by David Hair
‘Hope your first and last time was good for you, honey,’ big Darice rumbled.
Huriya appeared, looking smugly pleased with life as she surveyed the four rivals. ‘Are we all ready then? I look forward to seeing this resolved so that we can resume our hunt.’
‘I am ready,’ Wornu rumbled. He reached out as if to touch Zaqri’s chest with his finger, but Zaqri smacked his hand away and they scuffled until all four combatants were suddenly being pulled away in different directions. There was no chance for final words.
Cym stared at Zaqri as she was hauled off.
Tomacz nodded approvingly. ‘That’s the way, lass. Show no fear.’ He led her through the darkness, heading southeast towards the line of hills. It was undulating ground, filled with steep hillocks and gullies, where visibility would be short. Fine stalking territory.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Not far.’ He gestured about him and those of the pack trailing them fell away. ‘Each of the four in the contest gets a second, to guide them to their starting point. Zaqri drew the furthest station, two miles away, which means you have the nearest, opposite him in the square.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You’re no warrior, girl. Have you killed before?’
She thought of lying, then admitted, ‘No. Never.’
‘I thought not. But you’re a survivor, I can sense that. Here’s my advice: don’t try to flee the contest. That is suicide. Don’t try to hide – Hessaz could track a bird, let alone a babe in the woods like you. Get to Zaqri’s side as quickly as you can and help him. He’s a match for Wornu.’
She and Zaqri had discussed and discarded this option during the night. ‘How do Wornu and Hessaz fight?’ she asked, to see whether he echoed Zaqri’s views.
Tomacz glanced sideways at her. ‘Wornu is as powerful as a pure-blood mage, but he is not skilled or refined in his gnosis. He uses shapechanging and Earth. He likes to burrow deep and ambush from close range from below. He’s also fond of hurling boulders. He’s almost blind to illusion.’
‘Zaqri thought the same.’
‘Hessaz is primarily a shapechanger, animal or human form, but she has a brain and she is strong in illusion. Zaqri has hinted that you also have skill in that area, but you’ll struggle to beguile her. Her weakness is in Sorcery – anything you know in that field has the best odds.’
She nodded gloomily. It pained her to be the weak link, but she gritted her teeth. I will get through this. Zaqri will keep – for now I need to keep him alive and myself too. ‘How long have we got?’
‘The pack will walk inwards at a slow gait after an hour, shrinking the Noose. By midday, you’ll be contained in a circle one hundred yards in diameter. Few of these contests last long after that.’ Tomacz looked at her hard. ‘Don’t let Zaqri down, girl.’
‘He killed my mother.’
‘You cannot fight well together when you are not in harmony. You should have made peace with him. You should have demanded a Weyrgild, like the Schlessen do. Life is too short to wallow in vendetta.’
‘Barbarians might sell their honour for gifts, but I’m Rimoni. It’s blood for blood, that’s all there is to it.’
‘Foolishness. We’re not meant to deal in absolutes. Even the Kore preach forgiveness over revenge.’
‘The Kore have been exacting punishment on my people for centuries,’ she retorted. ‘If you can’t tell me anything that might help me win, then shut up.’
Tomacz sniffed. ‘He should have married Hessaz and fed you to a youngling.’
Rukka te, old man.
They went on in silence until they reached a small dale. A pile of three stones marked her starting point. ‘This is the place.’ Tomacz turned to her and made one last exhortation. ‘Girl, we are not monsters. We have only ever desired the right to live free. But that one is pulling us into a conflict that will destroy us all. Wornu is her cat’s-paw. Be victorious and you will break us free of her hold on us. Wornu’s followers will be forced to bend the knee to Zaqri anew, and Huriya will have to go on alone. Fail, and she will drag us all to destruction.’ He glanced towards the east again. ‘You have ten minutes. Make yourself ready.’ He withdrew to watch from a nearby hillock.
She let her night sight fade to adjust for the coming dawn. The faint wind kissed her cheeks as she pulled her gnosis to the surface, warded herself from scrying and primed her shields. Her hand trembled despite anything she did, and the thought that she was going to die very soon overwhelmed her and wouldn’t go away.
Then the glow in the east became a light that stabbed across the plains and shadows sprang aside like night spirits afraid of the sun’s fire. For a few more seconds she was in shadow herself, then as the first rays of light struck her, she leaped into movement, streaming towards her right – towards where Wornu would also be in motion, a mile away across the broken ground.
*
The sun rose, driving the darkness west with swift strokes, and the shafts of light glittered on the raised blades of the Inquisitors in their morning prayer. Adamus Crozier led the Invocation for Battle in his clear voice:
‘Kore be in my eye that I may see
Kore be in my heart that I might judge
Kore be in my blade that I may strike true
Kore be in my holy gnosis that I may be invincible this day.’
Each line was echoed by the kneeling Acolytes of the Fist, some mumbling, others speaking clearly, according to their nature. Malevorn mouthed the prayers silently, his mind on the carnage to come. Is Mercer here? Or the Scytale? How strong are these Dokken? He looked sideways at Raine. Her eyes were closed as she prayed aloud. She was a true believer, or she faked it well. Religion was their profession so it paid to look devout. He copied her and raised his voice. Who knows who is listening?
When he opened his eyes again, Adamus Crozier was looking straight at him. He nodded once and turned away. What it meant, Malevorn couldn’t tell.
One of Quintius’ men had scouted the camp and reported maybe a hundred of the creatures, a formidable number – but many were women, or children not blooded into the gnosis. For fifteen Inquisitors, it was no easy fight, but they would be fine provided they held together and fought as a unit. At Meiros’ island they had discovered that the Dokken were sometimes powerful, but they were poorly armed and barely trained.
They finished their prayers and stood, kissed their blades and sheathed them, then mounted up. ‘Walk silently until I signal,’ Malevorn told his mount as he slid into the saddle. It whickered softly, its ‘assent’ sound. These things could probably speak if they had a human tongue. Khurnes were clearly a huge advance on ordinary horses, but they were somewhat unnerving too. But as they wound along what looked like a long-dry riverbed he forgot the matter and let the mission take over.
They were expecting to have to take down perimeter guards, but encountered none: apparently the Dokken thought themselves safe. No one’s beyond our reach. He glanced about him, taking stock of his fellows, the remnants of the Eighteenth Fist. Elath Dranid was a shadow ahead. Beside him Raine’s sallow face puckered as she chewed on beef jerky. Most men Malevorn knew didn’t eat before battle, but she was nerveless. Beyond her was Dominic, lost in his own misery, just as he had been since the Isle of Glass. Malevorn felt nothing but contempt for his former closest friend – Dominic was weak, his innocence broken by defeat and death. And being rogered up the arse by Adamus, of course …
The crozier brought up the rear, his feminine face a mask of calm, his eyes constantly calculating, no doubt plotting to ensure that it was he, not Quintius, who got the Scytale – and the glory.
Where do we stand in his plans? Adamus seldom confided in him or Dranid. It looked like he had reached some kind of accommodation with Quintius. Men like him don’t spread favours beyond those loyal to them personally. He wished
he’d got closer to the crozier. But not as close as Dom …
Another ridge, another pause, and the Inquisitors bunched up, waiting. Malevorn looked around and spotted Artus Leblanc in the pallid gloom. The Acolyte glanced back, scratching his cheek as if the scar there had suddenly itched. Their eyes met blandly and Leblanc looked away. Somehow that troubled Malevorn more than a confrontational glare. It’s as if I don’t matter any more.
Adamus Crozier waved them all into a loose circle. ‘The Dokken are over the ridge and down a long slope, about three hundred yards away. Beyond is a watering hole and after that the terrain becomes uneven. There are no guards, and the camp is half-empty. Most of the men are away.’
‘Do they know we’re here?’ asked Dominic in a worried voice.
Quintius looked down his nose at the young Acolyte. ‘They do not. In fact, this is opportune: a divided enemy is more easily destroyed. We will attack as planned. If this Alaron Mercer is their prisoner, he will be held in the camp, and easily seized. If not, we will put the survivors to the question, and see what there is to learn.’
The Acolytes stirred, eager to fight. Malevorn was of the same mind, and so were Raine and Dranid: longing to strike back at these creatures that had humiliated them at the island.
Adamus Crozier took over the briefing. ‘This is what we will do: once we top this final rise, we will see the camp, and they us. We will gallop straight over the top of them, wheel and recharge, except for Brother Dranid’s men, who will guard the perimeter facing the broken lands on the far side while the rest of us seek Mercer.’
Dranid’s eyes narrowed; he was clearly disappointed. Nevertheless he saluted. ‘Understood, Holiness.’
‘Excellent, Brother Dranid. Once through, establish a perimeter point every fifty yards. The rest, wheel on my command. Take a few adults alive and kill the rest.’
The Acolytes struck fists against their left breasts in salute.
Malevorn glanced at Raine.
She picked her teeth, and belched.
They grinned knowingly at each other.
‘Let’s move,’ Quintius said in his crisp voice.
They spurred to the ridge-line, the khurnes as silent as their riders. For a few seconds, everything went still, with just the snorting of the khurnes and the creak and clank of leather and metal providing the backdrop for the thudding of his heart. The camp was a squalling mess of children running about; a few adults were hunched over pots and cooking fires. The sky was empty and no beasts roamed the tents. Quintius was right: most of the Dokken were gone.
Then the Commandant’s mental voice echoed in all of their skulls and the lead khurne leapt forward. The rest followed, and Malevorn focused his attention on guiding his steed. Dust spewed up from the hooves, and the thunder of their advance was like a storm breaking.
Somewhere in the camp, a child cried out.
*
Huriya Makani watched impatiently from the edge of the small gully that marked the edge of the Noose. If Zaqri was victorious, her growing control of the pack might be snatched away; if it had not been for that she might not have overly cared who won this pissing contest.
Only she and Zaqri knew at this stage that they were pursuing more than just Ramita Ankesharan and Alaron Mercer. If Wornu fails me, I’m sure there will still be dissidents against Zaqri’s leadership, especially once I reveal that the Scytale is at stake …
Zaqri’s fascination with this Cymbellea was aggravating and self-destructive, but her Sabele-memories told her that Zaqri had always had a strongly moralistic streak, and a desire to appear noble and heroic and generous that bordered on narcissism in her eyes.
Tomacz trudged up the slope towards her, his face hostile. Sabele had been a rarity among Souldrinkers: a specialist in the more arcane aspects of the gnosis, when most were hunter-gatherers on the fringes of a more sophisticated world. They resented her as much as they revered her.
‘You could have stopped this,’ the Eldest said accusingly.
She arched an eyebrow. ‘Neither would thank me.’
‘What game are you playing, Seeress?’
‘No games, Tomacz. This is serious business. There is much at stake.’
Tomacz looked sceptical. ‘Really? Why are we chasing a girl across Dhassa for you?’
She put her finger to her lips. ‘I can’t tell you, Tomacz. It’s a secret. Zaqri knows, and the Rimoni – that’s all.’
‘Why? Why not tell us all?’
‘It’s too dangerous. I’ll tell Wornu if he wins, and maybe Hessaz.’
‘Lady, by Brethren law, this pack may not leave our ancestral territory. We are near those borders.’
‘I know. Zaqri told me he would refuse to leave them even if I gave my blessing. Wornu has promised otherwise. This is a war: laws do not exist in such times.’
‘Laws always matter, Seeress. They are what preserve who we are.’
‘No, they are just silly little rules we break when it suits us to do so.’
He scowled at that. ‘You are leading us on a trail of death, Lady.’
‘I have a lot of deaths on my hands, Tomacz.’ She met his eye as something surfaced inside her. ‘I remember your father: blue eyes and long dark hair. Two bodies ago, for Sabele.’ She smiled reflectively. ‘He had a fine voice; he sang beautifully.’
She blinked away memories of people she’d never met with a shudder.
Tomacz peered at her, his face a little pale. ‘How many lives are within you, girl?’
Too many. Right now, Huriya could pull them out at will, but she could always sense that other presence inside: Sabele, waiting like an old spider. She hadn’t known what she was taking on when she’d consumed Sabele’s soul on the Isle of Glass – it had just been opportunism. But now her greatest fear was not of enemies but of the crone inside her own head.
This is my body. My brain. I own it, not her.
Inside her, that spider-presence laughed patiently.
Thunder rolled from the south, where a low ridge flanked the camp site. In the campsite, a child screamed for his mother.
They both turned their heads and as she did so, she saw, beyond the tents and campfires, sunlight strike a line of steel-clad riders rumbling down the slope with lowered lances.
12
The Glory of War
Religion: Kore
And thus it was that Corineus ascended unto Heaven, and through his sacrifice, Mankind were gifted the gnosis, and thus their freedom. For this reason Corineus is marked as the holiest of men, and his worship has spread far and wide, in Yuros and even unto Antiopia. In time the praise of Kore and his chosen son Corineus will rise unto the heavens and they will be worshipped in every corner of Urte, and then will Mankind be truly redeemed.
BOOK OF KORE
Johan Corin led the group who found the gnosis, and thus has been made a god, but he was just a man, and did not even survive the Ritual of Ascendancy. Do I hate him? No, though I hate what has been done in his name.
ANTONIN MEIROS, HEBUSALIM, 783
Southern Dhassa, on the continent of Antiopia
Awwal (Martrois) 929
9th month of the Moontide
Keeping a lance steady on a galloping khurne was damned hard, especially when it was careering over undulating ground. But the beasts seemed to flow, as if their senses had somehow been enhanced so they could read the ground so perfectly that Malevorn barely had to concentrate. A ragged boy-child ran across his path, chased by a woman. His khurne’s horn tossed the boy aside, momentarily skewered then gone before he had registered the sight, then his lance took the woman in her side as she turned towards him. With a torn shriek she was gone and so was the lance, stuck in her body and wrenched from his
grasp. Beside him Raine rode down another woman as she was halfway through transforming: her body was a hideous bone- and flesh-popping mess that burst apart as the khurne’s hooves slammed down on her. Malevorn’s steed leaped a tent and its fore-hooves crushed the skull of a girl cowering behind the canvas without breaking stride. He felt an exultant energy rise inside him: the exhilaration of combat, when your fate depended upon luck and skill in equal measure. His blood sang.
He drew his sword and obeyed, and within seconds they were smashing through a small cluster of half-beasts and their whelps, cutting them down ruthlessly. Behind them, Quintius’ riders had slowed and were hacking at the shrieking women they’d herded into the middle of the camp. In a haze of dust and blood, Malevorn followed Dranid as they peeled off, slowed to a trot and rode towards the edge of the camp, facing the broken land beyond.
When the rest of the Dokken come, it’ll be from here. He wondered how many were out there, and how far away. He glanced right, and signalled for Dominic to close up. The young Acolyte’s sword was bloody and his eyes wide, but he slowed his khurne and moved parallel to Malevorn, fifty yards away, Raine and Dranid pounded onwards to their allotted positions.
In the broken lands before him, the rising sun blasted into his retinas. He twisted a little to avoid the worst of it, and extended his senses. There were only two figures visible: a grey-haired man in a short tunic and a diminutive young Keshi woman. He’d glimpsed her at the Isle of Glass. If she knows where Mercer is, we’ll want a word with her.
He spurred forward as somewhere in the broken lands, a jackal yowled.
For a long moment there was no sound, then what sounded like a hundred voices answered its cry.
*
Cymbellea di Regia sped along a narrow defile, seeking a hiding place. Sunlight punched through the gaps in the land. Every second exposed her more to these hunters with decades of experience in stalking and killing.
