by K. T. Davies
“I found this. It’s the old ziggurat, but I’m sure the new one follows a similar design.”
“Similar?”
“Close enough, jimma.”
“Oh, well then, that’s all right.”
He patted me on the back. “That’s the spirit. I’m going to put you in here.” He pointed to an air shaft above the main chamber. “In there is where they keep the sacred altar to, well, it was the Holy Eye. It’s being rededicated to Empirifex Durstan, apparently.”
“That shaft looks small.”
“It’s just the scale. Don’t worry, you’ll fit.”
I shrugged casually, and affected an air of nonchalance. “I’m not worried.” I was a little worried.
He locked his fingers and cracked his knuckles. The trinkets he was wearing chimed musically. “I’d like to meditate with a pipe or two of this very nice Shen snake velvet before we begin.” He pulled a silver- wrapped ball of pel from his belt and grinned.
My expression told him what I thought about his plan to have a ‘pipe or two’ before discorporating me and firing me across the city into in a mage-warded ziggurat.
He took the hint. “Or we could just do it now?”
“Lets.”
“Oh, I found those arrows for you. Now you stand over there and I’ll go get them.”
“Swann! Hurry up or I’m going without you,” Effie shouted up the stairs.
“Won’t be a jiffy, love,” he called down the stairs.
I did not go and stand where he told me. I folded my arms and stayed exactly where I was while he tiptoed across the room, careful not to disturb any of the marks he’d made. “Listen, Swann, I don’t mean to tell you your business, but don’t rush this.”
He giggled. “I won’t.”
I didn’t believe him. “Just don’t be ‘a jiffy’ eh? Be a ‘really-absofuckinglutely-sure- you’ve-got-everything-right’— length of time, if you don’t mind.”
He raised his hand and showed me his wrist and the pair of puncture wounds that matched mine. “Look, jimma. We’re bound. We either honor our agreement, or you know, we’ll die or… something.” He shrugged as he broke the ball of pel and pulled a small ivory pipe from his back pocket. “The point is, I know what I’m doing.” He stuffed the bowl and drew a light from a candle with a puff and a pull. “Just to steady my nerves.” His eyes glazed. His cheeks flushed. “This is very good shit.” Letting the pipe hang from his lip, he opened a cupboard and took out a longbow and a quiver of arrows. “I made these for a cove who never came to collect them,” he said, squinting through smoke. “Paid up front, of course. It was over two…maybe three years ago? Anyway, I think it’s safe to say that he isn’t coming back.”
He handed them to me. They’d been kept well, and the wood was neither too dry nor damp. I drew a shaft and sighted along its length. It was straight and true, the flights hadn’t been crushed, and the sigil-marked broadhead gleamed maliciously sharp. There were twelve. If this went to plan, I’d only need one. A strange feeling of having been here before scratched at the back of my brain, but I ignored it and checked the bow.
“Well?” Swann asked.
I shouldered the quiver. As well as the bow, I had a pair of handcannons and a long knife in place of Volund’s blade. “Everything seems in order. Are you sure you don’t need more time to prepare?”
He sniggered and stumbled against the cupboard, which did not fill me confidence.
“Swann!” Effie called again.
“He’s busy!” I shouted, which earned a reproachful look from the talismancer. “Sorry, I’m just a bit concerned about dying.”
“Don’t make this a negative experience, Chas.” Swann muttered. “Please, stand over there would you?”
“Just remember, I’m doing this for the Third Dawn and the Third Estate.” I thought I’d better remind him of that lie in case I’d upset him by shouting at his woman.
He didn’t seem to care. “Of course, of course, me too. Over there, please. Perfect.” With a few deft strokes he closed the chalk circle, took a last lung-filling pull on his pipe, and breathed magic and pel smoke into the storm-laden air.
26
The talismancer’s incantation became a hypnotic hum that steadily grew in intensity until there was no space nor speck within the circle that did not throb with magic. And when the spell was cast, the power burst like a sudden flood. I was drawn like a thread of light through the eye of a needle and spun across the unutterable cold of the Void, nothing more than a splinter of consciousness.
I had hoped to arrive in one piece. I’d also hoped to arrive where Swann had said I would. In the spirit of optimism, I had to accept that one out of two wasn’t bad, as I returned to the corporeal world and immediately began to fall. I was in an air shaft. Light flashed past, once, twice, three times. Side shafts. I timed my lunge and caught a ledge. The impact was jarring. Muscles tore in my shoulders. My claws scraped against stone and split, but I hung on.
Like a half dozen others above and below, this vent ran perpendicular to that into which Swann had accidentally delivered me. The purpose of such edifices was to praise the mystery and the majesty of gods and kings. But because even hierophants and psychopomps had to breathe they were also riddled with shafts like these. Crawling like a rat, I following my nose and the map in my head towards the central chamber. To where I knew that, as sure as shit stinks, I’d find Ludo.
Half an hour later, as horns heralded the commencement of the apotheosis, I had made my way down to a balcony overlooking the inner sanctum. A pair of shadows printed on the passage wall showed me it was occupied by a couple of archers. When the horns blared again I came up behind them and snapped the neck of the one on the left. Before she had time to react, I stamped down on the knee of the archer on the right. She went down, her scream buried in the fanfare. I thrust the body behind me, and drove my knee into the other archer’s gut as she rolled on the floor. She gasped. I whipped out my knife and drove it up, under her chin until I felt thin bone break.
Her thrashing ceased. I dragged her back, tore off her helm and his breastplate, and threw both on before taking their place at the balcony. It was one of four, the other three were also occupied by archers. Thankfully none of them were looking in my direction. Their attention was fixed on the nobs down below who were filling up rows of seats. The chamber was divided in two, the adyton, the most sacred part of a temple, was furthest away. I was on the balcony directly opposite. Rather than filling me with religious awe, it reminded me of a stage that Cobb might have designed. The solid gold representation of the Holy, All-Seeing Eye stood on the altar within a ring of five columns.
Five columns?
It took a moment for me to realize what I was looking at. My heart quickened. The five stones had been gilded and studded with gemstones and the rings in which they were set were platinum and silver, but no amount of sparkle could entirely disguise an angle gate. While I tried to work out what the fuck I was going to do, the seats beneath me filled with the quality folk of Valen. Despite the abundance of jewels and insignia of rank, everyone was wearing simple, white robes to signify spiritual purity. The low babble of conversation grew louder, and the excitement intensified as the appointed hour approached. Not all of the spectators looked overjoyed at the prospect of the Empirifex ascending to godhood, and I couldn’t say that I blamed them, particularly as Ludo was involved.
I strung the bow and drew an arrow from the quiver. That such a small thing could change the fate of a nation, and perhaps the course of history was not lost on me. The trumpeters standing before the pews raised their horns and blew another ear-splitting fanfare. The nobles stood and craned to look as doors beneath my balcony were thrown open. A troop of imperial knights marched in, resplendent in their parade armor, white tunics, and flowing cloaks. There were twelve of them, led by the arch-traitor Rubus.
I say twelve.
There were eleven knights and one interloper. Although of a height, he was built for t
alking rather than fighting and lacked, not only the meat and muscle, but the confident swagger of one whose trade was state sanctioned murder. His sword flapped against his leg and his shield hung awkwardly on his arm, probably because it was gripped in a slender tentacle rather than a meaty fist.
The clanks took up positions around the stones on the adyton. I had to smile. This Tobias was much like my Tobias in that he was possessed of the physical prowess of a scholar. The senator fidgeted, uncomfortable in the knightly garb and unused to the weight of the borrowed plate. I was sure only I noticed the incongruity as the horns sounded again, and all eyes turned to the door.
Quite appropriately, Durstan the Seventh strode in like he owned the place. Tsen Murcatoria was on his arm, her head lowered demurely, the tension in her shoulders visible beneath her sparkling stola. Clearly, she wasn’t enjoying the day as much as the would-be godling, who was waving and laughing. This was my first sight of the Master of the Empire. They say don’t judge a book by its cover, but that’s bullshit. We always judge a book by its cover and judging by the sorry specimen prancing up the aisle, this was a slender volume lacking in gravitas and any meaningful content.
As one would expect of the lord of millions, he was wearing armor embellished with gold, and his gleaming white cloak was studded with diamonds that cast scintillating flashes of light across the chamber. As short as his concubine, he shared her taste for rouged cheeks and his wide eyes were similarly accentuated with kohl. Despite the chink and sparkle, he was an unremarkable-looking human, only distinguished by the deference the crown upon his brow earned him. The expression he wore was an unpleasant mix of vapid and manic. Unsurprisingly, he absorbed the adoration of his court, both feigned and heartfelt like it was his by right. In return, their desire for closer proximity, for a smile, and a perhaps a chance to catch his eye, saw the whole congregation yearn towards him as he sauntered down the aisle.
He ascended to the adyton and much to the consternation of all, did something only an unhinged, soon-to-be God King would dream of doing.
He pulled out his cock and pissed on the altar and the symbol of the All Seeing Eye.
I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear him giggling. The room fell uncomfortably silent save for the sound of the Empirifex’s beneficent shower, which echoed around the vaulted chamber.
As the performance drew to its conclusion, the sharp click of an iron-shod staff marked time with the sure step of the last player to take the sodden stage. Even though he was garbed in his sorcerous disguise, and the heavy, dark blue robes and gold mask of his stolen office, I knew Ludo. The Empirifex finished his business and put his pizzle away. Tsen gracefully side-stepped the puddle of piss. Like most of those present, I held my breath, curious to see what the ‘Corrector’ would do. Halfway down the aisle, he bowed to the Empirifex who accepted the obeisance with a nonchalant wave.
Playing his part, Ludo took his place frustratingly out of my line of sight behind one of the stones.
The Empirifex threw his arms wide. “My people!”
A disquieted, nervous murmur ran through the noble gathering. I nocked the arrow to the string.
“Do not be afraid,” The Empirifex continued. “I am still your beloved Empirifex, but as you can see, I. Am. Changing.” He tore the crown from his head, and half turned to Ludo. “Corrector?”
Ludo hammered the heel of his stolen staff on the floor. The hollow ring was followed by a commotion born of helpless terror. A group of mages, some in rich robes other in nightgowns, were dragged into the chamber. All were bound in warded chains.
“Behold! My so-called sorcerers. Traitors in our midst.” The Empirifex glared at the bewildered prisoners being hauled down the aisle towards the adyton. “Snakes! Vipers that I nurtured in my bosom, who have repaid my kindness with treachery.” I had a horrible feeling that I knew what was going to happen. Come on, Ludo, you cunt. Just step forward.
I could feel the growing discomfort of the nobles; saw uneasy glances exchanged and heard discontented whispers. Even Tobias and the other knights cast questioning glances towards their equally bemused commander. It seemed that few had been privy to the change of plan.
“I will ascend,” the Empirifex continued. “I will bathe in the blood of serpents! And…I will become a god. And you, my beloved children, you will witness the dawn of a new age of wonders.” A tear ran down his cheek.
I was sure I’d heard that speech before somewhere and queried how it was that I knew so many fucking maniacs as I tried to get an angle on Ludo. My efforts to slot the bastard now further hampered by the knot of terrified mages corralled by the altar. Not to be upstaged by a statue, the Empirifex strained against the Holy Eye until it toppled and hit the floor with a thunderous crash. Panting, the aspiring godling drew his sword.
Some of the quicker witted nobles tried to leave, but dead-eyed clanks drew steel and blocked the door. Panic set in. One of the sorcerers was thrown upon the altar.
“Silence!” the puppet king wailed.
Fuck it. I’d heard and seen enough. I took aim on the Empirifex just as Ludo stepped forward and cast his gaze around the room. “Kneel before me!” Durstan spat. The words were his; the compulsion spell that flooded the room was not. I felt a fleeting moment of anger and panic as the vicelike grip of Ludo’s spell closed around my mind.
I relaxed the draw, lowered the bow, and like everyone else in the chamber, knelt before the Mage Lord’s might.
27
Compulsion is the most pernicious of magical arts. I say this with the authority of someone who has abused it many times to keep a king’s peace. It’s a proper cunt and the worst of petards by which to be hoisted.
A part of my brain— the savage, furious part that I’d inherited from Mother was spitting and cursing and fighting against the spell. The conscious part was perfectly calm and accepting of my fate.
“You blessed few!” The Empirifex shrieked, panting like a cove upon the point of rapture. “You shall witness the birth of a living god!”
Tsen Murcatoria’s face was frozen in a mask of enforced serenity, but I could almost see her heart pounding through the fabric of her gown. I didn’t feel sorry for her, or any of them, not even the imperial sorcerer struggling on the altar. They’d all wanted power, but like children, they didn’t know what it was they craved, until now.
The Empirifex’s sword flashed. The highly-charged drama turned into grisly farce. If you’ve never slaughtered anyone before, for saints’ sake, practice. By luck the godling’s blade found the heart. The hot iron reek of blood filled the chamber. Unprepared for the spray of claret that spewed from the sorcerer’s vital pump, Durstan got a faceful. He spluttered, reflexively put his hand over the wound but blood squirted between his fingers and soaked his robes. In a fit of pique, he repeatedly stabbed the squirming, screaming sorcerer.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been a spectator in my own head. A part of me understood what was happening, as much as I was disinclined to do anything about it. Durstan rolled the body off the altar and vomited. I wondered if he’d come up with the idea of ‘apotheosis by magicide’, or if it was Ludo’s ploy to ensure the only people who could stand against him were taken out. The would-be god dropped the sword, slipped in the blood, and fell upon the effigy of the Holy Eye.
Upon seeing his protégé stumble, Ludo stepped forward and helped him to his feet. The petrichor stink of sorcery momentarily overpowered the foul odor of violent death. The Empirifex became suddenly calm, and as dull-eyed as a fresh corpse. He stumbled into the arms of Murcatoria, who held him like someone with little choice in the matter.
Ludo placed his hands on the bloody altar. A red glow surrounded him. He approached the nearest stone and marked a bloody sigil upon it. Cursing, the next mage was dragged to the altar. He wasn’t just getting rid of rivals; he was using their blood like he’d used Mother’s. Compulsion and blood magic. I shouldn’t be surprised given that he used to murder people in the sewers and keep th
eir heads for company. This time Ludo performed his own sacrifice while the remaining sorcerers looked on in horror, powerless to help their comrade or themselves. I wondered idly how he’d managed to capture them. Maybe he’d taken them in their sleep, or drugged their chai. However it had been done, they had obviously been complacent and were now paying the ultimate price.
By the time the seventh mage had been slain, the air reeked with the smell of magic, blood, and offal. Under the strain, the ziggurat began to shake. Cracks raced up the walls, dust and plaster rained upon the ensorcelled congregation. As I looked on, as powerless as all the rest, one of the bodies behind me twitched and kicked my foot. It didn’t startle me because I was becalmed by sorcery and as an expert in murder I knew it was nothing more than a cadaveric spasm. It kicked again, jarring my leg. Something sharp scratched my thigh and sent a disproportionately sharp jolt of pain through my leg. I looked down, saw the arrow in my hand and that the sigil on the broadhead was glowing softly as a thread of blood ran down my thigh.
I remembered that I had something to do.
Ludo anointed the last of the columns with mage blood.
I raised the bow.
“Kill them, my loves,” he said to the clanks who dutifully slaughtered the surplus mages with mindless efficiency. The puppeteer took off his mask. The glamour he had cast upon himself was fading as his focus shifted to waking the gate. The veil wavered, teased a glimpse of his true, two-faced physog. The poor things looked tired.
