The Archon's Assassin (3 page)

“I do hope you haven’t maimed him too badly,” the investigator said. “What would be the point of bringing him round to our way of thinking if he can no longer wield a sword, no longer ride a horse?”

The orderlies exchanged glances, eyes glittering above their masks.

The investigator stepped up to the rack and peered down at Shader, lingering on his ankles, taking in his knee. Ain only knew what it must have looked like, but the pain was excruciating. The man’s smile was forced; a snaggletoothed smile that revealed the tip of an overly long canine. He arched an eyebrow and stared long and hard into Shader’s eyes, as if he were trying to assess whether he’d suffered enough; whether he was ready to give them what they wanted.

Shader blinked to break the hold that gaze had over him, then shifted his focus to the face. There was something familiar about it; but whatever it was, it refused to come to the surface.

“So, progress, I am told,” the investigator said. “I was
beginning
to think you’d die on the rack.”

“Maybe I still will,” Shader croaked. The effort made him cough, and blood came out with a spray of spittle.

The investigator stepped back, fanning his pallid hand in front of his face.

“Maybe you will. I
had
hoped, however, you would have used this time to
reflect
upon the selfishness of the path you have chosen.”

The voice. The way he inflected certain words.

“His
Divinity
has been patient with you. Patient on account of your
past
services to the Theocracy. But even His Divinity is human. Even
His
patience is finite.” The investigator cocked his head, like a bird spotting its prey. “What is it? Why do you look at me that way? Do you
think
, perhaps, you know me?”

“The…” Razors scratched the lining of Shader’s throat. He tried to go on; swallowed, but he had no spit.

The investigator snapped his fingers, and the fat orderly came over with his waterskin, unstoppered it, and lifted it to Shader’s lips. Shader coughed and spluttered as half the liquid went down his throat, the rest splashing over his chin. Not water: wine; vinegary, and no doubt mixed with the orderly’s phlegm.

“All you’re getting,” the orderly said, backing away to the bench, clutching the waterskin to his chest. “That’s good stuff, that.”

“The way you speak,” Shader said. “Your face…” But not the eyes. Definitely not the eyes.

“Yes?” The investigator leaned back in. “Glad he left
some
impression on you.”

“He?” Shader frowned, trying to dredge up the memory. Where had he seen that face, heard that voice?

“My father.”

Shader stared blankly for a moment, and then he had it.

“Bardol Shin. The man the Templum sent after me in Sahul.”

The investigator drew in a sharp breath, and there it was again—both of them this time: canines like a dog’s, or perhaps even a wolf’s. Maybe he filed them; or maybe it was something else. Last time Shader had seen teeth like that was in the ranks of the Liche Lord’s armies.

“I am
Bartholomew
Shin. People say I rose from my father’s ashes. People
say
far too much, in my opinion. He was
an
investigator, I am the
Grand
Investigator. It was not blood that got me where I am today; it was
merit
. The same sort of merit that could yet restore you to the Ipsissimus’s good graces, should you work at it.”

“I didn’t seek discord with His Divinity,” Shader said. “But what he wants is impossible.”

“Impossible?”

“I can’t do it.”

“So they say,” Shin said. “Far be it from me to
criticize
His Divinity’s predecessor, but a special dispensation? For an Elect knight to train for the priesthood?”

“It was a mercy,” Shader said. “Ipsissimus Theodore knew I couldn’t go on.” How many times had he killed in the name of Nous? How many times had he violated the very principle the Templum’s religion stood upon? It had been there from the start, this war between peace and the sword. And it had taken him more time than it would a fool to work it out. Aristodeus had planted the conflict in him as a child; orchestrated everything about his upbringing to keep him in perfect tension, all so he could wield the Archon’s sword. All so he could succeed where the philosopher had failed, in taking down the Technocrat Sektis Gandaw.

“The vows of an
Elect
knight are for life,” Shin said. “Granted, an Ipsissimus freed you from them; but now the new Ipsissimus
requires
your particular set of skills. Yours, and those of every other
consecrated
knight the Theocracy has brought to term from the womb of its benevolence.” He pressed his lips to Shader’s ear, whispering so that the orderlies wouldn’t overhear. “We cannot hold out, Shader. It is no secret the Sahulian fleet controls the Narala Passage. They have taken Numosia, and Aeterna is next. Nousia is too vast. We are too thinly spread. There simply
isn’t time
to marshal an effective defense.”

“So, you don’t need me,” Shader said. “If it’s all over.”

“Not all over. We will withdraw north, marshall our forces and
strike
back.”

With what?
Shader wanted to ask. The Templum’s losses had been staggering, and Hagalle’s forces grew stronger with each country he conquered. Not only that, Quilonia had entered the war on Sahul’s side, opening a bleeding wound right at the heart of Nousia. Quilonia’s independence had long been a thorn in the Theocracy’s side, but now the yoke of oppression had encouraged ambitions to fester, old scores to be settled. And with Quilonia’s betrayal, others had grown bold. Suddenly, no one wanted Nousian protection or enlightenment. The whole world was turning back to barbarism, as if it were somehow new and liberating.

“The Elect will be our rearguard,” Shin said. “Even the retired are being recalled, such is the peril. And yet you…” He drew back and raised his voice once more. “You seek to hide behind the pretense of
pacifism
, and you place self-will above duty.”

“How many times?” Shader said. “How many times will people like you, people like Silvanus, force me to be what I am not?”

“
You
are a killer,” Shin said. “One of the best, so I am told. You are a
name
, someone the men will rally to.”

Shader tugged against his bonds, regretted it, and let his head drop back in resignation.

“He was fast, you know.”

“What?” Shin said.

“Your father.”

There was a long pause. Silence hung like a threat before Shin said, “Evidently
not
fast enough.”

That hadn’t been the problem. He’d been dazzling, Bardol Shin; maybe even the best swordsman Shader had ever faced. There had only been one deciding difference. Shin was a measured man, cultured and bound by rules. Shader, on the other hand, when it came to combat… He stopped the thought there; tried to tell himself it wasn’t true. He’d stayed his hand many a time, hadn’t he? Turned the other cheek, and all the other things a Nousian was supposed to do. Maybe as a child, like the time Brent Carvin had killed his dog; but as a man… well, he certainly couldn’t fault himself for trying; but when it came down to it, when it was him or the other person, or him against a horde of mawgs, he knew just how ruthless he could be.

Shin turned his back on Shader, went to the shelves by the door that harbored all manner of cruel-looking implements. He took his time selecting something, and when he did, he cast a look back at Shader over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t personal. My father was the finest swordsman I ever saw, but he was not a
natural-born killer
, like you. You faced him fair and square, of that I have no doubt. He knew the risks. No, this is not about
him
, or me. This is for Nous.”

He spun round, a heavy-headed hammer in one hand, iron spike in the other.

“And I will give my life for Nous,” Shader said. “Even on this rack. Even at your hands.”

If priestly training had taught him one thing, it was that Nous was all that mattered. Yes, the scriptures and doctrines had been altered by Otto Blightey—even the name “Nous” was the Liche Lord’s invention, borrowed from the most ancient Graecian writings, so Adeptus Ludo said. But all Blightey had done was mask a truth. Stick with it long enough, Ludo never failed of telling the seminarians, and every now and again, you got to peek behind the veil. Not everyone was graced enough to find it, but it was there, buried beneath Blightey’s obfuscations: the Golden Thread. It was a mystery worth dying for.

“Dying, I would have to
explain
to the Ipsissimus,” Shin said. “But His Divinity understands, no,
condones
, the use of the stick to bring a disobedient dog to heel.”

Shader gritted his teeth as Shin stalked toward him. The two orderlies rose from the bench. One grabbed a wad of bandages and took up his place behind the investigator. The other stood at the head of the rack. He forced Shader’s mouth open and crammed a strip of leather between his teeth.

It was futile, but Shader still thrashed on instinct. All it achieved was to heighten the pain.

Shin waved the iron spike through the air, deliberating, until he settled on Shader’s injured knee. He glanced up at the orderly at the head of the rack. “Bit over-zealous with the ratchet, I see. Looks like I’ll be the bearer of bad news to His Divinity, after all. Even if he
recants
his position, he’ll be no good to the Elect lame.
You’ll
undoubtedly burn for it,” he told the orderly. “Unless we make it look like an
accident
, you know,
thwarted
escape; something like that. Still, if you’re going to get on the Ipsissimus’s bad side, might as well do it
properly
.” He positioned the spike over Shader’s kneecap and raised the hammer.

Shader shut his eyes, muttered a swift prayer—

—and the door clanged open.

“That’s enough, Investigator Shin. I’ll take it from here.”

Shader let out the breath he’d been holding.

Ludo!

Ludo had come for him.

Shin almost roared as he whirled round. “This is
Judiciary
business, Adeptus. You’d do well to—”

“Say that again,” Ludo said.

“This is Judiciary busi—”

“No, the bit about ‘Adeptus’. We are both men of the hierarchy, Brother. In my dotage, did I miss the relegation of my office and the ascension of yours?”

Ludo sounded affable, as always, but Shin wouldn’t miss the implied threat. Even under Ipsissimus Theodore, the pecking order had been considered immutable, divinely ordained. Under Silvanus, the slightest hint of disobedience, the merest whiff of dissent, and you’d find yourself in a far worse position than Shader was in right now.

Shin clamped his jaw shut and dropped to one knee. “Adeptus.”

Ludo’s sandals slapped against the stone floor as he approached to loom over the investigator. He was a big man, probably the tallest man Shader had ever seen. He placed a hand on Shin’s head and closed his eyes. “The blessing of Our Lord Nous be upon you, Brother.”

“And also upon you,” Shin said.

Ludo lifted his hand, and Shin lurched to his feet, stiff and awkward. With a click of his fingers, he summoned the two orderlies to follow him, and then led them from the room.

“Oh,” Ludo said, peering down at Shader’s bound ankles. “Do you think it would be too much to call them back? I’m hopeless with knots, save those on the prayer cord, of course.”

Shader rattled the chains holding his wrists.

“Ah,” Ludo said. “Now they are most definitely beyond me.”

Shader grunted, and Ludo’s eyes bulged above the top of his eyeglasses as he noticed the leather strip in Shader’s mouth. He removed it gingerly with thumb and forefinger, looked about for somewhere to put it, and finally decided to just let go.

“Over there, by the door,” Shader said. He coughed to clear his throat. “Must be something among the torture implements you could use.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Ludo said, ambling over to the shelves. “I’m really not much good at this sort of… Oh, will this do?” He turned around, holding a pair of sharp-edged pincers in his shovel-like hand.

Shader would have laughed under any other circumstances, but he felt so broken, body and soul, that all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and thank Nous over and over again. Tears streamed down his cheeks; tears of relief, but in among them, the acid tears of shame. Not just shame: anger. The festering buds of revenge.

With an iron will, he forced his eyes open; shut the door on that train of thought. He wouldn’t go there; not ever again. He had suffered in union with Nous. There was no sense turning a grace into a curse.

Ludo cut him free and then gathered his clothes from the floor.

“He was holy once, you know,” he said. “Bartholomew Shin. A fearless evangelist who took Nous to the darkest of places. After the Templum turned back the hordes of the Liche Lord, Shin traveled the length and breadth Verusia. Even devils, he said, could be converted. He came back a changed man.”

Ludo struggled to dress Shader, getting very little help in return. He fastened the pendant around Shader’s neck, squinting through his spectacles at the image of the woman on one side, the inscription on the other. It had been entrusted to Shader by the Fish, the old man he had been imprisoned with in New Jerusalem. A man who’d endured even more than Shader, and yet still went to his death as trusting as a child sung to sleep.

“
Causa salutis
,” Ludo said. “The cause of our salvation. Still have it, then. That’s good. Keep her with you.” He patted his heart. “The
Immaculata
. The Scourge of the Deceiver. I’m sorry I’ve not been able to come up with more. The Second Book of Unveilings hints at so much that has been lost. If only I had the key. There are very few people I’d like to slap, but if I ever lay eyes on Otto Blightey…” Ludo raised a hand, then shook his head and chuckled. “Even him. Even the Liche Lord of Verusia couldn’t incite this old bird to violence. You know, Brother, sometimes I envy you… I mean, what you once were.”