Best Laid Plans (39 page)

Hagalle narrowed his eyes. The idiot wasn’t supposed to have mentioned that in front of Zara Gen. Frayn licked his lips and started fiddling with his ridiculous oiled moustache.

‘A good thing for you that our families have such a long history of mutual support, Zara Gen,’ Hagalle said. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to say any more. Duke Farian will assume your duties. You are free to go—for now. Don’t stray beyond the city limits. And, Zara Gen, we are watching.’

Zara Gen slipped out of his office scarcely daring to breathe. The instant the door shut behind him, Farian sat behind his desk and Hagalle turned his mind to the next problem.

‘You may leave, Master Frayn. And in the future, be more careful with your choice of words.’

‘Emperor,’ Frayn said, before giving an ostentatious bow.

‘Oh, and Master Frayn,’ Hagalle said. ‘Any news on Cadman?’

‘Our best trackers are onto it, Emperor. Believe me, there’s nowhere he can hide. He’ll be dead by morning, along with those priests.’

Hagalle nodded and waited for Frayn to leave the room. ‘So, Farian,’ he thumped the palm of his hand. ‘What are we going to do about this invasion?’

The instant the words left his mouth, Hagalle had a revelation. How could he have been so blind? The priests, the White Order, and the coming of the Templum fleet. Throughout all that had happened there was one common denominator, a ringleader. How could he have dismissed all those reports of a Nousian knight showing up in the provinces and training the local youths? A man who’d apparently spent time at Pardes under the nefarious Grey Abbot; a man dressed in the attire of the Templum Elect and sworn to absolute obedience to the Ipsissimus.

‘Farian,’ Hagalle said in a voice barely above a whisper. ‘I want men patrolling the streets, scouring the inns, walking the docks. Put the word out. I want this Deacon Shader brought to me. I don’t care if he’s dead or alive, but I want him. Is that understood?’

‘Deacon Shader,’ Farian confirmed. ‘I’ll alert the militia and reassign a troop of our own men. Should I inform the Sicarii?’

Hagalle thought about it for a moment. The assassins were becoming indispensable. Already they played a part in more of his plans than anyone else.

‘No,’ he decided. ‘I’m sure they have enough on their plate. Let’s handle this one ourselves. Now, Farian, unroll the maps. I want to know exactly where these bloody Nousians are landing.’

S
omething tugged relentlessly. A shudder passed through the Void, bringing with it an awareness of the absolute blackness; but awareness nonetheless. A groan escaped and was followed soon upon by a stark realization and the formation of a single thought.

‘No!’

What remained of Callixus’ soul rekindled its dark flame and protested against its unnatural perdurance.
‘Leave me here!’
he screamed silently, for there was no sound in the Void.

The tugging increased and Callixus felt his reawakened consciousness being sucked violently through the tiniest of apertures in the darkness until he re-emerged in the differentiated world of light and shapes.

One of the shapes detached itself from the others and came towards him. Callixus’ vision was a kaleidoscope of gyring patterns that came into stark and corporeal focus upon a bulky figure in a velvet jacket.

‘Welcome back, old chap,’ Cadman said with that air of false jollity that Callixus despised.

For an instant he contorted with pain and wondered if he’d been brought back body and soul. Something wrenched at his gut, twisting and mangling. Callixus let out a long hissing groan and stared down at his gaseous hands.
Still a wraith,
he realized, and in the same moment he knew that the pain had been nothing more than a manifestation of the hatred he held for Cadman, for what he’d made Callixus endure. For bringing him back.

A grey leathery creature dragged itself alongside Cadman and clung to his leg. It was sharp-faced and horned, with bat-like wings hanging limply behind. Callixus was reminded of the gargoyles that adorned the Ancients’ Templi back in Aeterna. The creature’s black eyes swirled like ink in water, but hardened when they met his gaze.

‘Allow me to introduce Ikrys.’ Cadman patted the gargoyle.

Ikrys winced and groaned, rolling to his back with arms and legs splayed. Callixus thought the creature was dying, so horribly warped were its limbs, but then Ikrys’s body began to writhe and crack, bubble and straighten until, with a sigh, he hopped to his feet and snapped open his wings.

‘Quite a resilient fellow, don’t you agree?’ Cadman said. ‘If only I’d met him sooner.’

Ikrys cocked his head and leered at Callixus.

‘He’s been kind enough to channel the dark forces for me so that I don’t suffer. More importantly,’ Cadman patted his pockets, ‘I don’t have to use the statue.’

‘What you call the dark forces are my natural demesne,’ Ikrys said. ‘But the demands you make are great indeed. I would prefer to save myself for more useful tasks in the future.’

Callixus drifted closer, his eyes surveying the courtyard outside the beacon tower.
‘Why have you brought me back?’

‘Besides your riveting company,’ Cadman said, clapping his hands together, ‘I need news. News about the body of the statue.’

Callixus clutched at the fragmented memories that had been dragged from the Void with him. It was as if a fissure ran through his mind and he needed to hop from recollection to recollection to make any sense of the scattered images.

‘I had the albino.’
A ripple ran through his ghostly body as he recalled the shriek that had alerted him to the danger.
‘But a sorcerer aided him and I was cast into the Void.’

‘What sorcerer?’ Cadman asked. ‘Who could have such power over you?’

‘A mawgish shaman. I do not know what happened to the statue.’

‘He has it, fool!’ Ikrys snarled ‘And now he will reach for the other pieces, starting with yours.’ He pointed a long taloned finger at Cadman.

Cadman’s eyelid twitched, and for an instant Callixus glimpsed a mottled skull beneath the illusion of flesh.

‘Who is
he?’
Cadman demanded. ‘Sektis Gandaw?’

‘Who else?’ Ikrys said. ‘This incompetent has allowed another segment to fall into his hands. This changes matters greatly. His reach is lengthening. You will have to act swiftly before he locates your pieces and comes to claim them.’

Callixus caught a sly look in Ikrys’s eyes, but said nothing. Cadman fretted a moment longer and then seemed to grow fatter. It was like watching a child snuggle under the bed clothes. Ikrys winced and glared at the necromancer. Apparently the enhancement of the illusion came at a cost. The gargoyle shook out his limbs, stretched his wings, and inhaled as if drinking invisible forces from the night air.

‘I am not without power,’ Cadman said, adjusting his pince-nez on his nose. ‘I have my necromantic skills; I have two pieces of the Statue of Eingana; and I have you,’ he squinted at Ikrys.

Once more, a cunning look passed over Ikrys’s taut and leathery face. Callixus wondered if it conveyed a secret amusement.

‘Well,’ Ikrys said, ‘now that your grunt is back it might be a good time to mention another threat I’ve detected.’

Cadman’s fists clenched and he shut his eyes. ‘What threat?’

‘The other woman, the one you said you knew—¼

‘The tart?’ Cadman said.

Callixus looked at him for an explanation, but none was forthcoming.

‘If you like,’ Ikrys said. ‘She proved extremely resourceful and had made it most of the way to Sarum when I caught up with her. She was intercepted by a group of black-clad men on the edge of the forest. They looked like they were about to do my work for me, but she spoke with one of them in private. He fondled her as he questioned her and then relayed what he learned to the others. After that, the man escorted her back to the city whilst the rest of the group altered their course.’

‘Altered it how? Where are they heading?’ Cadman asked as he fumbled a cigarette into his mouth and struggled to light it.

‘They are coming here,’ Ikrys said.

‘Shit,’ Cadman said. ‘Shit, shit, shit. Black clothes you say?’

‘As the night,’ Ikrys said with practiced innocence.

Callixus’ hand went to the hilt of his sword.
‘Why have you kept this news until now, demon?’

Ikrys’s tail arced through the air, its barbed tip stopping before Callixus’ chest.

‘Why, because I was waiting for you do deal with it. No point alarming the master until there’s something we can do about it. So, be a good boy and do whatever it is he pays you for.’

Callixus half drew the black blade, but Cadman jabbed a cigarette between them.

‘Cut that out, the pair of you. If these men are Sicarii, I’m finished. Do something, Callixus. You’re supposed to be the strategist; and do it quickly before I send you back into the Void. No, on second thoughts you’d probably like that, but I doubt you’d have such a peaceful time in the Abyss.’

Callixus’ vision blazed red. He released his grip on his sword and shut his eyes until he could once more feel the torment of his brethren, their despairing thoughts, their futile desire for revenge against Cadman. When he opened his eyes he made sure to keep a neutral tone.

‘The Lost have heard me,’
he said with a pang of pride tinged with loathing.
‘They are ready.’

‘Keep the assassins from the tower, Callixus. Do this for me and I may yet release you,’ Cadman said.

Callixus studied him for any sign that he was lying, but then realized there was no point. Cadman was the arch-liar; even his appearance was a distortion of the truth. If there were to be any end to this nightmarish existence, it wasn’t going to come from an act of gratitude on Cadman’s part.

‘Come on, Ikrys.’ Cadman started walking back towards the tower. ‘We still have much to prepare. As if it’s not enough having Sektis Gandaw hunting us from beyond the stars, and a bunch of trained killers at the door, we still have that blasted demon to deal with. The woman is secure on the roof? Good. Let’s hope it’s enough, eh? I trust you have some knowledge of the…’

Cadman’s voice was cut off by the slamming of the door. The skeletal steeds of the Lost began to emerge from the darkness, the red eyes of the riders burning like embers. They would have all felt Callixus’ despair as he once more looked upon his comrades. Without the need for speech, he conveyed his orders, and the former knights of the Elect took up their positions around the tower like nothing more than obedient guard dogs.

T
he hard earth at the foot of the gangplank was as unfamiliar to Shader as the myriad realms he’d passed through on the flight from Araboth. His sea-legs still wanted to sway, and a wave of nausea broke over him. Clutching the rail to steady himself, he glanced back at the ship, at the flashes of silver mail and white tabards making ready to disembark. Ignatius Grymm was staring down at him like a disappointed father. He’d not said anything, but Shader knew the Grand Master had expected him to stay, to ride once more with the Elect.

The port of Dalantle was sleeping, save for a few fishing boats straggling in from the ocean. The Templum fleet spilled across the harbour, white sails furled, prows gently bobbing. One huge sitting duck, Shader shook his head, but the Ipsissimus must have known that. The Imperial patrols had seen them—how could they not?—and alarms had pealed out across the bay whilst they were still in open water. Night had fallen rapidly and the clamour had ended. Dalantle was already watchful, and messages had likely been sent.

Shader drew his coat tight against the chill air and headed towards the hazy lights of town. His chainmail felt so much heavier since he’d put it back on. Maybe he was just tired; maybe he’d get used to it again. He’d find an inn, see out the night, and then seek passage to Sarum in the morning. The stench of blood still filled his nostrils; it was as if it had seeped into his pores. Elpidio haunted every alleyway of his mind, one minute limned with misty luminescence, the next as a hunk of blue-dappled meat, stiff and waxen; neither true but both yelling for his attention, baying for comprehension, or grief, or vengeance. The swirl of emotions was as twisted as the knots on his prayer cord, which now hung from his belt like a flaccid serpent.