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‘A MUNDANE LITTLE TOWN for such a monumental gathering.’
Thanates stood with his arms folded and his black coat flapping around his thin body in the breeze, staring – if such a thing were possible for an eyeless man – at the unremarkable settlement perched on the crag above them. Westrock was home to only a few thousand people, or at least it had been before the recent upheaval.
Davarus Cole had visited the town once before and could hardly recall a damn thing about the place. ‘Why here?’ he grumbled. ‘Why not Thelassa?’
‘You know why. Alassa will not open her city to the Fade, no matter what promises they make and dire warnings they offer. She would not even consent to attend this council, lest her absence leave Thelassa undefended.’
Cole squinted up at the hill. It was midday and the sun was hotter than it had been in many months. Weeks had passed since the battle at Thelassa’s harbour, and uncertainty over Sasha’s fate had continued to gnaw at him until he felt he would go mad. Not only that, but the Reaver’s insidious voice in his skull was growing more insistent by the day. The Fade he had killed on the docks had filled him with the vitality of several men, but it seemed even the stolen life force of an immortal eventually waned. ‘Can we trust them?’ he asked the wizard-king of Dalashra.
The man he had once known simply as the Crow shrugged. ‘I don’t believe they are lying. Not because I trust their sense of honour – who knows if the Ancients care for such concepts? No, I suspect they simply feel it would diminish them to lie to an inferior race.’
An inferior race. Cole had thought the White Lady arrogant, but the Fade emissary – Melissan – who had turned up at the harbour bearing a white flag of truce made the Magelord appear positively humble. All the more galling was the fact that Melissan had every right to be arrogant: she had fought Cole to a standstill on the docks, and likely would have killed him had Thanates not intervened after reversing his plummet from the skies at the final moment.
A great shadow flickered across the grassy slope and Cole glanced up. For a split second, he glimpsed what looked like a giant silvery bird in the clouds above. It was moving so fast he couldn’t be certain he wasn’t imagining things. ‘Did you see that?’ he asked Thanates. A second later his brain caught up with his mouth. The eyeless mage gave him a dark frown and together they resumed their trek up to the town in silence.
There was ash everywhere – a thick black coating of the stuff that made everything filthy. The dirt clouds did little to help Cole’s mood as he stared at the miserable townsfolk who watched their arrival with faces equal parts fear and despair. Before the Fade invasion, Westrock’s principal trade had been in stone mined from the nearby valley: granite and basalt, hauled down the Serpent River in barges and then transported east along the coast to the Grey City. Nowadays, Westrock was almost a ghost town. Many of the houses stood vacant. War and famine had taken their toll, as had the devastating weapon Cole learned the Fade had unleashed on the Demonfire Hills. The towns of Malbrec and Ashfall nearer to the blast were destroyed, ash and dust having entombed the small settlements. The air was reportedly too hot to breathe for any length of time.
There were no merchants on the roads these days; no money changing hands for goods. Everyone had stockpiled whatever food they could get their hands on and locked themselves away to prepare for the bitter end.
The two men slowed as they approached the clearing where once had stood Westrock’s market. The stalls had been removed. Cole stared in dumbstruck awe at what now vibrated in the centre of the clearing.
It was the colossal, eagle-shaped construction he had glimpsed flying in the sky high above: a gleaming marvel of metal, the wings wide enough for a dozen men to lie flat upon, with room to spare.
‘What is it?’ Thanates asked, hearing the roar but unable to see the wondrous sight just ahead of them.
‘A miracle,’ Cole replied. He couldn’t fathom how anything so huge could possibly get airborne, nor move more swiftly than any living creature.
‘That does not answer my question,’ Thanates growled. ‘You test my patience, child of murder.’
‘I told you not to call me that,’ said Cole. He took a breath to calm his annoyance. ‘It’s a machine,’ he said eventually. ‘A machine that flies like a bird.’
The roaring abruptly died. The air buffeting Cole and Thanates suddenly dissipated. An aperture opened in the side of the machine and – despite the nature of their presence at Westrock – Cole placed a hand on Magebane’s jewelled hilt as the first of the tall immortals stepped into the clearing.
Thanates’ jaw clenched and black fire danced around his hands. The wizard couldn’t see them, but he could surely sense them. Could feel the aura that surrounded these inhuman creatures. There were five in total. The pair at the forefront of the disembarking group were brothers, that much was clear. One was golden-haired and golden-cloaked. He wore a silver circlet on his brow and carried a metal sceptre topped by a gigantic diamond that glittered brilliantly in the sun. The other brother, white-haired and scowling, wore a cloak of black and rested a massive version of the hand-cannons the Ancients used upon his shoulder. Contempt was etched in every inch of his harsh features.
The two commanders from the Fade flagship, Cole realized, with growing dread. The golden-haired brother had somehow cut a great hole in the White Lady’s magical barrier in the harbour. Cole remembered the white-haired brother from the living memory in the ruins east of Thelassa – his deeds recorded and endlessly replayed to an audience of skeletons half turned to dust.
The two brothers were followed by a male and female Fade, who also appeared to be siblings. Both were golden-haired and a little shorter than the formidable duo ahead of them, and both wore dark blue cloaks.
Cole already knew the female to be Melissan – but her brother also seemed oddly familiar. As his obsidian gaze met Cole’s, the young assassin felt a flicker of recognition pass between them. The Fade who brought up the rear was as dark of skin as the other four were pale, though she shared the obsidian eyes of the rest of her kind. She wore a cloak of deep purple. Cole concluded that the colour of the cloak each Fade wore represented whichever caste or role they served.
The Ancients came to a halt opposite Cole and Thanates. Melissan’s brother raised a hand in greeting and then turned and bowed to the towering immortal clutching the diamond-tipped sceptre. ‘I present to you his majesty, Prince Obrahim,’ he announced in a lyrical voice. ‘First-born of the Pilgrims. Eternal Guardian of the People. Undisputed ruler of Terra – the continent you humans refer to as the Fadelands. It is Prince Obrahim who requested this council.’
Thanates sketched a small bow. ‘I am Thanates, once wizard-king of the human nation of Dalashra,’ he intoned. ‘This is Davarus Cole, trusted agent to the White Lady of Thelassa.’
The golden-haired prince did not bow as Thanates completed his introductions, but Obrahim’s voice was cordial enough when he spoke. ‘As one ruler to another, I greet you. Where are the rest of you? These savage mountain folk my Adjudicator has told me so much about.’
‘They prefer to be called Highlanders, my prince,’ said Melissan’s brother, diffidently. ‘I understand they will be here shortly.’ He turned to the white-haired Fade next to Obrahim and threw him a salute. ‘I present to you General Saverian. Second-born of the Pilgrims, Defender of the People and commander of our armies.’
‘Where is the god-killer?’ barked the one called Saverian. ‘The terms of our truce demanded her presence.’
Even with the Reaver’s divine essence lending him courage, Cole felt cowed by the consternation in the iron voice of the Fade general. He knew what Saverian was capable of. He knew that even he – a god-touched assassin – and Thanates – one of the foremost mages of his age – were irrelevancies in the face of this most legendary of Fade.
Nonetheless, Thanates adjusted his tattered black overcoat and held himself as straight as an arrow, meeting Saverian’s ruinous stare head-on. ‘The White Lady will not leave her city,’ he answered. ‘She sends us in her place.’
Saverian’s eyes narrowed. ‘Those were not the terms offered,’ he repeated. He shifted the enormous shoulder-cannon he carried, lowering the oversized barrel so that it pointed directly at the sightless wizard, who was unaware of his peril.
Before things could get out of hand, the blast of a horn reverberated and all eyes turned to the north. Several figures were making their way up the crag on the opposite side of town. They were dirty and unkempt and Cole fancied he could smell them every time the wind blew south, but as they neared the clearing he saw a couple of faces he recognized and couldn’t suppress a smile.
Brodar Kayne hadn’t changed much, though he now sported several inches of grey beard and his face was even more weathered and troubled than Cole remembered. At his side was his constant companion, Jerek the Wolf, a man who never seemed to smile or laugh or do much of anything except threaten and carry out acts of prodigious violence against those who pissed him off, which was basically everyone. Still, Kayne at least had been a boon companion once upon a time. As far as Cole was concerned, any familiar face was a welcome sight.
The figure marching just ahead of Kayne and the Wolf gave a nod of greeting. He was a mountain of a man, though still a little shorter than the Ancients, as rugged as they were smoothly beautiful. He leaned on a great, rune-etched broadsword that radiated the telltale glow of magic and wiped a shovel-like hand against his jutting forehead, which was covered in sweat. ‘We are here as promised,’ he said in a deep voice. ‘I am Carn Bloodfist, and I lead our people in the absence of their king.’
‘Magnar ain’t well enough to be here,’ Kayne added, pain flashing across his scarred face.
Melissan’s brother introduced the Fade, while Thanates and the Highlanders finished their introductions. To Cole’s faint surprise Kayne grasped his hand in greeting. ‘Been a while, lad,’ said the old Highlander, grinning.
‘It has,’ Cole agreed, returning the smile. Something was troubling him, however. He had learned to ignore the endless beating rhythm that filled his ears whenever he was in close proximity to another living thing – a side effect of the Reaver’s curse. As he met the old Highlander’s blue eyes, he heard that Kayne’s heartbeat was weak and uneven.
‘The Fangs are overrun by demons,’ Carn was saying now. ‘We sought to flee south, seeking a new home. Instead we found more demons. More demons, and... whatever you are.’
‘We are no demons,’ said Saverian angrily, staring at the huge warrior as if he were a worm. ‘We are the fehd, and to you, we are as gods among men. The survival of your people is contingent upon our forbearance.’
Mighty as he was, Carn looked suddenly unsure of himself and Cole felt a strange sense of shame that none among them possessed the courage to stand up to this formidable general.
You don’t know what I’ve been through, he wanted to shout. He’d killed Magelords, survived the most hellish places imaginable. How dare this white-haired immortal treat him with such disdain!
Melissan’s brother was staring at him, a hint of amusement on his ancient face. ‘What?’ Cole demanded, perhaps unwisely.
‘Davarus Cole. You still owe me a lute.’
‘I owe you a what?’ Realization hit him like a hammer blow to the head. ‘You’re Isaac!’ he said, feeling stupid now. ‘I thought you seemed familiar.’
‘My sister here says you fought her almost to a standstill – and few are her equal with a sword even among our kind. I would say I am shocked, but your race was ever quick to change, to become something else in the blink of an eye. I see that some things about you remain the same, but now you are... formidable.’
Formidable. Much as he disliked Isaac, Cole was forced to admit the Fade had a point. ‘I have changed,’ he said. Suddenly emboldened, he gave voice to the question that had been burning inside him since Melissan had delivered Prince Obrahim’s offer of a temporary truce to the White Lady. ‘Where’s Sasha? You took her hostage during the battle at the harbour. If you’ve harmed her—’
General Saverian took a huge stride forward and suddenly the white-haired commander of the Fade was towering above Cole, who swallowed dryly, his bravado stripped away in an instant. ‘You are neither king nor chieftain nor wizard,’ barked the general. ‘You are a boy. A child, even among your transient race. You will not make demands of us, nor will you threaten us.’ The Fade commander seemed to notice something. He reached down and grabbed the golden key hanging around Cole’s neck. ‘What is this? Give it to me.’ Saverian gave the key a yank and the chain snapped.
Cole watched helplessly as Saverian’s long fingers brought the golden key up to his otherworldly gaze for inspection. The general’s eyes widened in recognition and then narrowed in fury. ‘This is the key that activates the gholam,’ he growled. ‘The god-weapon came here seeking this. I was forced to Reckon it.’
‘The key that activates the gholam? Are you certain, Saverian?’ asked Prince Obrahim.
‘Where potential threats to our people are concerned, brother, I am always certain,’ Saverian announced. ‘This human is responsible for the deaths at our outpost in the Demonfire Hills. For the loss of Nym.’
‘Not just at the outpost,’ Melissan added, her own voice lowered in fury. ‘He also killed Justinian at the docks.’
‘Our cousin died in the line of duty—’ Isaac began, trying to calm the situation, but Saverian had already drawn his crystal longsword.
‘I will end you now,’ he declared, an assertion so powerful that Cole shrank back, terror overwhelming him. He tried to reach for Magebane but found his hands were shaking too hard to grasp the hilt. Saverian’s aura was like a vice, squeezing all the courage from him.
‘Leave him alone,’ a woman cried, her voice carrying down from the flying machine. It trembled a little, but nonetheless familiarity eased the panic that held Cole in its grip. He stared up at the wondrous Fade relic and saw her standing there in the doorway. Her face still held a greyish tinge and her hair was little more than dark stubble, but she looked a great deal healthier than when he had left her unconscious with Derkin back in Thelassa.
‘Sasha!’ he cried.
Saverian’s glare shifted from Cole to Sasha. ‘You were not given permission to leave the Seeker,’ he snapped.
Sasha flinched, but did not back away. ‘Obrahim gave his word,’ she said. ‘He said no one would be harmed.’
‘You have violated the truce. It no longer holds.’
‘Sir—’ Isaac began, but the general was already striding towards Sasha, shoulder-cannon raised.
‘You dare to protest my justice after what this wretch has done?’ he thundered, pointing at Cole with his deadly weapon. ‘I was ancient when the tallest trees were saplings. I walked this world in a time of dragons and giants and worse things and I defeated them all. Do you know who I am?’
‘Some cunt,’ rasped a voice like a wound tearing open. Suddenly, Jerek was blocking Saverian’s path, twin axes in his hands.
The Fade general came to an abrupt halt, his eyes wide in disbelief. Then his expression twisted into one of such terrible rage that Cole had to fight the urge to flee. It seemed impossible that any mortal could face the general’s wrath and not crumble like sand.
Jerek, however, might have been made of steel.
Saverian and the Wolf stared at each other for what seemed like an age. Neither fire-scarred Highlander nor towering Fade commander blinked. Not when Brodar Kayne came to stand beside Jerek, his greatsword in his hands. Nor when Obrahim joined Saverian, the prince’s sceptre raised, the diamond tip flaring brightly.
‘Brother.’ Prince Obrahim’s voice was like a cooling rain on a hot summer day. Calm settled over the clearing. Even Saverian visibly relaxed a fraction. ‘I gave them my word,’ said the prince. ‘We do not break our promises. We do not let our emotions rule us. These are the principles we have lived by since the Pilgrims saved us from the wreckage of the Time Before. We heed them no matter the cost, or we risk repeating the mistakes of the past.’
Saverian grimaced. A moment later he sheathed his sword. ‘You counsel wisdom as always, brother,’ he said, though his jaw remained clenched.
Obrahim raised his mighty sceptre. ‘There will be no more discord,’ he announced. The prince gestured at the magnificent vessel Saverian had referred to as the Seeker. ‘You will join me aboard,’ he said. ‘I will tell you of the reason I called a truce. I wish to speak of the Nameless.’