Best Laid Plans (30 page)

Cadman nodded. ‘So tell me, what should I do?’

Ikrys folded his arms across his chest and stretched out his wings. ‘Gather the pieces. Make the statue whole. Take charge. I will help you, if you work quickly. Blightey will expect me back in a few weeks. You will need the full power of Eingana by then.’

Cadman snatched off his pince-nez and squinted at the gargoyle. ‘What’s in it for you?’

‘I get to go home,’ Ikrys said. He shut his eyes and held up his hand for silence. ‘Armies are gathering,’ he said. ‘There will soon be a great battle for the statue. We must make ready. You must summon more dead.’

‘But I can’t,’ Cadman said. ‘That would involve so much power from the statue that everyone from Aethir to Verusia would come.’

‘Use your necromancy. I will act as a channel. You will experience no more pain.’

‘You can do this?

Ikrys grimaced. ‘If I must.’

Cadman felt a tug at his consciousness. He followed a black tendril of thought to the trees surrounding the tower. This cadaver was a strange one—something of a loose cannon. He felt its grudging obedience, but he could also sense its self-loathing, its desire to pass fully from life. Cadman probed deeper. It was the priest, Limus, whom he’d commanded to find someone close to Shader. Someone he could offer to the Dweller upon its return.

‘Who have you got for me, Limus?’ he asked silently with his mind.

‘A friend.’ The priest was tormented, his thoughts almost strangled.

He was strong, this Limus, but still he had no choice. His corpse was Cadman’s, nothing more than an automaton. The fact that he retained the flickering awareness of consciousness was more of a curse than a blessing.

Ikrys was watching Cadman attentively.

‘This friend,’ Cadman spoke the words aloud for the gargoyle’s benefit. ‘Is it someone close to Shader?’

‘Yes,’ Limus sobbed in Cadman’s mind. ‘Her name is Rhiannon. She once loved him.’

T
he rumble of distant thunder woke her. It was dank and cold, the air thick with must. Rhiannon winced at the thumping in her head that kept time to the regular drip-drip of water upon the hard stone floor. Her throat felt bruised and constricted. She coughed to ease it, gingerly touching the skin and wincing at the pain. Judging by the stiffness in her back and hips she had been there for some time. She forced herself into a sitting position and swept her hair out of her eyes.

The last thing she recalled was Pater Limus pulling her away from the ghoul. She’d been shocked at his strength, the easy way he ripped the creature limb from limb. She’d been frozen, rooted to the spot as he slung her over his shoulder and carried her off. She’d struggled against his cold, ungiving grip, the skin of hands waxy and tinged with blue. He’d set her down so that he could throttle her with icy fingers, a single tear leaving its trail down his bloodless cheek. She’d tried to scream as her vision blurred and then darkness had taken her.

Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw that she was in a circular room with an uneven floor. Puddles of inky water collected in the depressions and damp climbed the windowless walls. A wooden ladder led to a trapdoor in the ceiling.

A muffled sound —was it a harmonica?—reached her from outside. She tilted her head at each successive note, recognizing the lilting melody of the wedding jig she’d been forced to learn as a child. The music stopped abruptly. There was a creak and a thud, footfalls from above. The trap in the ceiling rattled and a crack appeared allowing dirty yellowish light to filter through. Whispers were exchanged and then the trap opened fully. A young woman backed down the ladder, her arse sticking out like it was on display. She turned and squinted at Rhiannon, a mass of chestnut hair framing a sultry face. She was dressed in a starchy white blouse and dowdy pleated skirt. Both were stained with sweat and dirt. An overpowering perfume wafted in with her.

A man clambered down behind her. He was wearing a black leather jacket with the faded emblem of a lightning bolt on the back. There was no mistaking the lank greasy hair, the spindly legs clad in patched denim.

‘Elias!’ Rhiannon rasped. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed glass.

The bard held a finger to his lips and squatted down beside her. ‘Ol’ fatty’s upstairs. I kid you not, every time he came to the window it was like an eclipse.’

The woman with the chestnut hair was glancing from Rhiannon to the open trap. ‘Can she move? We need to go.’

‘Course I can move.’ Rhiannon forced the words out through the pain. She pushed herself to her feet and swooned. She would have fallen had Elias not caught her.

‘What the clanging bell is that?’ Elias peered at the back of her neck.

Rhiannon touched her fingers to an egg-sized swelling and winced. ‘Buggered if I know,’ she said. ‘Where the shog are we?’

‘Dead Man’s Torch.’

‘The old beacon tower? But that’s miles from Sarum.’

‘Ah,’ Elias said, ‘but it’s nothing when you have wheels, eh, Lallia?’

The woman winked at him and then sneered.

Rhiannon gave Elias a questioning look, but didn’t bother pursuing it. She was too tired and in too much pain.

‘That’s a point,’ Lallia said. ‘How are we getting her back? There’s only room for two.’

‘Strong girl like you,’ Elias said. ‘Walk back will do you good.’

‘Funny,’ Lallia said. She started up the ladder, but then stopped and craned her neck. ‘I heard something.’

Elias pulled out a harmonica and gave a broad grin. ‘Still got the ol’ magic,’ he said. ‘Even without the statue. Nothing like a bit of the ol’ bardic charm to quieten the restless dead.’ He helped Rhiannon to the foot of the ladder and followed her up to a mildewed room stacked with crates. The iron-banded door was slightly ajar. ‘There’s a bunch of those Nousian zombie-knights outside. And your mate Limus.’

‘Limus?’ Rhiannon said, her heart lurching. ‘I thought he’d come to help me, but…’

‘Sorry, love,’ Elias said. ‘Poor bastard’s one of them now.’

Rhiannon rubbed her throat and tossed off a quick prayer to Ain, for all it was worth.

As they left the tower Elias began to play a haunting lullaby on the harmonica. In the shadows of the courtyard, mounted shapes began to sway and then grew still. Rhiannon looked up at the tower. Something was perched on the roof, a hunched gargoyle with wings drawn up on its back.

‘Hurry,’ Lallia called as she dashed into a thicket on the far side of the courtyard.

Elias continued to play his lullaby whilst nodding for Rhiannon to follow her.

Cadman appeared in the tower doorway, black vapours radiating from his fingertips to touch the mounted undead. Their limbs jerked, and red flared from their eyes.

‘Follow Lallia,’ Elias said. ‘And just keep running. I’ll draw them off.’

Rhiannon stumbled into the undergrowth and was pulled roughly to the ground.

‘Keep still,’ Lallia whispered. ‘Wait for Elias, and then we run. If you can’t make it, that’s your problem. Clear?’

Rhiannon was finding it hard to lift her head, never mind make a run for it. She fancied her chances better just curling up in the thicket and going to sleep.

‘This way!’ she heard Cadman shout. ‘Over here you ignorant bloody corp—’

The roar of thunder cut him off.

‘Ready?’ Lallia said, rolling to her knees.

The thunder came at them in a rising wall of noise. Rhiannon peeked out of the brush and saw Elias astride a red and silver two-wheeler speeding towards a clutch of skeletal horsemen. The din was incredible, the speed even more so. The death-knights raised their swords and charged. Elias skidded in a wide arc and sped away with half a dozen horsemen on his tail.

Rhiannon turned to Lallia for an explanation, but the woman was gone. She pushed her way through the brambles and stood. Her head rushed again and she staggered before taking her first lumbering step towards the trees.

A flapping from behind caused Rhiannon to turn just in time to see the gargoyle from the parapet hurtle towards her on leathery wings. Talons gripped her shoulders and a vicious barbed tail lashed out to stab her in the back of the neck.

***

‘Come on baby!’

Elias hunched over the petrol tank and let rip with the throttle. The wind tore at his hair as the Spitfire streaked across the clearing. He could see the undead riders in his mirror, feel the icy terror at his back, but he knew he could make it; knew the ol’ girl wouldn’t let him down.

Up ahead he could make out Cadman’s grotesque bulk seeking to cut off his escape. No matter, Elias thought, he’d run the fat git over.

Something large fluttered down beside Cadman and dumped its load on the turf. As Elias sped closer he saw it was a body—Rhiannon’s body—and that only made him madder. He pulled hard on the throttle and roared straight at Cadman.

Rather than run, as Elias had expected, Cadman stood his ground and raised his hands to the sky. The winged creature at his side pulsed with dark light and a column of black fire erupted from Cadman’s fingers. He threw down his arms and the flame struck the earth. A split ran across the clearing and widened like an immense maw. Elias swung the bike around, but it careened and skidded towards the crevasse. With a last desperate scream, Elias plummeted into the chasm, the Spitfire tumbling after.

***

Cadman looked over the edge of the crack and allowed himself a satisfied grin. The dark magic was flowing once more, and this time without the pain, the terrible warping of his own body. He looked up to where Ikrys was depositing Rhiannon atop the tower. The creature hadn’t lied about its abilities, but he still trusted it just about as far as he could throw it.
Too late for second thoughts, old chap,
one inner voice said.
I know,
said the other,
but it never pays…You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?
Cadman thought he heard a sigh from somewhere between his ears.

He frowned into the crevasse as it shuddered and closed up like a flesh wound. No rumbling of the earth, no quake. It was more a case of darkness oozing across the breach and coagulating. A thick scar of charcoal running across the ground was the only indication anything untoward had happened.

Ikrys flapped down beside him. ‘Interesting.’

‘What did I just do?’ Cadman asked, peering over the top of his pince-nez at the gargoyle.

Ikrys shook his wings and settled them on his back. ‘Does it matter? The girl is in our hands and her would-be saviour is dead. I told you I would help. Was not your power greater, even without the statue? Do you have any pain? Any warping of bone?’

Cadman patted his arms and chest. Nothing. Not even the slightest discomfort. Ikrys had channelled the dark energies as if they were his natural element. Perhaps they were.

‘He was old. Older than anyone should be,’ Ikrys said, staring at the blackened earth. ‘The stench of Eingana has soaked into his flesh. Without life, though, there is no defence.’

‘Against what?’

‘The one who raped her.’ Ikrys gave a sickly smile. ‘The Demiurgos will draw the corpse to the Abyss.’

Cadman didn’t like the sound of that. The last thing he needed was to arouse the attention of the Deceiver. He already had the eyes of the world on him, it seemed, not to mention the Dweller. That particular malevolence was evidence enough that he didn’t want to mess with the Abyss, but he imagined the Dweller paled into insignificance compared with the being who’d spawned it.

‘Well,’ he said with false bravado, ‘I bet your daddy’s really pleased.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Ikrys said. ‘And he’ll be even happier if you gather the pieces of the statue and free me from Blightey. Just think how he’ll reward you if I can return home.’

I’d rather not,
Cadman thought, blowing out his cheeks and wishing he could bury himself in a deep hole a million miles away until this whole business blew over and was forgotten.

‘Where’s Lallia?’ Cadman suddenly remembered. ‘The strumpet who was with the bard?’

Ikrys sighed and sat on the ground, holding his head in his hands. ‘Long gone,’ he said with a yawn. ‘And I’m too tired to care.’ The gargoyle curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.