Best Laid Plans (10 page)

‘You’re dead,’ she said. ‘Gaston saw…’

Shader shook his head and moved to make way for the priests coming up the ladder behind him.

Gaston waved Velda away and pulled on his surcoat, leaving his armour heaped on the floor.

‘I-I-I wasn’t lying.’ He shot a look at Rhiannon before rising and to examine Shader. ‘It was Shadrak—the assassin who m-m-murdered my dad.’

‘The lad speaks sooth,’ Maldark said. ‘He pushed past me on the stairway to the crypt. Brave or foolish, ¼tis hard to say, but in any case, he was too late.’

‘The little shogger s-s-stabbed you,’ Gaston said. ‘Right…here.’

Shader batted his hand away. ‘I know. I felt it, and then the demon rolled over me.’

‘Aye,’ Maldark said, ‘’Twas then I grabbed Gaston and fled, though I see it is to my shame.’

‘My spirit was parted from my body,’ Shader said. He couldn’t blame any of them. They’d already shown more courage than he could imagine staying as long as they did. ‘I thought I was in Araboth, walking amongst the Luminaries.’

Ioana folded her arms and cocked her head. ‘You were dreaming?’

Shader sat on a beam and pulled his hat off, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. He flicked a look at Rhiannon. Her lips were working, her eyes moist, her fingers clenching and unclenching. He couldn’t tell if she was relived, confused, or angry. It was easier just to look away and answer Ioana. ‘I wish I had been.’

There was a hushed expectancy, as if nothing could surprise them anymore. Shader was starting to feel that his was the only world view to be turned on its head.

‘The Statue of Eingana and the Sword of the Archon combined to drive off the creature. When it was cast back into the Abyss I fell with it.’

He took a deep breath and hurried on, not wishing to dwell on the images of the Luminaries warping and melting, twisting into creatures of nightmare.

Maldark was watching him through narrowed eyes. ‘I have passed through the Abyss,’ the dwarf said. ‘There are few who come out again. How didst thou manage it?’

‘I had help,’ Shader said. ‘The Archon bought me some time…’

Ioana touched her forehead. ‘The Archon? But he’s…’

‘Real,’ Shader said. ‘As are so many of the myths. The sword really is his gift to Aeterna. I’d always thought it a fraud. He couldn’t free me, though. The Abyss seems inimical to him.’

Ioana nodded, her focus far away. ‘It is the abode of his brother. The two are like oil and water, it is said. Light and darkness.’

Shader became aware of the tightening of his stomach. He doubled over on his perch and grimaced. ‘Do you have any food? It feels like I’ve not eaten for days.’

Cadris scurried about the attic as the others seated themselves in a semi-circle about Shader like children awaiting a ghost-story.

Shader looked up and fixed his eyes on Rhiannon. ‘Sammy came for me,’ he said. ‘He brought me out of the Abyss.’

She shook her head, her brow creased with strain. ‘Sammy? He’s OK? How…?’

Cadris passed Shader a crust of stale bread and a cup of dirty water. Shader nodded his thanks, but kept his eyes locked to Rhiannon’s.

‘Huntsman still has him. I think he’s changing the boy. He has new powers.’

‘Shog that!’ Rhiannon stood, hands on her hips. The Liber fell to the floor in a heap of creased pages.

Velda pushed her spectacles back on the bridge of her nose and dropped to her knees. She scooped up the book as if it were a sickly child and clutched it to her breast. Ioana touched a hand to her shoulder and offered a weak smile.

‘He also speaks with the Archon,’ Shader said. ‘The boy is special.’

‘I already know that,’ Rhiannon said. ‘But if you think I’m gonna let that bloody witch doctor take my Sammy…’

‘What do you want to do about it?’ Shader stormed, bread crumbs spraying from his mouth. ‘We’ve all suffered, and there’s bound to be a whole lot more suffering before this is over.’

Rhiannon raised a fist, the knuckles scabby and raw.

Shader frowned. ‘What happened to you?’ He took another bite of bread and did his best to ignore her rising anger.

‘S-S-Shadrak’s face,’ Gaston said. ‘She beat the living c-c-crap out of him.’

‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Shader said. ‘You don’t want to mess with a Kwane.’

Gaston laughed. ‘Shog, no. Those udder-pumping arms s-s-sure pack a wallop.’

Rhiannon sniggered, her eyes glinting. Shader smiled, and for an instant the three were as they’d always been, utterly familiar and happy in each other’s company. But then Rhiannon turned away, her arms wrapped tightly about her chest. Gaston lowered his head and moved to the back of the attic where he accepted some bread from Cadris.

‘Where are the others?’ Shader asked no one in particular. ‘Frater Hugues? Pater Limus?’

‘Limus fell behind in the tunnels,’ Maldark said. ‘We tarried a while to look for him, but there was no sign. Hugues fled when the Dweller appeared. Ain knows where he is. Mayhap he is still at the templum.’

‘I saw no one when I left,’ Shader said, fearing the worst. ‘What about the White Order?’

Gaston looked up from the gloom at the rear of the attic, but said nothing.

‘Barek led them to look for help,’ Rhiannon said over her shoulder. ‘There weren’t enough of them to fight back, and they’d only have drawn attention to the rest of us. If they’re lucky, they’ll link up with the militia.’

‘Or the Imperial troops outside the city,’ Gaston said.

Shader glared at him, but Gaston was looking at the floor, his shoulders bunched up about his ears. ‘They’ll find no help there,’ Shader said. ‘Your attack won’t have been forgotten. One other thing,’ he scanned the group. ‘The serpent statue given to me by Huntsman has been taken.’

‘Must’ve been Shadrak,’ Gaston said.

Rhiannon turned back to face Shader. ‘He came up from the crypt. We thought he’d come to help, though shog knows why. Guess we were too flaming scared to care at the time.’

Shader’s hand went to his back. The wound had healed, but he still felt the pain. ‘I’ll find him.’ He narrowed his eyes and sucked in a long breath through his teeth. ‘But first things first. We have to get word to Barek and see if we can drum up some more support. We can’t let the city fall to Cadman.’

T
he sun dipped below the distant towers of the city centre, leaving streaks of pink and crimson across the darkening sky. Barek spat into a rag and rubbed at the basinet in his lap. He couldn’t really see what he was doing, but that wasn’t the point. He needed to keep busy.

The rest of the White Order knights were sitting around fires dotted about the hilltop at the centre of Lesmallen, Sarum’s easternmost suburb. It was a play area, judging by the wooden climbing frames and the knotted ropes hanging from the branches of trees encircling the camp. Further down the hill he could see the orange glow from the windows of the locals’ cabins. Most had their own smallholdings and allotments; they were doing their best to live apart from the bustle of the city. Probably reckoned themselves amongst the lucky few now.

No one had approached the knights in the two days they’d been in Lesmallen. At best they’d drawn suspicious glances, but mostly they’d been greeted by closed shutters and sullen silence. Lesmallen appeared to have escaped the worst of the plague, but clearly its residents were taking no chances. It was Barek’s guess that the locals thought the White Order was in the vanguard of trouble spreading out from Sarum’s centre like a cancer. Maybe they were right, he thought, but what choice had they had? They’d already lost four more men to the hordes of walking dead as they’d ridden clear of the chaos, and if they fled beyond the city walls, they’d have to answer for the attack on the Imperial troops.

‘That’s my job, milord,’ Dave the Slave said, snatching the basinet from Barek.

The old hunchback had followed them up from Calphon where they’d passed him squatting in the gutter, clearing dead leaves from the drains. Barek shook his head and felt his face tightening in a wry smile as he realized he’d used the nickname the lads had given the bloke on account of his insistence that he do all the menial chores around camp. At first they’d tried to send him away, but when he hung around they’d offered to pay him. Dave would accept nothing. He just kept groaning about penance and touching his brow in the Nousian manner.

‘Sit yourself down, Dave,’ Barek said. ‘You’ve been on the go all day.’

Dave stooped over him and twisted his neck to see better. He was mostly bald, but long strands of hair hung like twine over his shoulders. His forehead was a craggy overhang, the eyes beneath glinting with a feverous intelligence. His face reminded Barek of a horse’s—long chin, flat nose, and lips that were thick and drooping, opening like a clam to reveal the stumps of yellow teeth. He was dressed in a sack-cloth tunic and woollen trousers that stank like the furred-up pig shit Barek’s dad used as compost.

‘The Demiurgos loves an idler,’ Dave muttered, giving the basinet a polish with the hem of his tunic.
‘Ora et labora,
I always says. It’s hard work that paves the mountain path to Araboth. I’ll bring your helmet back in the morning, polished clear as glass. Anything else I can do for you? Nice sizzling sausage? Hunk of crusty bread? How about I groom your horse and pick the grit from her shoes?’

Barek raised a hand and forced a smile. ‘You’ve done more than enough, Dave. Get some rest. You’ll need your strength in the morning.’

Dave’s eyes narrowed and his lips drew back in a snarl. He thrust the basinet under one arm, turned away from Barek and limped towards the camp.

‘Can’t please some people, eh, sir,’ Solomon said, stepping from the gloom like a ghost.

Barek suppressed a pang of irritation. The boy—Solomon had just turned sixteen—had shadowed him ever since the flight from the templum.

‘I was about to grab some kip,’ Barek said, pointedly rolling out his blanket.

Solomon crouched down, eyes fixed on the thin strip of red that was fading from the horizon.

‘Me too, sir. Just thought I’d see if there’s anything you wanted me to do.’

What was it about people wanting to do things for him? Barek gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax.

‘Just get some sleep, Sol. There’ll be plenty to do in the morning.’

Solomon nodded, rocking on his haunches. ‘Sir,’ he drew in a big gulp of air. ‘Back there at the templum…’

‘You did good, Sol. We all did.’

The lad pushed down on his thighs and stood. ‘I was scared, sir. I should’ve helped him—Master Shader.’

Barek had been feeling the same way, but he knew there was nothing they could have done. No matter what ideals of bravery they held, they were only human after all. He shuddered at the recollection of the terror emanating from the demon.

‘It takes more than swords to stand against some foes. Better to retreat and fight another day.’

‘That’s what the others say, but Elgin, sir—excuse me for saying it— Elgin says if he was in charge he’d have made us stay.’

Barek dropped his head. He’d been expecting this. What right did he have to lead the Order, just because Shader had left and Gaston was out of the way? Justin was the natural choice, but he’d last been seen out cold on the ground in front of the templum. Barek had assumed command because no one else had, but the challenge was bound to come sooner or later.

‘Elgin has a right to speak his mind,’ Barek said. ‘Maybe in the morning we should elect a new master.’

Solomon sucked in his lips. He opened his mouth to say something, but was arrested by a cry from one of the sentries.

‘Someone’s coming up.’

Barek grabbed his sword and scabbard and ran towards the sound, Solomon close on his heels. He placed a hand on the sentry’s shoulder— Gord Pelham from Broken Bridge.

‘Who is it, Gord?’

‘There, sir.’ Gord pointed into the darkness as a figure emerged from the tree-line. ‘Blow me for a…I mean, bless my soul, it’s Justin.’

Barek’s heart jumped and his mouth felt suddenly dry. ‘Justin,’ he called out. ‘You’re OK.’