The stormcaller

CHAPTER 9

'Well, will it work?'

The engineer mopped his heavy brow with an oil-stained cloth and chanced a look at his lord. The huge white-eye was standing perfectly still, looking out through the cloud to the city walls beyond. Either Lord Styrax was moving swiftly, albeit with economical purpose, or he was as motionless as the many statues of Karkarn, God of War and patron of the Menin tribe, that adorned their home city; there was no middle ground, and it was disconcerting to behold. There was no wasted effort on personal quirks: it was as if the Gods had perfected their design for the white-eye, and Kastan Styrax was the fruit of their efforts. Since their first meeting two months back, the engineer had remained in utter awe, and even now, as he looked at Lord Styrax's emotionless face, he found it hard to imagine the man was a mere mortal, made of flesh and blood.

'I believe so, my Lord,' he said after taking a moment to smother the nervous hiccoughs that threatened to interrupt. 'The wood is sound and my men have done a good job; I could expect nothing better, given the circumstances. I would prefer to test-fire it first, but without that option, all I can say is that I believe it will serve as you asked. If you were using a cut stone I could estimate-' His voice broke off as Styrax raised his hand. Apart from his head, it was the only par of the white-eye's body not encased in forbidding black armour, but the hand, like the armour, was the result of his greatest victory. Bone-white from wrist to fingertip, it had twisting swirls of scar tissue covering the skin and deep bloody stains forever caught under the fingernails. Rumour said Kastan Styrax had allowed it to be burned to achieve this great triumph: cutting down Koezh Vukotic in battle. No lone warrior had managed such a feat since the vampire had risen from the grave for the first time; he considered the price minor.

'The sinew is still strong?' asked a rasping voice from behind them. The engineer turned as General Gaur advanced on them, his lord's helm clasped reverentially in his black-furred hands. Few would interrupt Lord Styrax's conversations, but despite his monstrous appearance and hybrid nature, General Gaur was the closest thing to a friend the white-eye had.

'We brought two sets just in case, and one survived completely intact,' confirmed the engineer. 'I've checked the catapult and it's still in firing order.'

'Excellent. You have done everything I need you for.' The engineer paled as his eyes were drawn to Lord Styrax's huge broadsword.

'Gaur, accompany our skilled friend to the horses and get them ready to move. And send Kohrad to me.'

The engineer sagged with relief as General Gaur began to walk away, pausing for a moment to allow him to pick up his tools and catch up. Clearly they weren't going to kill him now his task was over, as he had begun to fear. As the tension flooded away, he began to hiccough again, trying desperately to smother them with his hands, but the general prodded his shoulder with one taloned finger and beckoned him on.

Lord Styrax hadn't moved an inch, despite the odd noises, and the trails of unnatural cloud made him appear almost ethereal in the morning light. The engineer shivered at the sight and scuttled away, hiccoughing madly, as fast as he could. He was careful not to look back again.

Styrax tasted the air. The bittersweet flavour of magic hung thick around him. The fog that surrounded his small army made it difficult to see anything more of the city than an outline of stone against the morning sky. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Larim, one of Larat's Chosen, currently engaged in making them invisible from the city walls. The strain was only just beginning to show on the young white-eye's face. ‘Father, Larim seems to be a match for the test you set him. I think that old crow Lord Salen will have to be more careful of his position in future. There’s quite a gleam of ambition in Larim’s eye.’ ‘I think you’re right, Kohrad,’ Styrax replied, not taking his eyes off the wall. He raised his arm straight out for his son to duck underneath; steel clanked against steel. ‘Don’t underestimate the cunning of crows though. Lord Salen has been busy himself recently, I think the contest will be most entertaining to watch.' Styrax paused. 'Kohrad, my arm feels unseasonably warm.'

That's because it's on fire, Father.'

'Stop it then.'

'Yes, Father – I was just frightening away Gaur's fleas.'

'Don't. You shouldn't make fun of him when there are nobles around. General Gaur has no allies among them, only enemies, and he's as devoted to you as he is to me.'

'I hardly think that's possible.'

Kohrad looked around for his father's friend. The bulky general was on his way over, his massive jaw working away as it always did when he was thinking. His fangs moved up and down through the rough bristles of his face.

'And still it is true, whether you let yourself see it or not.' Styrax turned to face his son, letting none of his sadness at Kohrad's glazed expression show on his face. Small flames still ghosted over the red-stained steel of his son's armour. Kohrad enjoyed wielding flame and destruction rather more than his father was comfortable with; Styrax thought it was beginning to cloud the young man's mind. However he'd found that armour, the only secret he kept from his father, it hadn't been the blessing Kohrad considered it.

'Despite his looks, I still don't think Gaur really suits being a soldier,' Kohrad said, in a rare moment of reflection. 'He's too serene, too at peace with the Land. He never lost his temper with me when I was growing up. Now I realise that must have been hard.' Styrax gave a snort of amusement but didn't interrupt. 'I suppose that makes him the best man to trust your army to, but it still seems perverse.'

'As is much in life,' the white-eye Lord agreed. 'Battle is all he's ever known, and you would wound him gravely if you suggested he gave up furthering my cause.'

Kohrad gestured towards the walls of Raland up ahead. 'Speaking or your cause and the perversity of life; all those years of research to find the damn thing and this fat fool digs it up just a few months before we arrive…'

'I know,' Styrax said with an ironic smile, 'but I cannot decide whether it is merely a lesson in the unpredictability of life, or a dire portent for this Age. However, whatever the reason, I think it is time

we showed these people how easily we can take what is theirs. Are you ready?'

'Of course – but I'm curious to know why you are certain there will be a soft landing waiting for me.'

'The first rule of warfare.' He waited for his son to fill in the words.

'Know your enemy,' Kohrad confirmed, 'although some might say that knowing yourself is the first rule.'

'That is necessary long before a man leads an army to battle.' Styrax could sense his son's reluctance to cede the point, but the boy was a white-eye too, and filial loyalty could only go so far, after all.

'I still think that having a vastly larger army would be a better rule to start with.'

Styrax gave his son an affectionate thump on the shoulder. 'Perhaps, but it lacks elegance, and there is not much to take from that into the rest of life. If there is a lesson to be learned, no man should ignore the opportunity. If there isn't, open a jar of wine and find wisdom there.'

'For someone with such insight, you're still taking a gamble, however educated your guess might be. You can't know everything about a man's character. For instance, this duke could enjoy waking up to the dawn just as I do now – remember our hunting trips? Since then I've always preferred a west-facing window. The duke might also, despite the impressive view from this window.'

‘True enough,' Styrax agreed, 'but do not overestimate men either: most remain slaves to their weaknesses, and our friend the duke is one. He is so weak he'll need to feel his power the moment he wakes. However, another rule of life is not to gamble with what you hold most dear, and I never do. Our agent in the city made sure.'

‘Your men would have accepted your guesswork without a word. Gaur would have.'

That's because I have the best army in the Land, and to be vicious, an army needs faith in its leader. You questioned me because you were not born to follow orders.'

‘You're very sure of that. Gaur himself is evidence that breeding counts for nothing.'

‘The chances were always good,' Styrax said quietly. 'For a good litter you make sure you have the finest bitch. I abide the company of few enough to risk keeping a fool of a son around to disappoint me. You have two positions to inherit in your life, General Gaur's

and my own, and I am certain you will prove worthy of both. Enough of doubts – you have a task I can entrust to no other, so get yourself ready.'

Kohrad stared back at his father, a mix of gratitude and suspicion on his face. There was no need to add that Styrax could do it himself. What they intended would be an outrageous gesture, one to make the whole of the West take notice. It was also a test for Kohrad. He would not return if he failed.

'Why aren't you doing something about it?'

Tochet opened his mouth to reply to Duke Nemarse's demand, then bit his tongue against saying something he would regret. The duke had been pacing around for half an hour now, all the while tapping his fingers against a small velvet purse that hung from his belt. These mannerisms annoyed Tochet, and the effect was exacerbated by the duke's high girlish voice.

'What would you like me to do? That noise is driving the horses mad, and I'm not sending my infantry out there.'

'Well, do something; I'm not paying you to stand up here and gawp over the walls.'

Tochet sighed. He'd tried to send some cavalry out, but they had gone only a few dozen yards before guttural animal calls had sent them into a panic. Whatever creatures were out there, they liked the smell of horsemeat.

'Destech,' the mercenary commander called, and his lieutenant stepped closer, baring his filed teeth at the duke to make him back out of earshot. It was quite unnecessary; the duke couldn't understand a word of Chetse, but they had found little else in the way of entertainment in Raland.

'General?' Tochet no longer held that rank, but his men could think of him no other way. They would always respect him above all others.

'What do you think?'

'Same as you, sir.' Destech had been with his commander for twenty years, and in that time they had fought many creatures from the waste-They knew well not to underestimate the unknown.

'Damn. I don't know whether it's trolls or minotaurs, or something even worse, but I'm buggered if I'm leading the men out to find what. The sentries said they heard something dragging, and heavy falling, but maybe it wasn't a battering ram after all. What I don't understand is why the catapults and ballistae are still not firing, and where in the name of the dark place that mage is.'

‘I’ll go and hurt someone.'

Thank you.'

Destech turned and dropped down through the hatch in the centre of the tower-platform at the highest point on the wall. Tochet looked down from the duke's Gate Palace towards the vastness of the Elven Waste. It was well fortified, but it was home to the duke's family too; when the tip of his long-axe had punched a hole in a tall vase, it sent the duchess into an apoplectic fit.

Tochet continued his vigil, looking out at the strange cloud that ignored the northerly breeze and instead sat in front of him. It looked even less natural now that dawn had fully broken. The men on watch had woken him just before dawn, when they'd first noticed something strange. Making his way up here, still shrouded in sleep, he'd been struck by the desolate splendour of the miles of silent, empty land he could see. Destech was back within a few minutes, grimly ignoring the kicking man he had by the scruff of his neck. The lieutenant was even bigger than his commander and had no difficulty pulling the soldier up through the hatch with one hand and depositing him at Tochet's feet.

‘Think the mage has done a runner, General – which isn't a good sign if you ask me – but this scrawny little bugger was sat in a corner with ajar of wine.'

'Ah, thank you, Destech. Now, Lieutenant, why have you not yet fired, as you were ordered?'

'Fire at what?' Even as he struggled up from a heap on the floor, the man managed to maintain the haughty arrogance that everyone in this city of goldsmiths appeared to possess.

‘Destech, take him and hang him over the battlements.'

A gasp ran around the other soldiers on the platform and the duke stepped forward, but Tochet silenced them all with a glance as Destech took the red-liveried solider by the throat and dragged him over to the edge. He followed his commander's orders, throwing the man over the edge of the battlemented wall, and held him firmly by the ankle as Tochet leaned out to speak to him. The commander's words were drowned out as the soldier shrieked like a seabird and Destech had to give the man a violent shake before he finally fell silent.

Tochet resumed his speech. 'Now, do you see the difference? I give an order; it is obeyed. This is a vital requirement of leadership. In this case, I don't care whether you have a target or not; those ballistae should be firing on that cloud. Disobey an order again and I'll throw you off the wall myself.'

'You don't want me to-?' There was a look of surprise on Destech's face. Back home Tochet would certainly have ordered him to drop the man; a disobeyed order was not something any new commander could allow unpunished.

Tochet shook his head. 'Not this time, no – that would mean you'd have to go back down and get those weapons firing one by one. Bring him up.'

Destech gave the dangling figure one last shake, then hauled him back up over the side. The mercenary wrinkled his nose as he realised the sobbing wretch had soiled himself. He spoke in Chetse to his commander, though his scornful tone made the words clear enough. 'A legion army; that's all I ask: we'd take this city in a day.'

Tochet grinned and bent down to the trembling soldier's ear. 'Now, go and follow my orders.'

The soldier stayed frozen until Tochet stood up straight again, then ran for the open hole in the floor. His frantic voice sounded from down below, relaying the order to fire. One velvet glove remained on the floor at Tochet's feet. He kicked it into a puddle and turned back to the cloud.

'Catapult!' bellowed Destech suddenly, and Tochet angled his head up to see a flaming object high in the air, already falling towards them-The mercenaries dived for the small cover of the battlements, hands over their eyes in anticipation of the fireball. When it hit a few heart' beats later, Tochet was surprised not to feel the impact reverberate through the stone under his feet. Instead, all he heard was the crash of wood and glass.

Both Chetse jumped up and leaned out over the wall. A finger or flame spat out from the ruin of the massive window below and a rush of warm air rose up to meet them.

'Get down there, put those fires out,' roared Tochet. Destech was already moving, pushing past the duke, who was still summoning up the courage to look out himself. 'What was that?'

'That was a missile, you damn fool. A missile that scored a perfect hit on your bedchamber. That cloud's covering a battery of catapults.' 'But only one's fired.'

Tochet looked up. The air was indeed empty: there were no more missiles in the sky, no sound of firing, or even reloading of the one that had fired. The cloud had closed up and sat there placidly again.

'Why would you use only one catapult to attack a city?' the mercenary muttered to himself. It sounded like a bad joke.

'What?' the duke asked him. Tochet ignored the man and answered his own question.

'When one's enough. Oh Gods.' He looked out over the edge and was rewarded with another blast of hot air. It was enough to make him draw back hurriedly, though not before he saw the flickering fires already spreading.

'Tsatach protect us. Duke Nemarse, it's time we made for safer ground. I think that fire's going to spread faster than you'd believe possible.'

The air had been driven from the room and the only sound was the slow tinkle of broken glass falling on cold stone. Enveloped in the warm caress of a ruined mattress, Kohrad held his breath and waited, savouring the eager desire of the flame that was held in check, aching for the precious kiss of air. Then he let it go, and a deep crimson light swept around the walls of the chamber and yellow garlands danced up the shattered bedposts.

He rose from the wreckage of the huge bed, the remains already black and charred. The early morning sunlight coming through the window was a weak and feeble thing in comparison, wavering from the tendrils of heat snaking through the room. His mailed hands stroked a delicately painted frieze above the fireplace; under his touch, the colours blistered and writhed to nothing. Fiery fingers dribbled cross the stone floor, sucking life from the rushes before pouncing on the drapes and furniture. In seconds, the entire room was clothed in flame. He heard the door crash open and drew his sword as he turned. For a moment, he saw only more wood to feed to his voracious flames, then movement caught his eye as someone fell back from the heat, his arms over his head, protecting his face. Kohrad strode out and hacked soldier's head with one two-handed stroke. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of a pike-head. He spun round and used his sword to turn it aside, then, grasping the shaft, he pulled hard and brought the pikeman close enough to smash his armoured elbow into the man's face.

Lunging forward, he stopped the next man in his tracks with his sword, swatted aside an axe and, with a burst of fire, he drove his enemy back. The man, a Chetse, he suddenly realised, was brave: ignoring the overwhelming heat, he charged forward to drive his shoulder into Kohrad's chest. The impact knocked the white-eye back a little, but the victory was short-lived as Kohrad smashed his fist down on to the Chetse's helm and hacked at the man's ribs. The man collapsed, flames already licking at his axe-shaft and clothes. The room was his.

Kohrad started off down the corridor, then came to an abrupt halt as he felt a cold mind cut through the heat to touch his own. His father felt as if he were impervious to the power of the flames he wielded, and that reminded him of his mission. The object was somewhere above, nagging at his mind.

Reaching up, Kohrad touched the beam running across the ceiling of the corridor. That he could burn, and he used it to spread himself out around the building, cutting off the routes of escape. Once that was done, Kohrad began to consume the long drapes and polished furniture, filling rooms with magnificent sculptures of heat and light. He found a stairway and moved up floor by floor, like a wolf-pack driving its prey. He cut down some of the panicked occupants as he found them and left others cowering in corners or hiding in wardrobes. Some were on their knees, praying with shouts and fearful cries, but their frantic appeals couldn't touch him. Kohrad was born of white-eyes, untouched by the Gods and subject only to the laws of fire and light.

Reaching the top, he came to a closed hatch-door; he forced his fist up through it, but something held it closed, despite the damage. A second blow smashed the frame to pieces which fell at his feet to join the pyre. The wooden steps were burning even as he ascended into the light of day. Another Chetse struck out with his long battle-axe, before Kohrad had time to escape the confines of the hatchway, but the burning white-eye swatted the curved steel aside, jumping up on to the level floor in the next movement and hacking into the mans spine with astonishing speed.

The soldier fell screaming, but as his cries faded into the reaching

flames, Kohrad had already turned his attention to the others on the platform. No one else stepped forward to attack him, so Kohrad ignored the soldiers and focused his attention on the quivering shape of the duke.

The taste of blistered and burning fat rose up in his mind as he held out his hand to the duke. The man gibbered with terror, fingers tightening around the Skull even as his skin blistered and charred. Kohrad snapped the bones with ease, and as he prised the Skull away, he felt it cry out for his touch. With a sigh of satisfaction, Kohrad I pressed the Crystal Skull to his breast, where it fused with the armour, turning the deep colour of blood.

The flames around him danced with renewed strength as he caressed the Skull. 'So you're Destruction,' he whispered. 'I'd hoped it was you. One day you'll be mine, when we are Gods and Father has no more need for you, you'll become part of me for ever.'

He left the towering pyre without haste, leaving only the crackle of licking flames and the stench of burning flesh in his wake.