Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) (82 page)

It was puzzling, although it didn’t scare him. Mercer was a fool, but somehow he’d found and held the Scytale, for a time at least, and made it across two continents. He had either grown, or he had powerful protectors . . . yes, someone was helping him.

Corineus replied
.

Malevorn decided.

Afterwards, he cradled the Scytale and closed his eyes, to dream of his triumphant return to Pallas, with all of the court bowing down before him . . .

*

Malevorn was awaiting Ervyn Naxius at the chosen rendezvous. Zarrabadh was virtually a ghost town, but the few remaining peasants on the outskirts had been handy fuel for his Ablizians, who needed to be strong for this encounter. He wanted to be able to demonstrate his full powers to this Erwyn Naxius, so that Mater-Imperia would know that he was everything he had claimed to be.

He wondered idly where Hessaz – or Huriya or Sabele or whoever she was now – had gone, but he found that, actually, he didn’t overly care. Perhaps it rankled a little that she’d come so close to destroying him, but what she’d forced him to do, setting his soul apart from his body, had purified him, stripping away the last vestiges of human needs. He still needed to eat and drink, but lust, hate, greed . . . all receded in the Light of Him.

He was no longer pretending to himself that he was doing this for his family; Lucia could hold a knife to his mother’s throat or his sister’s heart and he’d care not a whit. His Master’s victory was all that mattered.

I’m ascending the stairway to Kore Himself. I am Purpose Incarnate.

He’d waited a week to meet Ervyn Naxius, but he didn’t have to wait much longer. A black-winged shape appeared in the darkening skies: a venator, with the man Malevorn had come to meet perched on its back, sitting between the wings on a strange-shaped saddle. Naxius was a disappointment: a hunched-over, wizened, vague-looking bald old man.

They exchanged greetings, both reserved, then Malevorn took him to the pavilion he’d had his Ablizians prepare in the middle of Zarrabadh’s square. The old man was obviously rather taken with the Ablizians, for he was staring at them avidly. Malevorn had only a dozen in sight; the rest were surrounding the square, concealed in the ruined buildings. The twelve on view had jackal heads; they wore uniform loincloths and carried spears.

‘I can feel the bonds between them,’ Naxius marvelled. ‘They are as one creature! We must speak of them in greater detail, because I must say that I find them fascinating. They are Souldrinkers, all? As are you: the mystery of Nasette, I take it?’

That Naxius was so comfortable in the presence of Dokken spoke of the man’s familiarity with secrets most magi ran a mile from. Malevorn was grudgingly impressed.
Will Lucia be so sanguine when she learns that particular secret?
he wondered. He motioned the ancient mage to a seat, poured arak – plunder from the village – and pointedly tasted it first. Naxius still waved a hand over the arak, ensuring for himself it was not poisoned, then sipped it and winced.

‘You’ve some knowledge of the Dokken, Magister Naxius?’ Malevorn asked.

‘I’ve studied the Souldrinkers for decades. You know, I believe we may have a cure.’

Hogshit. If he had a cure he’d be offering amnesties and displaying his success for all to see.

The meal was served by one of his Ablizians, a jackal-headed woman, bare-breasted and altogether magnificent. Naxius examined her with interest, not as a younger man might, but with dispassionate, analytical eyes. ‘She is a possessed Souldrinker, yes? Housing a daemon you control?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Yet I do not see binding spells in her aura.’

‘My Ablizians serve me unfettered by conventional Wizardry: I have mastered them – with this,’ he added, displaying the spear. The scarlet diamonds caught the light of the fire and reflected it back a thousand-fold. ‘Their service is now entirely consensual.’

‘Really? Consensual control of a daemon is regarded as impossible!’ Naxius eyed the spear greedily, then scratched his nose. ‘You said: “Ablizian”? From Bahil-Abliz, yes? I know that name: that is the daemon who claims to have snared the soul of Johan Corin.’

Malevorn felt a sudden rage, so virulent he realised that it came from His Master Himself. ‘Lord Corineus’ soul is most certainly not captive!’ he shouted, only marginally in control of his own responses. ‘He resides in the aether, watching over us until His return!’

Naxius raised his eyebrows and then held out his hand placatingly. ‘As you say,’ he said cautiously. ‘Do you know the tale of Grand-Prelate Goetfreyd of Delph?’

Corineus growled, and Malevorn repeated the words aloud.

‘Perhaps he was,’ Naxius replied, sensing he’d touched a nerve and backing off. Their earlier cordiality frayed, and they stared at each other watchfully.

Malevorn brandished the Scytale. ‘Do you recognise this?’

‘Only by repute,’ Naxius replied, as if the artefact didn’t impress him. ‘I was Ordo Costruo until recently, Magister Andevarion – we were not privy to Imperial secrets.’

‘I suppose not.’ Malevorn put the Scytale down again and leaned forward, impatient with the small-talk. ‘I have shown you my creatures, and you know of the destruction they have wrought. Mater-Imperia says you speak for the emperor: will you hear my demands?’

Naxius leant back in his chair, his eyes hooded. ‘State your desires, young man.’

‘That I will be welcomed to court, and betrothed to Princess Coramore. I have no desire for your offer of a cure: the stigmatising of the Souldrinker nation will end and they will be invited to serve the emperor. In exchange I will return the Scytale and place myself and my Ablizians in the service of Emperor Constant.’

This was not
exactly
his true intent, but Corineus had counselled him to proceed slowly; the time to fully exert his will would be when he was ensconced in Pallas.

Naxius bowed his head. ‘I must confer with Mater-Imperia, Master Andevarion.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I could do that here and now, if you will allow me to go outside?’

When Malevorn gestured in assent, they walked together back outside, under the gaze of his Ablizian guards again. Naxius walked away a few paces, then turned and clasped his hands together.

‘Master Andevarion, it has been instructive to meet you, but I remain unconvinced of your powers. You speak of “mastery” over these creatures, but that is untried in real battle, and you have so few. I see little reason why I should trouble Mater-Imperia with your pathetic demands.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Only a fool bargains from a position of weakness, Andevarion.’

Malevorn drew his sword, then gripped the diamond spear tighter with the other hand, alerting his other Ablizians, lurking in the darkness beyond the cook-fires. ‘Are you testing me, old man?’

Naxius raised a hand and a dozen figures in hooded purple cassocks and carrying ornate carved staves strode out of the darkness, with a line of soldiers dressed in fantastical armour at their backs. ‘Think of it as the ultimate test.’ He gestured expansively as he said, ‘These men and women are Keepers: those raised to the Ascendancy by the Scytale before it was stolen. They are protected by men of the Eternal Guard. Mater-Imperia sent them to reclaim what belongs to Pallas.’

Malevorn was already raising the diamond spear when a deeper darkness loomed above. He dragged his eyes skywards: a massive Rondian warbird hung above, lit by gnostic shields and packed with archers and ballistae and Ahm knew what else. Then came another, and a third . . .

He formed shields and summoned his creatures – light crystallised in the air about him an instant before the Keepers lifted their staves. Then the night exploded into fire as gnosis-blasts poured at him from all directions. Amidst it all, he could feel the insidious thrusts of mental assaults.

The first seconds were crucial: the Ablizians meshed their shields and threw them around Malevorn as he marshalled them into place. The Keepers and their guards poured from the western end of the plaza: a dozen magi and dozens of soldiers. He knew of the Eternal Guard: elite fighters devoted to the Rondian Empire, lavished with luxuries but brutalised in training, taught every dirty trick, including how to resist mental assault. But they were still just men. His dozen Ablizians still stood, despite the intial assault, and he could sense the consternation of the Keepers at that.

Silently, he ordered those positioned in the buildings to attack from the flanks.

Another wave of gnosis-fire, the concentrated power of a dozen Keepers, slammed into his creature’s wards, which burned red, wavered and this time began to come apart. He gripped the spear, shouted aloud for Corineus to be with him and threw his own power into holding together the crumbling gnostic web binding the Ablizians to him.

His Saviour heard, and His righteous anger filled him, stiffening the Ablizians and drawing them into unity again. In his left hand, the spear began to blaze – the diamonds themselves appeared to be melting; something was happening to the spear, but he could feel the levels of power within it build and build.

he cried.

Corineus thundered inside his skull.

Every second of his life felt as if it had been leading to this moment: to perish at the hands of the Keepers, or to submit to his Saviour and become one with Him! The universe demanded it!

. . . and yet . . .

His sense of selfhood held . . . just.

I am Your servant, Lord Corineus . . . I am not Your vessel . . .

Instead of submitting control of the gnostic web he’d built, he fought to guide it still. It was like riding a wild horse. Beyond the wall of light, he could sense the purple-robed figures renewing their assault, while above the warbirds kept pouring arrows and ballistae bolts into his shield-dome, trying to tear it down. But the power in the spear grew and grew, channelling power directly from the aether, from Corineus Himself. It was frightening him now – the diamonds were almost at the point of liquefying, and they were the basis of his control of the Ablizians.

With no time to consider his options; he gripped the energy and directed it upwards, at the hull of the closest warbird – and
unleashed
—

It was almost the last thing he did.

With a blinding flash, white light flashed from the spear to the hull of the warbird and engulfed it. The keel came apart as the sails, masts and hull went up in flames, and the whole craft was hurled away in a blazing fire ball, right into the second windship. They smashed together, and the fire leaped and went roaring through both craft as men dropped like fireflies towards the ground. Some struck his shield-dome and slid down the sides, clothing and skin aflame. The third craft lifted away, frantically pulling for safety, but Malevorn barely noticed. The instant of the release of the spear’s energy had been overpowering: a sucking torrent of raw power that gripped and drew his own residual gnosis into its wake. He felt like a stick in flood-water, hurled about helplessly by forces so beyond him that he barely existed.

He was at the point of surrendering control to Corineus after all when suddenly the pressure eased and he staggered, blinking, back into awareness of his surroundings . . .

. . . as, slowly, like falling stars, the two burning windships fell to earth, coming apart in a crash of blazing timbers. Those few who won free of the blazing wreckage immediately fell victim to his spear-wielding Ablizians as they poured in from all sides, slaughtering the fallen windshipmen before arraying against the Eternal Guard and the Keepers.

After that the night became a blur.

Malevorn watched himself as if from afar, his body glowing like molten metal. He could scarcely believe he was surviving any of this, then he realised what had happened, and laughed aloud . . .

His soul was contained elsewhere than his body – that condition wrought by Hessaz and her treachery had once again preserved him! The soul-gem he’d made for himself was one of those studding the spearhead, which meant he wielded . . .
himself
. There was no other way he would still have been alive.

This truly is destiny!

He salved his mortal form with healing-gnosis, numbing its pain before re-entering the scarred and charred flesh. His armour was twisted and blackened, but with each passing second his body was reforming. He searched the night skies for the third warbird and brought it down with another burst of energy from the spear.

Then at last he paused to take stock.

Firstly, he checked his grip on the minds of the Ablizians. He’d lost almost twenty, but the remainder were gathered about him. The beast-headed warriors were in the process of butchering the Eternal Guard; all eight Keepers had already been reduced to charred corpses by the combined mage-bolts of his Ascendant warriors fighting in unison. The much-vaunted Ascendants had failed to overcome his creatures! The implications were astounding.
No one can stop me!
He extended his awareness and found remnants of the Eternal Guard at the edge of the town, retreating into the wilderness.

Where’s Naxius
 . . .
?

He cursed: the ancient mage had gone, or his wards were too strong to penetrate and find him.

So what about these . . . ?

He walked unsteadily to where the purple-robed Keepers were lying. They’d been burned to the bone; the few left with faces intact were filled with utter terror, confronting a power so great that even they, Ascendants all, had been rendered helpless. They were all ancient, he noticed: too old for the powers they wielded, perhaps, but this was still an incredible victory.