Empire of the Saviours (Chronicles of/Cosmic Warlord 1) (48 page)

‘Mistress, I have failed you!’ screamed the twisted creature as he was bathed in terrible radiation. His nose drooped. His eyelids ran into his eyeballs. He opened his mouth to scream again, but his face slid down into his throat and he swallowed himself. His body liquefied, becoming a steaming puddle, and then evaporated into the night.

‘Noooo!’ Thomas wept, his anguish tearing the air in two.

The house and stables collapsed into decay. Four white mice scurried out of the shell of the dream house and ran towards Thomas. The wolf leapt …

‘Please! Have mercy!’

… and snapped all the mice up in one go.

Broken, the giant blacksmith hugged the ground and sobbed.

‘What just happened?’ Aspin asked as if waking up.

A befuddled Ash kicked mouldering boards out of his way and climbed through what had been the side wall of Thomas’s house. Joining them, the woodsman sighed, ‘Should have known it was too good to be true. She was a mouse then, was she? I suppose it would never have worked.’ He eyed the wolf. ‘And you don’t need to look so smug either. It’s not funny.’

CHAPTER 11:

Repentance always coming after

T
he blind Saint beckoned the criminal out of the corner of the cell. The young Hero through whose eyes Azual saw everything stood silently watching by the door, just as he’d been commanded. If he dared turn his eyes away when the Drawing happened, his life would be forfeit and the Saint would find himself another pair of eyes. The Hero had to watch everything, no matter how distasteful he found it, so that the holy representative of the Saviours could see how and where to move.

This was the last of the criminals left in the punishment chambers of Hyvan’s Cross. All the others had been drained until they were dead.

‘Come over here!’ the Saint demanded.

The criminal came reluctantly, head bowed low. The wretch had probably realised all the other cells were now silent and feared what was to come. Azual could hardly stand the brief moments of delay caused by the creature’s slow progress across the floor. He needed to Draw more power than ever before if he was to restore his eyesight. He ground his teeth and his hands twitched impatiently.

‘You are guilty of a crime against the People and the Empire,’ the Saint said quickly. ‘Your soul is corrupted. However, you have a chance to redeem yourself if you repent and give yourself willingly to me. Tell me that you wish for Salvation.’

It was always easier to Draw one of the People when they were willing. He could overcome any resistance they put up, of course, but that usually required him to use up almost as much energy as he gained from them, pretty much making it a waste of time. True, a life would be lost as well, but these criminals had proved themselves lacking in faith so the People were better off without them. It was like removing an animal born with a deformity from a flock or herd. Such creatures were generally short-lived anyway, so what did it matter if they died now or a while later?

The criminal – whose face was younger and more angelic than any of the others Azual had seen today – was now right before him and looking up expectantly. Had it spoken?

‘What?’ Azual snapped.

‘Holy one, forgive me, but I said I did not commit any crime. The baker said it was me who stole the bread, but I didn’t, honest.’

‘Whether you did or not,’ the Saint growled in irritation, ‘there can be no doubt that you have had thoughts of stealing, jealous thoughts of possessing something that was not yours to possess. You cannot deny it unless you are willing to commit the sin of doing so.’

Tears pricked the corners of the youth’s eyes. ‘It is true, holy one. I have thought of having pastries my family cannot afford. It is difficult when the baker puts his wares out on display, not that I make any excuse! But the smells make my mouth water, and I … I … am weak! But only of thoughts – I never stole anything! Holy one, I repent, truly I do! I give myself to you willingly and wish for Salvation.’

‘Good. I will cleanse your soul.’ Azual took the youth by the neck to hold him steady and then plunged his tapping tube of sun-metal into the jugular. Blood arced out of the end of the tube and into Azual’s mouth. The Saint stirred the traces of the magically imbued blood that still existed in the youth from an initial Drawing several years before. He called to it and it came, bringing the youth’s own life energy with it.

Azual swallowed and swallowed. Ah! So strong, so puissant! The flow of blood eventually slowed to a trickle and then a drip. He wiped his chin and let the youth’s empty body drop to the floor. He felt a flutter of revulsion from the Hero, but chose to excuse his attendant’s lack of understanding.

Azual concentrated the power brimming within him and directed it towards his ruined eyes. He demanded that they be repaired, but his magic merely washed around his eyes without changing them in any way. He strained and cried out in frustration, for he could not create new nerves and flesh, no matter how he tried. A voice inside him whispered that the magic he’d Drawn from the People was the corruption of the Chaos and therefore only capable of destruction, but he didn’t want to hear it. There had to be a way. He just wasn’t powerful enough yet.

He came up out of the punishment chambers and emerged into the moaning winds that always circulated around Hyvan’s Cross and its unusual sandstone formations. He mentally called to Captain Skathis and told him to come to the temple at the top of the sculpted crag upon which the town was built. Azual had captured the place from the pagans centuries before and made the ancient temple his home. Like most of the other original buildings, it had been hollowed out of the soft rock. There were no straight lines or flat surfaces to be seen on it because the harsh winds moulded the rock into smooth curves and strange fluid shapes. By rights, he should have had this place of pagan worship and power demolished, but there was something about it that relaxed him. While the wind was droning or haunting around most of the town, its sound here, as it funnelled through circular openings and yawning arches, was soothing and almost melodic. He found it easy to meditate in the temple, whereas elsewhere his thoughts would interrupt each other, snarl and fight.

And he seemed to see better when he allowed the temple to calm his mind. Indeed, he imagined he could now see far more than he had when his eyes had been working. It was almost as if his eyes had held him back from seeing properly. Now that he saw exclusively through others, there was no primary vision forcing others out. Now he usually saw every object and event from multiple perspectives at once, meaning that he also understood them in a more complex manner than before. His consciousness had expanded. Was this what it was to be a Saviour, to be a god?

Perhaps he did not need to restore his eyes, then. He could manage without them. Yet he chafed against having to be dependent on others – lesser beings at that! – for what he saw. Yes, he’d developed his skills to the point whereby he could see simultaneously through the eyes of every being in Hyvan’s Cross and not miss a single detail, but it was a constant drain on his power. He never had enough power, whether it was to restore his eyes or maintain his expanded consciousness. He had to have more. Nothing else mattered. He had to have the boy! The boy would give him everything he needed, whether he was willing or not. And once Azual had drained every last vestige of power from Jillan,
then
he would wreak his full and bloody revenge on the boy.

As Azual reclined on his temple throne, the attendant Hero blinked wearily. Azual’s immediate view of himself bobbed and weaved, without his ability to correct it. He felt queasy seeing himself in his own mind as if through a broken mirror. He would never get used to this, could never accept it. It was humiliating to be tied to such a gross lumpen creature as this soldier.

‘Get out of my sight!’ the Saint seethed. ‘Send a replacement.’

As the soldier hurried out, Azual switched his view so that he saw through the eyes of the arriving Captain Skathis instead. Azual watched himself lean forward in his throne and appear to glare down at the man.

‘Neither hide nor hair has been found, Captain. Nothing!’

Azual was suddenly looking at the floor in front of Skathis’s feet. He realised that the damnable fool had bowed to him.

‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Captain? Got some explanation as to the spectacular failure of your men, hmm? Better make it good.’

‘Holy one, Saint Izat has invited all southerners wishing to flee the plague to enter the western region,’ the Captain replied impassively. ‘It could be that the warrior and the boy—’

‘What?’ Azual hissed. ‘How dare she! It is an outrage! I cannot believe … Wait. Have extra guards sent from Saviours’ Paradise to close the border on our side.’

‘I have already done so, holy one.’

‘Excellent, Captain. I can see I chose well when appointing you.’

‘We are patrolling the border in good numbers, holy one. Unless the fugitives chose to head into the west immediately upon leaving Saviours’ Paradise, they will not have escaped. They will be found.’

‘I doubt they will have headed west so quickly. Why would they? I still have the boy’s loving parents. He knows he has but one week left to present himself here. Yet, to be on the safe side, I will lay an aegis on the minds of all the People in the region to watch for the fugitives and immediately report any sighting. I will plant an image of the fugitives in the minds of everyone. It will tire me, though, so see to it that the punishment chambers are full of new criminals by tomorrow morning, Captain. And have all children who have not yet been Drawn brought to me at the temple, no matter their age.’

‘As is your will, holy one.’ The Captain bowed, giving Azual a moment of motion sickness.

‘Jillan must not be killed, do you understand? I would prefer the warrior taken alive also, but if that is not possible then so be it.’

‘Of course, holy one.’

‘Good. Only leaving the issue of the plague. I know it is rife in both Godsend and Saviours’ Paradise. I will instruct the Captains there to prevent any from leaving and all from entering. Hyvan’s Cross is still unaffected, however. Hmm. Captain, it would be a dreadful shame for the west if some of the plague victims were to find their way through our border guards, wouldn’t it?’

‘Very much so, holy one,’ the Captain replied, for once allowing himself a smile, a small ugly thing.

‘Have any victims that still walk rounded up. Saint Izat may yet come to regret her generous invitation, eh?’

‘As you will it, holy one.’

Azual’s replacement pair of eyes arrived, allowing him to switch his view and regard both himself and the Captain at once. Azual nodded and rose. ‘Then I must now see the mother.’

Maria sent out as strong a call as she could manage, but there was no reply. Either there were none of her people nearby, or the strength of the Saint’s power in this place blocked all her projections. She gave up. She’d been trying for days now and was exhausted. If she didn’t rest, then she’d have no strength to take advantage of any real opportunity that presented itself.

She’d been kept in a small empty chamber carved into the solid rock. There was no window. There was a single blanket, an unyielding floor, a metal door and that was it. It was devoid of anything she could use to scry for Jillan, Jedadiah or any others who might help her. She would have used the cups of water that were brought with her morning and evening meals, but one of the guards always stood over her while she ate and then took everything away. She’d urinated into her cupped hands at one point, but – as she had feared would be the case – was unable to scry the outside world using her own bodily fluids. No, this was a prison that not even her magic could free her from.

She fretted for her dear Jedadiah, who had never been able to control that temper of his, even when it was in his own best interests. She didn’t think any less of him for it, for he was a man of strong passion and principles – qualities for which she could only love him, even when it got them into trouble. He was a fine man and a fine father. There was much of him in Jillan.

And how she fretted for their beloved son. More than fretted. Her nerves were shredded. She now feared she’d been wrong to hide him from the world. Perhaps she should have encouraged magic in him when he was younger, so that he would now have control of it. She thought she’d been oh-so-wise to flee New Sanctuary and make for the more remote and less noteworthy town of Godsend with her young family. She thought they would be able to remain relatively anonymous and have a semblance of happiness. Now she wondered if she’d been more cowardly than wise. And the life they’d led in Godsend had been a constant trial, always watching over their shoulders, guarding every word they said, keeping potential friends at arm’s length. It had limited them in ways she’d failed to anticipate, cruelly confining Jedadiah’s free spirit and harming Jillan’s development. And all for what? Where had it got them? Jillan accused of murder and a fugitive. Jedadiah and herself imprisoned by an increasingly suspicious and deranged Saint. If the Saviours’ vassal decided they knew more than he’d so far gleaned and chose to break them, then the consequences didn’t bear thinking about. More than just her precious family would be lost. The entire world!

It began to occur to Maria that it might have been better if they’d all died in New Sanctuary after all. Death was not to be feared, she knew, for the Geas continually remade life. She feared it anyway, because it meant leaving behind and forgetting her sweet husband and innocent son. And it was that fear, that weakness, that had ultimately led her here and might still prove to be the undoing of everything.

‘No, Maria, you are not wise. You are a coward,’ she told herself.

Tears ran down her cheeks. If she twisted the blanket or tore it into strips, she would have a rope she could tie around the bars of the small grille at the top of the metal door. If she used her weight just so, she could snap her neck before—

There was a scrape in the lock and the door squealed as it was dragged open. A huge frame ducked into the cell. She backed away from the grotesque and looming figure, who had to be nearly twice her height. Too late! She’d delayed too long, agonised self-indulgently during the precious seconds she should have used to end her life.
What have I done? Geas forgive me! I am unworthy, have always been so. Do not receive my spirit! End it instead. Strike me down here and now so that I may not betray you to the insatiable and parasitic Saviours. End me! I beg you, Geas! Please!