Best Laid Plans (3 page)

The watery portal spat forth the little ship, spluttered momentarily, and then retracted through an infinitesimal point. The boat landed heavily on stone and Maldark was jolted against the mast.

The first thing he noticed was the colour of the sky: gone was the familiar cobalt of Aethir to be replaced by a hazy azure, cloudless and shimmering with the intensity of a single alien sun. Maldark surveyed the damage to the keel and saw that it was minimal. Peering over the stern he looked upon this new and arid land from a great and vertiginous height. The horizon stretched out to infinity, the intervening terrain a ruddy desert spotted here and there with hardy shrubs and the occasional jutting monolith. The boat had come to rest atop a sprawling tabletop mountain.

Grabbing his war-hammer and clambering over the side of the ship, Maldark alighted on hard reddish rock and let his eyes run across its surface. A hundred yards to his right something glinted in the sun. He set off towards the light and saw that it came from a small crevice in the summit. Reaching into the gap, he pulled forth a slender shard of glowing amber, half an inch long, one end curving slightly towards a vicious point.

Maldark could hear the blood pumping in his ears. Recognition filled him with elation and dread. What was a piece of the Statue of Eingana doing here? A fang? Why had the statue been sundered? What trick of fate had merged his destiny with that of the supernal being he had betrayed?

Something about the fang’s radiance spoke to him of distress. Empathically, the amber reached out and guided his next actions. Placing the shard upon the rocky surface, he raised the mighty war-hammer and brought it down with full force. There was a massive burst of light and a clap like thunder. Maldark was blasted from his feet, his hands clutching the hammer as if melted onto the haft. Rising shakily he looked to where the shard had been and saw only a blackened patch on the red rock. Raising the hammerhead to eye level, he saw that it exuded a soft amber glow for a few moments before fading back to grey.

How could one so unworthy be entrusted with so crucial an artefact? Was this some trick of the capricious Creator? Maldark looked up at the unfamiliar sun and wondered at the penance God had worked out for him now. Would he ever be rid of the stain of sin, of the atrocities he had committed? Never, he concluded, for how could one such as he ever be forgiven?

Gazing once more at the endless horizon, Maldark the Fallen resolved to pull the little ship by ropes across this vast and hostile landscape as if it were the physical counterpart of the sins that all the oceans of Aethir could never wash away.

908 YEARS LATER

S
hadrak leapt the last few steps and tumbled over the ledge clinging on by the tips of his fingers.

I know, I know,
he told Kadee’s face as it loomed in his mind and gave him a very disapproving look.
But what was I s’posed to do? My life or his, and that’s a no-brainer, I reckon.
The poxy knight, Shader, was as dead as shog. Weren’t no point fretting ’bout it now. Sometimes Kadee’s presence could be a right pain in the arse.

He felt an unnatural coldness blow over his fingers and tensed, ready to drop if necessary. After waiting a moment, he pulled his chin above the edge and risked a look. The wraith reached a dead end, pushed its hand through the wall and looked like it was going to disappear into the rock, but then it stopped, its great-helmed head swivelling, coal-fire eyes burning into Shadrak’s. The spectral knight shot towards him like a sail catching the wind and Shadrak let go.

He landed with a clang on the metal floor of the Maze and reached for one of the glass globes in his pouch, but hands grabbed him from behind.

‘Got you,’ said a blond-haired youth in an outfit similar to the one Shader had been wearing when Shadrak stabbed him. The lad had a strong grip on his arm.

A sandy-haired knight had a lock on his other wrist. Shadrak knew his face from that night at the Griffin when the bard had sung the tale of the Reckoning.

Careless, Shadrak. Very careless! But what could you expect in the situation?

A circle of armoured youths sprang up around him, some of whom he also recognized from the Griffin. The blond one, though, hadn’t been there. Shadrak was sure of that; but there was something familiar about his face.

‘Don’t I know you?’ the sandy-haired knight said, his face creased with the effort of holding Shadrak still and wracking his brain for an answer to his own question. ‘You were in the pub when Elias performed his epic. What I want to know is…’

A shadow fell over the group as the wraith floated towards them.

The sandy-haired knight’s eyes widened. ‘In the name of Nous!’

‘Callixus,’ the blond one said. ‘Stay out of this. He’s mine.’ He twisted Shadrak’s arm behind his back and pressed his mouth close to his ear. ‘I know what you did, you stunted little bastard. And I have a little surprise for you. Remember the preach—’

‘He has something that Dr Cadman needs,’
hissed the wraith.
‘Give it to me and none of you will be harmed.’

A grizzled warrior, not much taller than Shadrak, pushed through the cordon of knights, sparks crackling around the head of a war-hammer.

‘Be gone, demon,’ the dwarf snarled, ‘or I’ll give thee a taste of my hammer.’

Callixus drew a black sword, the blade a shifting length of smoke as immaterial as his body. As he drifted closer to the dwarf, Callixus and his sword grew more solid, the blade hardening into obsidian wreathed in black light. The dwarf raised his hammer to strike, but an old woman in a white robe stepped to his side. Her head was shaven, her face broad and stern. She held a small black book in her hands and proceeded to chant the words she read there.

‘Non timebo mala quoniam tu mecum es.’

The wraith faltered and glanced at the book, the fire in his eyes dimming.

‘Aeternam. It’s been a long time since I heard it spoken.’

The woman looked up from her reading. ‘It is still the language of the servants of Nous. His spirit can never be driven from you, brother, even in death. Go in peace. I will pray for you.’

Callixus looked from her to Shadrak before ramming his sword back into its scabbard.

‘Mater, I have…I have done…’

‘I know,’ the woman said. ‘It was you who attacked the Grey Abbot, wasn’t it?’

The wraith lowered his head.

‘And you led the forces that attacked the templum.’ The woman closed her book and looked at the wraith with the sort of look Kadee would no doubt have given Shadrak, had she been alive: a look both sorrowful and compassionate. ‘You have been lost, brother, but Ain will find you. Don’t despair. He will not forsake you. Now go to your master and tell him you found nothing down here. I know it’s a lie, but Ain will forgive it.’

Callixus wavered a moment more then rose into the air.

‘I will do as you ask, Mater, but know this.’
He fixed Shadrak with a smouldering glare.
‘I will come for you, assassin. You are not as unseen as you like to think.’

The wraith turned in midair and merged with the shadows.

The blond knight’s grip slackened slightly. Shadrak glanced out of the corner of his eye. The lad was trembling. He looked up, hatred flaring from damp eyes, and at the same time Shadrak remembered where he’d seen the face before. Not the exact same face: the one he recalled was older, but the cheek bones, the chin and the nose, there was no mistaking where they’d come from.

‘Like I was saying,’ the lad said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve got a little surprise for you. I know who you are. Face like yours ain’t exactly hard to spot.’ He released his grip so that he could draw his sword.’

It was all Shadrak needed. He twisted his hips and spun round, crashing his fist into the sandy-haired knight’s nose. The lad fell backwards in a spray of blood. Shadrak barged through the ring of knights and sprinted down the tunnel, tripped and catapulted himself straight on top of a groaning, sweat-soaked woman lying on the floor. The corridor was littered with coughing and moaning people; there was no way past except by clambering over them. He glanced back and saw the knights with their swords drawn blocking his retreat. Up front he could see a fat priest and three priestesses who’d been tending the sick. One of the women made a path for him, weaving in and out of the bodies on the floor. He recognized her from the Griffin too—she’d been the drunkard who’d left early. Her black hair was tied back in a long ponytail, her face pale, the eyes set in dark circles. Blood stained her white robe around the shoulder, which was noticeably padded—no doubt bandaged over-zealously by an amateur.

‘Stop him!’ the blond lad yelled, pushing his way to the front of the knights.

The woman with the dark hair folded her arms across her chest and frowned at Shadrak. ‘Who the shog are you?’

An elderly priestess put a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. ‘Rhiannon! Language!’

‘Don’t let him past,’ the blond lad said. ‘He’s Shadrak the Unseen, the assassin who killed my dad.’

Bovis shogging Rayn. Spineless Nousian bastard. Squealed like a pig when I shot him. Wonder if his son will do the same.

‘Well, well, well,’ Shadrak said, drawing two knives from his baldric and flicking his cloak back from his shoulders. ‘Bovis Rayn had a son, and there’s me thinking he was just some dried up Nousian turd.’

The lad took a step forward, eyes narrowing, knuckles whitening from gripping the sword too tight.

Good,
thought Shadrak.
Nice ’n’ easy.

‘You got a name, boy?’ Shadrak said, dropping into a crouch. ‘Or should I call you Squealer after your dad.’

‘You and me,’ the lad spat the words. ‘One on one.’

Even better.

‘OK, you’ve got me. Ready when you are.’

‘Gaston,’ said the sandy-haired youth from the pub. ‘Don’t be a clacker. There’s enough of us to bring him down without anyone getting hurt.’

‘Shut it, Barek,’ Gaston said. ‘This is between me and him.’

‘Gaston, you’re being an arse,’ The black-haired woman said—the old girl had called her Rhiannon. ‘Listen to Barek.’

Gaston licked his lips and took a careful step forwards. ‘Don’t think I can take him? I might not be as good as Shader, but at least I’m not the one lying dead in the templum with this shogger’s knife in my back.’

The old priestess appeared behind Gaston and put a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘Gaston,’ she said. ‘This is not our way.’

‘Maybe not,’ Gaston said. ‘But it sure is mine.’

The knight’s attack was so fast that Shadrak had to sway backwards to avoid being skewered. His heel touched something that caused him to stumble and Gaston took full advantage, lunging for his chest. Shadrak turned the blade with his lefthand dagger and made a feint with the right. Gaston’s head snapped back out of reach and Shadrak shot a quick glance at the obstructions behind. There was a narrow path between the patients, which he instantly committed to memory. As Gaston came at him with a combination of thrusts and slices, Shadrak danced away backwards on the balls of his feet.

Gaston pressed forward like a man walking a tightrope, one arm outstretched for balance, the other tracking Shadrak with the tip of his sword. Shadrak threw a dagger, which Gaston batted aside to clatter against the metal walls. The second knife grazed Gaston’s cheek as Shadrak continued to retreat, one step, two steps, and then back-flipped past the remaining bodies. The fat priest and the priestesses scurried out of the way.

Shadrak came to his feet at a crossroads which afforded him more room to move. Gaston stepped past the last of the bodies and charged before he could draw another dagger. Shadrak ducked beneath a slash, spun on his heel and kicked Gaston in the shin. The sword arced down, but clanged from the floor as Shadrak rolled away, springing to his feet with a sword-breaker in his right hand and a push-dagger in the left.

Gaston circled him warily now, reaching down to feel his shin with his free hand. Shadrak dropped his shoulders allowing his cloak to fall forward. The lad took the opportunity and stabbed towards his head, but the sword-breaker came up, catching Gaston’s blade in its comb-like slots and holding it firm. Shadrak immediately stepped in and punched the push-dagger between Gaston’s ribs. Could have finished the cunt there, but Kadee distracted him and Shadrak pulled back.