Chaosmage (27 page)

The sounds of chaos filtering down from above were beginning to fade. The fight was nearly over. He was almost out of time.

Turning back to the corpse Kai flipped the body over onto its back. Plunging the dagger into the man's chest he sliced open the flesh, pulled the wound wide with both hands and rooted around inside for the parasite.

By the time Tammy made it back into the courtyard the fight was almost finished. The defenders heavily outnumbered any Forsaken in sight and were now working in pairs to take them down. What the local people lacked in skill they certainly made up for in heart as they battered and beat their enemy to the floor.

Several injured people were lying on the ground, and a few more had been knocked unconscious, but they were being tended to by the priests. Under the direction of Alyssa the injured were carried into the main building.

As Tammy made it to the top of the stairs she saw something in the street that made everyone on the wall spontaneously cheer. The Forsaken were retreating. Many were running and others dragging themselves and the wounded away.

“We need to stop them,” said Zannah. “Otherwise they'll just come back again when they're healed.”

“There could be more waiting for us,” warned Balfruss, using a strip of cloth to clean the gore off his axe. He had blood spattered across his face and clothes but either he hadn't noticed or didn't care. All of his attention was focused on the axe.

“He's right,” said Tammy.

“I could go after them,” suggested Zannah.

“No,” said Alyssa, coming up the stairs. “The fighting is done for tonight. Now it's time to celebrate our victory.”

Zannah ground her teeth but said nothing. She looked down the wall and, following her gaze, Tammy saw that the local people looked happy. They had stood their ground and won. For the first time in years the people of Voechenka had faced an invading enemy and driven them back.

“Don't rob them of this,” whispered Alyssa. “We both know tomorrow night will be worse.”

“As you wish,” said Zannah. “But I will finish those left behind.”

This time when the Morrin went over the wall to behead the injured Forsaken, Tammy noticed the defenders didn't look away. Their smiles stayed in place despite the horrors they had just witnessed.

Just as Zannah made it back to the top of the wall, and the first bottles of wine were being passed around, a sound reached Tammy's ears. It took a few seconds for the others to hear but gradually the sounds of merriment faded until silence gripped the camp again.

It didn't take long before the others heard it as well. People were screaming and fire blossomed on the horizon as another base was attacked by the Forsaken.

W
hile some of the soldiers were getting annoyed or complaining about the snow, Tom couldn't stop grinning. The last few years had fallen away and once more he was sat around a campfire with his old friend Hargo. Even when a trickle of snow ran down the back of his neck, it couldn't dampen his spirits. He shifted closer to the fire, warming his feet, and sipped his mug of tea.

Captain Rees had been delighted when Tom and two hundred Seve warriors showed up at his garrison. His men had too much ground to cover and they were already exhausted from trying to hold the line. Vargus had not given him many details about what was trying to escape from Voechenka, but Rees held nothing back. The Forsaken sounded horrific and Tom could see why Vargus had called on him for help. He wondered if Vargus had known he would find an old friend among the crowd of Seve warriors.

In the light of the sputtering campfire Tom studied Hargo's battered face. He had a few more scars, a few more lines around the eyes, but little else had changed. When he'd thought of asking the Brotherhood for help, he'd never imagined that he would meet someone from his old life.

“What happened?” asked Tom, stirring Hargo from his doze. “Where did you go after the war?”

“Home,” said Hargo, sounding wistful. “Thought I could settle back into my old life in Tyrnon. Zera welcomed me back as well. It was good.”

“What changed?”

“Me. After all that I'd seen, good and bad, I couldn't go back to sitting idle. Zera said I'd done my part and that others would take their turn.” Hargo forced a smile, trying to pretend that it didn't hurt, but they both knew different.

Tom had felt much the same. The idea of raising cattle and following in his father's footsteps hadn't appealed to him much before the war. Afterwards, it was the last thing he wanted.

“There was no going back, not after what we'd seen,” he said aloud and Hargo nodded.

“I tried, but in the end I had to leave. It was making us both miserable.” Hargo wiped at his face and Tom pretended the big man was brushing snow out of his eyes. “I travelled for a bit, working here and there, but in the end I came back to the Queen's army. I'm home with the Brotherhood,” he said, gesturing at the surrounding campfires. “Look at you, though,” said Hargo. “From rich boy to royalty.”

It was Tom's turn to force a smile. At first it had felt like the worst kind of trap. He'd ignored letters from his father for years, but when a summons came from the palace he couldn't refuse. Tom had done his best to distance himself from his family name and all of the responsibilities that came with it. But there were some duties that went beyond those to his family.

Alliances were made and deals struck between his father and other Lords in the south of Seveldrom. In return, the country remained well fed and well supplied with leather for armour, and the Queen got herself a husband.

To say that their first meeting had gone badly would be putting it mildly. Over time they'd grown close, but it had taken a long while before they found anything in common.

“I can honestly say I never imagined I'd be here,” said Tom, scratching at his stubble. He'd have to shave the beard before he got back home. She wasn't fond of facial hair.

“Rider coming in,” said someone to Tom's left. Thoughts of his wife and son were pushed away as Tom drew his sword. All around him warriors were pulling on helmets and strapping on shields.

“What's happening?” asked Tom. It felt peculiar not knowing what was going on. He'd grown used to being among the decision makers but now he was back on the front line. The information would come in time, but first there would be orders that he and the others would be expected to follow without question. It was both irritating and a relief to have someone else making the decisions.

“Kasha, on Tom's left,” said Hargo, to a scarred redhead. She grunted and picked up her
battle
-
axe
, a
vicious
-
looking
weapon with two blades. “I'm on his right. You two, stay back unless you're needed. You're not part of the Brotherhood.”

The royal guards didn't like him fighting alongside the others but Tom had insisted. He wasn't in any immediate danger and was also surrounded by two hundred veterans. No one knew he was there and the Forsaken would have no reason to target him specifically. Now all he had to worry about was getting killed at random or because he did something stupid. The royal guards were there, just in case, to save him from himself.

Captain Rees himself approached Tom, looking more worried than usual. “Rider spotted a large group of men and women moving this way. Maybe a hundred.”

“Are they Forsaken or refugees?” asked Tom.

“They're all armed, and there's something wrong with their faces. It's them.”

“Have they ever done this before?”

“No.”

“Then why now?”

“They must be desperate. Or something has changed in the city. Get ready.” Captain Rees moved away without another word and the story was spread from one squad to the next.

The snow continued to drift down, making it difficult to see more than a dozen paces in every direction. Tom could just about make out blurry spots of colour where fires were burning in the distance.

“Everyone grab a torch,” said Hargo. Each warrior took a flaming branch from the fire, which they held aloft, trying to drive back the gloom and see the enemy before they were too close.

Dozens of shadowy figures appeared ahead, shuffling forward with a peculiar gait. When they stepped into the light from the torches they stopped. In the gloom Tom could just make out their surprised expressions. Instead of a handful of tired warriors from Shael they were facing two hundred grizzled Seves. Captain Rees was right about there being something wrong with their faces. The skin was purple in places as if bruised, and black veins pulsed beneath the surface. It didn't matter. Vargus had told Tom he had to stop them escaping from Voechenka and that's what he would do.

“All right, let's see what colour these fuckers bleed!” said Hargo, raising his shield. With a mighty roar he led the charge and Tom added his voice to the din as he raced towards the enemy.

Strong as they'd been, possessed by whatever dark magic or devilry, the Forsaken had died like any other. Outnumbered two to one they'd fought like cornered rats but in the end it made no difference.

Tom managed not to do anything stupid, like getting himself killed. He'd even managed to kill two of the Forsaken, with some help from Hargo. In the aftermath of the fight he experienced a sense of belonging he'd not felt in years since the war. As he shared a smile with those around him Tom could see why the big man felt at home in such company. He felt it too, the bond between them, and yet his first thought was when he'd next see his wife and son.

He'd changed more than he realised. Hargo was right. You couldn't go back.

Under strict orders from Captain Rees the bodies were beheaded and then piled up, soaked in oil and burned. Thankfully the wind was blowing away from where Tom and the others made camp, tending their wounds and cleaning weapons. As he shared a skin of ale with Hargo and others around the campfire, Tom glanced over his shoulder into the hazy snow.

He didn't expect to see anyone out there and was surprised when a single figure emerged from the shadows. A shout built up in his throat until he saw the man's face. Vargus smiled then raised his hand in farewell before disappearing into the falling snow.

“Do you think they'll come back?” asked Hargo.

“No, I think our work here is done,” said Tom, feeling confident that the Brotherhood was no longer needed in Voechenka. He considered telling the big man about Vargus but quickly changed his mind. The Brotherhood was doing just fine without him and Tom knew they would always be there if he needed them again.

F
enne stared at the distant wisps of smoke rising from the ruins of what had once been another mercenary camp. At first light he'd sent a dozen men to check the ruins for anything they could salvage. At first all they'd found were blackened stones, charred timbers and a few scattered lumps of bone and burned human meat. Every other body in the camp was gone. They'd left behind clothes, food, blankets and weapons, which his mercenaries brought back with them. Fenne had enough weapons to arm everyone in his camp twice over. Not that it would make a difference.

This morning the sky was so blue it hurt his eyes and, even worse, there was no cloud or wind. The smoke from the fallen base hung over the city like a black cloud of doom that would not disperse. The air was bitingly cold and frost glittered on hard surfaces like a scattering of diamonds.

As Fenne moved around the former temple grounds he noticed the changes in how people were reacting to him. Some were subtle, sly glances from eye corners, where before the local people had not dared look at him at all. Others were far more direct and showed a clear lack of respect. A few of the mercenaries didn't stand up when he approached or even stop what they were doing and acknowledge his presence. Occasionally their answers to his questions were terse and bordering on insolent.

So far, they'd continued to follow his orders, but he suspected it was only because they hadn't decided how to get rid of him. He knew they were planning something. But in a city with few choices and little to gain from being in charge, no one was willing to take on his responsibility. Not just yet anyway. It would happen though, and very soon. Someone would step forward and try to wrestle control from him. Then they would have a target painted on their back.

It had all started to change with that woman. The Seve fighter. Her victory and insolence in front of everyone had led to others thinking they could show him disrespect. Her presence had infected everyone, and some of the mercenaries, like that weasel Kovac and his friends, had supported her from the beginning. Perhaps they'd hoped she would end up in charge and make everything better.

Fenne had done his best to stamp it out. He'd made a public spectacle when getting rid of Kovac, forcing him out as night fell to send a clear message to the others. They should have been more afraid of him after that, but for some reason it hadn't worked. In fact, somehow, it made things worse. A lot of people had liked Kovac, although he didn't know why. So far he'd not come back as one of the Forsaken, but it was only a matter of time. When Kovac tried to drag one of his old friends away they would soon forget.

Fenne completed his circuit of the base and his eyes alighted on one of the local women. She was just skin and bone, they all were like that after being in the camps, but this one still held a vague shadow of beauty. When she saw Fenne staring at her she should have cowered or run away. She knew what was coming and should've been afraid for her life. Instead she lifted her chin and glared at him. She dared to openly defy him. Fenne was so surprised he turned away, pretending he hadn't noticed her. Even the former slaves were rebelling.

The war had been a glorious time. He'd indulged in such wonderful sport here in Voechenka, pitting the locals against each other for money. Feasting on the best food and wine until his stomach was swollen and his head swimming. At one point he'd fought and killed until he became lost in a blood haze, only to emerge days later to find himself surrounded by a sea of bodies. When the war ended he'd stayed behind and thought the best time in his life would continue.

Now the country was a rotting corpse and he was just another maggot crawling through decaying flesh, looking for nourishment.

Two bases had been destroyed in two nights and only four remained, including his. One of those was protected by that traitorous hag, Zannahrae. Fenne ground his teeth and spat, feeling his temper flare as he thought about her. She'd betrayed her country. She'd hunted down her own people, choosing to side with the
yellow
-
skinned
slaves. Fenne started to shake with anger as he remembered stumbling across the butchered corpses of his friends.

Someone said something behind him and in a rage he span around and lashed out. It was one of the local women, offering him some breakfast as she did every morning. The woman went flying and so did his food, landing in the dirt.

The woman's wounded expression made him even more furious. It was almost as if she expected him to apologise. Drawing his axe Fenne brought it down on the woman's head, splitting her skull open and spraying brains and blood everywhere. Howling in rage he hacked away at the woman but she'd been dead from the first blow. The fire was still burning inside and he didn't feel satisfied. Even now, as he started to force himself to calm down, everyone was staring. Fenne was used to that, but he wasn't used to seeing disappointment in their eyes.

That doused him in cold water and helped make his decision. He cleaned his axe on the woman's clothing and stormed back to his room. After pulling on his armour, he stalked towards the gate.

“Open it,” he said to the men lurking nearby. When one of them hesitated, Fenne moved towards him, and the man quickly leapt into action. Another few seconds and Fenne would have thrown him into the pit.

They were probably wondering why he was going out into the city. He'd not done it in weeks and never went alone. If they thought he was going to make it easy for them they would be sorely disappointed.

“Do you want us to come with you?” asked one of the few who were still loyal.

“No. I need you to wait here and make sure they let me back in.”

Fenne didn't wait for a response. It would be a sign of weakness and it was critical he showed none at this stage. He needed the mercenaries to think that he remained unaware of their disloyalty.

The gates were cranked open and the gangplank laid out. Fenne walked across the pit as the plank was settling and marched down the street without looking back. He headed west to the end of the street and paused after turning the corner. In the heavy shadows between two tall buildings he took a moment to calm his frayed nerves and get his bearings. It had been some time since he'd last explored the city and several buildings had fallen down in the interim.

He travelled east and stuck to narrow streets until he was certain no one from the temple walls could see where he was going. After that, Fenne strolled down
once
-
grand
avenues that were now nothing more than dirty and barren pathways that echoed with the sound of his footsteps. There was nothing else to hear in every direction. No birds or dogs barking. No merchants standing in doorways shouting about their wares. No priests on street corners bragging about theirs being the one true god. Not even the trickle of water in the fountains. They were empty, rusting and forlorn like everything else in sight. The whole city had become a ghost town that reeked of despair and abandonment.

Further to the
north
-
east
Fenne smelled the lake, but he turned away from it and angled deeper into the city. No one had come to this area in months. There was no reason to come here. At least that's what everyone said and what they told themselves. The rumours said this was where it had all begun. Where the first of the Forsaken had abducted someone during the cold winter after the war. Whether it was true or not, some sort of disease had swept through the neighbourhood and lots of people started to die and disappear. It seemed like a good place to start his search for them.

After that many locals had fled the city, trying to outrun whatever stalked them in their homes. Others stayed behind and fought on but it proved pointless. They'd all died until no one wanted to live here. Until only death stalked the streets. Even the criminals moved out. It should have made a perfect hideout for them. An entire area with no patrols and no law, where they could live like kings in homes full of luxury. But even the rats knew when it was time to flee, and the killers and thieves had scurried away.

Fenne stopped in front of a huge mansion with two columns on either side of the front door. This was where he'd lived for a time. Now it was a rotting husk, stripped bare of anything that could be sold, burned or melted down. Glimpsed through the open doorway it now resembled a mausoleum.

Without him realising it, his feet began to drag and a prickle of fear became something else. A cold hand on the back of his neck. A gnawing sensation, telling him to turn around and leave. Next came the smell. A sulphurous stench of rotting eggs, decaying flesh and rivers of shit. The further he went the worse it became until it clogged his senses and he felt as if he were tasting it with every breath.

Finally his feet stopped of their own accord, as though he'd walked into a solid barrier.

“I want to talk,” he tried to say, but nothing more than a croak emerged. Fenne tried to wet his lips but found his mouth was horribly dry. He couldn't summon any spit and even though his heart was racing there was no sweat on his skin. All of the moisture in his body had abandoned him. He struggled to speak as the silence of the city pressed down on him. The stench filled his nose and mouth and all of his senses were screaming at him to turn back.

He tried to cry out in defiance but made no sound. He would not turn back. He would not be bested by this sorcery. It was all in his mind. Going back would mean sitting and waiting to die. Waiting for someone to stab him in the back or cut his throat while he slept. He would not be hunted again. Zannahrae had stalked all of them, but only he had survived. He would not go back to living in fear like that.

Pulling up his right sleeve Fenne bit into the flesh of his forearm until the blood flowed, wetting his mouth.

“I am here!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone façades of the
once
-
great
homes. “Here!” he shouted again. Blood trickled down his arm and dripped off his fingers onto the street. The arid ground greedily drank up his offering as the blood quickly disappeared into the cracks between the stones.

The feeling of being watched increased and the stench of filth diminished slightly. He sensed movement at his left eye corner and turning that way saw something flitting around inside one of the buildings. There was more movement to his right and then all around as the itch between his shoulder blades increased. He was dimly aware that several pairs of eyes were staring at him.

He licked the blood from his arm to wet his mouth before speaking again.

“I'm here to make an offer.”

“Why would we need anything from you?” asked a sibilant whisper. A
golden
-
skinned
local woman with short red hair sauntered towards him. She was plump with rosy cheeks and her lazy swagger showed how at ease she felt. Part of Fenne itched to take off her head to teach her a lesson. But he could feel the others watching even if he couldn't see them.

“I want protection. I want to live, without being changed.”

The woman came close enough to touch him but Fenne didn't flinch or turn his head as she circled him. He knew she was looking him up and down like a cow at the meat market, trying to assess his worth.

“I should just take you now. Make you one of us.” Fenne said nothing and kept staring straight ahead, ignoring the rising tide of emotions the woman brought to the surface. Some of it came from him, but there was some outside force at work in his mind. He could feel it dragging its nails through the shadowy parts of his memory, pulling the worst to the surface for inspection. The woman chuckled at something and continued to walk around him, trailing a finger across his shoulders. Maybe she delighted in the things he had done, or perhaps she laughed because she thought him foolish. Without the others to protect her from his wrath she would not laugh. She would scream and beg him for mercy.

“Once you feel the Embrace, you will thank me.”

“I am here to make a deal, in return for my safety.”

“Tell me, Morrin man, what do you have to offer?” asked the Forsaken. “What do you think you can give us that we cannot take?”

Fenne's sneer made her pause in her endless circuit. “How many die every night? How many heads do you lose?” The woman said nothing but he could see she was listening, her head cocked to one side like a stupid dog. She was that. A lapdog for whoever was really in charge. “In two nights you have taken two of the remaining camps. I wondered why at first, but the answer was not hard to find. The city is dead. There is nothing left to claim. Desperation forces you to attack. But the cost of taking each camp is high.”

“We have enough to destroy you.”

Fenne laughed in her face because he already knew he'd won. “No, you don't. Or we wouldn't be talking. You would have claimed me already.”

The woman was quiet for a long time but eventually she stopped directly in front of him. There was now a stiffness to her posture and her eyes were pinched. “I am listening.”

“You will not claim me. In return I will work with you.”

“And what do you offer?”