The Traitor God

Chapter 32

I lay gasping for breath, drained of all strength, a gentle breeze cooling my sweat-slick skin. The crystal was hot in my hand, pulsing with life, its alien whispers stroking my mind as it fed on my magic. The traitor magus, his pet god, and that other thing flailed away in the back of my mind, crude but strong, their grip on the Magash Mora’s core slipping with each second it spent in my hands.

The mountainous corpse of the Magash Mora twitched and jerked, jets of blood still spurting but weakening. To our relief it showed no signs of reviving.

Eva lay unmoving, and with my magic leeched away I couldn’t be sure if she was still amongst the living or if her agony had ended with her mission. I was too exhausted to feel more than a numb sense of loss. Numbness was the mind’s way of coping, and that scab would fall off soon enough. Her bravery didn’t merit this kind of fate, but then neither had the countless thousands of other lives devoured today – I swallowed and avoided thinking about that.

Martain and Breda picked their way through rubble towards us, stained and sore and looking every bit as awful as I felt. They stopped a safe distance away, swords sheathed at their hips. “How is she?” Martain said.

Eva was encased in a warped shell of steel so I put my ear to her mouth listening for any sign of breath, but the breeze made that useless. I shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do anyway,” I said. “Even if she is still alive, I doubt there is a healer who would even try.” Under the armour her skin was crispy as crackling and most of her exposed flesh was seared to the bone.

Breda sobbed, more from shock and relief than for Eva. “How could she walk like that, never mind fight?”

I shook my head. “She is possessed of a rare iron will. As if a shitty daemon and a traitorous pyromancer could ever stop Evangeline of House Avernus from carrying out her mission.”

“She will be remembered,” Martain said.

“You had better,” I said, grimacing as I hauled myself to my feet. “You two will likely be the only ones to tell of what she did here.”

“What do you mean?” Martain said, eyeing the crystal in my hands. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes, this is where it all began. They fed it mageblood to create the Magash Mora.” I winced as I took a tentative step on my weakened leg, pain spiking. I set the crystal down – just for a moment – to let my magic wash away what tiredness it could. My stomach rumbled as wounds burned and itched from quickened healing. My hands shook with fear and shock and starvation.

“That sounds more like a job for a sanctor,” Martain said.

“You would take it to the Arcanum,” I said. “I mean to destroy it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”

Breda slammed into Martain, knocking him aside. Flame engulfed her as Martain landed awkwardly. She shrieked and fell, kicking and screaming and sizzling.

“Drat. Missed,” Harailt said, appearing through a bank of smoke.

A dozen huge Skallgrim warriors in blackened mail and blood-soaked furs marched beside him, led by the Gifted wolf-ship captain. Harailt’s eyes glossed over Eva’s burnt figure, not even acknowledging his vile handiwork on somebody that had called him friend.

Martain surged to his feet and drew his sword. “Breda!” But she was already a smoking corpse. “You murdering scum. I’m going to cut your rancid head off!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Harailt said, waving a finger. “No, you won’t.”

I sought out his mind but it rebuffed my exhausted fumblings.

He chuckled. “I must admit that it was gratifying to skin your fat friend after his arson destroyed my stock of mageblood. The timing was perfectly terrible you know. The Magash Mora was supposed to have emerged in all her mature glory, fully capable of scaling the cliffs of the Old Town. The Skallgrim fleet sent by my allies was meant to arrive in time to help me rebuild and consolidate my control, not to waste manpower in pointless battle.” He sighed, then smiled. “Ah well, these things happen. One must be adaptable.”

“And what did you plan to do with the Magash Mora once you’d won?” I asked. “Did you think such ravenous hunger would just go away?” I itched to smash his face repeatedly into a wall until it was paste.

He shrugged. “I would unleash it upon my enemies, you stupid tyrant. One land at a time until all bowed to the new Arcanum and its new archmagus.”

“And you call him a tyrant,” Martain said. “You are offal, filth that deserves to be scraped off the boots of decent folk.”

Harailt twitched, expression flickering through horror and fear, then anger before settling back on a mocking grin. He ignored Martain’s jibe to focus on me. “It amused me to make your friend Charra’s daughter dirty herself cleaning up my loose ends, but can you imagine my joy when I found out that you were still alive? That I get to dispose of you is a lovely gift indeed. There is no place for base-born vermin like you in the true Arcanum.”

“What about your loyalty to Setharis?” I said. “What kind of monster would willingly bring this horror down on us? Look at what you did. Look, you sick fucker! The city is burning.”

“I…” A shadow of confusion passed through his eyes. He shook his head and his gaze swiftly hardened. “Setharis is riddled with rot and its leaders are corrupt and impotent. I know you see this. To heal the Setharii empire I must cut off the head of this sickly serpent, and if a few lives need be sacrificed then so be it. I will rebuild anew, lacking the weakness and cowardice of past leadership. I will lead the new Arcanum to a golden age beyond even the wildest dreams of ancient Escharr.”

“Oh, will you now?” I said, picking up the crystal core and backing away. “What about–”

The Skallgrim captain cut off my attempt to stall for more time, speaking in coarse Setharii. “Just kill them already.”

Harailt waved acceptance and their men charged. “Kill the fools. Bring me his head and that crystal.” He grinned, enjoying this deadly game.

I took one look at the advancing warriors and did what I do best – ran away. Harailt shrieked for them to give chase as I dodged his premature spurt of flame and legged it down the ruins of an alley. Axes thunked into the wall behind me. I hoped Martain had enough sense to run instead of making a futile last stand over the corpses of our companions. Honour was an admirable thing but I much preferred living; I’d been running from death for ten long years and I’d be damned if I allowed an odious little shite like Harailt the satisfaction of finally offing me. One way or another, I’d end him.

When I was young I’d made sport of losing people in the narrow lanes of the Warrens, getting away from bigger boys and brutal gangs with my hide intact. The trick was to get far enough ahead and make so many turns and twists that they had to pause at each intersection just to discover which way you’d gone, allowing me to gain a little more lead each time. But my natural strength was nearing its end and all that steel and leather the Skallgrim wore didn’t slow them down. They were hard on my heels and gaining.

I scrambled over a pile of rubble and headed left, then took a sharp right down a narrow passage choked with refuse. If it was a tight fit for a skinny bastard like me then those hulking armoured lads would have trouble following. The sound of steel scraping along stone and guttural curses gifted me a fleeting pleasure.

I burst from the passage into a wider street, wheezing for breath, legs threatening to cramp. A few blank-faced Docklanders scraping through the ruins of their collapsed homes looked up and scarpered at the sight of me. A blood-stained madman holding a huge glowing crystal encrusted with weird runes wasn’t somebody you wanted to be around. I shifted the murmuring crystal core to my other arm and scrambled down a side-street as shouts in the guttural Skallgrim tongue roared from behind.

Damn, they were gaining on me again. I vaguely recognized the area and realized I was heading towards the plague-ridden ruins of the old temple. I risked a glance back, dreading the sight of men pouring around the corner. They hadn’t found my last turning just yet. When I looked forward again it was just in time to see the outstretched arm that yanked me through an open doorway. A rough hand clamped over my mouth and a cold blade pressed against my throat instead of through it. The door slammed shut and a bar thunked securely into place, plunging the room into a darkness lit only by sickly yellow crystal-light. I glimpsed perhaps a half-dozen faces before somebody flung a blanket over it.

I got the message: stay silent and stay still. Boots pounded down the street outside, stopping at the door. It shuddered as something hit it hard. Finding it barred, they hurried on. After a few minutes my captor removed the knife at my throat.

My eyes had adjusted enough to make out the scarred faces in the room and I looked up see which one of the Smilers had pulled me off the street. Tubbs’ pockmarked face grinned down at me as she took her hand from my mouth. She lifted her fingers to cracked lips and licked them suggestively, then blew me a kiss. On most days I would have shuddered at the sight, but right then I could almost have kissed her. Almost. The Smilers were up to their gills in weaponry and jumped at every creak of wood in this old tenement. They were terrified. I moved slow and careful, not wanting to surprise anybody.

“No time to play with ’im, Tubbs,” Rosha Bone-face whispered. “That cracked bastard has a whole army of foreign nutters after ’im.” She gave the blanket covering the crystal core of the Magash Mora a fearful look and edged away. “Charra got the word out you were heading into that…” she shuddered “…that thing. Thought you might need your arse pulled from the fire and she was right enough. But we wasn’t goin’ to get closer to that monster, was we, girls?” They grumbled assent, even the big bearded Smiler at the back with a meat cleaver in his hand. “Wasn’t until we seen it go down that we came lookin’ for you. Good thing too.”

Rosha cleared her throat. “What you doin’ with that big hunk o’ rock?” she said.

“Buggered if I know.” What could I do with the damn thing? It whined and nuzzled at my mind. The last trace of Harailt’s control had withered and died and the core now belonged to me. It wanted me to control it, to use it and abuse it in an orgy of devouring. I couldn’t trust the Arcanum to destroy the thing; they would try to use it if they could, and study it if they couldn’t. That power and knowledge was too seductive, and sooner or later, perhaps centuries down the line, somebody would use it again. With a god involved there was nobody I could trust. I had to get rid of it myself.

Eva’s spirit-bound blade had shattered on the crystal core so I wasn’t about to risk Dissever and I didn’t have anywhere near the sort of personal power needed to destroy it. Which left what? With Skallgrim and looters still roaming the streets it was too dangerous to move about. Where could I go? And then inspiration struck: if I made it to Carrbridge then Lynas’ warehouse already had wards set up. With a bit of luck perhaps I could use those defences while I holed up and tried to figure out what to do. That ruined temple was on the way, not far from here at all, and if the walls were still standing then I could retrieve the alchemic bomb. That might hold enough destructive power to destroy the crystal: after all, one of those bombs had turned their creator’s entire workshop to dust, and it wasn’t magic, so the crystal couldn’t absorb it.

“I need you to distract those hairy brutes while I make a run for it,” I said. “Then I can end this.” The Smilers looked at me dubiously.

“Nah,” Rosha said. “That there sounds like warden work.”

I removed the blanket from my crystal and stained the room yellow. “Otherwise we’re all dead. Or worse.”

Rosha chewed on a bone piercing, mulling it over. “Fine. Whatever gets rid of you quickest.”

We piled out the door and headed along a street running north-east. Two Skallgrim raiders turned a corner, came face to face with us. Before they could raise a shout the Smilers swarmed them, knives rising and falling. We left them choking on their own blood. The ruins of the old temple were mostly intact and I paused in our flight to stick my hand into the hole in the wall and retrieve the bomb. As a last resort I could always set it off and try to take Harailt with me.

“What are you doin’ dawdlin’?” Tubbs said, coming up behind me and slapping my rear. “Get that sweet arse movin’.”

We took off towards Carr’s Bridge and a shout went up behind us – I’d been spotted. We led them a desperate chase though twisting smoke-choked alleys and rubble filled passages, bursting out onto Fisherman’s Way. Relief surged as the bridge came into sight.

A wall of flame roared up all across the street. Some of the girls beside me shrieked and cringed back. Gutter-rats like them weren’t used to magic; they scattered and ran for their lives. I turned to face Harailt, knowing there was no chance of outrunning a pyromancer in the open. The Skallgrim captain stood beside him, a sour set to his face. He probably couldn’t abide Harailt either.

Tongues of flame licked up my clothes to scorch my face. He was enjoying toying with me. More and more raiders found their way back to their captain, standing around looking pissed off I’d led them such a merry chase.

“Put the crystal down,” he said. I did as he asked, and as soon as my hands left it new strength flooded back through my Gift. Godly power emanated from Harailt and he wasn’t trying to hide it any more.

I slipped a hand into my pocket and wrapped it around the alchemic bomb. He could kill me, but I wouldn’t be going alone. I refused to let that slimy bag of arseholes win.

I gathered my power and lashed out. His mental defences weathered the storm. It hurt. His mind was drenched in alchemic, and I tasted mageblood in my mouth after even that briefest of touches.

He growled, “If only those idiot shadow cats had managed to track you down and tear you limb-from-limb as instructed.”

“Why? What did I ever do to you?”

His eyes bulged. “You lowly runt! What did you do?” his throat spasmed and he had to start again. “What did you do? Everything went wrong for me the day they dug you out of that tunnel: you shamed my house and humiliated me in front of Archmagus Byzant. Why could you not just bow to your betters and cry at the entrance for a few days until we returned to free you after you’d learned your lesson? Oh no, Edrin Walker had to try and find his own way out.”

He snarled. “As soon as I gained power from the Scarrabus I sought my revenge.”

He was angry and unstable, ripe for letting something slip. “What is that, some sort of mind-rotting alchemic?” I jibed. “You pathetic addict.”

His face flushed deep red. “You know nothing, ignorant peasant! My ancient allies ruled worlds beyond number long ago, and will again. They aid me in ridding the halls of my beloved Arcanum of filth like you.”

I laughed at him. “And to think Eva claimed you had reformed, that you were a better person now.” I spat on the ground. “Well, congratulations, you sure fooled her.”

His snarl cracked. He frowned, confused. “Evangeline? No, I didn’t mean to…” His eyes glazed over for a second, then he blinked and shook his head. The snarl returned.

The god’s power suffused him, mingling in blood and bone. I felt its hunger for the crystal at my feet. Aha! So that was what it wanted. While Harailt had control of the Magash Mora the god couldn’t take it without disrupting years of careful work. A ritual that powerful and complex could not have been done quickly.

“You deluded bastard,” I said to Harailt. “You have no idea, do you?”

That stung him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not yours anymore.”

He didn’t get it.

I helpfully clarified the situation: “Your god no longer needs you, you blind, bloody fool.”

It took a second for realisation to sink in. His eyes widened. “No. We three have an alliance. The Scarrabus and I spent years preparing for the cleansing and rebirth of Setharis. You promised that we would rule together, and you–” His eyes bulged as blood welled up over his bottom lip. “Please, no, I promise to lead the Arcanum in your name – for your glory! Please, my god, don’t you betray me too.” His voice cut off in a gurgle as his belly swelled, split, and then tore wide open.

Flesh burst in a welter of blood and from his insides a god came forth. My guts churned and my Gift burned as if I stood too close to an inferno. I’d boasted that I would kill this? What hubris. It sloughed off Harailt’s meat suit to reveal a male figure covered head to toe in glistening blood and slime, hairless and horrible. Harailt was left a boneless, bubbling, shivering mound of discarded flesh, and yet somehow still alive. It seemed that a god’s blood and power coursing through your body for so long made you hard to kill, the Worm of Magic reluctant to let go of such a desirable host. Harailt’s one remaining eye looked up at me in agony and horror.

I recognized this god and shuddered. It was something ancient, more potent by far than any poxy hooded upstart. This was my patron deity, Nathair, the Thief of Life. He was physically unimpressive: short of height and hairless, features obscured by gore, but his sheer presence struck me like a brick to the face. My legs trembled, threatening to give way and fall to my knees before him. The Skallgrim were similarly struck, swaying in silent shock. The god stank of mageblood and corrupt blood sorcery and I sensed the magic of countless Gifted churning inside him, a deluge of different flavours. Their Gifts and blood had granted power to the Magash Mora and Nathair seemed to have learned to copy that. My god was now a damned mageblood addict.

He bent down and tore a pale creature the size of my fist free of Harailt’s exposed spine. It resembled a segmented beetle with too many legs and dozens of translucent threads instead of mandibles. It squirmed in his hand, frantic squeals hurting my head. “It would seem I am surrounded by tyrants this day. One of the mind–” he winked at me “–and this so-called ‘lord of flesh’ the ravak daemon spoke of. Pah.”

The gory figure tutted at Harailt’s remains. “Are you even aware how much this wretched parasite manipulated your feeble mind? I suppose not, it is their speciality. They certainly managed to enslave the Skallgrim tribal leaders with ease.”

His hand clenched and the squirming beetle-thing crunched and burst into flame. Then the god turned to me. “Greetings, Edrin Walker. You are more resourceful than I had given you credit for, a veritable pain, in truth.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, staring at him in horror. “What… what was that thing?”

Nathair cackled. “The creatures call themselves Scarrabus, an ancient and forgotten power waxing strong for the first time in millennia. The monsters hinted at in your oldest children’s tales have awoken and they are returning to rule the fearful human masses they left to run free so very long ago. Did you really believe those Skallgrim savages could organize and wield such potent magics on their own? They were useful to me for a time. No longer.”

I swallowed and stared him down. “And you, what is it you want?”

His mind probed my own, crude battering rams slamming into my defences, cracking them. I would not be able to keep him out for long. He pursed red lips, peeved I dared resist. “The Far Realms align in grand conjunction, allowing old powers to awaken and new powers to rise. Two hundred years ago a partial conjunction and the Arcanum’s arrogance led to the Daemonwar. This is an age of change that enables me to break free of the chains that bind me to this damned city. This is the dawn of Nathair’s dominion. Exciting times, no? Let us discuss the use of that lovely crystal after I have had a little snack.”

He turned to the Skallgrim and his jaw cracked open to reveal serrated fangs and a forked tongue. The Skallgrim captain and his men – brave bastards all – attacked instead of fleeing. They chose poorly. Before their next breath he was on them. The Gifted captain was fast, the god faster – he plunged a hand through the captain’s breastplate and tore the beating heart from his chest.

Nathair bit into the twitching organ with relish, slurping down Gifted blood while the wolf-ship raiders set about him with axes. He didn’t even notice their blows, his flesh healing as soon as it was cut. The poor fools didn’t have any idea that they were already dead.

A second Scarrabus parasite squirmed from the hole in the dead’s captain’s chest. Its pale and writhing head turned towards me.

I picked up the crystal and fled while the god was busy feasting. I had many failings, but not knowing when to run away wasn’t one of them. My god was ratshit insane.