✥
EREMUL THE HALFMAGE stared at the wreckage of the depository and tried not to choke on the bitterness that welled up inside him.
His life’s work was reduced to ash. Thousands of carefully catalogued tomes and scrolls had been burned to cinders. The building was a blackened and charred ruin of collapsed kindling and shattered stone, levelled beyond any hope of repair. The impact of the blasts from the First Fleet’s artillery had produced a crack that divided the street itself, a fissure from which smoke still occasionally drifted. This wasn’t a temporary inconvenience like in the aftermath of Salazar’s destruction of Shadowport, when the waters of Deadman’s Channel had risen and flooded the harbour; this was utter annihilation.
No matter how pitiful that which is lost, the pain is never less than devastating when it is everything you have.
Once more his tired eyes scanned the rubble for signs of Tyro. The dog was gone. He knew that. Nothing could have survived the onslaught when the devastating cannons opened fire from the warships. The Halfmage had thought a Magelord’s power obscene; the realization that every single one of the invaders carried a weapon similar to those cannons in reduced form, small enough to fit in the palm of a hand and capable of enacting instant murder from a hundred yards, made him feel more impotent than he had even sitting opposite Salazar in the Grand Council Chamber.
‘We had some good times here, as I recall.’ Isaac’s melodic voice drifted up from behind him and the fehd officer appeared beside Eremul’s chair. Like the rest of his people he stood a head taller than all but the tallest of men, his slender limbs more graceful than those of the nimblest human dancer. The smooth, silver armour Isaac wore covered every inch of him up to his neck. Though it appeared as thin and as flexible as cloth, folding with his movements, the Halfmage had witnessed it turn aside a sword thrust on the night of the First Fleet’s arrival. Isaac stared down at the wreckage with eyes like mirrors of purest obsidian, so ancient that, even now, weeks into the invasion, Eremul felt awed and terrified to behold their splendour.
The Adjudicator held up the end of his blue cloak with one hand to avoid getting it smeared with filth. With the other he scooped up a handful of ash. ‘I spent many a day sweeping the depository clean. I fear that even with my lifespan, that task would be beyond me now.’
Eremul frowned at the Fade officer, or ‘fehd’, as he had learned the ancient race more accurately referred to themselves. Isaac had used his strange powers to masquerade as the Halfmage’s manservant for years, all the while performing reconnaissance for his people and making preparations for their invasion. Even with the occupation well under way, Isaac still found time to humour his erstwhile master.
‘There will be no need for books when your kind is done here,’ Eremul said grimly. ‘You told me yourself: no exceptions can be made in your crusade.’
Isaac’s angular features shifted marginally into what might have been a frown. He fished around the wreckage some more and withdrew a human thighbone. It looked as though it had been gnawed on – an odd detail that made little sense to Eremul. The Adjudicator tossed the bone away and then stared south towards the harbour, where the most gigantic vessel the Halfmage had ever laid eyes upon was sailing into port. ‘Saverian arrives,’ Isaac announced.
‘This general of yours, I assume,’ Eremul said bitterly. His heart sank. He knew what this latest development meant. Now the assault on Thelassa would begin in earnest. Once the City of Towers had fallen, as it surely would, the fehd would have no further need of Dorminia as a base from which to launch their invasion of the continent. The Grey City would become expendable, and all within would perish.
‘The general,’ Isaac agreed, but the music in his voice seemed off-key, strained. ‘You shall escort me to the harbour. I want you to witness something. The reason, in the end, why I decided humanity must be expunged from this continent.’
‘You sister Melissan already clarified that matter. Right before she blew Timerus’s brains out and your other sister relieved Marshal Bracka and Spymaster Remy of both their positions and, perhaps even more regrettably for them, their heads. Poison, I believe she called us. A poison that must be purged.’
‘She is fond of that particular expression.’ The pain in Isaac’s voice brought involuntary tears to Eremul’s eyes. ‘The crimes committed by the Magelord Marius hurt my sister more than any other among us. In her grief she blames herself for the deaths of Aduana and Feryan.’
The Halfmage wiped one of the sleeves of his robe irritably across his face. ‘Must you do that?’ he said exclaimed angrily. ‘Keep your emotions to yourself.’
‘Empathetic projection can be difficult to control,’ Isaac replied. ‘Besides, there is no shame in mourning such a tragedy.’
Eremul’s thin lips curled. ‘I barely shed a tear when my legs were taken from me. Neither did I cry when your ships destroyed my home and business.’ His next words came out as a rasp, and the renewed dampness in his eyes almost turned them into a lie. ‘Why, I couldn’t even muster a single, solitary tear for the woman I loved.’
He hadn’t seen or heard from Monique since the day Timerus had had him falsely arrested for treason. The Grand Regent had promised that Monique was alive and being held somewhere safe, and in return for the Halfmage accepting his execution she was to be released and all charges against her dropped. Whether Timerus had intended to keep his word Eremul would never know, as all hell had broken loose when Isaac’s sisters unleashed an army of concealed thralls upon the gathered crowd. Timerus had been among the first to die – and with him the knowledge of Monique’s fate.
That Ishari snake lied to me. He had her killed. Either that or she fell victim to the riots. My one true chance of happiness, torn away. Like my legs. Like my dignity. Like damn near everything.
Isaac was watching him strangely. The slight twist in his angular features could have been mistaken for sympathy, if the idea were not so preposterous.
They feel nothing for humanity. We are but a plague to be exterminated.
‘We should proceed to the harbour,’ the Adjudicator said. He hesitated before adding, ‘I can assist you with your chair. It will be like old times.’
‘I can manage,’ Eremul snapped back. ‘I made it this far by myself.’ That wasn’t strictly true; Isaac had shadowed him all the way south from the Refuge, the block of warehouses near the Hook where Dorminia’s homeless sought shelter. A merchant from the Grey City Cartel had taken it upon himself to arrange the sporadic delivery of food parcels to the most needy. The bread was stale and the soup tasted like something scooped out of a latrine, but it was nonetheless a surprising display of civic-mindedness. Unfortunately, whatever generosity the people of Dorminia could muster in these desperate times did not extend to him. Eremul was now a pariah. Accused of aiding and abetting the city’s invaders due to his misguided association with Melissan, he had been attacked on three separate occasions, escaping thanks only to some quick thinking and a judicious display of magic. Without Isaac to guarantee his safety, there was a good chance he would have been set upon by an angry mob on the way to the docks. Yet another injustice to add to the many that had been heaped upon him.
If the gods weren’t long dead, I might accuse them of lining up to take a shit on me. It was he who had come closest to uncovering the fehd plot. He who had uncovered the true nature of the mind-controlling mechanical spiders implanted in the thralls. No one on the Council had believed him. Now most of the magistrates were dead, their estates seized by their inhuman invaders. Only the fehd and their thralls were allowed within the Noble Quarter: the foolish few who had attempted to infiltrate the enclave, possibly with delusions of heroism in mind, had been immediately slain. Their occupiers had no interest in torture or grand gestures of intimidation, it seemed. Not when ruthless efficiency worked just as well.
As he and Isaac made their way down to the harbour, Eremul watched the conquered citizens of Dorminia go about their daily lives as best they could. It was a sorry facsimile of normalcy. As he trundled over the crumbling cobblestones and the stench of the wharfs assaulted his nostrils he was reminded of a dead fish he had espied once, its body still flapping in the fisherman’s net even after its head had been removed.
It is the nature of living things to cling to familiarity until the bitter end. The corpse of Dorminia and its people would continue to twitch in predictable patterns until that end came. ‘The Reckoning,’ Isaac had called it. Whatever that may involve, I suspect it does not include a nice cup of tea and a slice of cake.
The ships of the First Fleet had arranged themselves in a crescent moon formation within the harbour. As the Second Fleet drew into port, the vessels of both fleets formed a great circle around the gigantic flagship that brought up the rear. A hissing noise erupted and the great iron turret that towered almost to the height of the masts at the centre of the ship shook and belched forth a great cloud of steam.
‘In the Time Before, ships such as these were considered long obsolete,’ Isaac said. ‘Almost all of the knowledge of our ancestors has been lost. We are but a pale shadow of what we once were.’
‘Obsolete,’ Eremul echoed, remembering the pant-shitting terror he had felt the night the First Fleet’s artillery opened fire. ‘If this is what you consider “obsolete” then I hope you never stumble across this lost knowledge. What do you mean by the “Time Before”? Before what, exactly?’
The Adjudicator held up a hand to silence Eremul. ‘I have said too much already.’
The circle of ships eventually parted to allow the great warship to dock. The flag hoisted from the towering mainmast nearest the prow displayed a blue sphere stained with green patterns and surrounded by an unbroken band of gold. Eremul glanced at Isaac, thinking to ask about the flag’s significance, but the fehd officer shook his head, forestalling further questions. He appeared troubled.
A bridge was lowered from the main deck to the dock platform. Soon those aboard began the task of disembarking. There were dozens of the immortals, males and females in equal number, marching in single file with their silver armour glinting and their grey cloaks flapping, revealing the crystalline swords and deadly hand-cannons at their hips. Eremul was surprised to see that not all the fehd were pale of skin and golden-haired: some were as dark as ebony with hair to match, others a lighter shade of brown or with hair as red as a sunset. All were taller than most men and possessed the perfect complexions and too-angular features of their kind.
The procession of fehd slowed and then stopped. A reverential silence settled over the harbour. A moment later, a fehd who could only be their celebrated general stepped onto the bridge.
He was taller even than Isaac, pure white hair framing a face so severe it would make Salazar look grandfatherly by comparison. He moved with astonishing grace, every muscle displaying absolute mastery of his form. The way he carried himself spoke of a singular arrogance – or perhaps certainty – that there was nothing this world, no threat or danger he had not already faced and conquered. He wore a black cloak threaded with silver, and as his penetrating gaze swept over the Halfmage, Eremul wanted to shrivel up and die.
‘That... is Saverian,’ Isaac said quietly. In contrast to those of his newly arrived commander, the Adjudicator’s eyes did carry a hint of uncertainty – or so it seemed to Eremul.
Perhaps this time it is I projecting my emotions upon him.
‘An impressive figure,’ Eremul muttered, feeling sick.
‘Saverian’s legend is second only to that of his brother, Prince Obrahim,’ Isaac explained. ‘He is of the First Blood, ancient even by the standards of my people. For five thousand years he has led us in times of conflict. Saverian drove the dragons from Rhûn when my kin were still finding their place in this world; Saverian defeated the king of the elves in single combat to mark the end of the Twilight War – a duel that lasted three days and three nights. It was he who imprisoned the entity that followed the Pilgrims to these lands. The nameless horror.’
Eremul stared at Saverian, appalled that such a being could walk among them, in this very city. It seemed that every time he thought he understood the measure of power in the world, some new bastard turned up to ridicule his assumptions.
A crowd of human onlookers had gathered to witness the arrival of the Second Fleet. Most dared not venture too close – the Halfmage saw furtive faces staring from within the shadows of the backstreets and alleys near the edge of the harbour. One of the faces he thought he recognized; it belonged to an unpleasant fellow who kept eyeballing Eremul with undisguised hatred. The Halfmage was still struggling to remember how he knew the man when further movement on the bridge caught his attention. He stared, confused by the unexpected sight.
More fehd were disembarking from the ship. Each of these new arrivals escorted another fehd seated on a wheeled chair much like Eremul’s own. The seated fehd were covered head to toe in the most bizarre garb the Halfmage had ever seen – a ludicrously well-padded suit of white fabric, or perhaps leather, which swathed their bodies up to their necks and incorporated thick boots and gloves, as well as a curved glass helmet that entirely covered their heads. Behind the glass, the faces of these seated fehd were incredibly gaunt. They stared blankly with obsidian eyes darker than those of their kin, so black they resembled empty holes in their faces.
The attire looked far too encumbering to be of much practical use. Upon further observation, however, the Halfmage concluded that this hardly mattered. ‘Are they dead?’ he wondered aloud. The strange fehd might have been breathing under their suits, but it was impossible to tell. They were utterly motionless.
‘Not dead,’ Isaac answered. ‘Lost to the Void. All sixty-six of the Pilgrims who survived the voyage that brought us to these lands. Their journey poisoned them all eventually. Neither age nor illness will claim their bodies, but their minds are elsewhere and so they will remain until the end of time. Their sacrifice will never be forgotten. We do not abandon our own.’ Isaac’s obsidian eyes flicked to the small group of homeless orphans watching from a nearby alleyway.
‘You wish to teach me a lesson about how fucked-up humanity is? I’ve already received an extensive education in such matters.’
‘The measure of a people is found in how it treats those who have sacrificed for its survival. How it heeds those lessons and applies them for the betterment of those who come after. My kind learned those lessons an eternity ago. We call it the Time Before. Since then, no fehd has intentionally harmed another. No fehd will turn away from another when they are in need. We are all one – and together we live and die as one.’
The Halfmage stared at the orphans. There were fewer of them in the city these days. They were the weakest, the most vulnerable; they had been first to perish when famine had come to Dorminia.
Those not already dead of the poison introduced into the streets by the White Lady’s agents.
He had to look away. His eyes settled on his reflection in the harbour, and he stared at his broken body in the water. The dying sun bathed the city in blood as Isaac’s words stabbed through the blanket of despair that engulfed him.
‘The day before Dorminia fell to the White Lady, I took my leave of the city’s “liberators”. I wandered these streets, searching desperately for a sign that humanity was not beyond redemption. Do you know what I found? Children starving in the Warrens, innocent of what was about to befall them. While in the Noble Quarter, those most capable of averting the tragedy that followed expressed the sentiment that “at least a brief war might serve to clean up the streets”. You remember what happened to the Warrens when the White Lady’s forces arrived. The devastation wreaked by the trebuchets. The bodies.’
‘I remember,’ Eremul said, but his voice sounded strange and this time he wasn’t sure if it was Isaac’s empathetic projection or simply his own dark memories that brought fresh tears to his eyes. ‘I was born with little magic and littler capacity to sway the minds and hearts of my fellow man. I am broken and bitter and I would not piss on most of this city’s human filth if they were on fire. But if I had it within me to change the fates of those children, whatever it took, I would do it. You have to believe me.’
‘I do,’ Isaac said quietly. ‘And that is why I will weep for you.’