it wasn’t his old friend, but everything was just the same. From the greying stubble on his shaven head to the steel tooth. It was him and yet it was impossible. Vargus touched him on the shoulder, startling him, but it also proved he was real and not a spirit. “Are you listening, Tom?”

  “Barely,” he admitted. No one called him Tom any more. It was his middle name. He’d gone into the army using it so that he could remain anonymous and be treated the same as the next warrior waiting in line to sign up. It had served him well for years, but when he’d been called to the palace to meet his future bride everyone had called him Bowyn.

  “Tom,” said Vargus, drawing him back to the present. “Do you know what’s happening in Voechenka?”

  “A little. There’s some sort of plague.”

  “It’s worse than that. There’s something ancient and powerful lurking in the shadows. And there’s a chance that it might escape. Shael has a small garrison of guards patrolling the area, but it’s not enough. They have a lot of ground to cover. Something might slip through the net.”

  Tom frowned. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “Send some warriors from Seveldrom to support the garrison.”

  Tom laughed. “I’m not sure who you think I am, but I don’t have that kind of power.”

  “I thought you were the King of Seveldrom,” said Vargus with a frown. “I thought you’d led warriors here to protect Shael.”

  “I did.”

  “If this thing spreads it will destroy the entire country. It will kill everybody and then spread from there across the west.” Vargus was deadly serious and all of the familiar good humour was missing from his expression. The last time Tom had seen him like this was on the final day of the war, when the Vorga had swept over the battlements.

  “I have some friends inside Voechenka,” he was saying, “but if they fail to stop it, the responsibility will fall to you and your warriors to contain it.”

  Tom shook his head. “How would I even explain why the warriors were out there?”

  “I’m sure you’ll come up with a story,” said Vargus, draining his glass and standing up.

  “Wait,” said Tom, moving to block the doorway. “You can’t just show up after all this time, ask for a favour, and then leave again. Where have you been? How did you survive? Who are you?”

  Staring at Vargus he saw a sparkle of the familiar warmth and good humour return. It danced in his eyes but then it drained away and behind the smile Tom caught a glimmer of a very old and incredibly powerful being. Tom tried to pull his gaze away but found he was locked into a staring match and in Vargus’s eyes he saw the passage of time.

  He saw history unfold and no matter what he saw, Vargus was always the constant. Years flitted past like seconds. Decades became nothing more than a heartbeat until centuries of time had passed before his eyes. He watched empires rise and then inevitably fall and in the background Vargus was there, watching and waiting. Vast mountain ranges rose up from the land, were weathered by time and the elements until they fell apart and became tumbled stones, and still Vargus was there. The weight of it all began to press down on Tom until he felt his mind buckling under the strain of what he was seeing.

  As a scream started to rise up in his throat Vargus closed his eyes and the spell was broken. Tom collapsed to the floor, tears running down his face, his heart hammering in his chest and cold sweat covering his skin. Vargus patted him on the shoulder and then unlocked the door.

  “What are you?” gasped Tom as he tried to swallow the huge lump in his throat.

  “I’m your friend, Tom, and right now I need the Brotherhood to act.”

  Vargus opened the door but stood waiting for Tom to speak. “I’ll do what I can,” he managed to gasp.

  Vargus’s smile seemed to contain genuine warmth. “As I knew you would, old friend.”

  “Will I ever see you again?” asked Tom.

  “Maybe, one day,” said Vargus before walking out. Tom stared at the open door and didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

  CHAPTER 11

  “There’s someone in the street,” yelled Alyssa from the top of the wall.

  Zannah thought it might be Roake again. Perhaps today she would put an arrow in his throat to shut him up.

  “Who is it?” asked Zannah. Alyssa didn’t reply or stop looking into the road. The grey sky was starting to turn black and the sun was rapidly sinking behind the horizon. It would be fully dark in less than an hour. Already huge shadows clung to the corners of the surrounding buildings like massive black spiders, eagerly waiting for prey to wander past. Although Zannah hadn’t seen such creatures yet, it wasn’t impossible, especially after what she had seen lurking in dark corners.

  “Is it Roake?” asked Zannah, stomping up the stairs and drawing her sword.

  “See for yourself,” said Alyssa.

&nbs
p; About a dozen strangers were walking towards them in a single line. A tall pale-skinned woman led the group and a bearded warrior followed at the rear. The rest were all dressed as priests and each of them carried a heavy pack. Zannah didn’t recognise any of them but that wasn’t unusual. Occasionally individuals or small groups of people were forced out of other shelters and came here seeking refuge. Sometimes it was because they were no longer useful to the mercenaries. At other times, because they’d run out of money, which had previously kept them in favour. Every now and then the mercenaries just got bored and kicked a person out to see what would happen. The newcomers were always desperate, hungry, and willing to do anything to get inside before dark. But Zannah suspected these strangers were something else entirely.

  “Praise the Blessed Mother,” said one person on the wall. “We’re saved.” Zannah frowned but didn’t voice her disagreement. A dozen people, however holy, wouldn’t change their fate. Besides, in this city of lies and despair, nothing good was ever given freely. If something looked too good to be true, it was.

  The strangers waited until they were close enough to talk without shouting but they didn’t approach the gate. Zannah gestured for the archers on the wall to string their bows, which they did, but only after Alyssa asked them.

  “My name is Tammy Baker,” said the tall woman at the front. “I was sent by the Queen of Yerskania to help you.”

  “You’ve travelled a long way,” said Alyssa. “Who are your friends?”

  “Priests, come to offer comfort and prayer. We’ve also brought food and medicine.”

  Tammy slid off her pack, reached inside and threw something up to Alyssa. She caught the object and turned to show the others. It was an apple. Normally it wouldn’t be an extraordinary sight, but they’d seen little fresh fruit in months. Occasionally Alyssa found a few berries, but these had been fewer in number as winter approached.

  “Careful,” warned Zannah. “There will be a high price for such generosity.”

  Alyssa frowned at her but didn’t disagree. They’d brought people inside before who had turned out to be duplicitous. Three strangers had arrived separately over the course of a week and each had seemed kind and generous. They’d performed every task they were given without complaint, defended the wall at night and been polite to everyone. It hadn’t stopped them killing four people one morning and trying to open the gates to a group of mercenaries.

  The pale scar on Zannah’s left thigh was a reminder of the true nature of people. No one was capable of real change, no matter how much they wanted it. Even a place like this didn’t change a person at their core. If anything such conditions crystallised a person into something more pure. She’d always been a soldier, but in the past killing had been only a small part of that. Now she had become nothing more than a weapon to be used over and over again until it broke against the relentless tide of the Forsaken.

  “That’s generous,” Alyssa was saying to Tammy. “What do you want in return for your gifts?”

  “Shelter,” said Tammy. Zannah watched as the tall woman glanced at the sky. They hadn’t been here long but already they knew enough to be worried. “I have papers signed by the Queen of Yerskania and the Queen of Shael, but I doubt they’ll convince you of our identity.”

  “You’re right,” said Alyssa. “Out here it’s just fuel for the fire.”

  “I don’t understand what you’ve been facing here, but you should know word has spread of your plight. Captain Rees told me a little, but I think you know more about what’s been happening.”

  Zannah knew the name. Rees had been one of the fools from Shael who’d tried to set up a garrison in the city almost half a year ago. They’d come in with smart uniforms, gleaming weapons and good intentions only to be dragged down into the mud like the rest of them. Zannah knew that their camp had been overrun and was surprised to hear any of them had made it out of the city.

  “We want to help,” Tammy was saying, “but if we can’t come inside then we’ll have to try our chances with one of the other shelters. I’d rather not, given what I’ve heard they’re like, but we both know I’ve no time to debate this with you.”

  “Are the other packs like yours?” asked Alyssa.

  “Yes. They’re all full.”

  They desperately needed the food and the medicine. Even so it was a big risk. The twelve men and women dressed in robes might look like docile priests but they could be killers. They could be anyone.

  Alyssa looked towards Zannah for her opinion and she firmly shook her head. Other people on the wall made suggestions but ultimately it came down to Alyssa. The others had informally chosen her as their leader and they trusted Alyssa to look after them.

  “One night for half of everything,” said Alyssa. “If we don’t like the rest of your story you’ll leave in the morning.”

  Zannah expected Tammy to argue but she didn’t.

  “They’ll have to climb up the rope,” said Zannah. “We don’t have time before nightfall to move the cart.”

  Zannah had been adding more stones to the cart, making it even heavier and more immobile. The wooden gates themselves were not very thick and wouldn’t stand up to much damage, but the mountain of rubble made them immovable.

  “Climb up,” said Alyssa as the knotted rope was thrown down.

  “It’s been a long journey. I don’t think some of my friends are up to it,” said Tammy, gesturing at the weary priests.

  The bearded warrior from the back of the line approached the gates and peered through one of the cracks. He whispered something to Tammy, who agreed and stepped back so they could see her more clearly.

  “If there’s anyone near the cart, can you ask them to step back?”

  Zannah felt a cold prickle run down her spine but before she could speak she heard the cart begin to move. Magic.

  The bearded Battlemage had one hand pressed to the gate while, inside, the cart began to lift up into the air. She’d been adding to the weight for ten days now and there must have been at least three tons of stone. He lifted it six inches off the ground as if it were weightless, moved it to one side and slowly resettled it with a grinding of stone. The wooden bars blocking the gate on the inside gently rose up, lifted by invisible hands, and were neatly stacked to one side.

  The Battlemage pushed the gates open with both hands and stepped inside. Zannah rushed down the stairs in time to see the dozen priests come in ahead of Tammy. Zannah drew her sword, expecting the priests to pull weapons of their own from under their robes, but they just milled around looking tired. Only one of them seemed alert, and he was scanning in all directions and sniffing the air like a dog.

  Tammy strode forward towards Zannah as Alyssa came down the stairs with the serenity of a queen descending to meet her subjects. A sea of surprised faces stared at the Battlemage with a mix of awe and fear. On the wall above, a few people still held their bows ready, but they didn’t lift them. There wasn’t any point. He could have blown open the gate at any time or toppled the walls, but had chosen not to.

  “Welcome,” said Alyssa, covering her surprise and shock better than the others.

  “We meant what we said,” said Tammy, talking to Alyssa but also including Zannah. “We’re here to help.”

  The tall woman had the bearing of a soldier, but there was something else too. A keenness to her eyes. Zannah could see her studying the people, the building and its defences, taking note of it all at once. The Battlemage replaced the wooden bars by hand and then moved the cart back with his magic to secure the gate.

  No Morrin child had ever been born with sensitivity to magic, but Zannah had seen a few people with magical talent in her lifetime. Using magic was like anything else. It required skill and discipline, and it cost the person a certain amount of energy. The more difficult the task the greater the strain. Yet when he approached Alyssa the Battlemage wasn’t out of breath and there wasn’t even a layer of sweat on his forehead. He was stronger than any she’d ever seen before.


  “Who are you?” asked Zannah and the man offered her a toothy grin.

  “My name is Balfruss,” he said and a ripple ran through the crowd of spectators. Even the docile priests looked startled and one or two took a step backwards in surprise. Everyone knew that name. Before the war had ended, even here in this distant corner of Shael, she’d heard it whispered among the guards. He had changed the course of the war. He had slain the Warlock and stood alone against an entire army, which had withdrawn from the battlefield. A few people fell to their knees, praying and crying out in fear. One woman fainted and another wobbled on her feet.

  Balfruss was trying to reassure everyone that they were here to help but Zannah had already stopped listening. It didn’t matter who he was or even what he had done before coming to Voechenka. The only thing that mattered here was power. If he could do even half of what the stories claimed she had a glimmer of hope that they’d make it through the night.

  While Monella and Liselle took stock of the supplies and medicine, the priests spread out around the building, tending to the sick, offering comfort and prayers to the rest. Despite Alyssa’s friendly demeanour her experience had taught her to be suspicious of their motives. She wanted to trust the newcomers but couldn’t, not yet anyway.

  Zannah had urged her to place armed guards beside each priest but she’d felt that was excessive. Instead several people were keeping a discreet eye on them. Each watcher carried a pair of daggers but kept these out of sight. At the first sign of trouble, or any peculiar talk similar to what they’d heard in the past from the Forsaken, her people wouldn’t hesitate to kill them.

  Alyssa made her way to the top of the wall where Zannah stood with Tammy and Balfruss. They were both looking out at the city and squinting up at the sky. She noticed the Battlemage kept glancing at Zannah and a slight frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. He was probably wondering why a Morrin was fighting to protect local people.