The Call of Kerberos (13 page)

A door opened in the far wall and Brother Sequilious - the Final Faith's head sorcerer - entered, followed by Katherine Makennon. Sequilious acknowledged Querilous with a nod as Makennon held out her hand to be reverently kissed. The Anointed Lord was not surrounded by her usual entourage of acolytes and personal assistants this evening, as the business that they were to conduct here was not to be common knowledge amongst the faithful. The use of Old Race sorcery wasn't forbidden as such, but the magic that Sequilious was about to weave within this soot-stained room would be considered heretical in some quarters. This was why Makennon had to be in attendance, to absolve the sorcerer of the sins he was about to commit.

Brother Sequilious entered the circle of cages in the middle of the room and stood at the centre of the black spiral painted on the floor. Each soot stained cage mimicked the basic form of a human and stood at just over seven feet tall. In several places carbonised flesh still clung to the bars. A pipe rose from the top of each cage, juddering and steaming where it entered the ceiling, filling the room with a muggy warmth from the heat of the naphtha that flowed within.

As Sequilious closed his eyes, Makennon took a small silver sprinkler from her robes and anointed the sorcerer with holy oil while chanting the rites of absolution. After the ceremony was complete Sequilious bowed to Makennon and she exited the circle. When he looked up at Querilous there was a cruel glint in Sequilious's eyes, as he indicated to him to bring in the heretics.

The seven men that were led into the room by Querilous's assistants had been discovered on Sarcre. They were members of the cult of Many Paths, a heathen religion that Querilous had thought long since purged from the archipelago. It seemed, however, that the cult was very much a part of island life. In the light of this Querilous had suggested that a detachment of the Order of the Swords of Dawn be sent to Sarcre on a purification mission as soon as possible. The islands may be of little military or commercial interest to the Faith, but that was no reason why they should be allowed to lapse into the old heathen ways.

The heretics were in various states of distress. The youngest had fought against his bonds and screamed so much in his cell that Querilous had had to administer a strong sedative, and now the man drooped against the bars of his execution cage, a thin line of drool swaying from his stupidly grinning lips. Several of the other heretics were praying loudly to their ancestors, others were singing and one man stared at Sequilious with such intense hatred that the sorcerer was forced to look away. Final Faith protocol required that each prisoner be read a list of the charges brought against them and offered the chance to confess before the purging began, but Querilous didn't deem it necessary in these unusual circumstances. Besides, he considered, it was unlikely that these souls would be winging their way to the clouds of Kerberos once the spell was completed.

"Before we start," said Katherine Makennon, "are you sure that this will render the eunuch useless?"

"Indeed, your Eminence," Querilous said. "Once the magic has been woven, the crew of the
Llothriall
won't be going anywhere."

"Excellent, do please proceed."

Querilous went to stand behind a steel screen set into the floor a short distance from the cages. It rose to a height of just over six feet and there was a reinforced glass viewing port set into it at head height. Behind the screen an array of levers extended from the floor and Querilous pulled one of these towards him.

There was a thunderous
clank
from somewhere in the ceiling, and then only the loudest of the prisoners' cries could drown out the sound of the naphtha rushing through the pipes.

The heat in the room intensified and Querilous looked through the viewing port to see Sequilious making the passes and muttering the incantations that marked the beginning of the spell.

As Sequilious sketched a dwarven rune in the air with his left hand and the black spiral upon which he stood began to glow with a maroon light, Querilous pulled on another lever.

The pipes were silent then for the briefest of moments and the only sounds in the chamber were the muttering of the sorcerer and the cries of the heretics, before the valve at the top of each cage squealed open and naphtha rained down.

As flesh began to sizzle under the onslaught of burning oil and the screams of the condemned men rose to an almost girlish pitch, Querilous pulled another lever and the fans set into the walls began to suck the human smoke from the room. It would rise through the many levels of Scholten cathedral to pour from the great chimneys that extended high above the church. Pilgrims making their way to prayer would pause and think that this smoke was from the incense of Makennon's devotions, and give thanks that they had witnessed the smallest part of such a holy rite.

The naphtha did its job quickly and the heretics were soon silent. However, their part in the ritual was far from over. Querilous began to manipulate the levers and the cages in which the heretics burned began to revolve around Brother Sequilious. The flames reached high as the cages spun faster and faster, adding their light to the glow of the magic that suffused the sorcerer. Sequilious threw up his arms and his pupils were suddenly full of the azure light of Kerberos. Threads of dark energy began to extend towards him from the circle of flame and, as they touched him, a strange cry filled the room, like the whimpering of whipped dogs. A dark aura began to weave itself around Sequilious and he was soon lost in the folds of a strange black caul.

Querilous pulled another lever and the spinning cages came to a sudden stop, the blackened bones within rattling against the bars.

The black aura surrounding the sorcerer began to grow until there was a dark column reaching to the ceiling. As it towered above Querilous it seemed to lean forward and he was suddenly fearful that it would fall on and consume him. But then a shudder passed through the column as the air in the room was sucked toward it with a great rushing of wind.

Above the keening of the maelstrom Querilous could hear the beating of his own heart and, as he struggled to breathe, he prayed to the Lord of All that the spell would soon be over. Through the blur of tears, he saw the dark column give a great shudder before it exploded outwards, bringing with it the smell of burning stone and cherry blossoms.

Querilous would have expected Sequilious to be flattened by the force of the magic he had just woven, but he stood in the last flickers of the dissipating energy, untouched. Brushing down his robes he stepped from the circle and bowed before Makennon.

"Anointed One, it is finished."

"Are you sure that it has been effective?"

"Oh yes. Somewhere on the Twilight seas Emuel will be in a great deal of pain."

Emuel cried out as Katya applied the wet cloth to his forehead. The ship's eunuch had collapsed shortly after the rest of the crew had departed, convulsing as he frothed at the mouth, his eyes rolling so far back in his head that only the whites showed. Katya had managed to bring him out of the seizure gradually, but now he was burning up and the skin that showed in the gaps between his tattoos was deathly white.

After putting him in his bunk Katya had thrown open the porthole, hoping that the fresh sea air would help cool him down. But now it seemed that all she could do was wait for him to ride out the fever.

Emuel arched his back until only the back of his head and heels were in contact with the bunk. Katya held his hand as the eunuch screamed, but he didn't return her grip, conscious as he was of nothing but the pain that wracked his body. She began to undress him, hoping that, out of his clothes, Emuel would be a little cooler and more comfortable.

As she unbuttoned his shirt, the extent of his tattoos became clearer. Katya had been aware that the cryptic patterns and swirls of elvish script covered most of Emuel's body but, up to now, she hadn't realised to what extent.

Katya removed his shirt and gasped at the sight of the living script that ran over the arches of his shoulders to cascade down his chest. Every time she thought that she had picked out a recognisable shape in the dark morass it would shift and warp, flowing into the indecipherable calligraphy that surrounded it.

Katya felt dizzy just looking at Emuel's illustrated flesh but it wasn't this that most disturbed her, it was the sound that the tattoos made.

It was so low that she had to still her breathing to even attempt to make it out. When she did, however, the soft murmur would disappear, and it was only when Katya shook her head and told herself that she had been imagining things that it would return; sounding like someone talking low, yet urgently, in the next room.

No wonder Emuel looked to be constantly on the verge of panic, Katya considered. He had to cope with this maddening background chatter every day.

Katya dropped Emuel's shirt on the floor and began to remove his breeches. She stopped after she had tugged them halfway down, unable to take her eyes off the ridges of scar tissue that covered the wounds of his emasculation.

"Oh Gods Emuel, I'm so sorry."

The wounds had healed but the flesh there still looked red raw. Katya wondered at what manner of boy Emuel had been, to trust so much in his faith and the church that he had let them do this to him.

Katya closed her eyes and sent up a prayer to the ancestors, calling on them to send their blessings and guide the eunuch through the ravages of this vicious fever.

When she opened her eyes there was a strange glow emanating from the tattoo on Emuel's chest. The black spiral that was inked there glowed a deep maroon and she could feel an intense heat rising from it.

Emuel tried to scream but only a desperate keening hiss escaped his mouth. He looked at Katya then with eyes full of frightened panic as his flesh began to burn.

After Silus had collapsed, Dunsany and Jacquinto had carried him back to the room in the tower through which they had entered the citadel. Silus had raved about the Chadassa until a few slaps from Jacquinto had roused him from his waking nightmare. Silus had got unsteadily to his feet and Kelos had suggested that they return to the
Llothriall
. Silus had feared something rising from the depths to overtake them as they ascended to the ship - some spectre of the death that had befallen the citadel - but they made it back on board without further incident.

Their sense of relief, however, was soon shattered by the sounds of Emuel's pain.

Kelos was the first to the eunuch's cabin, with Silus close behind, rushing to the side of his wife as she tried to comfort Emuel. There was a smell like cooking meat as they entered the room and Silus noticed thin skeins of smoke drifting through the shaft of light pouring in through the porthole.

As Kelos went to the eunuch the boy fell back onto his bunk and was silent. The mage felt for a pulse on his wrist and then looked more closely at the maze of tattoos that covered his torso.

In the centre of Emuel's chest, where there had previously been inked a black spiral, there was now a patch of burned flesh.

"We're in trouble." Kelos said.

"Trouble how?" Dunsany said, entering the room. Behind him the three smugglers and Father Maylan crowded into the doorway.

"The script is broken. Emuel won't be able to sing to the gem anymore. Therefore, we're stuck; with no way to negotiate these stormy seas, no magical defences and no invisibility shield."

"If it helps, I know how to do tattoos." Jacquinto said. "In fact, I did all of Ignacio's myself. All I need is a needle, a candle and some ink."

"And you know how magical tattoos work do you?" Kelos snapped. "Familiar with the elven runes of power are we?"

"I was just trying to help!"

"Well you're not!" Kelos's voice rose to a shriek and Emuel woke up again and began adding his own cries to the cacophony.

Kelos barged his way out of the room only to barge his way back in several seconds later. Muttering a few words he broke what looked like a silver bird egg over the eunuch's brow, sending him into an instant, deep sleep.

"He'll be out for several hours and he won't be in any pain."

"Who did this?" Katya said.

"I've been stupid." Kelos said. "Very, very stupid. I should have realised that the symbol on Emuel's chest was not a part of the script that covers his body. It must have been inked there to ensure that if the eunuch ever fell into the wrong hands - for example, ours - then the Faith would be able to render him useless through the use of remote magic."

"So, how can we fix him?" Dunsany said.

"I'm afraid we can't. It looks like the voyage is over."

Chapter Twelve

Findol snapped out of his reverie and raced for the stairs.

Behind him the five other Chadassa that had made up their circle began to wake, the sharp ozone tang of their meditation fading as they came to full consciousness.

In the library Belck was transcribing a set of symbols from ancient metal tablets. He didn't look up as Findol rushed into the room. Instead, he held up one finger as the Chadassa youngling made to speak, forestalling the news that he was clearly so desperate to relate.

Once he had completed the final symbol Belck looked up from his work.

"My lord. The humans' vessel has been sighted."

"Where?"

"Moored above Fandor, my Lord."

"The Calma citadel? That one was sacked before your time, I believe. It was a most joyous battle. Remind me to relate it to you one day. For now, I think that a visit to the ruroth pens is in order."

The Chadassa ancient rose to his feet with the aid of his staff, waving away Findol's attempts to help. As Belck straightened a tight band of fire seemed to encircle his waist and he waited for the pain to pass as he regained his breath. He knew what it meant, of course. He only hoped that he would live long enough to see his God's will done and the Land Walkers striding victorious over the human realm.

Belck let Findol lead the way to the enclosures. As they neared the creatures' pens the rumblings of the ruroth thundered down the tunnels towards them. Occasionally there would be a plaintive, keening cry as the creatures called to one another, but these were quickly silenced only to be replaced - seconds later - with screeches of pain.