by Mike Wild
“Ah may still have to. But for the time bein’, things have changed.”
“You’re right, there,” Kali responded angrily. She tried to struggle from his grip but Brundle reasserted his strength, pulling her back.
“Listen to me, smoothskin,” he growled, more serious than she had ever seen him. “It is imperative that you stay alive. Imperative, do you understand me?”
Kali swallowed, shocked by the outburst. “Why?”
Brundle smiled. “Ah think yer know that, lass. Ah think you know that.”
Kali pulled her arm away, and Brundle let her, knowing she was going nowhere. At least for the moment. Because then events took an unexpected turn.
Prisoners continuing to be ushered aboard, Jakub Freel took up position at the head of the gangplank and shouted across the harbour.
“Miss Hooper, I know you are out there And I would suggest you surrender yourself to me now!”
Dammit, Kali thought. The Eyes of the Lord must have got a good enough look at her after all. Or maybe Freel just expected her to be there – let’s face it, if she were in his shoes, she would. The question was, what was he up to? What happened if she didn’t surrender herself?
“Kali,” Freel went on. “We know each other well enough for me to call you Kali, don’t we? As you can see I am amassing a good number of your friends aboard this ship. A sufficient number that I am able to spare a few. Therefore if you do not reveal yourself within one hour, I shall kill one of them. If you do not reveal yourself thereafter, I shall kill another every ten minutes. Do I make myself clear?”
As crystal, you bastard, Kali thought. In fact the message was so clear that Freel didn’t dwell on it. His ultimatum delivered, he stepped down once more, going about his business as if a threat to commit mass murder was nothing to him. Nothing at all.
Beside Kali, Brundle blew out a breath.
“Ah don’t think ah like this man,” he said.
“I thought he was a friend, once,” Kali replied. She made to rise again and Brundle once more held her down.
“I thought we’d been through this?” he said.
“What choice do I have?”
Freel had her in a stalemate and the only way to break it was to take the initiative. But if she was going to give herself to Freel, she was going to do it her way. The only way she could.
And as the ship showed every sign of sailing soon, the time to act was now.
“You’ll get yourself killed,” Brundle warned.
Kali winked. “That’s never stopped me before. You sticking around?”
“Oh, aye, I’ll be sticking around,” Brundle replied. He seemed to find his answer amusing somehow.
Kali sighed. “And let me guess – you’ll tell me about it some other time?”
“That’s about the long and the short of it, smoothskin.”
Kali narrowed her eyes. “Was that a joke?”
“No,” Brundle said warily. “Why?”
“Well, you know...” Kali said. She flattened her palm and moved it up and down, comparing their heights. But all she received in response was a blank expression. “Oh, never mind.”
Kali continued on, darting from crate to crate along the dockside, until she reached a spot behind where the prisoners’ wagons had arrived. Most of them had been embarked now and, as she’d hoped, those remaining were being manhandled by only a couple of Faith, confident their charges in chains would present them with little resistance. They were also just out of sight of the main part of the dockside, which served her purposes perfectly.
Kali waited while one of the two was occupied dragging a particularly recalcitrant prisoner from the wagon’s rear and then stepped up behind the other and tapped him on the shoulder. Clamping one hand over his mouth, she swiftly delivered four nerve-numbing blows to spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch, – and then caught his boggle-eyed, paralysed form as it fell, dragging it out of sight. There she delivered a knockout punch to the man’s face, just because she felt like it, and no more than a couple of seconds later, dressed in the Faith robes she stripped from her victim, stood beside his brother, who had only now managed to extract his charge.
Kali apologised mentally and jabbed the prisoner in his side, forcing him into line with his fellows. Their passage to the ship coincided with that of more Faith who, between them, dragged the semi-conscious forms of men who appeared to have been press-ganged, and, for the sake of camaraderie, she jabbed one of them in the side, too, quite harshly. The man, with a mane of long, black hair and a strange, ‘x’ shaped scar on his left cheekbone, bucked and, clearly not as out of it as he seemed to be, raised his head and glowered at her. The glower turned into an unfathomable expression as he caught sight of her face under her hood.
Kali frowned, though had no time to ponder the look as she and her companion, the last of the prisoners shuffling in their midst, reached the gangplank. A few yards above Jakub Freel stood momentarily studying each prisoner and, though this was the first time Kali had managed to get this close to him since the Sardenne – longed to find out what had happened to him – she knew she dared do nothing. If what she had planned was going to work convincingly, she had to walk a fine line between success and failure.
She kept her head low as she and the prisoners passed beneath Freel’s gaze but, despite herself, couldn’t help but pause as they almost touched. Though she and Freel hadn’t known each other long, the experiences they’d shared had been intense, and such experiences tended to stamp the aura of a person indelibly in one’s mind. And the thing was, the aura felt wrong. Everything about the man beside her rang alarm bells – his stance, his attitude, even his body odour, and Kali felt a shiver run through her, as if someone had walked over her grave.
Or as if someone had crawled out of a grave.
Kali shook herself, and began to push the prisoners forward once more. But it took all the willpower she had not to freeze when a voice behind her spoke two words.
“Kali Hooper.”
Though Freel had apparently recognised her, there was still a chance he’d think himself mistaken – that her stance, attitude or perfume had triggered some erroneous mental connection. What she had to do was continue bluffing her way through by giving no sign of recognition at all.
It was a reasonable plan, spoiled only by the fact that two Swords of Dawn immediately blocked her path. As they did, she felt Freel move up close behind her, and then her hood was pulled quickly back.
Okay, Kali thought. It was a fair cop.
She turned. A face she had not seen in a year filled her vision, staring down at her. The sight was strangely disconcerting. The same rugged, unshaven features were there, the same intelligent, piercing and curious eyes, even the slight smile which, though rarely seen, had betrayed the humanity of the man she thought she had come to know. This was Prince Jakub Tremayne Freel of the Allantian Royal Family. And yet. And yet his humanity seemed missing, somehow, as if some unknown events since she had last seen him had erased that aspect of him. Now, despite the smile, a cold cruelty seemed to seep from every pore.
“Jakub Freel,” Kali said.
The strange, cold smile curled slightly at one side, and Freel bent almost melodramatically to whisper in Kali’s ear. He was making it clear that this was just between the two of them.
“Sorry. No.”
Kali’s heart missed a beat. Her gaze snapped back to Freel’s eyes and what she saw there made all of her confusion of the last year make sense. Though she had struggled to reconcile the actions of the man she had come to know in the Sardenne with those of the man who had returned with Makennon to Scholten Cathedral, changing the nature of the Church completely, it had simply never occurred to her that the two men were not necessarily one and the same. And if this wasn’t Freel she was confronting, there was only one other man – though, of course, man was not the word – who had the power to take his place. Someone who had considerable experience in the exchanging of souls...
“R
edigor,” Kali said. “You farking piece of –”
Freel motioned to the Swords who’d blocked Kali’s path and they each grabbed her by an arm, holding her firmly. Then Freel cocked his head to one side, his smile broadening, and when he spoke once more, it was to all.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Listen to me!” Kali struggled in the grip of her captors. “This man is not who he seems to be!”
There was a murmuring from the ranks.
“This woman,” Freel countered, “is Kali Hooper, the outlaw.”
The murmuring intensified. Kali would have been flattered were this not all so wrong.
“I’m no outlaw!” Kali shouted, piecing together why it was that the Faith had such a price on her head. “This man, this imposter, made me so – the same as he has done with all these prisoners – so that I, they, couldn’t interfere with his plans!”
“My plans?” Freel roared. He regarded the massed ranks and then pointed up at the evening sky, where the strangely nebulous shape of the Hel’ss loomed on the opposite side of the horizon from Kerberos. “All of the Faithful here know my plans, and they are to do all we can to welcome the Herald of the Lord of All. The Herald of our Ascension!”
“The Hel’ss is no herald!” Kali argued. “And the man standing before you knows this! He knows because he is the Pale Lord. Your First Enemy!”
Kali’s revelation didn’t quite have the effect she desired. While some townspeople did draw in a breath and make the sign of the crossed circle of the Faith, the ranks of Swords and brethren began, disturbingly, to laugh.
“The Pale Lord is dead!” one shouted. “The Anointed Lord did smite him.”
“He wasn’t smited... smoted... pits, he wasn’t smitten!” Kali protested, cursing herself for her lack of religious vocabulary. “He’s here! Before you! Now!”
“No! His plans crumbled before the might of the Final Faith!”
“Heretic!”
“Outlaw!”
“I was there!” Kali shouted. “I was there, saw what happened. I understand your believing what you do but he still lives and –” Kali indicated the ship “ – this, this is his plan...”
The ranks roared. Jakub Freel raised his hands to quieten them.
“If this outlaw is correct,” he told them, “then perhaps she can explain this plan.” He turned to Kali questioningly, the smile still playing on his face.
Kali looked as though she was about to speak, but growled in frustration. “You know I can’t do that. I don’t know what the fark you’re up to.”
Redigor leaned in. Another little confidence. “Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that as you denied me the return of my race, I intend to deny you yours.”
“Bullshit. There’s something more to it than that. With you, there always is.”
“Do you hear?” Freel shouted to his people. “She doesn’t know!”
“But I’ll find out,” Kali added with determination. “I promise you that.”
Freel sighed and ordered all men, but those who held her, back to their duties. It was clear that Kali had lost any advantage, even if she had one to begin with. Their attention away from the pair, Freel leaned into her once more.
“I doubt it,” he said. “Only one of us can come back from the dead.”
Freel withdrew a glinting dagger from his tunic and raised it. Kali’s eyes widened and in that moment she knew that if there were any vestige of Jakub Freel left inside his own form, Redigor must have snuffed it like a candle flame.
“You’ll regret doing this to my friend, elf,” she said.
“No,” Freel answered. “But you will regret coming here.”
Kali stiffened as he ordered his men to hold her more firmly, and then grasped the back of her neck with one hand. She gasped in shock and pain as, slowly and deliberately, he carved two intersecting lines into the skin of her forehead, following these with a carefully drawn circle, enclosing them. Kali didn’t need to see the pattern being cut into her flesh to know that she had just been branded with the mark of the Final Faith.
Blood began to seep into her eyes.
“The best place on the human body to guarantee a healthy blood flow,” Freel said. “And one of the longest to heal. Even with your powers of recuperation these cuts will take time to recover... more than enough time for our purposes.”
Kali shook her head and blinked to try to rid her vision of blood, but it was flowing too freely and she stared at Freel through a veil of red.
“Lash her to the figurehead,” Freel ordered. “Once we pass beyond the Stormwall, the untershraks can have her...”
Kali struggled in the Swords’ grips as they attempted to turn her away from the gangplank, but their gauntlets were clasped tightly about her, impossible to shift. This coupled with the fact that she was all but blinded made it difficult to gain any advantage against them and she knew it was only a matter of moments before her plan – of which being lashed to the figurehead was not part – was ruined. The one thing she couldn’t have anticipated was that it wasn’t Freel she’d be dealing with but Redigor, and his method of despatching people was far too final for her liking.
Thankfully, though, a sudden commotion from the gangplank provided her with just the distraction she needed.
At first, Kali wasn’t sure what was going on, but soon saw that one of the Faith’s press-ganged sailors had fully regained consciousness and wasn’t at all keen on what was happening or where he was being led. Kali saw it was the same man who had glowered at her earlier. Not emerging from unconsciousness, then, but merely choosing this moment to make a pain of himself. Whether he was doing it deliberately to help her, she didn’t know.
Unexpected ally or not, the sudden flurry of activity surrounding his protestations gave her the chance she needed, and she threw her weight forward, making her captors stagger onto the gangplank with her. She immediately felt a lessening of their grip as their minds were filled with more overriding concerns, namely that on either side of them was now a drop into the waters of the harbour, and heavily armoured as they were, this was a place they’d prefer not to be. Armour and water did not mix. Their potential fate was illustrated quite graphically as, in the midst of the chaos her lurch had caused, one of the Swords near to the base of the gangplank suddenly found himself colliding with the protesting prisoner and his centre of gravity was thrown. With a cry of alarm the Sword tipped over the rope that edged the gangplank and plunged into the dark waters of the harbourside, sinking instantly beneath the surface.
Kali reminded her captors of the precariousness of their situation by swinging herself around as much as she could, and as their own momentum threatened to tip them after their friend, both released their grips. Freel, caught in the middle of the turmoil, spotted Kali’s sudden freedom and his hand dropped to the chain whip at his belt, but by then it was too late. Kali blundered back up the gangplank and fled along the deck.
Freel ordered his men to follow, and they did so eagerly, welcoming the renewed solidity of the deck beneath their feet. Kali, meanwhile, ran, tearing away part of her bodysuit to wrap as a makeshift bandana around her forehead. The cloth did not stop all of the blood, but helped some.
As she heard the thudding of the Sword’s boots after her, she made her way to the rear of the deck, finding herself amidst the cigar-shaped cargo she’d seen earlier. This close to them, she realised just how big each canvas shrouded object was – much taller than herself, and broad, too – and she dodged between them, hiding. A second later the Swords arrived and Kali waited until they had passed her hiding place to burst forth and head down the other side of the ship’s superstructure. Between her and the bow, however, more Swords appeared, and Kali had no alternative but to go either into the superstructure, or up. She tried one door and another but all were locked, and so, with a grunt of exertion, grabbed onto a rail and heaving herself upwards and upwards again. She was standing now on the forward sloping, ridged carapa
ce formed by the ship’s folded sails.
Kali looked down. The Swords climbed after her but she’d bought the time she needed.
“Just where is it that you expect to go, Miss Hooper?” a voice asked.
Kali span. Jakub Freel stood at the opposite side of the carapace. He held his chain whip coiled before him.
“I was looking for the bar,” Kali answered calmly. “The ship doesn’t do room service.”
“No. Only doom service.”
Kali paused. “Did you just say that? Did you just say ‘doom service’? Gods, man, did you really used to speak like that? No wonder the elves died out...”
Freel – Redigor – didn’t answer. Only moved towards her over the rise of the carapace, allowing his whip to uncoil and trail full length behind him.
Kali readied herself for what was to come, knowing full well how proficient Jakub Freel had been with his singular weapon. She saw no reason why Bastian Redigor wouldn’t have inherited this particular prowess, too. This was quickly confirmed as, with a flick of his forearm, Freel brought the whip to life and the single strand of chain separated into nine tails, each cracking down and sparking on the metal sail beneath them.
As sparks shot towards her face, Kali flipped backwards, increasing the distance between herself and Freel’s deadly lashing. Freel was just as fast, however, and even as Kali landed on her feet, the multiple strands were sweeping out, each trying to trip her before she fully regained her balance. Kali’s instincts were quick enough that she was able to dodge the majority of the sweeping chains, leaping above or cartwheeling over each as it passed beneath her, but a subtle flick of Freel’s wrist brought the last one in faster than it was appearing to come, and with a bone-cracking impact she felt her ankle struck and then give beneath her.
Kali rolled with the blow, turning a tumble into a shoulder roll, but the slight miscalculation had given Freel momentary advantage. Her ankle didn’t feel broken but it did throb like the hells and couldn’t take much weight, and as Freel’s whip came at her once more, Kali was forced to throw herself backwards rather than hobble out of the way.
