Grim Company 02 - Sword Of The North

by Luke Scull

  Sasha stared at Ambryl in shock. ‘We agreed we were going back to Dorminia after we delivered the Halfmage’s message!’

  ‘Pah. Dorminia holds nothing for us now.’

  ‘It’s our home.’

  ‘No, it was our home. A different “us”. Where men break, women bend and adapt. This is my chance to show the sole remaining Magelord in the Trine that I can serve her as I once served Salazar.’

  Sasha was about to argue when the captain of The Lady’s Luck cried out a warning. There was a horrible grinding noise from below, followed by the sound of cracking wood. The ship heeled perilously to port before righting itself with a gigantic splash that soaked the sisters to the bone.

  The White Lady glided over to the helm of the ship and placed her perfect hands on her slender waist. ‘Captain, what is the meaning of this?’ she demanded. Her voice was like birdsong on a warm spring morning, but there was an undercurrent of menace, a storm gathering on the horizon.

  ‘We hit some ruins,’ said the ship’s captain. She was a proud woman of middling years, but in the face of the White Lady’s displeasure she sagged with shame, like an ageing hound whose bowels had betrayed it at an inopportune moment and exposed its frailty to its master.

  ‘Are we in any imminent danger of capsizing?’ the Magelord asked softly.

  ‘No, mistress. The harbour is just ahead. We will dock there and I will assess the damage.’

  ‘Very well.’ The White Lady glided over to Ambryl and Sasha, who swallowed drily, suddenly afraid. For all her otherworldly beauty, there was something deeply unsettling about this woman.

  ‘The two of you will join the party that will accompany me to shore. I am curious what secrets these ruins may yet reveal about the ruler of this city. Marius was ever an enigma to me. I wish to see with my own eyes whether the warning you delivered has merit.’

  ‘Warning?’ Ambryl echoed, clearly surprised her mistress would bring up the topic. ‘You refer to the Halfmage’s message?’

  The White Lady nodded. Her platinum hair fell perfectly around her exquisite face, but there was a flicker of… concern?… in her extraordinary violet eyes. ‘My sources in Dorminia support your view that this “Halfmage” is a paranoid man given to unlikely claims. Still, prior to its destruction there were certain aspects of Shadowport’s recent successes that troubled me. As does one other matter.’

  ‘Mistress?’

  ‘The first of the ships sent to the Celestial Isles were due back last week. They have yet to return.’

  If Dusk Bay brought with it gruesome yet predictable sights, the deluged streets of Shadowport were a nightmare of smaller details that drove home the true extent of the horrors inflicted on the city.

  Sasha stepped gingerly around a murky pool in the middle of the street and stared at the dead couple floating in the water. The two of them were entwined, a tangle of rotting limbs and soft grey flesh sloughing off bone. From the looks of it, they’d spent their last few seconds locked in each other’s arms.

  One of the man’s legs poked out of the water at an odd angle, an old break that hadn’t healed properly. Nearby, an iron pan floated among the detritus of devastated houses. Flattened buildings stretched out as far as the eye could see, an endless patchwork of levelled walls surrounded by rubble and sprawling pools of stinking saltwater that had yet to dry in the months following the colossal wave which had torn through Shadowport. What was once the largest and most prosperous city in the Trine was now a watery graveyard. The ghosts of the fifty thousand who had perished would remain forever ignorant of what had befallen them.

  The White Lady halted as they passed the dead couple, forcing the rest of the group to stop. The chosen crew members of The Lady’s Luck looked around in confusion. The rest of the crew were back repairing the ship. The damage to the hull was less severe than feared, and the captain had seemed confident the ship could be made seaworthy within a few hours. However, the White Lady had ‘suggested’ the iron-haired captain accompany the expedition and leave the supervision of the work to her first mate. The woman had paled at that, and it seemed to Sasha that something unspoken had passed between the Magelord and the skipper. A threat, maybe. Or perhaps a verdict.

  ‘Great magic was worked here,’ the White Lady said as she examined the street. ‘Not Salazar’s cataclysmic evocation, but magic of a different nature. A binding spell.’

  ‘Another wizard present in the city at the time of the disaster, perhaps,’ said a handmaiden in a deadpan voice. ‘Shadowport welcomed those with the gift.’

  The White Lady’s eyes narrowed. ‘A spell such as the one worked here is beyond most. Even Brianna could not achieve such a feat.’

  Sasha remembered Brianna’s last stand outside the gates of Dorminia, blood running from her eyes as she was torn apart by the sheer force of Salazar’s magical assault. She had liked and admired Brianna.

  The urge to pull out the hashka stashed inside her cloak suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. Her palms began to sweat, the blackness that was always lurking inside her skull threatening to swallow her up.

  ‘Sister,’ said Ambryl beside her. ‘Do not let it master you. You’ve done well to stick to your promise.’

  The hint of something like warmth in her sister’s tone shocked her enough to jolt her back from the precipice. I broke my promise, she wanted to yell. I always break my promises.

  The expeditionary group continued through the drowned streets of Shadowport. As evening began to fall a cloud of insects rose from the ruins, a buzzing horde that covered the sisters and the crew of The Lady’s Luck in red bites but left not a single mark on the White Lady or her handmaidens. It was as if they were invisible to the swarming bugs. Sasha glimpsed corpses crawling with black beetles. At one point she watched as a huge centipede scuttled from the nose of a teenage boy, and she tasted bile in the back of her throat.

  They followed the wide avenue leading from the harbour for another hour before finally they reached the remains of the Palace of a Thousand Pleasures. The residence of the Magelord Marius had once been surrounded by a great garden, a botanical wonder hosting trees and flowers gathered from every corner of the continent. Now it was a swamp of decomposing vegetation swarming with insects.

  ‘And so we come to the heart of the pestilence that infests this city,’ the White Lady announced. She whispered a few words and suddenly the air shimmered. Moments later a raging windstorm sprang up around the group, a shielding sphere that moved as they moved, as if they were at the very eye of the storm. The wind generated by the sphere buffeted Sasha, sending her hair dancing around her head and keeping the biting insects at bay. ‘Stay close to me,’ the White Lady commanded.

  They picked their way over fallen masonry towards the palace building. The White Lady’s handmaidens hopped from stone to stone with terrifying agility, avoiding the swampy ground. Their mistress floated a foot above the dirty water, as serene as a goddess, utterly unfazed by the mire Sasha and the others were forced to wade through. They were soaked and covered in filth, but the Magelord refused to slow and they had to hurry to avoid falling outside her magical protection. Once they passed the gardens, the White Lady waved a desultory hand and the sphere dissipated.

  Soon they reached the wreckage of the interior. Even with the destruction wrought by Salazar’s magic, it was easy to observe the former splendour of the Palace of a Thousand Pleasures. Golden statuary lay upended. Delicately constructed furniture was shattered beyond repair. Fabulously expensive carpets had been utterly ruined by seawater. A few rooms had survived and were structurally sound, though the contents were invariably spoiled. Sasha was fortunate enough to have grown up in Garrett’s estate in Dorminia, but even the trappings her foster father had enjoyed were a peasant’s lot in comparison with the luxuries she witnessed in those chambers.

  Beyond the remains of the throne room, a set of stone steps led down into the palace dungeons. The White Lady paused on the very top step and stared down into the blacknes
s below. ‘Marius was a man of many appetites,’ she said. ‘One might view his city from afar and conclude that he embraced an enlightened attitude, but that would be a mistake. At the heart of every man is a beast, no matter the clothes he dons or the words he utters or the ideals he professes to hold. Let us now peer beneath the mask of this particular beast.’

  The White Lady descended the steps, her handmaidens trailing her. Sasha and Ambryl brought up the rear, together with the crew of the Luck. Though the dungeons had flooded along with the rest of the palace, an outlet somewhere below had allowed the water to escape, leaving only a few shallow puddles and an incessant drip that accompanied the party ever deeper. Blackness soon swallowed them until the White Lady uttered a word and floating globes of light blinked into existence, illuminating the way. Soon an iron door bled into view on the left side of the passage. Upon finding it locked, the Magelord beckoned and her three handmaidens tore it clean off its hinges, forcing it with a brute strength not even the strongest men could hope to match. Not for the first time Sasha wondered about these pale women. She had heard them referred to in hushed whispers as the ‘Unborn’, and that had done little to assuage her unease.

  The White Lady stepped through the door into darkness. A moment later her conjured lights danced their way into the room, shedding light on a large and richly decorated cell. Sasha followed, and her gaze lingered on the furnishings for only a moment before finding the naked and emaciated corpses chained to the walls at the rear of the cell.

  The dead prisoners were all women, and they were all young. Brutal metal implements rested on a rack nearby, and no few of them had seen use, judging by the obscene wounds the women bore. The floating lights revealed the prisoners to be of assorted ethnicity. There were a pair of pale Highlander women; a red-headed girl of Andarran heritage; a petite dark-haired girl from Tarbonne or possibly Espanda in the Shattered Realms to the south; and even a black-skinned Sumnian.

  ‘Marius’s sex slaves,’ the White Lady proclaimed. ‘It appears he collected them with the same passion with which he collected exotic flora for his gardens. They died here, chained up like dogs.’

  Sasha had to turn away before she vomited again.

  They continued through the dungeons, passing similar chambers filled with mutilated corpses, the work of a truly deranged mind. ‘How could anyone do this?’ Sasha whispered.

  The look Ambryl gave her seemed almost triumphant.

  At the very rear of the dungeons, a long and narrow corridor led to a single iron door painted a dull red colour. The White Lady turned to the captain of The Lady’s Luck. ‘You go first,’ she commanded.

  The grey-haired captain swallowed and raised a hand in salute. Alone she proceeded down the corridor. She was a third of the way along when a hidden compartment on the left wall suddenly swung open and there was a flicker of steel as a blade trap was sprung. Then the woman was on the floor, clutching what little remained of her legs, hot blood spraying everywhere.

  The White Lady nodded in satisfaction. ‘The magical wards once guarding this passage are no more. Even so, whatever lies in the room beyond must be of great value. To employ such crude mechanical traps is an assault on good taste.’

  She gestured and her handmaidens sprang into action, the three of them racing down the corridor in a blur. More traps were triggered, all of them evaded by the pale women and their lightning reflexes. A concealed pit opened in the floor and the handmaidens seemed to shift direction in mid-air, running along the walls to land safely on the other side. Finally they reached the door and turned to wait for their mistress.

  ‘Come,’ the White Lady said. She glided down the corridor, stepping neatly around her maimed captain, skirting the edge of the pit where a thin ledge provided just enough room to cross. Sasha and the others followed, though two of the crew stayed behind to help their stricken skipper. There was little they could do except gather up the shredded remains of her legs and try to stem the bleeding.

  ‘Why didn’t she help her?’ Sasha whispered to Ambryl. Her sister only shrugged in reply.

  They joined the White Lady and her handmaidens in the room beyond the corridor. As the floating lights darted into the room, Sasha readied herself for whatever gruesome sight awaited her.

  But it was only a pair of naked skeletons. They were sitting in upright positions, thick straps and chains securing them tightly to their seats. Whoever the skeletons once were, they had been dead a long time.

  On closer inspection Sasha saw that both skeletons were oddly shaped: they would be extremely tall were they to stand. Their bones were incredibly long and thin and delicate – almost inhuman.

  The White Lady stared at the skeletons for a long moment before turning to her handmaidens. ‘Remove the chains and secure the remains. We return to the ship immediately.’ It seemed absurd, but Sasha thought she glimpsed something like disquiet on the Magelord’s face.

  As they were leaving the room, one of the crew approached them in the passage and pointed a trembling finger at her whimpering captain. ‘Mistress,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘She needs healing. Please.’

  The White Lady glanced at the stricken woman sprawled in a spreading pool of blood. ‘I have no place for the foolish or the careless. Tell my erstwhile captain that The Lady’s Luck no longer favours her.’

  ‘She will die, mistress.’

  In response, the Magelord merely nodded. ‘I trust she will. I have no place for the foolish and the careless. Nor do I have any place for cripples.’

  Sasha hid in her tiny cabin aboard The Lady’s Luck and brought her finger up to her nose. She inhaled long and hard, feeling the sweet powder fill her world. Soon it would carry her away to a better place – just as the first available ship out of Thelassa’s harbour would carry her back to Dorminia, once she had collected her belongings from the Siren.

  The White Lady’s callousness had left her shaking. For weeks she had suspected something was seriously wrong in the City of Towers. Her sense of unease had only increased following the Seeding and the strange events that had taken place that night. The odd behaviour of the Thelassans, Lyressa’s disappearance… even her sister’s rapid conversion to the cult-like worship of the city’s ruler. It was as if Thelassa was under some kind of spell. She remembered the Magelord’s words back at the Palace of a Thousand Pleasures.

  Let us now peer beneath the mask of this particular beast.

  Marius had indeed been a sadist, but Sasha was beginning to wonder if the White Lady was any better. Now all she needed to do was convince her sister of the Magelord’s true nature.

  Lost in the thrill of the hit, she didn’t hear the door creak open. Didn’t realize the object of her thoughts was standing in the cabin behind her until she felt Ambryl’s nails digging painfully into her shoulder.

  ‘You lying whore.’

  Sasha twisted around, spraying moon dust everywhere. ‘A-Ambryl! Wait, I’m sorry—’

  ‘Not here. When we return to the City of Towers, dear sister, you and I are going to have words.’

  ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘What did you just say?

  ‘I’m going home. Back to Dorminia.’

  Ambryl’s hard eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘We already discussed this. There is nothing for us there.’

  ‘There is nothing for you there, Ambryl.’

  ‘My name is Cyreena, damn you. Why return to the Grey City, sister? We have no family. No friends. No reason to care about that place at all.’

  ‘Cole might still be alive—’

  ‘Oh, not this absurdity again. I met this boy once, this Davarus Cole. He was a braggart, a charlatan, and a fool. His disappearance was a blessing.’

  Sasha stared at her sister in disbelief. ‘You never told me! Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Why should I?’ Ambryl demanded. ‘You need to start moving on, sister. Moving on from the past.’ Her voice softened a little. ‘Now that we’re in the White Lady’s favour, no one will ever harm
us again.’

  ‘The White Lady’s a monster.’

  ‘She’s everything we could ever dream to be, you stupid girl! Sandwiched between a wolf to the north and a wolf in sheep’s clothing to the south, two males with their armies and their bluster and their perversions – and yet she won.’

  ‘I don’t care about winning. I only care about surviving.’

  Ambryl grabbed hold of Sasha’s chin and twisted her head painfully. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is to protect you,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll lock you in a cell if I must – until the demons release their hold and the sister I know is returned to me.’ And with those words, her sister turned and stormed out of the cabin.

  Sasha slumped back against the wall and buried her head in her hands, letting the hashka spill to the floor.

  Reflections

  ‘Wake up. We have to go.’

  Yllandris opened eyes as heavy as sin and stared up at Yorn’s bearded jaw. How long had she been sleeping? An hour?

  Time had lost all meaning now. She was beyond exhausted, fever-sick from the wound on her face that refused to heal, her shoulders chafing from the sad burden she carried. The pain didn’t matter any more. She just had to keep moving.

  Somehow she climbed to her feet, though they were so numb she could hardly feel them. She knew the foundlings had it worse; their legs were only half as long her hers. A few children wouldn’t stop crying because of their blisters. Though it broke her heart to watch them suffer, they couldn’t afford to slow their pace. Not until they reached the Greenwild.

  She stumbled through the shallow valley in which they’d called an all too-brief halt and surveyed the sleeping children spread out across the autumn grass. Most had simply collapsed in the spot they’d been standing, falling into a deep sleep as soon as their small bodies had touched the ground. She hesitated, overcome with guilt by what she was about do. It couldn’t be helped.

  She clapped loudly, moving from child to child. Some stirred and managed to rise, rubbing at tired young eyes. Others were oblivious to her efforts, so overcome with exhaustion they could have slept through a thunderstorm.