The Fifth Empire of Man (Best Laid Plans Book 2)

by Rob J. Hayes

  He nodded to Beck, and the Arbiter took a small chip of wood from her pocket and snapped it between her thumb and forefinger. Out in the bay, Ying was holding a similar chip, and that piece would respond by snapping in half to signal the attack.

  Drake’s group waited. It would take some time for the pirates in the water to scale the side of the Drurr corsair and start murdering any and all folk they found aboard. They waited some more. He didn’t bother keeping track of time; it would only make the wait more nerve-wracking.

  The sound of a warning shout cut fatally short drifted in across the water, and then they could wait no more. Drake signalled his group and the pirates emerged from the trees, moving as stealthily as possible.

  Drake was at the front, with Beck just a crouched step behind him. The first of the Drurr to notice them was dozing with his back against a boulder. No doubt the fool was one of the watch and was taking the opportunity to catch up on some sleep. He woke with a start as Drake moved past him, but the shout was killed in his throat by cold steel. Drake kept moving.

  They were still a good ten feet from the first tent when a warning shout went up to Drake’s left – either one of the watch they’d missed or just plain bad luck. There was no sense in staying quiet any more; now they had to kill as many as they could before their enemy realised exactly what was happening.

  With a roar, Drake launched into a charge, his sword drawn. He leapt over a rock and slashed at the back of the nearest tent, cutting a wide arc through the light cloth, and stumbled through only to trip over something and find himself sprawled in the sand with a rock for a pillow. Drake rolled to his feet just as Beck leapt through the slash behind him, missing both the bed that had sent Drake crashing to the ground and the Drurr lying on it. The Arbiter jumped up onto the bed and crushed the Drurr’s skull with the butt of her pistol even as the man tried to rise. Something heavy crashed into Drake and he found himself flat on his back in the sand again, this time with a half-naked Drurr straddling him and aiming a punch at his face. Drake threw his head to the side and the woman punched only the well-placed rock. As she pulled back her hand with a howl, Drake snatched the dagger from his belt and thrust it into her stomach once, twice, and a third time for good luck. Hot red blood washed down upon his chest, and Drake heaved the wailing Drurr aside and snatched his sword from the sand.

  By the time Drake regained his feet, Beck had a second dead Drurr on the ground and a third on its way down to join the others. A fifth Drurr turned and ran; Drake had no intention of letting any of the bastards get away, and he rushed after the woman.

  The Drurr was bolting at a full sprint, and Drake was losing distance even moving as fast as he could. He passed small skirmishes and bodies lying in the bloody sand. He passed tents and cook fires and even a turagar, one of the small, blind, dog-like pets that some Drurr kept.

  Slowing to a stop, Drake had to admit that he’d lost the fleeing Drurr, and he leaned forwards with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. It wasn’t really his fault; Rag, the giant centipede, was wrapped around his waist like a heavy belt, and it was slowing him down. That the creature seemed unperturbed by Drake’s recent rolling in the sand, and by the smell of battle and blood around him, gave him some cause for concern, but he had little time to dwell on it. Three Drurr were closing in on him fast.

  Two of them fanned out to flank him, while the biggest of the three, a man wearing leather armour and wielding two curved scimitars, came straight on.

  Drake held up his left hand to show an open palm. “I’m here to help,” he spat in the chaotic jumble that was the Drurr language. It had the desired effect. The three Drurr faltered in their advance, obviously unsure what to think of the human who could speak their tongue. Drake capitalised on their hesitation.

  Leaping at the Drurr in front of him, he aimed a sword slash at the man’s face. The Drurr stumbled backwards and away, and the strike missed. Drake turned and launched himself towards one of the others.

  He slashed twice at the smaller man, who had a look of rampant terror in his black eyes. The first strike crushed through the Drurr’s weak defence, sending the fool’s sword sailing away through the air. The second slash laid open his belly, spilling intestines onto the sand. Drake danced away, turning to get the two remaining Drurr in front of him before they attacked.

  The scimitar-wielding Drurr started forwards, then stopped. Drake saw the feint coming and blocked the attack from his other enemy.

  “Rag,” he shouted, hoping the beasty would respond to its name.

  In a flash the centipede uncoiled from around Drake’s waist and struck, aiming for the attacking Drurr’s sword hand and taking it off at the wrist with scythe-like pincers. The Drurr fell backwards, screaming and clutching at the stump. Rag, still anchored to Drake’s waist, drew backwards and coiled back around him. The whole strike had taken less than a second, but it threw Drake so off balance he very nearly ended up face-down in the sand.

  The remaining Drurr, the one with the dual scimitars, looked a lot more cautious now, and Drake decided to play on it. The sounds of battle filled the air along with the smell of blood and fire. It seemed some of the tents were burning.

  “You’ve got no chance,” Drake hissed in the Drurr language. “Your ship’s been taken.” He bent his knees and drew a finger through the sand. “This beach will be your grave.”

  There was fear in the Drurr’s eyes. It didn’t stop the fool rushing forwards, both his scimitars raised for a strike. Drake plucked up a handful of sand and threw it in the man’s face, then stepped aside, out of the way of his wild slashes. The Drurr was thrashing about like a drowning rat. He’d already dropped one of his weapons and was busy trying to rub the sand from his eyes while flailing with his remaining sword. Drake approached slowly, cautiously. He waited until the man had swung around to face the other way, then poked him hard with his sword. The blade went deep into the Drurr’s side, and he spun and swung towards Drake, but he was already back out of reach.

  Drake picked up the dropped scimitar and whistled through his teeth. The Drurr turned and swung. Drake blocked the fool’s strike with his own sword and stabbed the man through the neck with the scimitar. Stepping backwards, he let him collapse into the sand to lie bleeding and gasping out his last.

  The clamour of battle had stopped by the time Drake got back to the camp. As he drew closer, he saw a number of his men standing around a tent, not moving. He had to shove through them, they were crowded so closely together, and not one of them seemed to notice him. As he pushed through he saw something that tugged open an old wound in his heart, one he’d thought healed a long time ago.

  Standing in front of the tent, lit by the flickering light of a nearby fire, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and that beauty hadn’t waned a drop in the years since he’d last seen her.

  Eriatt, the Drurr matriarch who had once owned him, stood just outside the tent as naked as a person could be. Her pale, perfect skin. Her full, pear-shaped breasts. Her perfect face, framed by sunset hair. Drake felt his stomach flutter and his heart ache. Eriatt smiled, and a number of Drake’s crew dropped to their knees, their weapons forgotten. They could no more attack the radiant creature in front of them than they could their own mothers. The power of a Drurr matriarch’s glamour was far more than most folk could bear, and it was why scores of slaves served Eriatt willingly.

  “Drake.” Her voice was like a silken caress to his ears. “I have missed you.”

  Drake’s sword dropped from his hand, and he felt his eyes grow moist. Eriatt opened her arms wide and Drake stared at her breasts. He remembered how they felt, how they smelled, how they tasted.

  “Come to me, my love,” Eriatt said. Even the harsh Drurr language sounded beautiful when it came from her lips.

  Drake took three faltering steps forward and punched the bitch as hard as he could. Her head rocked back and blood erupted from her nose. Eriatt dropped to her knees and squealed in pain, and just like tha
t the spell that held Drake’s crew in thrall vanished. The men behind him shook themselves and drew in ragged breaths, and some even broke out in tears at the loss of the deepest love they would ever feel.

  “How?” Eriatt spat along with a mouthful of blood.

  “Did you really think I’d be so stupid as to risk seeing you again without being prepared?” Drake said. “I’ve got power of my own these days, you dumb bitch.”

  “Drake?” Beck’s voice floated into the little clearing outside the big tent, and Drake turned to see the Arbiter bloodied and limping.

  Eriatt started muttering in the Drurr language, and Drake recognised the beginning of powerful magics. He sent a kick into the woman’s stomach, and the words failed her as she doubled over and fought for air.

  “Beck,” Drake said. “You Arbiters got some ways to bind magic, right? I reckon you’d best do it on this poisonous bitch.”

  “Give me your belt,” Beck said to one of Drake’s crew, and the man responded quickly despite the look of deep loss etched on his face. Beck hurried forwards and tied Eriatt’s hands behind her back with the belt while the Drurr matriarch was still gasping for air. Beck then dipped a finger in a small pool of Eriatt’s blood and proceeded to draw two symbols on her upper back, just below her neck.

  “Done,” Beck said, wiping the blood on her trousers. “Who is she?”

  “This,” Drake said, grabbing hold of the matriarch’s hair and pulling her head back so Beck and all his crew could look upon her. “This is Eriatt Arandell, mistress of Darkhold and matriarch of the Irkonsole clan.”

  Drake wanted to punch the woman, to break her bones and burn her skin. He wanted to rip the Drurr to pieces, but he also wanted to comfort her, to console her, to set her free and to love her. He settled for giving her head a rough shove as he let go of her fiery hair.

  Eriatt sputtered a curse, but there was no magic there, only a venomous insult. Drake understood it and he cared not a drop. He’d been called a thousand worse things since his time as a slave.

  “This is the matriarch who…” Beck started, but Drake cut her off with a dark glare before she could say what the woman had done to him. She’d violated both his body and mind, and that was something he didn’t want his crew to know.

  Eriatt let out a weak laugh. Her shoulders were slumped and her head hung low. She looked a pitiful creature, with blood dripping from her face and her pale skin sweaty and waxen.

  “I am the one who made him what he is,” she said in the common tongue.

  “I made me what I am,” he roared, “from the broken pieces you left behind. You tried to destroy me again and again and again. You tried to turn me into another one of your broken slaves who can’t live without your fucking love and approval.”

  Eriatt raised her head then, a cruel smile on her face. “And I do approve, my favourite.”

  Drake punched her on the cheek and she toppled sideways. Agony burst to life in his fist and he turned away, clutching his hand to his chest and letting loose a growl of pain.

  Eriatt lay on her side in the sand, whimpering. Beck stood close by, a pistol cocked and ready.

  “Cap’n,” said Wes, the only one of his crew who seemed to be in full control of his faculties. “What…” The man sniffed loudly, and Drake realised there were wet streaks down his face. “Orders, Cap’n?”

  Drake took in a deep breath and let it out as a sigh, trying to calm his emotions. He hated that Eriatt could still make him feel so much, and so badly.

  “Check the camp over again,” he said eventually. “Make sure we got them all, then signal Ying on the corsair. Oh, and watch out for the troll.”

  “The troll?” Wes said.

  “Fuck.” Drake had forgotten to tell his crew about the possibility of running into a troll. “If no one’s seen it yet, it’s probably off hunting in the forest. Just be careful in case it comes back, eh?”

  Wes looked terrified. “Aye, Cap’n.” He turned to leave, and some of the crew followed him. Three men stayed behind, their eyes still locked on the Drurr matriarch.

  “All of you,” Drake hissed in his angriest captain voice. “Fuck off.”

  Drake waited until all of his crew were wandering away before he turned back to Eriatt’s prone form. Beck still stood nearby, and there was a look in her eyes that said she would be staying no matter how many orders or threats Drake threw her way. Instead he gave her a nod and a brief hint of a smile. If he couldn’t get rid of her, it was best to make it look like he wanted her there.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Eriatt said, her dark eyes staring up at Drake even though she was lying on her side with her head resting on the sand.

  Drake didn’t respond. They both knew what he was going to do.

  “Drake, don’t,” Beck said. “We could learn so much from her.”

  “I’ve already learned far too much from her.”

  “I didn’t mean you. The Inquisition. A live matriarch. We could make her talk, make her tell us everything.”

  Drake shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Beck. She would tell you things, no doubt, but she would corrupt your Inquisition from the inside out. You wouldn’t be able to contain her.”

  “What?”

  “If a demon sword can corrupt your organisation, this bitch definitely can.”

  “How do you know about the sword?” Drake felt Beck’s compulsion wash over him, her magic finding no purchase on his will – not while there was a charm to guard against it tattooed onto his skin.

  “Don’t listen to him, Arbiter,” Eriatt whispered from her place in the sand. “Your Inquisition is stronger than he knows. Think of all you could learn.”

  Drake laughed. “Tell me you don’t feel it, Arbiter. The magic infused into her very words. It goes beyond the forming of spells. It’s like your compulsion, only instead of forcing the truth from folk, it replaces it. Give her long enough and she’d convince you the sea is dry.”

  Beck frowned, the firelight dancing in her eyes. Eventually she nodded. “I feel it.”

  “He’s lying,” Eriatt tried again.

  “I feel it,” Beck repeated.

  “The Inquisition is weak at the moment, Beck,” Drake said. “We both know it’s not prepared to deal with her insidious magic. She would tear it apart, and then who would stand against the Drurr?”

  Beck nodded slowly, no longer questioning how Drake knew so much about the Inquisition.

  “I’m putting an end to her,” Drake said. “You should go.”

  Beck looked torn. Eventually she put away her pistol and turned, wandering away. Drake watched her go and waited until she was out of earshot. At some point Beck would realise she’d forgotten to ask about the necromancer, but it was clear the dark sorcerer wasn’t here and Eriatt would never give up the knowledge she held.

  Kneeling down in front of Eriatt, Drake took her by the shoulders and pulled her upright. He pulled a knife from his boot and turned it over in his hands. Eriatt watched him play with it. There was no fear in her dark eyes.

  “See, that was something I learned from you,” Drake said after a while, and he watched Eriatt’s face crinkle in confusion. “What, you didn’t feel it? That same magic you tried to use on her.”

  “What?” Eriatt said.

  Drake grinned and nodded. “You used it on me enough. So much, in fact, I started to get a feel for it. Took me a fucking long time, but I got the hang of it my own self. I bet you didn’t even know that was possible, eh? Do you really think your own daughter would just up and betray you, free your favourite slave, without a little bit of magical coercion?”

  Drake watched the matriarch’s eyes widen as she took in the possibility. Some lies were so satisfying to tell.

  “But I meant what I said. I’m done learning things from you.”

  “There is always more to learn,” Eriatt said, slipping back into Drurr now they were alone.

  Drake watched her for a while, conflicting emotions warring
inside of him.

  “Why did you come for me?” he said. “Why not just let me go?”

  “You belong to me.” She smiled at him then, and he felt an ache in his chest.

  Drake gave a sad shake of his head. “I belong to no one.”

  Eriatt laughed. “You will always belong to me, my love. Even long after you kill me here, you will be mine. I made you, moulded you…”

  “You…” Drake started, the accusation dying on his lips. He couldn’t say what she’d done to him, couldn’t admit it even to himself. “You made me love you.”

  Eriatt smiled. “Yes. And you will never love another. Not a person, not your ship, not even this kingdom you hope to build. You are my masterpiece, my favourite. Never have I had anyone resist me quite like you, but every time you resisted it only bound us tighter together. You claim you have put yourself back together.” Eriatt laughed. “I can see it. You are still broken. You will always be broken. You will always be mine.”

  Drake ground his teeth. “Aren’t you gonna beg for your life? Offer to take me back if I let you go?”

  Eriatt’s eyes turned sad, and she smiled. “We both know you will never let me go, my favourite. You are going to kill me here, and you will try to trick yourself into believing that is the end of it. It is not. No matter how far you run, no matter how much power you garner, no matter how many women you fool into loving you – you will always wish it was me.”

  Drake opened his mouth to deny it, but his throat closed and no words escaped. He wiped away tears with the back of his hand and stared into the face of the one woman he could ever love.

  “Do it,” Eriatt said.

  Almost gently, Drake reached up with the knife. He paused for just a moment. Eriatt didn’t move to stop him. He drew the blade across her neck and waited as blood ran thick and the life faded from her dark eyes.

  Chapter 31 - The Phoenix

  “Hard to starboard,” Keelin yelled as loudly as his voice could carry.

  Fremen spun the wheel and a moment later the ship began to turn, slipping through the water at a new angle. Keelin leaned over the edge, trying to spot any hidden rocks on their new course while listening for the scrape and crack of the hull breaching. After a while he let out the breath he’d been holding. It was the tenth course correction in the last hour, and his nerves were frayed so thin he was about to snap.