by Welcome Cole
“There are those among us who say it was only a matter of when,” Esoria said, looking from him to Mal, “That given enough time and the proper circumstances, the demons were preordained to come back. And for your Fifty Year War, it’s said Fren’ba Shen nearly succeeded in raising the wyrlaerds even then, that only his assassination averted it. It’s common knowledge he was Prae the Biled’s mentor. Is it such a stretch to assume the mad mage has succeeded where his predecessor failed?”
Mal avoided looking at Lucifeus. They both knew too well how right she was, but he wasn’t ready to face it. Not yet. He needed more proof before he’d willingly march down that road.
“A hack is nothing more than a vessel for the demons,” she went on, “A wyrlaerd can send its essence out from its corporeal house to probe places and times it’s visited before. However, it cannot explore new places or times until it has physically entered them. A hack acts as an extension of the demon. It allows the wyrlaerd to explore new realms by proxy. A hack, for all practical purposes, is the demon.”
Mal looked at the yellow painted eyes of the Kadeer and fought back a chill. “Can the demon see us now?”
Esoria shook her head.
“No?” he said, looking at her, “How can you be sure?”
“They communicate through water.”
Mal looked over at a fat water barrel squatting next to the base of the stairs below the door. “Hoot, is that barrel full?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Esoria quickly intervened, “It has to be living water. A river or creek or pond. Water is the blood of Calevia, the greatest gift of Calina to her mortal subjects. They can’t communicate with each other from this room. And absent that water vessel, the hack is lost.”
“Then it appears we’re safe,” Mal said, “The demon may not know we have him.”
“Well,” she said with a disheartening shrug, “so I believe.”
“You believe? Hellsteeth, Esoria, what does that mean? Will the hack’s owner know or won’t it?”
She smiled up at him. “Would you prefer the short version?”
Mal braced himself for what was surely going to finish murdering his day. “Just say it.”
“There’s no way to know for certain. The knowledge we have has been passed by oral stories through dozens of generations of the Wiccan Sisterhood. There’s no documentation surviving the era of the Divinic Wars, or none that I’m privy to, at any rate.”
The hack suddenly threw his yellow-painted face back and released a long, gurgling gasp. Then his head fell to his chest and he went still. Everyone else in the room stopped breathing.
When it became clear the savage wasn’t going to move again, Esoria whispered, “He… he’s ready. You can talk to him now, but you must hurry. I cannot predict how long my control may last. I’m not a mage, so my prowess with caeyl energy is weak at best.”
Esoria slipped out of her chair and crossed around the table behind the hack. From there, she leaned in over his shoulder and whispered into his ear. The hack’s face gradually lifted, rising slowly, methodically, as if slowly pulled by invisible strings. His eyes were open wide, but still fully coated in the yellow dust.
Mal slid down into the chair vacated by Esoria. The yellow face across the table mirrored the masks of the flesh eaters he’d once encountered in the wilds of the Asneotl Island chain in the far western Fairworn Sea. A horrific tribe of giantish aborigines, they ritualistically killed their victims by slowly inserting paralytic thorns into their flesh, a process that could take weeks.
“Mal, you must hurry,” Esoria pressed.
Mal licked his dry lips with a drier tongue. Then he nodded and began. “What is your name, Kad’r?”
The hack’s blinded eyes drifted across the room as if searching for an answer in the shadows. Gradually, he turned his yellow face back to Mal and proffered a bizarre grin. “What is it you ask of me, mortal?”
“What is your name?”
“Well… Dietra’va, of course.”
“What’s your mission in the Nolands, Dietra’va?”
The hack laughed and shook his head.
“Try again,” Esoria whispered, “He’s fogged with the caeyl dust. Keep pushing. Keep him focused. Smith your questions straight and clear.”
Mal nodded. “Dietra’va, what is your mission in the Nolands? Why are you here?”
This time there was no hesitation. “I am advance scout for the Raen Army, jh’ven?”
Mal’s stomach sank. “Raen Army? I already hate the sound of this.”
The hack released a barking laugh, and said, “I already hate the sound of...” He froze mid-sentence, cocking his head oddly. “What?” he whispered, “What? I can’t hear you.”
“Goddamn it!” Mal said, glancing up at Esoria, “What’s this, then?”
“What?” the hack said again. He looked around the room with his painted eyes. “What? No, I can’t hear you!”
Mal felt the blood desert his head. It was the most macabre sight he’d ever witnessed, this hack trying to communicate with his demon master.
“I can’t hear you,” the hack whispered again. He twisted around in his seat. “Where? Tell me where!”
Esoria grabbed a tin canister from her satchel and quickly unscrewed the top. She dug a couple fingers through the thick green paste inside it, then maneuvered behind the hack. She wrapped an arm tightly around his head and hastily smeared a series of symbols across his forehead.
As she worked, the hack rolled his yellow-painted eyes up toward her. “What are we doing?”
“We’re making the voice go away,” she whispered as she worked.
“Making the voice go away,” the hack said with an almost silly laugh, “Making the voice go away. Making the—”
As Esoria drew a final circular symbol just above the bridge of his nose, his eyes flared and he seized up in the chair.
“You have to hurry,” she said as she sealed the canister, “Even without water, the wyrlaerd’s grip is wicked. I can’t keep him talking for long.”
Lucifeus leaned his elbows onto the table and looked closely at the hack. “Dietra’va. Pray tell, precisely where is the Raen army going?”
The hack’s head fell low to the table. He slid his face in serpent-like motion between his shackled arms and up toward Lucifeus. Mal watched the painted yellow eyes glaring at his brother and struggled against the repulsion it brought. The hack was using his taer-cael to compensate for his blindness exactly the way a snake uses its tongue.
“The Prou Division lays siege to Smeck’s Gate, jh’ven?” the hack whispered, “The Vau Division lays siege to Coddler’s Gate, jh’ven? You lay siege to me. I lay siege to you.” He bared a mouthful of teeth caked with yellow dust and hissed at him.
Mal forced his eyes away from the sight, focusing instead on the words. Coddler’s Gate. Smeck’s Gate. They were portal cities, gateways through the deep Wall of Morleph, two hundred miles southwest of the Freehold. The seven hundred mile wall shared a common border with the Nolands.
“They’re laying siege to Mendophia,” he said, looking at Lucifeus, “To what end?”
“To block the Mendophs,” the hack offered unsolicited, “You must block the Mendophs, jh’ven?”
“Block the Mendophs?” Lucifeus said, frowning, “Block them from what?”
The hack laughed. “Block the Mendophs! Block them from assisting the Allies, of course.”
“Assisting the Allies with what?” Lucifeus pressed.
The Vaemyn scowled and released a queer whine. The yellow dust covering his face wasn’t glowing as intensely as it had been just moments ago.
“The caeyl dust’s energy is waning,” Esoria whispered urgently, “You must hurry.”
“Dietra’va!” Mal said, “Prevent the Mendophs from assisting the Allies with what?”
“Resistance, of course,” the Vaemyn said on a groan, “Resistance! Resistance! Resistance!”
Lucifeus slapped the table. “The Allies! That’s
it, by gods!”
Mal’s pulse rapped against the back of his eyes. The air felt thick as bilge water. He glanced at Lucifeus, but was afraid to say the words he knew they were both thinking.
“Don’t you see?” Lucifeus continued, “If Prae’s sealed off the wall to stop the Mendophs, it means he’s coming north through the Nolands with his armies.”
“The Nolands!” the hacked shrieked, “Ay’a! On to Notown, jh’ven?”
“That makes no sense,” Mal said, avoiding looking at the horrific hack, “To what end? There’s no cover out there in the plains. The Allies would know he was coming a month before he hit the southern border of Parhron.”
“Depends on his speed,” Lucifeus argued back, “With Parhron and Baeldonia on the verge of war... well, you’ve seen the reports from our scouts. The Allies are preoccupied. There’ve been no sightings of Allied patrols in five months.”
“Notown,” Mal said as the truth took bloom, “Of course! Notown has a harbor.”
Lucifeus slapped the table. “Aye! Transports, yachts, privateers, merchant ships.”
Mal willed himself to look at the hack. After a moment, he said, “Dietra’va! Tell me now, what exactly does Prae want?”
The hack laughed as if tickled by the question. “Everything,” he said, grinning.
“Everything? What does that mean?”
The hack’s head again drooped toward the table. He glided his oteuryns across the scarred wood as his blinded yellow eyes rolled up toward Mal. “Better to ask what he doesn’t want, jh’ven?”
Mal slammed the table. “What doesn’t Prae want, then, damn you?”
The hack’s eyes swelled eerily. “He doesn’t want what he doesn’t know!”
“What in the Nine is that supposed to mean?”
“He doesn’t want what he doesn’t know, jh’ven? What he does not know, jh’ven? Jh’ven?”
Esoria grabbed the hack by the hair and dragged him back into his seat with strength that shocked Mal. “Dietra’va!” she yelled into his face, “Who owns you?”
“No!” the hack screamed. The table heaved as he wrestled his restraints. “No! No! Don’t!”
She cranked hard on the wad of hair, twisting his head up awkwardly. “Who owns you?” she yelled again. When the hack didn’t answer, she threw an arm around his head and pressed her thumbnail deep into the circular symbol painted in the center of his forehead. “Who owns you?” she said more forcefully.
The hack stopped fighting. His yellowed eyes drifted up to her. His jaw quivered as if he wanted to speak, but was somehow foiled from doing so.
“Who?” she demanded, pressing her thumb harder into his brow, “Who! Owns! You!”
“You don’t know what you ask!” he shrieked, “You don’t know what you ask! You don’t—”
She tightened her grip on the hack’s head and drove her thumbnail deeper into the green symbol. “You’ll damned well tell me who owns you!” she commanded him, “You will tell me now!”
The hack screamed again, louder and more desperately this time. “Goelvar!” he screeched, “Goelvar owns me! Goelvar! Goelvar!”
Mal grabbed the edge of his chair for support. The name landed like a knife. Judging by the look on Lucifeus’s face, Mal was confident he’d undergone the same horrible revelation.
“Tell me where the demon is,” Esoria ordered the hack, “Tell me where Goelvar is!”
“South!” the hack cried out, “South in Dragor’s Field! At Lord Prae’s keep!”
“Why is Goelvar here? What does it want?”
“No!” the hack shrieked, “Don’t! I can’t! I can’t do this!”
“What does Goelvar want?”
The warrior screamed. “No! No! No!”
She drove her thumb brutally deep into the rune. Blood oozed through the yellow paste. Orange streaks dribbled down over the hack’s eyes, nose, and cheeks. “Dietra’va! I command you to tell me what Goelvar wants!”
The table bounced manically as he fought her will, but she was clearly too powerful for him. “The blade!” he screeched, finally, “Goelvar wants the blade!”
“What blade? What blade does Goelvar want?”
“The Blood Caeyl! Goelvar wants the Caeyllth Blade! Stop now! Please! Stop!”
The dust covering his head flashed like heat lightning against the darkness of the brig. The hack shrieked and threw his head back hard enough to knock Esoria away from him. Blood streamed from his eyes, nose, and ears. He rocked forward and back so violently that the end of the table banged up and down with his rhythm. Blood flew where the metal restraints tore at his flesh. For just a moment, Mal worried the shackles would give.
Then the hack’s spine arched hard enough to crack the back of the chair. His breath locked in his chest. He froze that way with his back curved wickedly, his head cocked back farther than it had a right, his blood-streaked yellow face gaping in horror at the ceiling. Distended veins throbbed viciously on his neck, and a pathetic gurgle bubbled up from his throat. After several pulsing seizures, he collapsed, slumping forward onto the table. A pool of blood spread out from his face and swelled its way across the wood.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Blood thrown from their compromised leader covered the other two prisoners. The coward had actually slipped one bloody hand free of its shackle and softly whimpered. Blood trickled over the table’s edge and plinked delicately against the floor planks.
Mal didn’t need to check to know the man was dead. He stood up and waved at the remaining savages. “Hoot! Get these two into a cell.”
For the first time in all their years together, Hoot didn’t obey.
“Hoot! Get these savages into a cell now!”
Hoot shook free of his terror. He’d barely unlocked the coward’s one remaining shackle before the savage broke free and ran for the nearest cell unescorted. Grelia’tau followed a moment later, with only a bit more dignity, and minus a couple fingers.
Lucifeus helped Esoria around the table. The woman was sweating and pale. She felt her way into her chair with trembling hands. Mal threw an oily cloth down on the table to stop the approaching line of blood, then squatted beside her.
“You look like hell,” he said as he stroked back her hair.
Lucifeus dropped a tin cup on the table and hastily filled it from a dusty bottle of mead. The sweet scent of the wine cut through the smell of blood and fear suffocating the room. He lifted the mug to her. “Here, my flower. Drink.”
She accepted the mug, but made no attempt to drink.
“Are you up to talking?” Mal asked her carefully.
“The blade,” she whispered, “You want to know what the hack meant.”
He laid a hand on her arm. “Nay, I know too well what he meant.” He threw a glance up at Lucifeus. “I want to know if the demon knows what we’ve done.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Goelvar,” Mal said carefully, “You know this name?”
Esoria’s frightened eyes watched him too closely. “I do. And I suspect you do, too.” Then she lifted the mug and drained the wine. When Lucifeus tried to refill her, she waved him off. “This is a very bad thing,” she said, wiping the back of her tiny hand across her mouth.
“Aye,” Mal said, looking up at his brother, “We need to assemble the officers’ council.”
Lucifeus nodded. “We’ll send out couriers to summon them. Though it’s doubtful at best we’ll have them all in the compound any earlier than daybreak tomorrow. More likely, late evening.
Mal rubbed at the tension gripping his eyes. “Tree’s in Notown tracking down Nathan Roell and a small gold shipment he seems to have misplaced. I’ll send a runner out after her as soon as we finish up here. If we’re lucky, we can retrieve her by tomorrow midday. Wilc’s on his way back from Mendophia, due to arrive tonight, I believe. ”
“Hoot!” Lucifeus called, “See Essie back to her quarters. Get her anything she needs.”
“Aye,
Cap’n!”
“Then take those savages up and hang them from the third tier north.”
“Belay that order!” Mal said quickly.
Lucifeus turned on him. “They’re trespassers! Worse, they’re invaders, and they’re going to dance for it. It’s the law.”
“Luce, they have information. We need to extract it first. You can hang them later.”
After a moment of dueling glares, Lucifeus backed down. “Aye, you’re right. Sink me if I’m not indulging my impatience.”
“They’re not going anywhere. You’re being sensible.”
His brother nodded. “Dear me, yes. I most certainly am.” Then he waved at the Kadeer slumped forward before him with his pasted yellow eyes gaping vacantly into the pooled blood. “You may hang this one instead.”
Hoot looked at the dead warrior. Then he turned back to Lucifeus. “But, Cap’n?” he said dully, “Pretty sure he’s already dead.”
“Then he shouldn’t offer much resistance, should he?”
Hoot’s eyes dropped to the floor. He looked even more confused than usual.
“Let it go, Hoot,” Mal said, hoping to just get past this bullshit, “Don’t try to understand. Just… just take Esoria home, and then come back and hang the hack before he goes stiff.”
Shrugging, Hoot said, “Aye, Cap’n. Reckon it don’t make no sense to hang a guy what’s already dead, but I guess no one wants my opinion nohow.”
“And wash the caeyl dust off him first. We don’t need to stir up any questions.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Mal squeezed Esoria’s shoulders, then bent down and whispered in her ear, “You’re fantastic. I’ll never ridicule your witchy ways again. I swear it before Calina.”
Essie kissed him on the cheek. “I’m holding you to that.”
“Once we have the officers assembled, I’ll send someone for you. You try to get some rest until then. I can see you’re exhausted.”
Lucifeus walked over to Hoot and patted him on the chest. “What happened here stays here, Hoot. You understand me?”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
