Empire of the Saviours (Chronicles of/Cosmic Warlord 1) (53 page)

‘That’s awful!’ Jillan said in shock.

‘Not that Miserath looks overly concerned,’ Thomas added darkly. ‘But it suited your purposes to see your brother undone, did it not, Miserath? You were probably party to it, weren’t you? Tell us, what is the right punishment for deicide?’

The Peculiar’s face remained unchanged. ‘You do not know of what you speak.’

‘But Wayfar is not entirely undone,’ Aspin interrupted. ‘In the mountains he is the greatest of the gods to many of our warriors. He is far from broken and blesses the faithful with powers over the storm.’

The Peculiar nodded. ‘Beyond the Empire the old gods still hold some sway. Within the Empire, however, they are no more than haunting ghosts, movement glimpsed out of the corner of the eye, imagined voices and bad memories that will not go away. They are the restless dead. Wayfar is a cold, wailing wind who cuts right through you, but he is easily defeated by a thick coat, a raised collar and gloves.’

‘Wouldn’t mind some of those right now,’ Ash complained through blue lips, his hands under opposite armpits. ‘I won’t be able to hold a weapon steady at this rate.’

‘I’m hoping you won’t need to,’ Jillan replied.

‘Nothing good can come of this,’ Thomas warned. ‘We are being led by the worst traitor ever known into a snowy and barren hell of the Saviours.’

‘I thought you wanted to help free my parents,’ Jillan challenged him. ‘I do not have any other choice. If you’ve changed your mind then—’

‘Peace, Jillan! I have sworn to help you, and help you I will. I still think it would be wise to remain cautious, however, for I cannot believe everyone here also wishes to help.’

The Peculiar yawned. ‘
You
have not always helped Jillan, though, have you, blacksmith? There is a word for someone like you: a hypocrite.’

‘Oh dear,’ Ash sighed.

Thomas’s face began to turn red.

‘Stop it, all of you!’ Jillan yelled. ‘If we’re fighting among ourselves when there are just six of us, what hope can there be that the people will ever come together to fight the Empire? Perhaps the Saviours, Saints, Ministers and Heroes are a good thing if they stop us all fighting. Left on your own, you’d end up killing each other before you ever got to Hyvan’s Cross. What use would that be, eh? My parents would never be rescued.
No one
would ever be rescued. Everyone would just end up dead.’

‘I’m afraid that contrariness and self-division are an essential part of mortalkind, Jillan,’ the Peculiar replied. ‘I am the god of division, remember, and used to be worshipped for it.’

‘Used to be!’ Jillan stressed. ‘Not everyone is like that. It doesn’t have to end with everyone dead.’

‘We will see, Jillan, we will see.’ The Peculiar shrugged. ‘Now is the time our group should be divided, though, for the city is coming into sight and soon there will be eyes upon us.’

At the top of the valley a large crag loomed out of the towering snow clouds. The way the soft stone of the crag had been moulded made Hyvan’s Cross look like the horned and monstrous skull of an immense ice dragon. A high wall like a spiked collar had been built around the base of the crag. The dragon’s cold breath came howling down the valley and blasted them harder than ever.

Ash’s teeth rattled. ‘Ye gods, who would want to live here?’

‘Actually, it’ll be far better once we’re out of this valley,’ Thomas told him. ‘Several sides of the crag are out of the wind. And once we’re through the gate, there’s fairly good protection from the elements.’

‘You’re sure you can get us through?’ Aspin asked.

The blacksmith nodded. ‘I was here a year or so ago, to sell weapons. There are several markets a week in the city and plenty of traders come and go. There’s always demand for good weapons in a place this big. With so many Heroes here, not all of them will have sun-metal, you see. There’s a fair chance some of the guards will remember me for the quality of my weapons. And there is no reason why they would not believe you and Ash are my apprentices. People tend to keep their hoods up round here anyway, so your fairer hair shouldn’t show up too much, Aspin.’

‘Then Freda and I will leave you here,’ Jillan said. ‘Er … how do we do this, Freda?’

‘Follow me, friend Jillan,’ she replied, helping him down from the wagon and leading him over to the slope of the valley. ‘Stay close behind me or I will not be able to keep the rock from crushing you.’

The rock woman began to sink into the side of the valley and Jillan stepped in after her. In a few blinks of the eye, they were gone.

‘Miserath’s gone too,’ Ash commented. ‘Vanished into thin air.’

‘Good riddance,’ Thomas breathed.

Ash shuddered and nodded his agreement.

In the village of Godsend Captain Hamir coughed into his handkerchief. He took the cloth away and examined it. Specks of blood. He prayed to the Saint and the blessed Saviours that he was just coming down with a seasonal chill. Fully half of his five hundred men had been taken by the contagion already, and more were reported each day. They’d tried everything to halt the spread of the illness, most recently filling the hospice with the sick, sealing it up and burning it to the ground. It had been a dark and grisly deed, far worse than anything he’d had to do fighting in the eastern region. It had always been his duty to protect the People, but now he was slaughtering them. He’d heard the screams of the dying in his mind every night since his order had been carried out and been unable to find sleep. Who was to say his dreams would have been any better than this living hell anyway?

Even worse, the torching of the hospice had done nothing to stop the plague. The physicker still reported as many new cases each day. Whether it was because the smoke from the hospice had carried the plague with it or whether it was because the town really was cursed – as many now whispered – nothing seemed able to keep death back. They said it was proof that the blessed Saviours had withdrawn their protection against the Chaos, as a punishment for allowing Jillan, his parents and Samnir to flourish among them, as a punishment for not having listened better to the warnings of their Minister, whose wisdom was now justly taken from them.

The one peculiarity to it all was that none of the children of Godsend – those who had not been Drawn, blasphemers liked to point out – had been affected. Parents had tried keeping their children next to them at all times, as a charm against the Chaos, but that had not saved them. Captain Hamir had heard of people bathing in children’s urine and bleeding them for their protective humours, but that had not saved them either. Whenever a child was seen in the street, adults would come flocking and beg for a blessing and forgiveness. But the continued deaths said it was too late for forgiveness.

Since sealing the town gates, Captain Hamir had doubled the guards on them, for there’d been more than one attempt by the apparently healthy to escape. He’d had no choice but to order these deserting cowards cut down, to discourage any others from trying. Yet he knew it was only a matter of time before others did try. The longer the plague went on, the harder it would be to keep them under control. Certainly, some would give up, lie down and wait to die, but increasing desperation would eventually see the rest organise themselves. His main fear was that he would not have enough Heroes left to hold the gates, and then the wider Empire would be under threat. Therefore, he’d decided – with the agreement of the last surviving town councillor – to execute every last inhabitant of Godsend, children included, once he had only two hundred Heroes remaining on their feet. By his reckoning, the end would be just two days from now.

‘Strange to know when you will die,’ he observed to himself in his small hand mirror, as he combed his thinning hair. Clumps of it came out in the comb’s teeth and he swallowed hard. ‘Too old to be vain about it. You only need to stay upright and presentable for another two days and then your duty will be done.
Sacrifice and duty safeguard the People against the Chaos
. You have been lucky to serve so long. Yes, lucky.’

He didn’t feel lucky even so. The Saint would know of his sinful thoughts, but the Captain could do nothing to stop them. He knew the Chaos had found its way into his mind. He knew he was infected. It was right that he died. He was resolved. The Chaos sought to plant niggling doubts in his mind; told him that he’d always been a faithful servant to the Empire and therefore deserved better; self-righteously claimed the Saint should be there with his People to save them or offer them comfort in their hour of need.

‘No, Samnir was my fault. I always knew he was a wrong’un. I should have done something about it long ago. It was a disgrace that the holy one had to deal with it himself. A disgrace, Hamir, you hear? After that, why should the holy one feel any compunction to save us? We failed and betrayed him. We have probably broken his sacred heart. He probably cries at night for our lost souls … not that that monster ever shed a tear for those in New Sanctuary! Be quiet, you fool, or cut your tongue out. Traitorous tongue! Silence!’

Tears came to his eyes and he dashed them away with a hand. He caught a glimpse of his fingernails in the mirror and looked down. The bases of the nails were a deep purple, almost black. He knew they would soon crack and bleed. Not long after, he would be just one more dead body waiting to be thrown into the wagon heading for the pyres and mass graves next to the middens beyond the south gate, the same gate through which that damned boy had escaped and doomed them all. The Captain hadn’t even known the boy. Fancy dying because of someone you’d never known. It was wrong really, just wrong. In many ways, though, much about his life had always felt wrong. Beneath the duty to the Empire and the sacrifice there had always been something that hadn’t felt quite right. It had to be the Chaos, he told himself over and over. It would be good to be finally free of it. Free at last.

‘Captain!’ came an excited call from one of his men outside the door.

Crossing the small room in one long stride, Captain Hamir pulled the door open. ‘What is it?’

‘Someone at the gate.’

‘Well, send them on their way.’

‘But Captain, it’s the Minister returned to us!’ Eyes shining with hope.

Could it be, at this eleventh hour, they were now to be saved? Praise be! The Captain regretted his earlier sinful thoughts. He pushed his way out of his billet and went after the guard. He hurried to the top of the wall, careful of the patches of ice on the steps, and looked out over the north gates.

There stood the Minister, looking none the worse for wear, although perhaps a little thinner. A dozen paces behind him were a mule and a strange little fellow with a shaved head wearing a loincloth. Captain Hamir couldn’t imagine how the fellow could stand the cold. Perhaps the savage was too simple to know any different.

‘Captain Hamir, good day! What welcome is this? Will you leave me standing in the cold when my feet are sore from travel and I still need to offer up a prayer of thanks at the temple for having completed the holy mission allotted me by the Saint, and having safely returned to my flock by the good grace of the blessed Saviours?’

‘Forgive me, Minister! The town has been sealed, as the plague is still among us and knows no mercy. If you enter in, then you may never leave.’

‘Be of good faith, Captain.’ The Minister nodded and smiled. ‘Only if I enter in can I administer the blessing of the Saviours. Only if I enter in can the People be saved.’

‘Minister, we rejoice that you have returned to us,’ the Captain hiccuped, wiping bloody tears from his cheeks. His men could barely contain their celebration. ‘What of yonder manikin?’

The Minister gave a brief glance over his shoulder. ‘Be not afraid. This goblin is proof I have walked among the pagans. The power of the blessed Saviours protected me and the pagans fell at my feet, begging for Salvation. I took their holy man as my manservant so that he could lead them in their new service to the Empire. So, give praise, good People of Godsend, for I have converted the pagans and defeated the Chaos and its temptations, just as the holy one commanded.’

‘O Minister, it is a miracle!’ the Captain sang for joy. His men cheered, saluting the Minister with their shining weapons. ‘We are saved, we are saved. I will be down this instant to open the gates myself, so that you may then pass among us. Praise be!’

Captain Hamir sprang down the stairs. How could he have ever doubted the blessed Saviours? He felt humble, he felt born anew. He couldn’t help smiling. Single-handed, he threw up the heavy bar on the gates, where it would normally have taken two men. He pulled on one of the gates and the counterweight began to drop. One of his men pulled on the other and Godsend opened itself to Minister Praxis.

There was a blur and Captain Hamir found himself moving back through the air as if his feet had grown wings and lifted him up. Praise be, this must be how it was to be an angel! He hit the wall hard, smacking his head, and slumped to the ground. He looked down in confusion at the wooden shaft and feathers that sprouted from his chest. How had they got there?

The Minister came and crouched next to him. ‘Apologies, good Captain,’ he whispered, ‘but rest assured you sacrifice your life in duty to the blessed Saviours. It is all part of the holy one’s plan to lure the pagans out and into a trap, so that they may be destroyed once and for all. Through me, he knows all that happens. At the same time the People of Godsend will suffer for their sins and for causing me to be expelled in the first place. Now I am returned and bring divine retribution in my wake. Accept my blessing, good Captain, for I am soon to be a Saint. Is the holy one already waiting within the town to welcome me?’

‘N-no. There is only death here,’ the Captain groaned as he watched the savages come pouring out from among the trees, their arrows picking off his men along the walls with disturbing and wind-favoured accuracy.

‘No matter,’ the Minister replied. ‘I am sure he will come with the power of the blessed Saviours when he adjudges the time is right. Good day, Captain.’

Captain Hamir put his head back against the gate. Fancy dying like this. Still, it was as good as any other way, and probably better than some. It was better to die in battle than suffer a lingering death through illness, wasn’t it? He no longer worried for the People of Godsend or the Empire, for they weren’t his problem any more. He closed his eyes. Free at last.