Necrophobia (20 page)

Alvar’s face lit up and a smile crossed his gloomy face. “That does sound useful. Thanks.” He flipped through and his grin widened further.

“So I have to ask.” Sevaur hesitated. “What’s your plan for dealing with the dragon?”

“We don’t.” Upon seeing the disappointment break across Sevaur’s face he continued. “Captain Soranus says to call for support. Hasn’t said much more than that. We’ve been trying to apprehend Falkner at the very least.”

“About an hour ago he was with Valdgeirr raiding the offshore Brinestone Maximum security prison. Couldn’t say where they are now though.”

Alvar laughed mirthlessly. “That’s more information than we’ve managed to find. All we found was a graveyard full of murderous thralls ready to ambush us and a small lead on Falkner’s goals.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Oh it was.” The Caelite dabbed fresh blood from the back of his head. “We’ve done a lot of searching, investigating and asking around and found little. You’re making this look easy.”

“I’d love to chalk this one up to my good looks and quick thinking but Claire found a former Inquisitor and she found them with her fancy mental powers.” Sevaur shrugged. “I was there at least. That counts right?”

“Your brother speaks highly of you. Don’t sell yourself so short. You saved a lot of lives back in Caelholm.”

“He does?”
I didn’t know that.
He watched the Caelite skim-read through Isobel’s handwritten notes. Cross referencing certain maps with some of his own.

“Why did you join the Caelites?”

Alvar rubbed his fingers across his clean-shaven chin and pondered. “Both my father and mother served the Caelites, they wanted me to follow in their footsteps and I guess I was too meek to disagree. I didn’t expect to get accepted but here we are. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do. You can’t be that bad at it if they let you in, and if Reiner chose to take you with him.”

“I’m decent with magic, seems to come naturally to me but I’m useless with a spear.” He jerked his head in the direction of his resting spear. “Cynthia has great fun getting inside my guard during training and disarming me.”

“Get a sword as a back-up then.” Sevaur grinned patting his own family blade.

“It broke.”

“Ah.”
Guess his magic really makes up for it.
“I’d better head to the station then, see if I can catch him there. Thanks for your time.”

After exchanging goodbyes he let himself out and retraced his footsteps through the temple-complex. With any luck Adrian would be back from his errands and waiting for him outside. It was either that or get lost in this labyrinthine city.

Felix Falkner threw off his travelling cloak and locked the door behind him, peering out of the spy hole to find the street empty. He was sure they weren’t followed but even the slightest mistake would reveal him and destroy him. He’d narrowly avoided capture earlier the week and they couldn’t afford to be so careless now. With the fire crackling to life he warmed his numb hands; between the flight across the sea and storing the dragon in the nearby mountain range he’d lost all sensation. The cold whilst bitter and unforgiving reminded him of the home he’d once had, the home he’d forever abandoned. The man before him — the cause of his outcast state and his ruination stood motionless, watching the flames dance. Falkner shivered as the urge to throttle the life out of him rose unbidden and refused to back down.

“What happened back there?” The former Caelite gritted his teeth. “We almost lost control of Valdgeirr.”

Haures shook his head. Falkner was disappointed to see the cuts and burns Haures received during the Brinestone raid were almost healed leaving only the faintest impression of an injury. It was a curious thing, unlike his former comrade the traitor Inquisitor seemed almost normal unlike the abomination that had ravaged the island of Caelholm. A twisted and mutilated parody of a man; resurrection at its most barbaric and primitive who rotted from within with his corruption. Rather than rot and descend into madness like Morveil had, setbacks and injury seemed to strengthen the Inquisitor’s resolve. Falkner had been trying to understand the extent of his accomplices abilities; his resistance to injury so that he might place his dagger in the old snake’s heart the second Vara returned to him. The only thing he was sure of so far was that whatever Haures was, a vampire was not one of them. They healed faster and their unholy vigour came with a multitude of weaknesses to exploit. None of this seemed to discourage the Inquisitor’s fascination with the wretched creatures.

“An old friend has come out of retirement.” Haures replied, as if that answered anything at all. “I’ll handle her.”

“Is she dangerous?” Falkner recalled his training and tried to calm himself through meditative breathing. “You’ve already got that Inquisitor and her pet sorcerers, the Night Guard and Caelites after you. We don’t need anyone else after us. We should lay low.”

Not all of us sold our soul for your twisted immortality just to throw ourselves upon our enemies.

Haures stalked towards the dust-covered bookshelf and his fingers traced the spines of the tomes stored there, not deigning to look at him. “Indeed, but we need only stay one step ahead of them. With any luck they’ll get in each other’s way.”

Falkner laughed without humour. “That’s not a sound long-term strategy. Surely you know that.”

“Long-term?” The necromancer offered a sidewards glance. “We need only survive a day, perhaps two ahead. Then it won’t matter. I don’t plan to linger in this miserable city much longer.” His finger stopped upon the spine of tome at random and he pulled the book backwards, triggering a stone mechanism within the building. He felt the shuddering of the room as a hidden passageway revealed itself and an icy chill rushed up to meet them which almost extinguished the pitiful fire. The steps lead down into the darkness beneath the city.

“You’d better keep up your end of the bargain. If I don’t get Vara back then none of this matters.”

“You won’t get her. Not yet.”

Falkner’s hand became a blur, his conjured blast of air threw Haures into the wall. In a flash he found himself with a knife held against his throat. “Maybe this would kill you maybe it wouldn’t but I’m interested in testing it. Don’t take me for a fool Haures; if you won’t give me what I want then I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“You’ve got your freedom Falkner.” Haures reached slowly for the knife and pulled it away without breaking eye contact. “As I’ve already explained if I bring her back now you’d regret it.”

“Try me.”

“Do you really want the woman you love bound to my will? Forever tethered to my soul?”

Falkner hesitated and relinquished his grip.

“I thought not.” The Inquisitor brushed himself down and grabbed a pair of torches off the nearby wall, before lighting them on the fire “You might think me a monster but my work will change the world for the better.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“And I mean it.” The Inquisitor held out one of the torches which Falkner took thanklessly. “Resurrection is not an easy process. It has costs, there are strings attached to it. For such a high price anything less than perfection will not suffice. We’re so close now, I can feel it.”

The Caelite followed down the steps in silence, cursing himself for ever listening to the traitor before him. Every time he’d sworn to himself to never listen, to never be taken in the persuasive Inquisitor had found a different path.

Perhaps he has compelled me like the cultists he keeps and the vampires he’s so fascinated by. Perhaps I’m not really as free as he claims.
It was an insidious thought that wouldn’t leave him, he’d witnessed the compelling psychic powers first hand; forcing the most murderous brute on bended knee. What assurance did he have that he was not infected with the same psychic impulse that dominated the others? Would he even know? His only sliver of hope was that the silver-tongued Inquisitor favoured tact and subtlety rather than brute force. He’d only forced the dangerous and insane to his will and taken the rest in with honeyed promises and a sense of worth and value. Assaulting a heavily defended prison island on dragonback to rescue the empire’s worst criminals felt like the last straw at the time; but he was again following blindly.

“I don’t see how these new subjects will help.” Falkner managed at last. At first he’d supposed they’d be replacements for the cultists lost during the attacks of Caelholm but Haures seemed more interested in research.

“You will soon enough. We’re almost at a breakthrough.”

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs as Haures traced a runic symbol across the stone door blocking the corridor. With a faint discharge of magical energy the glyph on the otherwise featureless door flashed pale blue before fading. As the door slid into a recess in the wall a hidden basement filled with empty coffins, and surgical equipment came into view lit only by the flickering torch. Besides an overwhelming smell of formalin and preservatives there was a familiar scent of perfume.

“Gods only know what you and that Norwood madwoman hope to accomplish.” He waved his hand pointedly towards the stacked crates and filth encrusted glass jars scattered through the room. Whilst they all appeared to be empty and lacking the sorts of strange organs and disgusting body parts floating within them that he’d expected, their unwashed appearance suggested this was a recent change.

“
Doctor
Norwood.” Haures replied without paying the traitor Caelite much mind as he rifled through the papers stacked on a makeshift desk. His eyes flicked through the contents of a fresh autopsy form signed in the illegible handwriting of the closest thing they had to a doctor. “Besides the gods have no interest in anything we do here. You should know that by now if Caelholm proved anything at all.”

“Enough with your blasphemy.” Falkner’s anger felt hollow, his words lacking substance.
Perhaps the gods have decided to punish my heresy by forcing me to live in hiding with you for the rest of my life.

“Must you both be so loud?” Morana Norwood stepped through one of the doors leading to other parts of the underground complex and stalked across the chamber. Her greasy long black hair tied up into a tight bun as a begrudging nod towards practicality and served to accentuate her sharp humourless face. Beady grey eyes peered out from behind her thin-rimmed glasses with all the warmth of the coldest winters back home. Her overcoat fastened tight was once white but now a stained dull-grey splashed with preservatives and other less pleasant fluids. “Your subjects so far have been less than satisfactory.”

“And why is that doctor?” Haures replied with a resigned sigh. He returned the clipboard filled with autopsy papers to the chipped and stained table.

“Most of them are either malnourished, rife with more diseases than I can count or hardly human at this point. Giving any of them the gift seems a waste of potential. Some of them died outright when I attempted to administer it.” Morana was tall and thin, almost spider-like yet she commanded a firm and dangerous presence that made Falkner’s skin crawl. He found himself repulsed and reflexively pulled away from her anytime she drew near — she was a vampire of many years with all the quickness and precision that entailed. She was almost attractive — the plainness of features enhanced by the dark gift but her mannerisms and demeanour triggered a primal sense of fear and distrust in most. Her blood-thirst focused itself upon medical experimentation and the cruel tasks the cults required rather than feral savagery. It was a small comfort she rarely smiled, even a glimpse of her off-white jagged teeth filled Falkner with reservation and a sense of dread. He wasn’t even sure if she had fangs like the folklore claimed; she’d scoffed at the idea but it was a morbid curiosity.

“They’re disposable and won’t be missed. Finding you better subjects takes more time and resources than we can spare.” Haures watched her carefully as she went about collecting additional jars and rinsing the scalpels in her pocket with a rusty faucet. For all his confidence even he found her cause for concern.

“Just not good enough. Either find me better subjects or the results of someone who has. I’m sure Lord Strigoi and his pet doctor have plenty of research papers and forbidden lore up in that mansion of his.” She spun around and pointed the dripping scalpel in their direction. “And not to mention the
smell!
Give them a bath or something.”

“You’ll have to make do for now. Lord Strigoi won’t simply hand me his research papers.”

With a sneer she wiped the scalpels on a drab bit of cloth. “And you call yourself an Inquisitor? We aren’t going to make much headway here otherwise if you still want those answers.”

“Of course—”

“—I’ll do what I can for now but that’s the best option.” Despite the finality of her tone Falkner couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t be absurd. How are we supposed to—”

Morana raised a hand to silence them. “Not my problem. You’ll have to get creative.”

Falkner and Haures exchanged an exasperated look; they’d risked almost everything assaulting Brinestone. Smuggling the prisoners into Kriegsfeld was no less dangerous. Morana cared for none of their effort, reluctance or troubles; only that her research continue. Satisfied she stalked off towards one of her operating theatres and hesitated as her hand reached for the handle. “Oh yes, do something about those Caelite friends of yours. They’ve been poking their noses around and killed some of my assistants. That won’t do.”