by Lloyd, Tom
Vesna felt a pang of guilt. The only God accompanying him to his wedding was Karkarn, the God of War. All Gods might be welcome to bless a wedding, but some more so than others, he suspected.
‘Now, my Iron General,’ said a cold voice in his mind, ‘do you ask my blessing on this happy day?’
‘I do, Lord Karkarn,’ Vesna replied silently. ‘Above all other Gods I ask your blessing.’
‘And it is so granted,’ Karkarn replied. ‘Just remember the saying; “War is a jealous mistress” - never has it been so true.’ Without waiting for a response Karkarn receded into the depths of Vesna’s mind, returning to the distant echo that was a constant presence. Vesna understood his God’s meaning.
He fell in behind his sentinel and Sir Dace led him up the steps, calling his greetings to those assembled. Tila’s father stepped forward and Vesna bowed low to the man. Introl was a slim man with weak eyes; he looked fragile compared with his son-in-law-to-be. Vesna knelt and unbuckled his sword and Introl took it. Next Vesna pulled off his tunic, fumbling a moment with the toggles that had been added to his left side so it could be pulled over his black-iron-encased arm. His stomach tensed instinctively as the cool air rushed in and enveloped him, but then the sensation faded.
Vesna chanced a look up at Tila; she was watching him with a half-smile on her lips. The other women in the party didn’t look so impressed - Vesna’s broad chest was as heavily muscled as any man there, but the scars on his torso from past injuries were now deep red, and starkly obvious. He might be in good condition for a man approaching forty summers, but there was no doubt his body was a monument to the abuse it had received during years of military service. The sight was clearly shocking to Lady Introl and her sisters, but Tila blew him a kiss.
He grinned, then quickly lowered his eyes as Master Introl threw a white sheet over Vesna’s shoulders, unsnagging it as it caught on his jutting pauldron, symbolically clothing him. He rose and continued up the steps to Tila’s side.
As he looked at the faces assembled around the shrine he caught sight of Carel at the rear and felt a knot in his stomach. The marshal was dressed formally, but there was little joy on the old soldier’s face. He stood just outside the consecrated area of the shrine, under the garden’s trees, where the ashes of the dead were scattered. Vesna offered him a half-bow, trying not to dislodge the sheet, and received a cool nod in return. In that moment he knew their friendship was dead. Carel was attending the wedding out of love for Tila and as a memorial to Isak, nothing more.
In the next moment he saw Carel’s eyes narrow, and the veteran was already starting down the steps, thumb on the catch on his sword-stick, by the time Vesna turned. A mutter ran around the crowd of witnesses and faces turned to the door Vesna had entered by.
The street was a hundred yards long, and it sloped up away from the shrine, leaving the Tower of Semar visible behind the buildings. There seemed to be some sort of commotion at the head of the street as two Ghosts advanced towards a third, who drew a massive sword.
Vesna’s breath caught as he tasted magic on the air and he saw two lightning-quick blows take out both Ghosts. As they fell Vesna saw Sir Dace and Swordmaster Pettir were already heading towards him, their weapons drawn - but before they’d gone more than a few steps Vesna saw the Ghost level a black longbow.
Without thinking Vesna called on the magic inside him, reaching out with his empty armoured hand at the archer. The Land fell away from his senses as blistering magic flowed over his body. As the archer fired, Vesna created a smoke-grey shield which appeared in the air to block the arrow before it reached the shrine - then, without warning, he felt the God of War invade his mind.
Before Vesna even had a chance to cry out Karkarn had wrestled control of the magic from his Mortal-Aspect and roughly ripped away the threads binding the shield together. It exploded in white-green light, the energies screaming as they were cast asunder.
Vesna froze in incomprehension as his divine-sharpened eyes watched the arrow race towards him. Then ingrained instinct kicked in and he turned himself left-side-on, bringing his armoured arm across his face to protect himself.
The arrow hit his forearm, driving the black-iron into his face as a searing flash of light exploded all around him. A thunderclap of shattering glass and the copper taste of magic filled the air as a spell blossomed into life upon impact. Vesna felt tiny teeth tearing at his back and shoulders as the force of the blow sent him reeling. He was forced back, barely keeping his feet, as he was buffeted by streams of magic flowing past him. Noise crashed against his ears, and dark stars burst in his eyes as a sudden weight of raw power enveloped him.
He staggered again as he heard the crash of glass on the shrine. The pain fled as a cold, black dread struck him in the gut. He tried to see, but he could make no sense of the blur before him. Shards of glass, droplets of blood and tiny pieces of linen and silk were whirling in the air like snowflakes, covering the shrine. His breath caught as a fragment of blue cloth caught by the storm whipped past his eyes and then, as suddenly as it had struck, the magic winked out of existence.
Vesna lurched forward, pieces of glass crunching under his boot. He alone was standing; the shrine had been scoured of everyone behind him. As he skidded on the blood he grabbed a pillar to steady himself. He felt empty as he saw the bodies at his feet. They were covered in blood from head to foot, their finery shredded by the lethal shards, and at first he could not recognise any of them. He made a grab for the nearest - a man . . . He shoved the corpse aside and scrambled for the next.
From the back of his mind Karkarn’s spirit cut through the panicked cloud of his thoughts and he focused on one body: Anad Introl, Tila’s father.
He ran forward and pulled the man up. Introl was wrapped around a figure trapped underneath him, as if he had thrown himself on top as protection. His arms were slippery, and far too thin - distantly Vesna realised with horror they’d had been flensed to bone, and the wetness was his blood. A terrible pain was blossoming in his chest. The person he had been trying to protect was his beloved daughter.
Vesna felt a great scream building up inside him. Tila’s face had been barely touched by the glass - Vesna could see only one small scratch on her forehead - but it was contorted in pain. He made to lift her body, but stopped, his heart pounding . . . did she just move? He knelt, ignoring the lethal debris, and slipped one hand gently underneath her. Tila began to tremble, then took a shallow, shuddering gasp. Vesna’s most ardent prayer and worst fears were realised: Tila was alive, but he could see she was grievously injured, her back sliced in ribbons . . .
‘No,’ Vesna whispered, cradling his bride as gently as he could, ‘lie still, stay with me.’
Tila’s lips parted, as though she was about to speak, but even that slight movement sent a spasm of agony across her face.
‘Hush now,’ Vesna whispered, half-sobbing with terror, ‘dearest love, Tila, stay with me . . .’
He saw her eyes focus on him suddenly as his voice momentarily cut through her pain. She looked into his eyes so intensely that he felt her touch his soul ... then, with a tiny gasp, she was gone. Her bloodied body went limp in his arms, and Vesna screwed his eyes closed and set loose the scream that had been building, howling like the very damned. His entire body shook, and his cry filled his ears, but nothing could blank out the pain that was all-encompassing . . .
When his breath finally gave way and he stopped, he gasped, ‘Karkarn, do something!’
‘I am no healer,’ came the growling reply, ‘and Death’s die is cast.’ A wisp of light stroked her cheek, a last goodbye. ‘But she will be honoured in death. The Bringers of the Slain shall escort her on Ghain’s slopes and see her untroubled to the land of no time.’
Vesna looked around in desperation, but there was no one: the icons had been destroyed, the people brutalised beyond recognition. ‘You can do nothing?’
‘No more for her.’
Something in Karkarn’s voice made Vesna look
up. He saw his sword lying discarded on the ground, the scabbard reduced to slivers of leather.
‘What was that?’
‘A weapon designed to bypass whatever first defence you offered. Had the shield remained, you would be dead.’
Vesna turned back to his bride. The pain was gone from Tila’s pale face; she looked peaceful, as if she were sleeping beside him. He bent and kissed her on her lips.
Then he reached for the sword.
‘Get me there,’ Vesna rasped, pointing to the other end of the street as he rose, ‘and keep out of my way.’
Karkarn did not reply, but Vesna felt a force close about his shoulders and wrench him from the ground. His vision blurred as he was moved through the magic-heavy air. Dark shapes flashed past, then he was tumbling forward. He landed heavily, driven to his knees by the impact, but he didn’t wait for his senses to return; his sword was up and ready to ward off a blow —
— that never came.
Vesna blinked, but the archer hadn’t moved. The man wore the uniform of a Ghost cavalryman, but there was something blank about his face that made Vesna realise it was unnatural. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus, and his divine-touched senses cut through the illusion - but as he felt a terrible pressure built around his eyes, he barely registered the long, narrow features of a true Elf, let alone felt surprise. His legs threatened to give way for a moment before Karkarn’s divine touch dissipated the clouding grief.
It was pierced by the fierce white light of hate, as palpable and strong as a daemon rising from the Dark Place.
The Elf laughed and unhooked something from its throat. The illusion fell away, leaving a slender figure in dark, functional clothes, over which was draped one of the Ghosts’ black-and-white tabards. It had an unearthly beauty, as much female as male, but its body shape was clearly male, even if it lacked Vesna’s muscular bulk.
As Vesna watched it nonchalantly tore off the tabard, revealing dragons on its tunic and belt-buckle. The Elf’s cold regard reminded Vesna of Genedel’s unblinking stare after the dragon had won the battle of Chir Plains for the Farlan.
‘So this is what the Gods turn to?’ the Elf commented in its own tongue, sneering. ‘A magic-twisted ape?’
Vesna realised he was half-naked, and bleeding from a dozen small cuts, and his body was slick with sweat and blood - Tila’s blood. He advanced on the Elf without speaking. There was nothing he wished to say. It retreated casually, dropping its longbow and tugging a large sword from a loop at its hip. Something at the back of Vesna’s mind screamed danger at the sight of that copper blade, and he realised he’d seen the sword before - in the hands of the white-eye Chalat, former Lord of the Chetse.
The weapon was like Eolis, far more powerful than his own minor blade. Vesna had seen Isak use Eolis to shear right through other magic-hardened weapons. How well his armoured arm would fare against such a powerful artefact, Vesna had no way of knowing. Unbidden, Tila’s face swam before his eyes and Vesna felt his gut tighten. She had been murdered by someone - some thing - that neither knew her name nor cared . . . But he would whisper her name as he killed the creature; he would scream her name in his face as it choked on its own blood.
The Elf lazily swept the ancient weapon left and right, loosening its shoulder, observing the Mortal-Aspect’s reaction. It made the blade look almost weightless in its grasp.
Vesna did nothing. He ignored the movement, just stared straight into his enemy’s eyes. He let his rage warm his muscles.
Without warning the Elf exploded forward, swinging his great sword at Vesna’s unprotected head, but the count stepped back out of range and flowed right, parrying the follow-up blow aimed at his ribs. He used his armoured knuckles to try to beat the sword wide and create an opening for himself, but the Elf avoided his lunge with ease.
So you do know how to fight, Vesna thought, forcing himself to block out every thought beyond the enemy in front of him. Time to change the game.
With a thought he flooded his body with magic, raw coursing power that thrummed through his bones and crackled over his armour, the same way he’d seen Isak do it, many times before. White-hot sparks hissed and danced as they wrapped his gauntlet with spitting power. When he saw the Elf’s eyes shift towards it, he felt cold satisfaction: he knew he had made it uncertain. He increased the flow of magic and let it bleed out over the ground around him, sending jagged lines of light snaking over the cobbles in all directions.
When the Elf glanced down, Vesna attacked.
Holding his sword in both hand he cut across the Elf’s body, then down, then up. It gave ground as it parried each blow without much finesse, until it was able to plant its feet and start trading blows. The swords flashed through the air with unnatural speed, as the smallest nick might be enough to make the other hesitate.
Vesna’s arm screamed under the jarring impact of the greater blade on his own, but he refused to slow down. He caught a high cut and blocked it, then stepped in towards the Elf and swung his armoured fist at its face. Magic crackled in the air and the Elf howled as it stepped through the web of seething power and pushed its shoulder into Vesna’s midriff.
Despite his greater bulk, Vesna felt the body-blow hit his chest like a hammer and found himself being driven back. He tried to punch the Elf in the shoulder in return, but he swung short and had to throw himself to one side, the copper sword just missing his stomach.
Vesna found himself with a moment to regain his balance while the Elf was shaking its head from side to side and cursing - its cheeks and narrow chin were scorched black by the magic, and only its height had saved it from being blinded.
Suddenly, each realising at the same instant that the other was catching their breath, they both ran forward —
They barely avoided impaling themselves on each other’s swords, but Vesna had the faster reactions; he had twisted left, and used his own sword to force the Elf’s weapon aside, at the same time stepping close and smashing his armoured elbow into its arm. For a moment he thought he had it - then he felt the resistance vanish as it spun away.
Vesna lurched to the right as the Elf turned right around and lunged for his face. He twisted violently, avoiding being impaled, but he felt the weapon bite into his pauldron, slicing away a chunk of metal. He batted the blade away with his left arm, ducked and thrust his own sword underneath it, hearing metal clash with metal, before he was facing his enemy again.
He cut high, then low, and the Elf blocked, then as his third strike whistled through the air the Elf stabbed at his left shoulder, trying to bring the copper sword’s power to bear, but Vesna twisted out of reach and attacked again, relentlessly. He pressed forward, parrying blows, trying to get inside its guard, but when he got close, it kicked out at his leg with frightening speed.
He moved just in time, turning his half-bent knee into the blow, and though pain exploded in his kneecap, he was ready and it didn’t knock him over. Vesna saw the impact of its kick had hurt the Elf too; it had retreated a step. Scowling, it charged straight back into the fray, hoping to take advantage of Vesna’s disorientation, but it moved too slowly and he dodged, deflecting the copper sword as it swung past him.
Vesna struck at the Elf’s back, but he missed, his reach too short. Now the monstrous copper sword arced down towards his head and this time when Vesna tried to move, his feet failed him and he froze, his arm still extended in the lunge as he watched his own death coming towards him.
At the last moment he threw his left arm up, as he had at the shrine, and the broadsword smashed down onto his armoured limb in a coruscating explosion of light and pain. The force drove him to one knee and he swung blindly at the Elf’s ankle, but its knee hit his face before his blow could connect.
The impact snapped his head back, but his greater bulk let him ride the blow and he brought his sword up to catch the lower edge of the Elf’s gleaming weapon. He forced it up and hooked his armoured arm over the flat of the blade. The Elf tried to lift it away, but that only s
ucceeded in helping Vesna to his feet again.
Releasing his grip on his own sword, he tugged down with his left hand to pivot his weapon around the other blade. The momentum of the movement brought the hilt up and Vesna, turning away from the Elf, ignored a vicious punch to his kidneys, grabbed his sword in a reverse grip and jerked it back as hard as he could.
His aim was true and the sword bit deep into the Elf’s guts. The Elf staggered under the force of Vesna’s blow, and its own blade clattered to the ground as its hands moved to its belly.
A gout of blood gushed onto the cobbles as the Elf managed to pull itself off the weapon on which it was impaled.
Vesna turned and chopped down into the back of its right knee, nearly severing the joint. The Elf dropped, but before it could hit the ground Vesna had grabbed it by the throat with his left hand.
