The Grim Company (36 page)

‘The city was in chaos. The mages fought back, as you might expect, which gathered support for an uprising. This particular area was a hotbed of unrest.’ She looked up and down the dirty streets. ‘I was one of the loudest calling for change. I was in my early twenties then, in love with one of the ringleaders of the rebellion.’

She stared at the busted door hanging off its hinges. This time there was a hint of emotion in her voice. ‘My parents were loyalists. They wanted no trouble. When the revolt was in full swing and there was fighting out on the streets, out
here
’ – she gestured, sweeping her hand around to take in the filthy row of houses – ‘my lover convinced me to let his gang into my home. He knew I was sympathetic to the rebellion and assumed my family were the same. They demanded my father and brother join them in fighting the soldiers.’

Eremul sat and listened in silence. It wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter, but hearing this cold-blooded Augmentor reveal her past was oddly compelling. Besides, she seemed to be finding the experience cathartic. He hoped that boded well for his continued existence when she got around to deciding what to do with him.

‘My family… exchanged harsh words with the rebels. My brother took a knife in the throat. That set my father off. He, too, was murdered while my lover held me back. I screamed and kicked but he wouldn’t let me go.’

Goodlady Cyreena went silent for a time. There was a strange glint in her eyes now. ‘My lover dragged me from the house as his friends raped my sister. She was little more than a child.’

Eremul fancied he saw a tear, though it could have been a trick of the light.
I suppose I should be grateful I’m paralysed
, he thought.
I might be expected to rise from my chair and give her a supportive hug. That would be awkward for both of us.

The Augmentor blinked and suddenly her momentary vulnerability was gone. ‘My lover was cut down by soldiers barely a second after we stepped out of the house. I was arrested and released a few weeks later. When I returned, I found my mother had committed suicide. My sister was nowhere to be seen. I never learned what became of her.’

She turned to him and crossed her arms in front of her ample chest. ‘Civilization functions only because strong men do not permit weaker men to indulge their baser instincts. Freedom and liberty are the means by which anarchy reigns – and anarchy is the natural state for men to freely express the evil that lurks within them. Within all of them. Within
you
,’ she added, staring down at him with an expression that froze his blood.

This woman is insane.

‘I was young and naive. I am no longer that person. I no longer answer to the same name. There is but one man I believe in, and he is no man at all. He is a
god
.’

She bent down so her face was close to his. ‘Feel no sorrow for those you betray,’ she said softly. ‘Embrace what you do. You serve Salazar, whose wisdom is beyond reproach by the likes of us. Do not lament the loss of your legs. Instead, celebrate the fact they have liberated you from the evil you would have otherwise committed. You are half a man – yet by virtue of that simple fact, you possess only half the evil of a man.’

She turned away from Eremul and so, fortunately for him, didn’t see the look of pure poison he shot her.
Batshit insane. She’s batshit insane.

The Augmentor looked up at the sinking sun. Evening was near. ‘I will bring the books we gathered to the Obelisk,’ she said. ‘You can make your way home in your own time. The paralysis shouldn’t last much longer.’

Goodlady Cyreena walked away without a backward glance.

It was growing dark by the time he recovered enough feeling in his arms to begin wheeling himself up the side street and back towards the depository. This was the worst day he could remember since the Obelisk dungeons had changed his life, and that was no small feat – there was the time he had fallen out of his chair while taking a shit and wallowed in his own excrement for six hours waiting for Isaac to return, to name but one possible contender.

He wondered what had become of Isaac and the rest of the small band that had set off for the Wailing Rift two weeks past. The ship sent up Deadman’s Channel to investigate the collapsed mine had failed to discover any sign of the saboteurs. That gave him hope they were still alive. Despite his maddening enthusiasm and annoying knack for effortlessly picking up new skills, Isaac had proved a loyal assistant.

Lost in sudden melancholy, he didn’t realize how close he had come to the harbour until he heard the sound of lapping water below. His curiosity got the better of him and he wheeled his chair out until he overlooked the vast expanse of water. The cleaning operation was winding down for the night. Crew were disembarking all around him. He gazed out, amusing himself with the thought of Isaac and the others slipping furtively through the detritus of floating corpses on their tiny sailing boat, wondering what disaster had befallen the city in their absence.

An odd noise suddenly caught his attention. It almost sounded like a baby crying, and it came from somewhere below him. He peered down into the murky water.

There
. A tiny bundle fidgeted pathetically on a small piece of flotsam bobbing towards him. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching and then, with a brief unveiling of magic, he levitated the twitching figure up to drift slowly into his arms.

It was a dog – a scrawny little thing with patchy grey fur and drooping ears. It watched him nervously with watery brown eyes.

Eremul felt something strange stir within him. This poor creature had somehow lived through the absolute destruction of its city. Even more miraculously, it had survived a voyage across the Broken Sea clinging to a fragile piece of furniture.

The dog leaned forwards and licked his nose. He flinched away, then reached forwards and patted its head.
We’re the same, you and I
, he thought.
A pair of mongrels, cast adrift, clinging to whatever we can to make it through the day.

He remembered what Goodlady Cyreena had said to him.
You’re like an abused dog that still tongues his master’s arse hoping for a pat on the head.

The Augmentor had been wrong about that. He had saved Salazar’s life only because his own had depended on it. He would have his vengeance when the time was right, when the old bastard least expected it. He wasn’t like her – a broken, vicious, evil thing. All right, perhaps he was broken and occasionally vicious, but evil? He patted the dog on the head again.

Would an evil man rescue a stranded animal from certain death? I’m taking you back to the depository with me. Hopefully
that crazy bitch has left by now. There’s some offal in the larder if I can get it out. I might even have a tasty leg of pork down there. If you’re a really good boy you can—

‘Argh.’

He jerked back as a warm stream of piss spurted from between the dog’s legs and splashed onto his face, dribbling down his chin and then his robes. Instinctively he thrust the animal away. It slipped from his grasp and he heard the splash as it hit the water below. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and squinted down, searching for any sign of the animal.

It was gone.

He sat there for a time, staring at nothing in particular. Then, very slowly, he turned his chair around and began the lonely journey back to the depository.

The Final Test

 

 

 

‘Left. Right. Thrust.
Good
.’

He turned aside the assassin’s curved dagger, this one thankfully devoid of venom, and stepped back.

His training had been intense, harder than anything he had ever known. Day and night were meaningless in this dark place – it felt as though no sooner had he collapsed on his bedroll than he was being prodded awake again for more countless hours of sparring. He had learned the best spots to stab a man so that he died quickly and quietly. He and the Darkson had stalked each other through the ruined streets of the holy city, both seeking to avoid detection and take the other by surprise. While Cole had yet to get the better of the Shamaathan, the Darkson had commented frequently on his progress.

‘You were a tool,’ the dark-skinned man was telling him now. ‘Rough-edged, unfocused, and yet not without a certain promise. Now you are becoming a weapon.’

‘A weapon,’ Cole repeated. ‘An angel of death.’

The Darkson frowned. ‘That remains to be seen. Your final test awaits you before we are done here. It will test everything you have learned.’

The assassin led him across a wide avenue of collapsed buildings, holding a torch in one gloved hand to light the way. Eventually they came to a jumble of leaning walls that formed a narrow passage. Darkness lay within.

‘The section of ruins ahead is a veritable maze of alleys,’ the Darkson explained. ‘Somewhere within is your target. You are to hunt him down. When you find him, you are to kill him.’

‘Kill him?’ Cole repeated, somewhat uncomfortably. ‘What has he done to deserve death?’

The Darkson paused. ‘Does it matter? He is an enemy of Thelassa.’

Cole thought about this for a moment. He had sunk the boat that had been pursuing the
Redemption
, but that had been full of Watchmen intent on harming him and his fellow escapees. Besides, that had been an almost impersonal act. He had never actually killed a man face to face. Not with steel in hand.

‘What kind of enemy?’ he persisted.

The Shamaathan narrowed his eyes. ‘The worst kind. The kind who would see Thelassa put to the sword.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You told me you were an angel of death.’

‘I’m a hero,’ Cole replied.

The Darkson sighed. ‘The difference between a hero and a killer lies only in the ability of the former to justify every dark deed they perform to anyone who cares to listen. Even themselves.
Especially
themselves.’

‘My father wasn’t like that,’ Cole said. ‘He always did the right thing. He stood up for the weak and oppressed.’

‘As will you,’ the assassin replied. ‘Once you’ve planted Magebane in Salazar’s back and freed Dorminia from his tyranny, then you will have earned the right to call yourself a hero.’

Cole took a deep breath.
I’ll show him I have what it takes
. He drew his dagger and entered the maze.

It was dark, so dark he could see no more than a few feet in front of his face. There was the sound of running water nearby. He continued on down the corridor, took a left turn and then a right. He moved as the Darkson had taught him, on the balls of his feet to avoid making any noise. He heard rats scurrying past him, but he paid them no mind. Somewhere in this sprawling labyrinth was a man who deserved to die.

He had to believe that.

There was a slight flicker of light ahead. He crouched low in the shadows, hugging the wall behind him. He waited. Another slight flicker of light, and then it was gone. He rose and padded softly towards the spot where he had glimpsed the illumination.

He listened. All was silent now, save for the sound of running water, rats squeaking… and yes, there it was, the slight
clank
of an armoured man moving carelessly some distance ahead of him.

He clutched his dagger tighter, following the sound as quietly as he could. The light returned and then grew stronger. Finally, at an intersection where two alleyways met, he located his target.

The man was a good few inches taller than him. He wore bronze chainmail armour and a full helm that covered his head, and carried a longsword in his right hand and a lantern in his left. He was heedless of the racket he made as he turned one way and then the other, holding his blade out before him and raising the lantern to inspect the shadows that surrounded him on all sides.

Cole waited until his target was facing away from him and then crept forwards. He was only a dozen feet away when the armoured warrior suddenly turned and raised the lantern in the air. The young Shard rolled away from the light, concealing himself behind a broken wall that barely rose to his waist. He could hear the warrior moving closer. He held his breath and cursed inwardly. If it came down to a direct confrontation, he would be in a whole lot of trouble.

The light drew nearer and then halted abruptly. The footsteps ceased. He could hear ragged breathing from behind the helm. He tensed, preparing to dive out of the way the instant the warrior charged around the wall.

The light flickered and then suddenly began to recede, the footsteps carrying his target away from him. He released his breath. That had been close.

When he was certain he had not been spotted, he slunk out of his cover. The armoured figure was facing in the opposite direction once again. Cole padded forwards, inching closer and closer. He positioned himself behind his target, so close now he could smell the man’s sweat. There was no margin for error. If he missed his chance the warrior would likely shake him off and run him through. Images from his disastrous confrontation with the Watchmen reminded him of the terrible consequences of failure.