The Grim Trilogy 01 - The Grim Company

by Scull, Luke

  The Implacable Weapon

  ‘You may rise.’

  Barandas did as he was commanded, shocked at the exhaustion in that ancient voice. The undisputed master of Dorminia and arguably the most powerful man in the north had never sounded so decrepit. It was an unsettling revelation, even for the city’s Supreme Augmentor.

  He risked a quick glance at the men sitting before him as he straightened. Lord Salazar slumped forwards in his obsidian throne, his age-spotted hands clutching at the sides for support. Those voluminous robes of deep scarlet he always wore fell around his thin body like a shroud. The harsh lines of the Magelord’s dusky face were accentuated by fatigue, and his eyes were sunk even deeper than usual, shadowed by circles almost as black as the throne he sat upon. Even the beard and moustache he kept so meticulously well oiled, an ancient Gharzian custom he had never discarded, seemed to droop with weariness.

  In contrast, Grand Magistrate Timerus, sitting to the left of Lord Salazar, positively glowed with satisfaction. Like the city’s ruler, Timerus was not of Andarran ancestry; though he had been born in Dorminia, the Grand Magistrate shared the unmistakable features of the men and women of Ishar to the east. The chief steward of the city’s affairs placed a long index finger to the side of his hawk-like nose and gave Barandas an appraising look.

  On the other side of the Magelord, Marshal Halendorf of the Crimson Watch sat with his hands folded on his lap and a ghost of a smile on his corpulent face.

  Go ahead and gloat, gentlemen, Barandas thought irritably. You won’t find it so amusing when the White Lady discovers the city’s Augmentor force has been shattered.

  ‘I trust you are sufficiently recovered,’ Salazar said eventually. As it happened, Barandas still felt weak, but he would never admit to such. Not in front of the Magelord and the city’s two most powerful magistrates.

  ‘I am fine, my lord. However, I regret to inform you that twenty-one Augmentors lost their bondmagic. Fortunately, none of them died in the process.’

  Salazar pursed his narrow lips. ‘Over half my Augmentors,’ he stated, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Barandas felt a flutter of apprehension. The Tyrant of Dorminia might be exhausted to the point of tottering from his throne, but he could snuff out the lives of everyone in this chamber in the blink of an eye – and would, given reason to do so. Shadowport’s fate was a testament to that.

  ‘Yes, my lord. Mostly the new and inexperienced. We lost one or two veterans, but the core of your Augmentors remains strong.’

  Timerus leaned forwards. ‘I expect your erstwhile colleagues will need something to lessen the discomfort. I understand that being parted from one’s bondmagic can be a traumatic experience.’ The Grand Magistrate’s beady eyes were mocking. He felt nothing but hatred and contempt for the Supreme Augmentor. The feeling was mutual.

  ‘They’ll suffer for a week or two. Most of them will survive it,’ Barandas replied. ‘After the worst has passed, I would like to see them given positions elsewhere. I’m sure their skills would be useful in the Watch.’ He gave Halendorf a pointed look.

  ‘I’ll consider it,’ the Marshal said. ‘I should say that the Crimson Watch has little use for addicts.’

  ‘Which is precisely why they won’t be swapping magic for narcotics,’ Barandas replied, narrowing his eyes at Timerus. The Grand Magistrate said nothing, simply smiled his lizard’s smile.

  Salazar raised a hand for silence. ‘You will do as the Supreme Augmentor asks, Marshal. I will tolerate no further discussion on this issue.’ He snapped his fingers and a maid scurried over with a golden goblet full of the red wine the Magelord favoured. He swirled the blood-coloured liquid around in the chalice almost absently, staring into its depths as if seeing events and places long past.

  ‘Shadowport is gone,’ he said. ‘Though I won’t presume Marius is dead until I see his corpse. He was ever a superb strategist, plotting schemes within schemes. His cunning served us well, back when the Congregation began cleansing the lands of those with the gift.’ He sipped the wine and closed his eyes. For a moment Barandas thought Salazar had drifted off to sleep. Then his eyes shot open and his voice once again rang with the iron authority they were all accustomed to. ‘With Shadowport out of the picture the White Lady is certain to move against me. There will never be a better time for Thelassa to consolidate power in the Trine.’

  Marshal Halendorf cleared his throat nervously. ‘My lord, is war with the City of Towers truly unavoidable? After what happened to Shadowport, the White Lady has every reason to be cautious.’

  A hint of annoyance crept into Salazar’s voice. ‘The destruction of the City of Shades was no small feat, Marshal. The ritual lasted over a month – a month in which I have not slept. It cost me half my Augmentors, as well as the raw magic we have stockpiled over the last three years. My personal reserves are spent. Without raw magic to siphon, it will be months before my power recovers to what it once was.’

  The commander of the city’s military looked very uncomfortable. Still, he ploughed ahead. ‘But, my lord, the Celestial Isles… can they not be divided between the two city-states? The White Lady would risk much going to war with us. Are the Isles so important?’

  Barandas was mildly impressed. Halendorf was a brave man when he was speaking with a subordinate and backed up by his captains and lieutenants, but he was far less sure of himself when it came to proffering an opinion to the city’s forbidding Magelord.

  This time Salazar’s eyes flickered dangerously. ‘The Celestial Isles are a fragment of the heavens themselves. There is more magic in those islands than anywhere east of the Fadelands. You suggest I hand the White Lady enough power to conquer the Trine and beyond.’

  Halendorf sat back in his chair, his face pale.

  Salazar took another sip of wine. Barandas and the other two magistrates held their breath. ‘We require more Augmentors,’ said the Magelord eventually.

  It was the turn of Timerus to shift uncomfortably. ‘Lord Salazar,’ he began, ‘our mining operation at the Wailing Rift is proceeding as efficiently as possible. We cannot go any faster—’

  ‘Silence,’ Salazar commanded, interrupting the Grand Magistrate, whose narrow brow immediately moistened with sweat. ‘We will search further afield. Three days’ sailing west of here, on the edge of the Broken Sea, is a deposit of magic that will serve to replenish my power – both for the creation of new Augmentors, and to defend the city when the White Lady eventually shows her hand.’

  Marshal Halendorf swallowed hard. ‘My lord, you refer to the Swell?’ His voice faltered on the last word.

  ‘Yes,’ the Magelord replied coldly. ‘Inform Admiral Kramer that he has a singular opportunity to redeem himself. He will captain a crew and sail to the Swell. There he will oversee a new mining operation.’

  Timerus licked his lips. ‘My lord, the Swell is the very reason the Azure Sea is now named the Broken Sea. Even in death, the Lord of the Deep punishes those who would violate his resting place. Sane men will not venture near the Swell for all the gold in Dorminia.’

  Salazar frowned. ‘Then we will send the insane, the desperate, those already condemned to death. I trust you will not fail me in this, Grand Magistrate.’

  Timerus bowed his head obediently. Wise man, thought Barandas.

  ‘Fear not, Supreme Augmentor,’ continued the Magelord. ‘We will see your force restored. For now, however, there is a matter that requires your attention. The Grand Magistrate will explain the details.’

  The Magelord rose unsteadily from his throne. ‘I must rest now. Ensure I am not disturbed.’ After draining the last of his wine, Salazar shuffled slowly from the chamber.

  Barandas emerged from the Obelisk in the early hours of the morning. A fierce storm still raged, plastering his blond hair to his face and sending his crimson cloak dancing wildly behind him. Droplets of rain rolled down his golden armour and somehow worked their way into his boots. He gathered his cloak around him as tightly as he could and bent his hea
d to the storm. If he hurried, he could catch a few hours’ sleep before sunrise. Tomorrow would be eventful, and besides, Lena would be waiting for him. He imagined the scent of her hair and smiled despite the foul weather and the squelching in his boots.

  Barandas wasn’t blind to the suffering of those less fortunate than he was, and he knew the city could be a hard place for many – but at least it worked. Long ago, Salazar had taught him that a strong man does what is necessary and not always what is right. Barandas had reflected on this over the years. He had concluded that, as always, the Magelord had been correct. Who could understand the necessity for difficult actions as well as a man who had overthrown the very gods?

  Mindhawks, the Black Lottery, the creative methods used to extract information from potential insurrectionists and traitors… these things were regrettable, but how else was a city to survive and prosper in the face of threats both from within and without?

  A faithless population, Salazar had once declared, was like a leaf carried in the breeze, quick to twist and turn in whichever way the wind pulled it. Strange notions could be born and then spread like wildfire. In the absence of the gods a soul searches elsewhere for nourishment, and in such circumstances insurgency was but one determined demagogue away. Better to ensure compliance through fear than to see Dorminia torn apart.

  When Lord Salazar’s justice needed to be imposed upon those wishing the city harm, the Supreme Augmentor was its implacable weapon.

  Barandas approached his large estate in the south-east corner of the Noble Quarter and nodded at the doorman sheltering under the veranda. The man saluted quickly and unlocked the ornate entrance doors. Barandas strode through into the hallway and up the winding staircase, ignoring the muddy footprints his boots left on the new carpet.

  A soft light flickered from beneath the bedroom door at the end of the corridor. He approached and knocked softly, not wishing to startle Lena if she was sleeping.

  He needn’t have worried. The door opened almost immediately, and then she was standing before him, her beautiful face filled with worry. She pulled him into the room and threw her arms around him.

  ‘I was terrified, Ran,’ she whispered into his chest. ‘Kyla told me what happened. How could you agree to it? It’s different for you. You could have died!’

  Barandas ran his fingers through her hair. It smelled of jasmine, as always. ‘I had no choice. What kind of commander would I be if I stood aside while my own men placed themselves in danger?’ He wriggled his arms free of Lena’s embrace and reached behind him, unfastening the buckles that held his breastplate in place. Lena pulled it away and lowered it gently on the floor, then helped him remove the padded jacket he wore beneath. She stared at his naked chest for a time, tracing a finger down the jagged scar that began just below his clavicle and divided his well-muscled torso down to the base of his sternum. Then she drew her hand away, as if afraid she might inadvertently harm him.

  Barandas smiled at her. ‘Really, I’m fine,’ he said gently. He bent his head forwards and kissed her deeply. Her mouth tasted of plum wine. He glanced across to the dresser beside the bed where a candle illuminated a pitcher next to a half-empty glass. ‘You’ve been waiting up for me all this time?’ he asked.

  ‘You know I have,’ she replied. ‘I tried finishing the poem I’ve been working on for the last week, but it was no good. I was sick with worry.’ She seemed about to say something else, only to change her mind at the last moment. Her face became grave. ‘Tell me, Ran, is it true? About Shadowport?’

  Barandas nodded grimly. ‘They were our enemies,’ he said, in response to her shocked expression. ‘Better to end this now than for yet more of Dorminia’s soldiers to die.’

  Lena looked unconvinced, but she nodded and helped him with the rest of his armour.

  ‘I have a busy day tomorrow,’ he said. ‘But we’ll make some time for each other, I promise. I love you, Lena,’ he added, watching her undress. ‘I do what I do for you.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied. ‘I love you too.’ She blew out the dying candle and joined him under the blankets. He felt her warm body press up against his.

  A man does what is necessary. For his lord. For his city. For love.

  The Joys of Laughter

  Brodar Kayne’s knees ached.

  They’d departed the ruined temple just after midnight to find the storm hadn’t let up. An hour spent trudging through the sodden streets had caused all his old scars to chafe against his damp leathers, and to add to the discomfort his bones had started to protest.

  It don’t get any easier, he thought ruefully. At least Jerek had calmed down now, retreating into a sulk after his little outburst. He splashed along sullenly at the rear of the group, cussing under his breath occasionally and shooting dark looks at the world in general.

  The streets sloped gently downwards as they made their way south towards the harbour. They passed sagging groups of buildings that loomed in the darkness like gigantic beasts. Occasionally a flash of lightning would illuminate the night sky and render the individual buildings in ghostly shades of monochrome. He saw warehouses hard by tanneries, coopers’ establishments nudging chandleries, and apothecaries’ shops abutting brothels, the last no doubt by design. He’d never seen so many different trades packed so tightly together.

  Vicard the alchemist had pointed out his shop as they passed nearer to the docks, but Kayne hadn’t been able to make out a damned thing. Fact was, his eyes weren’t getting any better.

  The alchemist was just ahead of him now, having dropped slightly behind the girl at the head of the sorry band. The man’s nose was like a busted cistern and his long sleeves were covered in as much snot as water. Vicard was the sort of fellow Jerek would take an instant disliking to, so Kayne took care to keep himself positioned between the alchemist and his belligerent friend.

  The outline of ships suddenly appeared and the sounds of the sea became audible above the persistent hammering of the rain. The girl – what was her name? Sasha? – slowed, and Kayne saw a cloaked figure emerge from the shadows. The small group drew to a halt. He shifted a fraction for easier access to his greatsword, should he need it. It always paid to be careful.

  The stranger threw back his hood to reveal a face of devastating blandness. He looked to be in his mid-twenties and was of average height and build, but aside from those few details Kayne struggled to identify a single distinguishing feature about the man.

  Sasha stepped forwards. ‘The night is black,’ she said carefully. ‘Yet hope burns in the darkness. Do you know where we may find succour?’ She made a complex gesture that involved lots of finger wiggling and ended with her hands locked together in front of her chest.

  The man looked confused. ‘Are you here for the master?’ he asked. ‘He told me to meet some guests here. Well, he didn’t use the word “guests” exactly, but he’s in a dark mood what with his haemorrhoids playing up again and you shouldn’t hold that against him.’

  Sasha’s mouth worked silently for a moment. ‘The merchant Garrett. Your master knows him?’ she finally managed.

  The unremarkable fellow thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘The fat man? He’s been around a few times. Eremul always says he could give him gout just by looking at him. Or he could if… well, you know.’

  Kayne had heard enough. ‘I ain’t one to grumble,’ he said, ‘but it’s pissing down something fierce and this conversation don’t seem to be going anywhere fast. I don’t suppose you could lead us to this Eremul fellow?’

  The man blinked, and then gave a bland smile. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘The depository’s a bit of mess but that’s my fault. I’ve had no time to put everything back in its proper place yet. Let’s go.’ He pulled his hood back up over his head and set off west along the docks.

  Kayne glanced around at everyone else, shrugged, and followed after him.

  ‘Really, Isaac. I don’t know why I put up with your incompetence. I swear, you’re a boil on the arse of humanity. If it
wasn’t vaguely amusing to see you blundering around like a blind man in a brothel, I’d have turned your flesh to stone and had you tossed in the harbour years ago.’

  Kayne stared in amazement as the venomous insults continued to drip from the tongue of the man sitting before them. Dark-haired and olive-skinned, he didn’t seem that much older than his manservant, except that his eyes were as cynical as the other man’s were cheerful. Oblivious to the torrent of abuse raining down on him, Isaac smiled and continued pouring steaming tea for each of them from a large pot.

  ‘Maybe he misunderstood my hand signals,’ Sasha said, sipping from her cup and watching their contact warily. ‘It was dark and raining heavily. I wouldn’t blame—’

  ‘Nonsense,’ the man seated behind the desk cut in. ‘Isaac is a cretin of the highest order. If I didn’t know better, I might think he was placed on this mortal plane simply to annoy me.’ He grimaced as he finished speaking and shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

  Kayne watched as Sasha raised an eyebrow.

  I can see why young Cole has a thing for you, he thought. You’re an attractive lass, though too sharp for my tastes. And far too young, he quickly appended, feeling somewhat guilty.

  ‘Garrett said you could help us reach the Wailing Rift,’ Sasha said. ‘Dorminia is under lockdown. How do you propose to get us out?’

  ‘To most in the city I am simply Eremul, a rather tedious fellow with a love for cataloguing books,’ the man responded, repositioning a particularly large volume on his desk. The whole interior of the building was filled with stacks of books and reams of paper; tomes of all shapes and sizes filled endless shelves and covered almost every available inch of floor space. ‘To a select few,’ he continued, ‘I am known as Eremul the Mage.’

  ‘You mean the Halfmage,’ Isaac corrected gently. ‘They call you the Halfmage.’