Verge of Darkness
*******
The lookout, perched high in his crow’s nest on the Mingzhu, licked fearfully at his lips as the dot of a ship in the distance gradually got bigger. His fears confirmed as he made out its sleek outline, he called down, “Corsairs to the starboard!”
Tao-Lin cursed. Running to the starboard deck, he could see the sleek trireme closing rapidly. There was no hope of the Mingzhu outrunning it. He cursed again as he recognized the Attu. They would be facing the feared Eel, and close to a hundred fighting men. He had hoped the fates would shine favourably on this journey, but the presence of a woman on board had made him uneasy. Raising his voice, he ordered his crew to arm themselves. He had scant regard for their ability with arms, but had more hope of the small squad of two dozen warriors Xiang Tse had insisted take the journey for this eventuality.
Hearing the outcry, Liang donned a silver-grey breastplate and swung the twin scabbards of the Storm Blades on her back, a smile playing across her lips. She was looking forward to testing the legendary blades of her birthright. Stepping from her cabin, she made her way to the deck with the two dozen warriors in her wake.
On-board the Attu – the sea vermin, fierce cruel faces festooned with nose and ear rings, and some with bare torsos covered with colourful skin paintings, massed on the deck. They brandished weapons, and yelled war cries and fearsome threats as they bore down on the merchantman.
The Eel, large protruding eyes set in a sallow pock-marked face, and thin lips fixed in a mirthless grin, stood alone on the prow, hands on the hilts of his twin-scabbarded short swords.
Grappling hooks bit into the timbers of the Mingzhu and drew the ships closer. The corsairs massed along the rails of the Attu leapt onto the merchantman, and the warriors with Liang in the van, leapt to meet them.
Watching from the Attu, Kaonigai saw a tight wedge of green-armoured warriors rip into his men. Leading them was a slender figure in a sliver breastplate. His eyes widened as he realised it was a woman. As he watched, she ducked under a wild slash, her left-hand sword slicing through the reaver’s belly. Almost simultaneously, her right-hand sword swept out in a low horizontal cut, shearing through the ankle of another corsair. As she straightened up, a huge figure loomed behind her, axe raised to cleave her skull. Kaonigai recognized Marek, his first mate.
Pity, he thought. She was a good fighter for a woman, and it would have been pleasurable breaking her proud spirit under his knives.
Expecting to see her head disintegrate under the impact of Marek’s axe, Kaonigai blinked in surprise.
Inexplicably, she spun away, allowing the axe to sweep down past her neck and shoulder. Continuing her momentum, her swords swept on into a horizontal cut at Marek’s neck.
Marek recovered swiftly, his axe flashing up to deflect the swords. The giant bent his knees and hammered his shoulder into the woman’s chest, sending her reeling backward.
As she regained her balance, two corsairs ran at her, swords upraised. Almost contemptuously, her swords swept up and out, shearing through her attackers’ blades, and opening their throats.
Marek strode forward, his axe weaving a glittering promise of death. Kaonigai noticed most of the other combatants had stopped fighting, forming a rough circle as they watched the duel between the huge axeman and the slender figure with the dancing blades.
“I am not going to kill you quick… whore,” Marek hissed. “Just cut you a little, slow you down…some, then the captain and I will have some fun…see what you look like under that pretty armour.”
Liang didn’t respond. Marek roared, feinted a cut at her thighs, then swept his axe up in a vicious diagonal cut. Liang slid back out of range, then faster than the eye could follow, darted forward, her left-hand sword caressing Marek’s throat. The giant dropped his axe, hands lifting to his throat in a vain attempt to stop the gush of blood. Gurgling, he fell to his knees, and toppled to his side.
Seeing the huge man fall, the jade-armoured warriors and crew of the Mingzhu cheered loudly and tore at the corsairs with renewed vigour. Kaonigai cursed. Kicking at the rails in frustration, he drew his two short swords and leapt onto the Mingzhu.
A warrior ran at him. Ducking under a spiked mace, he buried his right-hand sword deep into the man’s groin. Kicking the body aside, his left-hand sword sheared through the face of another warrior, sending his jade helm spinning in the air. A sword lunged at his throat. A deft parry and a swift riposte tore out the man’s right eye. The blinded man screamed in horror and agony. Kaonigai abbreviated his cries, and pain, as a reverse cut sent his head flying.
Looking up, the Eel saw the woman step in front of him. He hadn’t realised how striking she was, her long dark curly hair held from her face by a thin silver band. And what a face it was, with those storm-grey eyes. He locked gazes with her and a chill ran through him.
“Bitch!” he snarled. Springing forward, he launched an attack of blistering speed. The woman met him, blade-to-blade, parrying and blocking his attacks with little effort, before launching her own attack. Kaonigai was forced backward, parrying and blocking desperately, but he couldn’t keep those terrible blue-hued blades from cutting his flesh.
Only able to partially deflect a cleverly disguised thrust, the point of her blade lanced into the fleshy part of his shoulder.
Blood from a cut on the top of his left thigh was running down his leg into his boot. He had desperately flung himself back to avoid the quick spinning cut. Missing his groin, the blade had sliced through his thigh muscles.
Kaonigai was an exceptional swordsman and an exceptionally cruel, sadistic man. He had crossed swords with countless men in one-to-one combat. Most were poor to average swordsmen, slashing and swinging wildly and relying on brute force. These he despatched swiftly, for they offered few thrills. Some were skilled swordsmen – lean and fast, cold hard eyes radiating arrogant confidence as they crossed swords. Within moments, the chilling realisation would dawn that he was the better man and they were going to die with cold steel rammed through their guts. That precise moment, when the fear hit, their eyes changed, reflecting nervousness, uncertainty, fear, resignation... It was almost sexually gratifying.
Sometimes, he would prolong matters. Ease off... pretend to stumble... Renewed hope would flare in their eyes, then he would cruelly extinguish it, grinning and eyes mocking. The fear would return to their eyes, occasionally vying with anger, before his sword drank their life-blood.
The deep cut on his thigh was making his movements clumsy, and the wound on his shoulder had made his left arm useless. He felt fear, and it wasn’t gratifying. He looked into the woman’s icy grey eyes and saw his death. “Who are… you?” he gasped.
“None of your concern, snake face,” she replied, her voice cold. She sheathed her left-hand sword, lowered the other, and stood watching him, her eyes mocking.
Kaonigai's eyes widened in anger. The woman was toying with him, as he had so many others. Screaming his fury, he hurled himself forward, his sword slashing at her neck. Her sword flashed up and down. He saw a blur of silver-blue, felt her blade slice through his collar bone and shear through his chest. His eyes bulged with shock as he watched the left half of his body drop away. The pain was horrific...
Liang stepped back. A fierce delight surged through her breast as she watched the light fade from the corsair chief’s eyes, and his gory remains slide to the already blood-drenched deck.
The surviving corsairs, seeing their captain slain, threw down their weapons, and backed away uncertainly, fearful for their lives, for they expected little mercy.
Captain Tao-Lin had seen enough bloodshed for the day. He ordered the surviving corsairs to take their dead, dying, and wounded comrades and get off his ship. Once aboard their craft, they had a short time to abandon it and cast off on boats, before he set it ablaze.
A great weariness hit Liang. Sheathing her swords, she turned away, the warriors and sea-men parting as she made her way along the deck toward her ca
bin. Each man bowed deeply as she passed. She didn’t acknowledge them, for it was only fitting those of lower station bowed to their betters. For she was Liang of the Storm Blades, Kyung-Su reborn.
Once in her cabin, Liang stripped and washed herself, dipping a piece of cloth in a bowl of water. Pulling on a light-blue silk gown, she sat on her bunk and placed the twin scabbards on her lap. As she pulled the swords out, the hilts moulded to her grip. She held them up, they felt light in her hands, almost an extension of her. She didn’t remember wiping them down, yet they were unblemished – no blood, nicks or scratches on the blades. She ran a thumb lightly along an edge and drew blood.
Wincing, she yanked her hand back and sucked the digit. She sheathed the swords and placed both on a trunk next to her bunk. She lay back on the bunk and stretched out, her thoughts turning to earlier. The swords were light, perfectly balanced, and belonged in her hands, as if she had used them all her life. But the joy that had welled up inside her when she killed the corsair chief troubled her. She had felt similar – though not as intense, during her first experience of actual combat, when she, Pagan and Xiang Tse had foiled the Zhaojin assassins. But, beyond that, she felt an unease she couldn’t quite place. A soft voice whispering deep in her subconscious…Closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep.
She dreamt she and Pagan were riding on the back of a huge scaled beast in a mighty storm. A roiling mass, darker than the blackest of storm clouds appeared in front of them. The beast flew on. A huge cavernous maw yawned on the mass, and a frigid cold blasted out, enveloping them. She drew the Storm Blades and screamed her defiance, the cry dying in her throat as a spider web of black threads appeared on the blades. The blades crumbled into dust. The beast flew on…
The Horror
The feast of Mithros took place on the longest day of the year at Petras Park to the west of the city. The park was named after the founder of Petralis.
Legend had it, Petras, determined to see the sea before he died, sold all his possessions, and journeyed eastward with his three sons. Traders and nomads spoke of a huge body of water that lay far to the east where the land ended.
Upon reaching his destination, Petras gazed upon the huge expanse of water with tears in his eyes. He died a week later, and his sons buried him on a promontory overlooking the sea. They went on to establish a settlement; Petralis – named after their father. Over time, Petralis grew into the main port and capital city of Mellania.
Casca had hoped to visit the ruins of Tor-Arnath with Pagan, but earlier promises to Aeneas and Althea to partake in the festivities held sway.
The feast was paid for by the city coffers, and organised by the City Elders – a council of five men and five women, chosen by the populace in elections held once every three years. Petralis had foregone the old tradition of rule by a Royal family over a hundred years earlier. Discontent over the harsh rule of Serranos-Halbro III, and the excesses of the Royal family and arrogant courtiers, led to a popular uprising that saw Petralis secede from Mellania to become an independent city state.
Casca, Pagan, and Aeneas with Ripper in tow, joined the throngs of people milling around the park taking in the various attractions.
Fire eaters, and tumblers delighted watchers with startling feats. Magickers performed tricks and illusions, which had the children screaming in delight. A tall magicker with long white hair and a thick bushy beard, wearing a shiny black and silver cloak reminded Casca of Castillan. The man was good, conjuring pretty little birds out of the air. The birds flew over the heads of the children, dropping little bags of sweetmeats into their outstretched hands before disappearing in puffs of red, blue and yellow smoke.
There were stalls selling trinkets, baubles, pottery, tapestries and colourfully embroidered tunics, and long log tables set with platters of roast meats, fish, and fruits. Barrels of ale and fruit juices, tankards, goblets, and cups were set nearby.
Hearing a voice call him, Casca looked up to see his sister Leonna waving. His daughter Althea, a pretty girl with long fair hair and bright blue eyes, ran into his arms. Leonna, her husband Marcos, and their three daughters joined them.
Pagan standing quietly by, as his friend’s family exchanged greetings, couldn’t help notice the filial resemblance that ran through Casca, Leonna, Aeneas and Althea – finely crafted features, fair hair and blue eyes. Marcos was a small, slightly portly man with a receding hairline and kind brown eyes. He and Leonna seemed an unmatched pair, with the slender Leonna considerably taller than her husband. But Casca had told Pagan they were a devoted couple who doted on each other and their children.
Pagan studied Marcos. He hadn’t spent much time in his company previously. Casca had described him as a clever enterprising man with a nose for sniffing out profitable opportunities.
As a young man from a modest background – his father was a shoemaker, and his mother cleaned the houses of rich merchants – Marcos had started life as an errand boy and trainee clerk for an ageing merchant named Calidis. Impressed by the hard-working bright young man, Calidis, having no sons, took Marcos under his wing, and in no time, Marcos oversaw most of his enterprises and transactions.
The ambitious Marcos soon saw an opportunity to strike out on his own. He remembered hearing about the Boswellia tree that grew on Paros – an island on the Vilrahel. The tree secreted a sap called frankincense that was used to make fragrances. He wondered if that might provide the answer to masking the stench of the city’s open sewers.
Calidis traded regularly with Paros and kept a large warehouse on the island. Convincing Calidis of the need to take a thorough inventory of stock, Marcos took a berth on one of his employer’s merchantmen on a scheduled trip to Paros.
Marcos returned to Petralis with two barrels of frankincense-derived fragrance. Next, came the problem of finding suitable means of diffusing it. After weeks of trial and error he settled on two methods. The first involved mixing the fragrance with candle wax, allowing it to diffuse as the candle burned down. For the second method, Marcos attached a shallow bowl to a candle holding tripod. The candle flame heated the liquid-fragrance in the bowl, releasing the aroma.
The tripod method proved more effective. Marcos persuaded Casca and a few associates to try the tripods, and all were pleased with the results. Taking a gamble, Marcos got a loan from his employer and returned to Paros.
Frankincense was mixed with a blend of oils to produce the fragrance. The blend was a closely guarded secret of the Lurras-Beliante family, who had been fragrance makers for as long as any on the island could remember. Marcos procured an exclusive arrangement to supply Petralis with the fragrance.
In no time at all, almost every home and establishment in Petralis used Marcos’s tripod diffusers or fragrance-infused candles.
Marcos became a wealthy man. He became a very wealthy man when Calidis died and left him half his estate, the other half to his widow. But Marcos remained the same quiet, shy, unassuming man.
Ripper barked and darted about in excitement, pushing against, and licking everyone. He was particularly fond of the girls who always made a fuss and fed him tidbits whenever they saw him.
Aeneas and the girls were keen to wander off and explore. Reminding Aeneas to look out for the girls, Casca slipped him some coins and sent them on their way.
Off they went with much laughing and giggling as the girls vied for who would be the first to ride on Ripper’s back. A stern looking Aeneas, taking his manly responsibilities to heart, ushered them along.
“Heavens! What manner of creature is that?” Leonna exclaimed as they approached a logged enclosure. A large grey animal with wrinkled skin stood there. Its head was dominated by a long nose that stretched down to its knees. Large fan-like ears swept back from its head, and two long tusks protruded on either side of its nose.
“We have them in my land,” Pagan said. “We call them Long Nose.” Shaking his head sadly, he gestured at the enclo
sure. “These animals are meant to walk free, not spend their lives trapped in a small space such as this, providing amusement for people.”
Leonna nodded in agreement. “It looks a bit sad,” she added, as she looked up at the animal, noting its rheumy eyes. Its size was overwhelming, and she wondered how Pagan’s people had coped with such an enormous creature wandering around. Guessing her thoughts, Pagan smiled. “They are mostly gentle beasts, Leonna, and don’t generally bother us.”
“That is thankful,” Leonna said “They are huge, and must be very frightening when angry.”
“Yes, they are” Pagan acknowledged. “It is also said they have very long memories, and have been known to seek vengeance for wrongs committed against them years earlier.”
Marcos, ever the merchant mindful of the coin-value of things, glanced at Casca. “It must have cost a pretty sum to ship such a creature thousands of miles across the sea,” he said.
Another enclosure filled with mud, and muddy water, contained scaled reptiles with long snouts lined with wicked looking teeth. The creatures had four short clawed feet, and were as long as two tall men. Upon seeing them, Pagan abruptly turned away, and walked toward the food and drink laden tables. Seeing Leonna about to ask a question, Casca shook his head, beckoning her to silence.
Nodding and exchanging greetings with those who recognised him, Pagan grasped an empty tankard and placing it under a barrel, turned the small tap. The light-copper-coloured liquid dribbled into the receptacle. Pagan shut the tap off as the ale lapped around the rim.
Sitting down, he took a deep draught. Looking around, it was heart-warming to see families walking, talking, and laughing in the mid-afternoon sunshine. He hoped the threat of the Gualich wouldn’t materialize, but had read Zou Yan-Tse’s journal, and feared their return was imminent.
A tousle-haired little girl in a pale green dress ran by, tumbled over and scrapped her knee. Sitting forlornly on the grass, tears welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Pagan got to his feet, walked over and knelt beside her. “I’ve hurt my knee,” she sobbed, looking up at him.
“Let’s have a look at it, little one,” Pagan whispered. Taking a piece of cloth from his pocket, he dipped it in a bowl of water on a nearby table, and gently wiped off the blood, bits of grass and dirt on her knee.
The little girl looked up at Pagan and smiled, her teeth pearl-white and perfectly formed. “Thank you,” she said shyly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Looking around for her mother, Pagan saw a harsh-faced woman approaching. Glaring at Pagan, she grabbed the girl, yanked her to her feet and stalked away, skirts swishing. Pagan smiled ruefully. He still got such reactions every now and again. The little girl, legs working furiously to keep up with her irate mother, glanced back over her shoulder, smiled, and waved at him.
Pagan smiled and waved back. The girl would grow up into a fine, thoughtful woman if the poison of her mother’s prejudices didn’t taint her.
A little while later, Casca, and Marcos joined him at the table. Both looked troubled. Pagan cast a questioning look at Casca. The tavern owner took his time, pouring two tankards of ale for himself and his sister’s husband. Pagan sat quietly, watching as the ale trickled ever so slowly from the clearly inadequate tap.
“A couple of people have been reported missing,” Marcos offered. He glanced at Casca. “Casca has been telling me about these…Gualich. Surely, they are mere legends, and any question of demons returning after a thousand years to kill us all is absurd. The missing men probably got drunk last night and are simply sleeping it off before returning home to face the wrath of their wives.”
Placing the full tankards on the table, Casca shook his head. “One of the missing men is Toran. His sisters, Loretta and Parsis, work for me at the Folly. Their other brother Corann, said there was no sign of Toran at their shepherd’s hut up in the hills. He found some of their sheep scattered on the hillside, and one of their dogs cowering in fright under some bushes. Said it almost bit his pigging hand off when he approached it.” Lowering his voice, Casca leaned closer to the two men. “Corann said he found his brother’s cloak outside the hut on top of some bones. He believed they were Toran’s, but…that is... impossible.”
Marcos glanced at both men. His eyes were frightened. He lifted his tankard to his mouth and promptly spilt most of its contents on the front of his tunic as a piercing scream rent the air.
The three men jumped to their feet and looked around trying to locate the source of the disturbance. Another scream rang out, and Marcos saw what appeared to be a large hound burst through a crowd of people to leap into a group of children.
But it was like no hound Marcos had ever seen before. Albino-white, it was as big as a small pony. Its back was ridged with sharp bony protuberances, and a tail longer than its body ended in a wicked looking barb. Ridged muscles bunched along its chest and shoulders, and its head was of nightmare – wedge-shaped with small pointed ears, blood-red eyes that gleamed with an unnatural intelligence, and a jaw rimmed with wickedly curved fangs.
One man ran in, swinging an axe at its head. The weapon bounced of its skull, and the axe-head went flying. A swipe of a huge taloned paw tore his chest open and sent him flying.
The other children had run away, but a boy of around twelve years stood rooted in fear. The beast closed its jaws around the boy’s midriff and hoisted him in the air. Another man ran in with an upraised knife. The nightmare tail lashed out, the barb ripping through the man’s belly to exit in his back. The tail whipped out, sending the unfortunate man flying, his entrails trailing, and blood spraying.
With its victim gripped firmly in huge jaws, the beast strutted away from the field.
Ripper’s distinctive bark rang out as Leonna, Aeneas and the girls ran up to the table. Leonna was a calm assured woman, not given to panic, but Casca could see she was right on the edge. “What was that?” she asked, her voice shaking. “It killed those men, and…took that child. We must do something.” Glancing around, she reassured herself the girls and Aeneas were safe, and drew them all closer to her.
More screams and shouts erupted. Panic ensued with men, women and children running in all directions as another huge beast appeared. Pausing, its out-sized head swung this way and that, crimson eyes regarding the fleeing people. Then that appalling gaze locked onto the figures by the table.
Sinews bunched, catapulting it forward at fearsome speed. “Run!” Pagan shouted, turning to Leonna, Marcos and the children. “Run! Go!” Leonna grasped her youngest daughter to her breast, while Marcos picked up the second youngest. The eldest, together with Althea being swift of foot, hared off with the burdened adults in their wake. Aeneas, his mouth set in a stubborn line, stood his ground.
Pagan stepped out. He stood unarmed, arms hanging loosely by his sides and feet balanced. Eyes fixed on the charging beast, he focussed himself, breathing deeply through his lower abdomen. He narrowed his focus.
Time slowed down...Black sorcery and demon-spawned muscles bunched. Foetid jaws gaped, baleful red eyes fixed on the frail man-creature who dared stand in its path. The demon-hound leapt.
A calm descended upon Pagan. He focused on a point on the beast's throat where he could detect a pulse fluttering the skin. His timing had to be perfect. A short inhalation prior to explosive movement…
A snarling tawny-brown blur hurtled past Pagan. Colliding in mid-air, Ripper’s massive jaws locked upon the beast’s throat. As they both hit the ground, Pagan heard the crunch of splintering bones as the wolf-mastiff cross wrenched its powerful neck muscles, ripping out the demon- hound’s throat. Yellowish-green blood spurted, limbs jerked spasmodically. Blood-red eyes glazed over to a dull grey, then all movement ceased.
Ripper nudged the carcass with his muzzle a couple of times. Assured that the creature was dead, he trotted back to the astonished Pagan. Aeneas pushed his way past his father to wrap his arms around his dog. Eyes shining with pride, he looked up at his father. “We were right to ke
ep him,” he exclaimed.
Casca stepped forward. Kneeling besides his son, he hugged both boy and dog. “Yes son,” he said, “you were right in insisting we kept Ripper.” Shaking his head in wonder at what had just transpired, he glanced at the carcass of the beast. “Beleth’s balls,” he whispered, “look at that.” All three swung around to see the body shrivel and disintegrate into a mass of writhing maggots. The stench was overpowering.
Pagan glanced around the now empty park. The bodies of the two men killed by the beast lay where they had fallen. Platters of half-eaten food, half-empty tankards, spilt food, together with spilt ale and fruit juices, remained on the log tables. The grass was littered with plates, tankards, bits of food and other hurriedly discarded items. The colourful stalls stood forlorn, baubles and trinkets glinting with promise, but none to allure.
The huge animal described as Long Nose by Pagan stood in its enclosure, its handlers fled, and no one left to gawp in wonder at its sheer size and uniqueness. The crocodiles that had so upset Pagan, remained somnolent and content in their muddy enclosure.
What had been a glorious sunny day full of promise for the people of Petralis had ended in a nightmare that would live with them for the rest of their lives. Pagan caught Casca’s eye. Both men knew days of darkness and blood lay before them.
The mood was suppressed as they walked from the park. The usually boisterous Ripper padding silently alongside.
“It’s very quiet,” Aeneas remarked, noting the deserted streets. “There are hardly any people around.”
Casca placed an arm around his son’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “People are scared Aeneas. That is no surprise, considering the horror they have just witnessed. They feel much safer behind the locked doors and shuttered windows of their homes.” He paused for a moment before continuing: “I am worried about Marcos, Leonna, and the girls. I think we should stop by to see them before returning home.”
“Yes,” Pagan agreed. “There is no saying how many of those beasts are around.” His brow furrowed. “What were they? They looked somewhat like dogs…but not like any type of dog I have ever heard of, or seen before.”
“I think they were Bahktak – hounds of the Suanggi, the Gualich’s soul harvesters” Casca said.
“So, it begins” Pagan said.
Aeneas looked up at the two men. “What is beginning, and what are Bahktak and Gualich?”
Casca was silent, weighing his words as the trio walked along. “I will tell you all about it when we reach Marcos’s,” he eventually offered. He looked at Pagan. Pagan ruffled Aeneas’s hair and met his friend’s gaze. His eyes were grim.
Marcos and Leonna lived in a large red-brick three-storey house a short distance from the Folly. Marcos disliked the city’s fat merchants and largely corrupt City Elders, and refused to live among them in the more affluent parts of the city. He had bought the old boarding house from the widow of the previous owner.
Working mostly alone, Marcos had renovated and transformed the entire house. It had taken him over two years. He had been a regular patron at the Folly in that time, often coming in for his evening meal after a day of work at the house. The quiet, shy, conscientious young man had caught Leonna’s eye. Subjected to her full range of charms, Marcos didn’t know what hit him. They were wed within a year.
Grasping the ring-style heavy brass knocker, Casca rapped on the dark-oak door. After a short wait, the door was opened by the maid, Sisstrela. The plump middle-aged woman curtsied, led them in, and bade them wait in a large reception room. Favouring Casca and Aeneas with a smile, and Pagan, a scowl, she hurried off to fetch Marcos and Leonna.
Pagan looked around the room with interest. It was high-ceilinged with large windows that were now shuttered. A large gold-plated chandelier hanging from the ceiling provided soft candle light, supplemented by a number of finely crafted oil lamps and tripod-mounted candles placed around the room. Paintings hung on the walls. Three caught Pagan’s attention:
A full-face painting of a woman, one eye green, the other blue, a wry smile on her face from some mysterious humorous situation.
A painting of snow-capped mountains reaching up into a grey sky. A stern face superimposed on the sky gazed down.
A ship riding a swell in a fierce storm at sea. A figure stood lashed to the main mast, the wind whipping long dark hair around its face. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or woman.
The furniture in the room was of simple design, but well-made and comfortable. The colours in the room were subdued and subtle, lending an ambience of peace and tranquillity as befitting a family home. Pagan noticed a couple of children’s dolls peering out from under one of the upholstered armchairs.
Althea came running in and jumped into her father’s arms. Casca held her, whispering soothing and comforting words. Looking up to see Leonna and Marcos enter, he kissed his daughter on the top of the head. “Hurry along now, Althea, I have to talk to Leonna and Marcos.”
Althea frowned, her brow knitting together. “But Aeneas is staying. I want to stay too.”
Casca glanced at Aeneas who glared back, his eyes saying: don’t you dare send me away too.
Casca glanced at Leonna for help, but she studiously avoided his eyes. He looked at Pagan who merely grinned and shrugged.
“Aeneas is a bit older than you, dear heart,” he said. “And I promised to give him answers to some questions he asked earlier.” His children were particularly strong-willed and not easily dissuaded, but he hoped Althea would accept his explanation. “I will come up and say goodbye before we leave. I promise.”
Althea looked at her father, her expression serious, then she nodded, smiled brightly, kissed him on the cheek, and ran out of the room.
Sisstrela brought in a tray bearing five goblets of fruit juice. Placing the tray on a low table, she curtsied, and walked out, closing the door behind her.
Pulling five chairs around the table, Marcos invited his guests to sit.
“How are the girls?” Casca asked, looking at Leonna.
“A bit shaken. They were very frightened by what they saw out there, but they seem… fine. What were those things?”
“Yes,” Marcos interjected, leaning forward in his chair. “What happened out there, and what in the seven hells were those things? I have never seen beasts as ugly and fearsome. I don’t mind admitting I almost wet myself in fright.”
Casca looked at his sister. “Do you remember those stories about demons and shape shifters father used to tell us when we were children?”
“Ye…s,” Leonna responded hesitantly, a quizzical look on her face. “But what have they to do with this?”
Casca took a deep breath. “They were more than stories, most of what he told us actually happened.”
Leonna looked sceptical, but the doubt in her eyes changed to fear as Casca recounted what he had read in the works of Zucross and Zou Yan-Tse.
“I have heard some of the stories, but like most, never believed them,” Marcos murmured.
“Those beasts were Bahktak, hounds of the Suanggi – once-human servants of the Gualich,” Casca said. “There will be more coming, as they look to feed. Once they have fed enough, their masters will have enough power to rip down the barrier keeping them behind the portal. If all seven return…we are finished.”
“And it is up to you, Pagan, and a few others you haven’t yet met, to oppose them?” Marcos said, shaking his head in bemusement.
Casca shrugged. “That is the telling of it. But I have been told our allies are near, and we will be getting some… other help.”
Pagan, who had remained silent, turned to Casca. “Ah, that is good to hear. But who told you this, and where is this other help coming from?”
Casca grinned, glancing at Leonna. “I met our ancestor, the great mage, Castillan.”
“Oh, I am sure he just wandered into the Folly for a jug of ale,” Leonna observed.
Laughter rang out, easing the atmosphere.
“Hardly,
the ancient rogue summoned my spirit to this breath-taking library, where we had a long cosy chat between one of the most powerful sorcerers – well, he preferred to be called a mage – in history, and one very scared tavern keeper.”
“Summoned your spirit?” Marcos asked, his brow furrowing “What do you mean? How did he do that?”
“I thought I was dreaming, but he convinced me otherwise. I believed him. He is the most intimidating man I have ever met.” Shaking his head, he remembered the searing cerulean eyes. “He wasn’t…isn’t…a man whose words you doubted.”
Pagan nodded sagely, his eyes knowing. “Indeed, my friend. A wise man doesn’t openly question the integrity of a sorcerer or shaman.
Aeneas had been sitting quietly listening intently. “Ripper killed the Bahktak,” he suddenly announced. The dog, lying on a rug by the door, raised its head at the mention of its name, a low growl of acknowledgement rumbling in its throat.
“Yes, he was very brave,” Casca said. He turned back to Marcos and Leonna. “Those beasts and their masters will descend upon the city very soon looking to feed. It is not going to be safe here.”
Marcos looked up. “I have two ships departing for Paros in a couple of days to pick up a consignment of fragrance. We could leave with them. I have a... small estate there.”
“I think you should,” Casca said. “It will be good to know you are all safe. I will be in your debt if you take Aeneas with you, and as many of the people of the city as you can.”
“Of course, we will take Aeneas, but I am not certain how many people will be willing to leave their homes.” Marcos said.
Seeing Aeneas about to protest, Casca raised his hand, fixing his son with a stern look that brooked no discussion. “No arguments, Aeneas. You are not staying.” He turned back to Marcos. “I intend to go before the City Elders tomorrow. I hope to persuade them to send word out for the city to be evacuated.”
Marcos looked dubious. “I wish you luck, my friend. I know only too well how that August assembly operates. Those fat fools will likely debate your request for two weeks, and then vote against it because it will mean loss of profit for the even fatter merchants who control them.”
“Yes, that may be true,” Leonna said, “but at least people will get to hear about the exact nature of the dangers they face, and can decide for themselves whether to stay or go.”
“Let’s hope most decide to leave,” Pagan interjected “These creatures get more powerful the more they feed. We will have a much better chance of destroying them if there is less...food...fewer people for them to feed on.”
Aeneas stifled a giggle. Leonna frowned, and shot Pagan a sharp glance “Not very neighbourly referring to your fellow citizens as food for these...Gualich, but you are correct.”
Pagan nodded. “You are quite right lady, forgive me.”
Casca rose to his feet, glancing at Pagan and Aeneas. “We should get going before night falls. I wouldn't want to run into those beasts in the dark.”
The Usurper
Herald looked up, his eyes glowing in the dark as a pale light flashed between the stone pillars, and the sigils carved deeply down their length glowed red. Kirinos-Halbro, also known as the Usurper stepped from the portal, setting foot on the land he had once ruled as King. He looked around, taking in the blighted moonlit landscape, before his eyes settled on Herald.
“Welcome Brother,” pulsed Herald. Kirinos-Halbro ignored the greeting. Raising his hand to his face, he grimaced in revulsion. He so hated this form, and what he had become, and cursed the day he had fallen for the false promises of the Gualich.
Ruthlessly ambitious and totally amoral, he had murdered his elder brother and rightful King, and usurped the crown of Mellania. Then the Gualich had come to him.
A golden-haired powerfully built man in a dazzling white robe edged with gold had appeared in his bed-chamber. Snapping awake some time before dawn, he had seen the stranger standing at the bottom of his bed, arms folded across his broad chest.
Shocked and outraged at the impudence of the man in invading the King's private chambers, he opened his mouth to call for his guards. But before he could, the stranger raised a hand, a pale-yellow light lancing from his fingers.
Kirinos-Halbro was flung back onto his silk-covered pillows as the light hit him. He screamed as a fierce pain gripped his left arm. Cradling the painful limb to his chest, he glanced down to see something pushing against the blood-and pus-stained bandage that covered the stump at the end of the arm. His elder brother the King – a good swordsman, but thankfully not good enough – had cut off his hand before his younger sibling's sword had pierced his heart. Ten years on, the wound hadn't healed. He sometimes mused it was punishment from the gods for his fratricide.
He screamed again, raising the arm to his face, right hand gripping his wrist just below the stump. The filthy bandage fell away. Blinking through tears of pain, he saw what appeared to be the indistinct silhouette of a hand grow from the stump.
Disbelieving, he watched as the silhouette solidified. He flexed the fingers of his freshly grown appendage and clenched his fist. He looked up at his mysterious benefactor, wondering why his guards hadn't come running at his screams. “Who are you,” he whispered, “and why do you do this for me?”
The stranger inclined his head in greeting. “My name is Gual. I was once ruler of a land far from here. I offered you the gift of a new hand as a sign of goodwill. I need your help.”
Kirinos-Halbro sat up in his bed and studied the stranger. His bearing was that of a warrior, and one accustomed to being obeyed.
“What help?”
“I need a strong ambitious man who isn’t afraid of his own shadow, to help me regain my lands. In return, I will give you the means to expand your kingdom and conquer lands of untold wealth that lie beyond the sea. I will also increase your lifespan far beyond that of ordinary mortals, you will become almost immortal.”
He had wondered why such a powerful man would need his help, but the thoughts of empire silenced his disquiet, for he had always believed he was destined for great things. The idea of immortality seemed absurd, but no more so than watching his hand grow back.
“What do you want me to do?”
“In the morning, assemble your court, advisers and generals, and bring them to the piece of land you call Arnath,” the stranger instructed. “There, I shall give a further demonstration of my powers.”
The next morning, he gathered his court, advisers, generals and fifty members of the Royal Guard and rode out to Arnath. None felt it wise to question the reasons for the strange excursion, as the customary punishment for questioning their King's commands was death.
He was disappointed when they reached Arnath. The place was deserted with no sign of his uninvited guest from the previous night.
A strong wind sighed between the two mysterious pillars that had stood there for as long as anyone could remember. His best scholars had been unable to decipher the strange symbols carved on them, and could only offer the wildest speculation regarding their origin. Some claimed they were a gateway between worlds, placed there by an ancient race who had mastered travel beyond the stars. Kirinos-Halbro had always thought this, fanciful nonsense.
The captain of his guard, a dark-bearded warrior called Panados had heeled his mount closer. “Your hand, my King,” he whispered in awe, “you've...got it back...” Kirinos-Halbro’s eyes were drawn to the pillars as he was about to respond. They appeared to be vibrating. The strange symbols glowed red, and a pale light appeared between them. Heeling his horse closer, he found he couldn't see the landscape beyond as he looked between the structures, the opaque light presenting him with his reflection. He found the same as he moved to the other side of the pillars.
Then, the light parted, disgorging several human, and large dog-like translucent figures. His horse shied, dumping him heavily on the ground. Shaking his head to clear his senses, he sa
w the figures fall upon his retinue.
Cowering on the ground stricken with inaction, he watched horrified as the creatures from beyond the portal slaughtered the high and mighty of his kingdom. His guards and generals fought bravely, but their weapons had no effect.
The creatures appeared to become more solid, attaining flesh with each death. It was all over in no time. Their grisly work done, they gathered around him, looking down on his prone form.
The giant hounds were unlike any beasts he had seen before. Large as small ponies, they had long spiked tails, and heavily ridged backs. Some of the human-like creatures were tall and cadaver-thin, others, massively built with bands of thick, knotted muscle across their chests and arms. Some were unarmed, while others carried swords and maces that shone a dull red. The human-creatures had slitted yellow eyes that shone with dreadful hunger. They seemed to be waiting for something.
It was now clear his mysterious benefactor was an unearthly invader who had lured him here with false promises. A swordsman of skill and verve, he suddenly found his courage. A king should die wielding his sword against his enemies, not cowering on the ground like a worm. He pulled himself up, drawing his great two-handed broadsword.
“Come on you hell spawn!” he screamed, “what are you waiting for?” The creatures remained silent, watching him with those yellow eyes, the chill coming from them, making him shiver.
He screamed his frustration and anger. “Where is your cow-shagging leader? Gual! Show yourself, I'll slit your evil gizzard!”
The pillars vibrated again, and the golden-haired man stepped out. Screaming obscenities, Kirinos-Halbro leapt forward, swinging his sword in a vicious arc.
The man casually swatted the sword aside, one hand shooting out to grab him by the throat. As he stared into the stranger’s black eyes, a voice pulsed in his head. “You are mine, now and forever. Know that your greed and stupidity has doomed your kingdom and your world.” The fingers tightened around his throat and he felt himself being lifted up. All strength left him, leaving him as weak as a new-born babe.
The man who had called himself Gual spun on his heel and still holding the king with nonchalant ease with one arm, stepped back through the gateway.