The Call of Kerberos (28 page)

The congregation raised their voices in thanks and praise and, as they looked at him standing there, Silus could sense the weight of their need and the hope that they had placed within him. Despite himself, he felt a surge of pride and anticipation. That just one human could bring about such a transformation was astonishing. But then, he considered, he wasn't really human. The Chadassa were as much his people as they had been Belck's.

When the Great Ocean joined the congregation in the words of an ancient litany Silus closed his eyes, trying to picture his wife and child as they had been at Zac's birth, hoping that the image would shake him free of the creature's thrall. He tried to remember the fierce love that he had felt as he held Zac in his arms for the first time, and the look of happy exhaustion on Katya's face. He asked for their forgiveness.

The voices in the temple fell silent and the great double doors at the far end of the hall swung open. Silus realised that his time had finally come.

Weakly he submitted to the Great Ocean as it handed him to its acolytes. He didn't fight as they raised him up and carried him forth.

As they proceeded from the hall and out into the passage beyond Silus looked at the murals that decorated the walls as they scrolled slowly past. Scenes of conquest and icons of Chadassa leaders had been chiselled into the stone, some with surprising finesse considering the creatures behind the art. One face he saw looked familiar and as they neared the mural Silus realised why this was. He was looking at himself. The likeness may not have been painstakingly accurate but whoever had worked the stone had certainly managed to capture his essence. This was not a new mural either, the stonework was worn in places and covered with sea lichens. Looking up at himself, as he was passed from hand to hand, Silus realised then that this final act really was his destiny. This was where he was supposed to be. It had been foretold.

He had fought and fought, drawing his family and friends into an unnecessary conflict when he should have given himself to the Chadassa when they had first called.

The regret that Silus felt at this, however, was dispelled as he was brought by acolytes of the Great Ocean before the Queen.

The powerful musk of the creature rolled towards him on a warm current and Silus inhaled the scent deeply, letting her perfume fill him with a fierce arousal, of which the touch of the Chadassa maidens had been but the merest taste. The great mound shivered as he drew near and, the folds of flesh gently parting before him, the Chadassa Queen blossomed.

Silus didn't hesitate to enter her embrace.

After all, his destiny had been written in stone.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Querilous Fitch removed his sodden shirt and threw it into a corner where it hit the floor with a wet splat. For a moment he considered removing his trews also - anything to allow the air to get to his clammy skin - but that, he thought, would be a step too far and not an act befitting the dignity of the Final Faith's Head Inquisitor. His predecessor hadn't been so coy by all accounts, in fact it had been said that Master Mullens sometimes used his nakedness to facilitate his acts of torture. Querilous, however, preferred to perform his duties clothed, even in the overpowering heat of this particular dungeon.

Here they were too far below ground for the light channelled by the cathedral's sun traps to reach the chamber. Instead the room was illuminated by the torches that ringed the walls and the glowing coals of braziers.

Above one of the braziers hung the Chadassa prisoner. Querilous had suspended the creature above the fire until its scales had dulled and cracked, and even then it had refused to struggle or make a sound. It wasn't that the thing was unconscious, it just appeared to be particularly obstinate. The Chadassa hadn't made a sound since it had been captured and Querilous's mind probes had been unable to elicit any useful information. That was why he had brought the creature to the deepest dungeon in Scholten Cathedral, for it was here that some of the more arcane torture equipment resided.

As the usual methods had failed him, it was time to turn to the knowledge of the Old Races.

Querilous lowered the specimen to the floor and doused it with a bucket of water. With the help of his assistants he then carried the creature to the equipment that dominated the far end of the room. Querilous had helped build this particular device himself, working to dwarven plans that had been painstakingly translated by Faith scholars. The design for the equipment came from the age when the Old Races had been at war, and it would appear that it had originally been intended to torture elves. Querilous, however, had altered the construction so that it could accommodate any type of prisoner. The machine had been used only a handful of times so far and two of those occasions had been test runs, utilising subjects who had volunteered from among the Faithful; righteous masochists happy to give their lives to a holy cause.

Querilous didn't understand such people. He himself had experienced some of the incredible pain the machine was capable of delivering and that was only because he had accidentally touched one of the contacts during the powering-up process. He couldn't imagine anyone putting themselves through such suffering voluntarily.

The prisoner was strapped into place and Querilous's assistants opened the valves that allowed the flow of arcane energy to suffuse the frame of the machine. The inquisitor donned a pair of smoked-glass goggles. He had no such protection to offer his assistants. However, their ensuing blindness would be the insurance the Faith needed to avoid them accurately describing the mechanisms of this wondrous toy to any potential Brotherhood spies. Sadly such impostors were everywhere.

The power of the machine rolled from it in cool waves, goose-pimpling Querilous's skin and making him wish that he had kept his shirt on. There was a raw mineral smell in the air and the hairs on his arms started to prickle. The crystals embedded in the frame glowed a deep umber, gradually changing into an intense lavender as the power levels rose. The torches on the walls flickered out and Querilous found himself momentarily deaf as the air pressure in the room increased. But then his ears popped and the roar of the device at full power came at him.

Querilous turned one of the valves attached to the frame and the webbing holding the Chadassa in place started to glow. And now he really did see a change in the prisoner's attitude for, as the smell of ozone intensified, something like fear glittered deep in the creature's eyes.

"Now, will you talk?" Querilous shouted, the howling of the machinery almost drowning out his words.

The Chadassa reached for him, its talons weakly opening and closing just inches from his face.

Querilous smiled and removed a crystal from the frame.

A jagged shard of lightning arced between the creature's shoulders and it cried out.

"What, what was that? I can't hear you."

Querilous knew that he wasn't supposed to enjoy the act of torture - it was a holy rite, a spiritual duty to be treated with the appropriate reverence - but sometimes he allowed himself just the merest hint of pleasure.

The creature did now appear to be about to say something and Querilous powered down the machinery so that he could make out its words.

"Mercy. I said mercy. I'll talk."

The prisoner broken, Querilous loosened its bindings, allowing some respite before sending for a scribe to take down the monster's statement.

Several days later, in a cove not far from the bustling port of Turnitia, lay the fleet of ships the Faith had prepared to deal with the Chadassa threat. It was true that none of the vessels were as magnificent as the
Llothriall
or would be able to weather the tumults of the Twilight seas for long, but then not one of the ships would be returning. Each vessel was manned by a crew consisting of a selection of the most fanatical and devoted members of the Faith. These men and women did not care that, moments after they had delivered their deadly payloads, their bodies would be broken on the rough seas. In fact, their faith burned so fiercely within them that they considered this sacrifice the least they could offer up.

Katherine Makennon was a little in awe of such martyrs, even some of the highest-ranking Archimandrites would be hard pressed to equal their levels of devotion. In turning themselves into holy weapons they had assured their passage to Kerberos. Makennon couldn't believe that she hadn't considered the use of such martyrs on the battlefield before. Such suicidal devotion may have shortened the last war between Vos and Pontaine considerably and may even have seen the destruction of the Brotherhood. Once this foray was over she would certainly look into the benefits of a programme of radicalisation.

Katherine looked down at her feet as the iron floor began to vibrate. She was standing in the lamp room of a lighthouse, the entire structure of which had been converted to accommodate the magical equipment that would teleport the fleet. In the centre of the room a tangle of hair-thin wires rose from the floor. Katherine watched as a mage poured a tray of metal balls into the steel web. As they fell they emitted sparks where they came into contact with the wires, before falling through a trapdoor in the floor. Katherine could hear their progress beneath her as they raced through the interior of the lighthouse, crashing through more trapdoors, setting off cantrips and making the wires sing with arcane energy.

Beside her, Querilous Fitch was talking to a mage as he polished the great lens that stood before the equipment, the circumference of which was inscribed with runes and lines of prayer.

"Brother Querilous, you are certain that the fleet will be transported to location of the Chadassa citadel?" Makennon said.

"Oh indeed, Anointed One. I broke through the prisoner's lies and truly did I see the seat of all their blasphemies."

"And the weapons aboard the ships will work?"

"A fire that burns underwater and cannot be extinguished. It will destroy their city entirely and Twilight shall be free of their kind."

Katherine hoped that they would also soon be rid of the black sphere that had been plaguing Kerberos. Brother Incera had still not discovered anything further concerning the planetary body and it was beginning to affect the morale of her flock. It had even been rumoured that a cult had sprung up near the Drakengrat mountains, dedicated to the worship of this aberration. Makennon would make sure that they were put down by the Swords before she delivered her next address at Scholten Cathedral.

"Anointed One, the equipment is ready if you would like to make a blessing?" one of the mages said.

As her attendant lit a censer Katherine sketched the symbol of the Faith in the air. Those gathered before her bowed their heads as they prepared to receive the blessing.

"Lord, send these ships to enact your will. Remove from the face of our blessed seas this unnatural scourge and call into your arms these brave holy warriors. Amen."

"Amen," chorused the Faithful.

"Anointed One, it will be safer if we leave the tower," Querilous said. "There is a slight risk of backlash and we wouldn't want to put you in any danger."

Katherine followed Querilous to a bluff that overlooked the cove where the ships were readying themselves for the voyage. She was pleased to see that each of them had raised the flag of the Faith, the sight of the crossed circles snapping in the wind instilling within her the fervour of hope.

To their left the room atop the lighthouse began to blaze with a light so intense it was as though a new sun had appeared in the sky.

A jagged crack ran up the side of the building and there was a rain of crumbling mortar.

"Querilous," Makennon said, as stone began to grind against stone, "I think that something is wrong."

"Don't worry Anointed One, the structure has been reinforced, it won't topple."

As the lighthouse began to sway Katherine wondered what it was like, at that moment, to be one of the mages in the lamp room. The light above them intensified even further, bathing the cove in a startling brilliance that threw the shadows of the ships far across the waves. There was a sudden cold wind and then the ships were following their shadows across the sea; though as Katherine watched it was almost as though they weren't moving at all, rather it was she who was rushing away from the fleet. She got the impression of a sky heavy with boiling clouds above a landscape of mountainous waves, but then she blinked and the vision was gone, along with the ships.

The wind died as suddenly as it had risen and the light above them winked out. Katherine found herself plunged into absolute darkness. She was beginning to fear that the spell had backfired and she had been transported to the void when she detected the soft sound of the waves.

The cove and the lighthouse gradually emerged from the gloom, bathed in Kerberos's glow.

"Anointed One, are you okay? You appear shaken."

"I must admit, Querilous, that sometimes magic scares me." Katherine sketched the symbol of the Faith in the air before taking the Inquisitor's arm. "Back to Scholten I think. I wish to spend time in prayer while we await the news of our glorious victory."

Chapter Twenty-Four

Bestion's pen skidded across the page, digging a shallow trench in the paper as another tremor struck the ruins of Morat.

In the aftermath of the attack that had seen the majority of the city devoured, the power of the stone of the Allfather had been utilised to draw together the remains. Bestion sat at the centre of this tiny archipelago of ruins, working in a chapel attached to the house of the Stone Seers.

He had set himself the unenviable task of documenting the last days of Morat - for already the power of the stone was waning - and he had finished his account of the attack and was now moving onto his recollections of the strangers. In particular, the extraordinary individual Silus.

Bestion had been astonished to discover one with such a strong link to the Allfather - especially one who was not from Morat - and for a moment he had even contemplated the possibility that Silus was the herald of their God, sent to lead them on the journey home. If anything, though, he had turned out to be a portent of destruction. Yet Bestion had been with Silus as his soul had left his body to commune with the Allfather, and he had sensed no malice within him. Bestion would have given anything to know what Silus had learned during the ritual, but the stranger had taken that knowledge with him.