The Godless, page 3
Two hours later Darsken finished his meticulous examination of the body. There was little that the corpse spoke of save degradation and pain. Most of what had been done to the poor bastard had occurred while he was still alive.
When he needed more information, when his eyes and hands had found all the clues they could, he resorted to necromancy.
Darsken made his own marks upon the corpse, using a white paint created from several different plants, the blood of an arrow eel, and grave mold cultivated under careful conditions. In most cases the spirit trapped within the body responded in a matter of minutes, and while he knew the spell cast could cause the dead pain, most were willing to answer the questions to find justice from the other side of death.
In this case nothing happened. Nothing at all. The body did not move, there was no spirit returning from the shores of death. Nothing at all.
Setting aside the paints that should have brought the spirit back, Darsken called on darker, stronger sorceries and tried to force the spirit of his latest examination back into the body, calling out to the powers that could breach the gulf between the living and the dead. The effort was exhausting, as it always was, but the results were unsatisfactory.
When he was finished Darsken left the chamber where the body rested, careful to lock the door. The dead did not always rest easily after being summoned and the room was warded against unpleasant visitations.
Not that he needed to bother. The Second of the Inquisitors walked slowly from his summoning chambers and worried his lower lip as he did so. His dark skin was stippled with perspiration caused by exertion rather than warmth. His thick dreadlocks moved freely over his shoulders and neck, tickling at his flesh, and he pulled them together and tied them into a ponytail without conscious thought. One hand reached into his vest pocket and he pulled free a small piece of dried fruit. He needed sustenance after trying to bring a dead soul back. Magic, even necromancy, always demanded a price. Had the spirit come back the price would have been exacted from the dead, but without a spirit to take the power from it was Darsken himself that paid.
No spirit had come when summoned. That meant only one of two things. Either the summoning had been done improperly, and he considered that possibility and shoved it aside. Had he failed to perform the ritual properly no price would have been exacted and he would not be exhausted. The other possibility was far more disturbing to him.
The spirit had not come back because the spirit had been consumed, completely and utterly. The only thing that could cause that sort of issue was exactly what he had used to try the summoning in the first place: Necromancy.
Not just necromancy but the sort that was expressly forbidden throughout the empire. The sort of dark magic that consumed souls.
Darsken did not speak to anyone as he made his way from the Inquisitor Towers and into the darkness of a cloudy day. The towers loomed above the other nearby structures. The dark stone glistened wetly in the drizzle falling from the storm-drenched skies. He was barely aware of his surroundings as he considered the implications of his failure.
There was someone he needed to speak with. Unfortunately he knew that the First Advisor to the Empire was not in Canhoon at the present time and that he would have to wait.
Nachia Krous
Empress Nachia Krous stared down into what had once been the Blasted Lands and saw the ocean of green foliage that now filled the once desolate valley. Trees as far as the eye could see, all of the growth ancient in appearance. Meandering throughout that lush tapestry was one particular plant that could not be ignored. Once one knew what to look for it was almost impossible not to see the Mother-Vine.
Very nearly a god in its own right, the Mother-Vine was the progenitor of the entire forest that comprised New Trecharch. In the distance, a great ways off, she could see the mountains that had once been home to the Sa’ba Taalor and their seven gods of war. Now those volcanic monoliths lay dormant though she did not truly know if they were merely slumbering or if the Daxar Taalor, the gods of the Seven Forges, had actually abandoned them. How could she hope to know? She could barely keep up with her own gods.
The endless frozen storms were gone, replaced by a vast jungle. She could not truly say if gods were responsible, only that what she saw now was a miracle.
“I still say this is a horrible mistake, Majesty.” Desh Krohan spoke and ruined her moment of silent contemplation.
“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear every hour since we started in this direction.”
“And yet here we are, days away from the safety of the palace.”
“I’m perfectly safe. I brought my First Advisor with me and he’s a fearsome sorcerer. Also I brought the head of my army, and he’s a soldier of extreme prowess.”
General Merros Dulver, the very head of her army, coughed into his hand to avoid saying anything he’d regret.
Desh was not as generous. “Yes, leaving the City of Wonders half defenseless in these trying times.”
“You have your trusted Sisters watching over the city. Merros left other generals to yell at the troops and keep them in line. I have faith in your trusted aides. More than you have, apparently.”
Pella, Goriah and Tataya were the three “Sisters” to Desh Krohan, powerful sorcerers in their own right. Any one of them was a considerable threat. All three together were a force of nature in Nachia’s eyes. Desh raised his hands in either mock surrender or disgust. His lean face remained neutral, so it was hard to say.
The Temmis Pass lay before them. The easiest and safest route into the New Trecharch valley, it was also the only route where their supplies could come with them. Nachia spurred her horse forward and started moving. The man leading the Imperial Guard got the hint and called for the retinue of ten soldiers before her and ten after to move as well. The small caravan rolled on, and whatever other complaints Desh might have considered were pushed aside for the moment.
He had already argued that as Empress she was too important to risk. She had countered with the simple fact that as Empress she’d listen to her advisors and then make her own decisions. That had been the way of things since she’d taken the throne and she saw no reason for change. She could sit in her palace and wait for information or she could see for herself. It had been five years since the war with the Sa’ba Taalor had come to an end. In that time, she had heard little from New Trecharch and, as she was the ruler of the empire, she meant to rectify that.
Still, her stomach fluttered at a hundred touches of ice as she thought about the people they were about to encounter.
It was possible that of all the countries in Fellein, Trecharch had suffered the greatest losses. The Sa’ba Taalor had burned and cut down everything in their path as they swarmed through the area murdering people, cutting down the Mother-Vine and leaving ruination in the path that was worse than any other part of the empire experienced. The Mother-Vine took care of rebuilding itself. It moved to a new location because the old one was now home to one of the gods of their enemies.
Slightly over five years had passed and the jungle she descended into looked like it had been growing for centuries. Trees towered above them, gigantic and weathered. Deep foliage hid the sun from the ground under a cooling green canopy. Birds of all kinds sang in the deep forest, and creatures moved through the places where eyes could not see, making their own cacophony of noises. Truly Trecharch lived again, despite the impossibility of so much growth.
Merros caught up with her but said nothing. His eyes looked carefully at their surroundings and he was rigid with tension.
“Why are you so worried?”
“There are people watching us, Majesty. Tends to make me nervous when I am severely outnumbered.”
Even as he spoke their watchers became more obvious. The people came out of the woods, or rather let themselves be seen. Stepping from behind foliage and barriers hidden by more greenery, until nearly a hundred people stood before the imperial retinue.
She was surprised by the number of weapons aimed in their direction. The war, it seemed, had left the survivors with a strong desire to never lose at combat again. She could understand that notion well enough.
After several moments of staring, one of the watchers stepped forward. He was a tall, lean man with a hard face and salt and pepper hair. His beard was close cropped, and his expression was very carefully neutral. He wore clothes that were designed to blend in with the trees, swirling patterns of brown and gray and green.
“Good day. How may we help you, travelers?”
Nachia was perfectly capable of speaking for herself. That did not stop Desh Krohan from beating her to it. When he spoke his voice rang darkly and, though she did not turn to look, Nachia knew that he had drawn up the mantle of his cloak and his face was buried in shadows. When he wanted to be impressive, the First Advisor could be positively terrifying. Sorcery aided that image and the cloak itself was stronger than the very finest armor ever made.
“The Empress Nachia Krous, the supreme authority of Fellein, calls upon the denizens of New Trecharch to welcome her and show her to the rulers of this land.”
The bearded speaker nodded his head and beckoned an androgynous youth to his side. He spoke quietly, and the youth nodded and then jogged deeper into the woods.
“The Empress was not expected. Arrangements are being made, and, of course, rooms will be prepared.” The man spoke calmly enough. There were many who were intimidated by her title alone, but he was not one of them. That suited her just fine. She’d long since grown tired of people who were impressed by titles, except when they expedited matters.
The man snapped his fingers and the hundred or so soldiers facing Nachia and her retinue snapped to attention. As a unit they bowed formally and Nachia acknowledged the bow with a nod of her head.
Merros muttered under his breath. “Nice to see a little proper behavior.” He said it mostly in jest and she knew it, because the soldiers surrounding them had been obligated to stop aiming in their direction while they bowed. Mostly they held bows, spears and arrows, but whatever the weapons there had been a lot of death aimed their way.
“I’m Marten, the watch commander. Welcome to Trecharch.” The spokesman pointed. “If you’ll follow me we’ll see about a place for you to rest before you meet with the queen.” He spoke casually enough, but his eyes stayed locked on Desh Krohan, confirming her suspicions about the great hood covering her First Advisor’s head.
It was less than an hour later before Merros, Desh and Nachia were ushered into the chamber where the queen of New Trecharch waited.
In the past, in the original Trecharch, the queen had been in a more traditional palace. The chambers where they met her were palatial, true enough, but appeared to have grown straight up from the ground and the Mother-Vine alike. The walls were alive, as were the floor and ceiling around them. Everything smelled of fresh, green wood. The furnishings were more traditional, which was probably a necessary evil, really. A chair that was grown from the ground would be hard-pressed to move enough to accommodate a sitting visitor if still attached to a root system.
Queen Tully seemed to have grown into the part she was given despite her own misgivings. At one time she’d carried the spirit of the Mother-Vine inside her body and she’d seemed half-wild. Now she stood erect and carried herself with the proper dignity. Shoulders squared, long, graceful neck straight, and her once short hair now flowed down to her shoulders and beyond.
“Welcome to Trecharch. It’s good to see all of you.” The young woman smiled and came closer, her expression warm and natural. While half of her advisors and a good number of others in the court would have been horrified by the lack of formalities, Nachia was delighted. She dealt with the bowing and the titles every day and found them tedious. Instead of following traditional protocol or waiting to be called forward with a fanfare of announcements, Tully came straight over to them and offered a friendly embrace. She did not move in to hug anyone, but instead stood with her arms open and a genuine enthusiasm for the people she saw.
Nachia took the plunge and offered a gentle clasp. Merros followed suit and finally Desh lowered his hood and smiled just as brightly as she had ever seen.
There was no royal retinue. The queen entered the chambers by herself and stayed alone.
As if sensing what Nachia was thinking, Tully responded with, “I don’t always like ears listening to my words.” She leaned in closer. “The Empress comes to see me, I suspect she might like the same courtesy.”
Nachia said, “I’m really only here to see how you’re settling in. I think it’s important to keep contact.” Desh snorted, but said nothing. Nachia ignored him.
“I’ve long since made myself at home. What choice did I have? The Mother-Vine chose me.” Which was true. Though no one spoke of it, they all knew that Tully normally spent her time within the massive vine, often times slumbering, as the Mother-Vine planned and changed the area. Being away from the special chamber was an exception and far from normal.
“You’ve a stronger military than before,” Merros Dulver spoke softly. He smiled. “I approve.”
Tully’s eyes narrowed. “The Sa’ba Taalor still exist. That’s all the reason we need.”
“That’s one of the reasons we have mandatory military service.”
Tully nodded. “Three years for the empire. Four years for Trecharch.”
“That’s long service.”
“That’s the price of war.” Tully shrugged.
“Do you think the Sa’ba Taalor will attack again?”
“I have little doubt.” She looked him in the eyes when she spoke, which was different from before she was made queen. The shyness was gone. One could not rule and remain skittish. The two did not sit well together.
Merros nodded and Tully continued, “The Mother-Vine says war is inevitable and so we prepare.”
“I agree with the Mother-Vine.” Nachia shrugged. They would stay for a while, possibly even the night, but soon they’d be on the way back to Canhoon. What she needed to know she now understood.
“The Sa’ba Taalor are not alone. There is another source for the coming conflict, one the Mother-Vine does not see clearly.”
Nachia reconsidered. Perhaps they would stay an extra day. The Mother-Vine, like all gods, it seemed, was being vague and finding the answer would take time.
Whistler
The day was dying in Goltha, but that hardly mattered at the moment. “Why do they call you the Whistler?” She spoke softly, her face half-buried in a pillow and her large, dark eyes wide in the fading light of the day.
Whistler smiled and leaned in close, nuzzling her ear softly. “Just Whistler. No ‘the’. Because it was my job, wasn’t it? Back before the war I was lookout for a group of lads that did their own business. I’d special calls for them. One for if the Inquisitors were coming, another if the king’s men were nearby. A third for the City-Guard. A fourth to just get them to run from the area.”
“What stopped you?”
“The gray skins. Killed most of the boys I was working with.” That was the truth of it. The Sa’ba Taalor hadn’t been at all picky over who they killed. They’d burned down everyone they couldn’t flat out cut apart, and whoever was left when they were done found themselves homeless and called themselves lucky. The war had been as unkind as the City-Guard on a particularly bad day.
“What’s your real name, then?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He kissed a line along her neck and moved his hands over her body. She sighed contentedly and played along. Whistler almost never used his real name. It had no meaning for him. Like everything else from before the gray skins, it was effectively ashes and tasted like the same whenever he heard it.
For a time, she distracted him too much to consider his names, or the ways of the world.
“Well then, what’s my name?” She rolled over and looked up at him and issued a silent challenge.
“Auretta.”
“You remembered.” She laughed and put her arms around his neck, drawing him closer.
“I always remember the important things, my lovely.” He chuckled and kissed her mouth and for a time they forgot all about conversation.
Long after they were done, Auretta nuzzled close and drifted in and out of slumber, buoyed on a river of dreams, he supposed.
Whistler listened to the night and the sounds it made. There were other sounds, too – voices, but he knew perfectly well that they were only memories, or dreams trying to capture his attention. At least that was what he tried to tell himself.
He should have been content. He should have been perfectly happy with the beautiful girl in his bed and the money in his purse, and the food on his table, but he wanted more. Needed more. He just wasn’t sure where he needed to be looking yet.
“Soon enough,” he whispered to himself.
Out in the night, in the darkness, a man with too many blades and a mission to end a life wandered down the street. They would meet when the time was right, and not one minute sooner.
CHAPTER TWO
Trigan Garth
Trigan Garth rode slowly toward the rocky outcropping, not in the least bit hurried to reach his destination. He had listened to the fool’s requests and came here now to sate his curiosity.
The fool continued on with him but now rode closer. “This is as far as I go.” Koder had traveled half of Fellein with him, leading him to this location, and while he was not particularly fond of the man, he had grown accustomed to his companionship.
“Why?”
“There are others like you that I have to find before the Sa’ba Taalor hunt them down.” He turned his horse, ready to go back the other way. “Many of them have gone a great distance. That means I have to travel just as far.”
Trigan said nothing more but nodded and drove forward. If this was a trap it was an elaborate one. If not, there was money to be made and glory to be had. The Sa’ba Taalor had little use for money, but he could find ways to spend what he earned.
