Empire of the Saviours (Chronicles of/Cosmic Warlord 1) (60 page)

He knew who it was even before he saw her. He’d always been able to sense her presence, he now realised. The girl he’d so much wanted to visit him, and so much feared would actually do so. He’d almost been glad to have all these sick people to heal so that he then had some sort of excuse for not seeking her out. She terrified him; she thrilled him. What would she say about him having killed Karl and going on the run from the Saint? Would she hate him? He’d committed terrible blasphemies. Would she even want to look at him? But she was here! Had she come to condemn him?

Feeling sick, he slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. She smiled and it was as if nothing bad had ever happened. No one had died or been hurt. There’d never been a plague. The Saint was not hunting him. The gods had never fallen, and were only kind to the people. There were no ideas like the Empire and the Chaos. There were only the Geas, its healing magic and Hella.

‘It’s good to see you again.’ She blushed. ‘I was worried I never would.’

‘Same here,’ he mumbled, face hot. He stood and they moved together. They held each other for a long time, although Jillan lost all sense of what might be a brief moment and might be eternity.

‘Father has said I should invite you for dinner. Say you’ll join us.’

She was impossible to refuse. He grinned like a village idiot. ‘Of course I will. There’s no place I’d rather be.’

She took his hand and led him from the broken-down house. In the dark of the evening Samnir gave them a wave as if in blessing. ‘I will see you here early tomorrow, Jillan. Enjoy your supper and remember something of what it is to be happy. Good night. And don’t spend the whole evening gazing into each other’s eyes. You need sleep, lad!’

‘G’night, Samnir!’ He yelped as Hella yanked on his arm and began to run. He stumbled and she laughed gaily.

Hella’s home was in the north-west part of Godsend, where most of the traders had their establishments and stables. They followed the main route out of the southern part of town and were just entering the central Gathering Place not far from the school when a sneering voice came out of the night ahead of them.

‘Well, well, well! It’s the two children of the Chaos, returned to the scene of their original sin. Secretly pleased with your handiwork, are you, succubi? Think that you could scamper through the darkness without the holy agents of the Empire seeing you up to your schemes and conspiracies?’

Jillan and Hella clutched each other in terror, eyes so wide they hurt as they stared into the gloom. Hella squealed as a pale narrow visage revealed itself. ‘The Minister!’

‘To think that I was put out of Godsend because of you vermin. Yet my righteousness has prevailed and the People of Godsend have been punished for their lack of faith. The plague is divine retribution visited upon them, and you seek to undo it, do you not, evil boy?’

Jillan couldn’t answer, dark memories crowding in on his thoughts He felt sick with hard-learned guilt. The old fears turned his bowels to ice, seized his heart and all but collapsed his lungs. A clammy thing slithered across his soul.

‘He knows everything. I would dispose of you myself, but I have been told to keep you for him. He is coming. Nothing can save you! Damnation is yours!’

The Minister was coming closer.
Why won’t my feet work!

It’s fear, Jillan, fear
, whispered the taint.
Snap out of it! Back, back! For Hella’s sake if not your own!

Jillan pulled Hella back with him. She was as rigid as he was.

The Minister’s long arm reached for them.

Flee!

‘There’s nowhere you can run. Nowhere you can hide. Come to me.’

Run!

The Minister lunged for them, and the spell that held them immobile suddenly broke. Jillan pulled Hella to the side and the Minister’s long fingers missed their mark; and then they were dashing through the night with wailing threats and large slapping feet pursuing them. They ducked left and right, again and again. At one junction their hands came apart and they frantically grabbed for each other. Then they were away again, terrified they were about to run straight into another nightmare.

Jillan watched the door twitchily, always scared who the next person to come through would be. He’d thought about asking Samnir to stand guard for him, but he knew the soldier was needed to train the mountain men.

Besides, you can look after yourself well enough if you use your magic
.

‘I won’t use it for anything but healing. Whenever I use it for anything like combat, people end up dead.’

Bad luck and details, that’s all
.

But people’s lives weren’t details, not to him anyway. They probably were to the Empire, though.

Halfway through the morning Aspin and Thomas stopped by to see him. They brought tea with them and Jillan gratefully warmed his hands around a cup. He’d hardly slept a wink during the night because of nerves and the desire to avoid his own dreams.

‘What happened to you two?’ Jillan asked as he noticed they both bore fresh grazes and bruises. Aspin looked like he was going to have quite a black eye.

The mountain warrior rubbed the back of his neck in slight embarrassment. ‘Your friend Samnir has been training us. Likes to pick on those he thinks drank too much the night before. A way of teaching them a lesson of sorts, I suppose.’

Thomas grunted. ‘Thought I knew my way around weapons, but nothing like him. Just about the only one who can stand his ground against him is Slavin. Still, I’ll give Samnir his due: he’s managed to focus the minds of some of the younger mountainers, eh, Aspin? They’re suddenly beginning to realise what they’re going to be up against. Won’t be the picnic that taking Godsend was.’

Aspin nodded ruefully. ‘Some of the scouts came back yesterday, Jillan. They reckon the Empire’s army won’t be here tonight, but probably by tomorrow evening. Doesn’t give us long. You might want to ease up on the healing so that you’re strong enough to fight.’

‘I won’t be using my magic in the fight. I’ll use a bow and normal weapons like everyone else.’

His friends stilled as they absorbed that, then exchanged a glance. Neither challenged his decision, however, for which he was grateful.

‘Hopefully, we won’t need your magic anyway,’ Thomas said, but his doubt was obvious.

‘Chief Braggar is confident the gods will ensure our victory,’ Aspin said.

I wonder how confident the gods are feeling about it, though
.

As dusk began to fall, a curious little man came in with a female plague-sufferer. She lay on the pallet near Jillan, while the man crouched in the corner of the room. When the matronly woman had been healed, she left, while the little man stayed where he was and watched carefully as Jillan attended to the next patient, and the next.

Jillan looked straight at the man. He was naked except for a loincloth and had a clean-shaven shiny head. His body was all tendons and sinew, but he seemed strong and flexible for all that. His face was small and lean, but his eyes were large and seemed to show pictures of the world, many from the distant past.

‘Can I help you?’ Jillan asked politely, for want of anything else to say.

The man remained in his crouch and sucked on his gums. ‘There’s none to help me, I doubt. Not even the gods can change the past,’ he said and wrinkled his nose up and down. ‘Do you like pine nuts?’

‘Er … actually, I do.’

‘You do?’ the man said. ‘If I’d known, I’d have brought you some. Ah well, there it is. You can’t save them all, you know, all these people.’

‘Maybe not. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try, though.’

The man picked at one of his toenails and tasted whatever had been underneath it. ‘Depends what’s lost in the trying.’

For some reason he didn’t entirely understand, Jillan found himself getting angry. Did this fellow remind him of Bion somewhat? ‘Nothing is lost in healing people. Besides, what would you know about it?’

The man looked melancholy for a moment. ‘That armour you wear was once mine. When I sickened of warfare, I gave it away or lost it in a game of dice, or some such. I think some other chieftain in these parts wore it for a while, but I lost track of it after that.’

Jillan’s mind reeled. It wasn’t possible. The ruins he’d taken the armour from had been ancient. So how old would this man have to be?

‘I am Torpeth. Perhaps you have heard of me.’

Jillan shook his head. He hadn’t heard that name, or had he? Had Aspin mentioned a Torpeth as they’d been reaching Godsend?

‘Huh! No matter. I’m not as vain as I once was. The important thing to understand is that I was once very much like you, although probably more handsome, and that you are likely to end up just like me.’

Like this gnome? Crouched in the corner of a tumbledown house in a plague-riven town? Spinning riddles to work-weary strangers? How could that possibly be his own future?

You’d be surprised
.

Torpeth pulled at the air beneath his chin.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Pulling on my beard.’

‘You don’t have a beard.’

‘Maybe not. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try, though.’

Jillan hesitated. Damn the fellow! ‘Depends what’s lost in the trying.’

‘And what do I lose?’

‘I don’t know. Your belief you have a beard?’ Jillan hazarded, deciding Torpeth was completely crazy. Hadn’t Aspin said just about as much?

‘Hmm. There is that, I suppose. I’ll have to go and ponder that. Just remember you can’t save all, will you, eh?’

‘Whatever you wish!’ Jillan rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air.

When he looked back, Torpeth was gone.

His remaining senses as sharp as they’d ever been, Saint Azual could smell the pagans in Godsend. He could taste their life energy on the air. He heard their drunken battle hymns. Through the eyes of the People, he saw them strutting about entirely oblivious to the fact they were being watched. There were pitifully few of them, meaning their total population could not be that large and would likely fall below a critical minimum when these were dead. Then the Geas would have no more people in the south beyond the sway of the blessed Saviours. At last his ascension was at hand.

The pagan scouts had been simple to capture, for they’d lacked any real ability to move silently through a forest. Of the six, four had resisted him to the end, and he’d drained them of every last drop of their life energy and nascent power. Yet he’d managed to break the minds of the other two when he’d Drawn them. These were completely compliant to his will and had been sent back to Godsend to report that the Empire’s army would not arrive until two nights hence.

Faithful Praxis, do you hear me?
Saint Azual called out mentally.

Yes, holy one. Command me!

It will be tonight. They will not be expecting us
.

O master, I rejoice. At last the Chaos will be undone
.

Make the preparations for our arrival, Praxis … or should I say Saint Praxis?

As is your will, holy one. Yet I have been unable to secure the boy. I have been watching him. He usually has friends around him
.

Fear not. I shall see to that myself. Do not fail me now, Praxis, for deliverance is at hand. The blessed Saviours have intended this from the beginning and now their will is made manifest through us. They are the gods, our history, our future and our fate
.

Praise be! Holy one, I but ask that I may witness the demise of the boy and the girl-child Hella
.

You will see the boy suffer so much, and for such a long time, that he will ultimately thank me for his own demise. The girl I give to you
.

O master, thank you! Never has such an unworthy servant known such love and kindness. I will ever follow your divine example
.

Then you will not fail me, faithful Praxis
.

In the evening Hella and Jacob came to sup with Jillan and Samnir at the cottage Jillan had once shared with his parents. Samnir had swept the place clean, set a good-sized fire in the hearth, plumped the cushions and scented the rooms with fresh pine needles, so it all felt cosy and homely.

‘And see! I managed to rescue half a jug of red from those thirsty pagans,’ the soldier said with a broad smile. ‘Enough for a cup each, two if we water it down like old Linus the innkeep always used to do.’

The meal was a simple stew, but wholesome and filling. As Jacob reached for a piece of bread, the cuff on his shirt sleeve pulled back slightly and Jillan noticed discoloured skin around the trader’s wrist. Out of habit, Jillan drew magic and sought to place a hand on Jacob, but the trader drew back quickly.

The moment did not escape the other two.

Hella could not help being upset. ‘Father, why didn’t you say anything? Let Jillan heal you!’

Jacob tried to shush his daughter. ‘I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. It’s nothing, daughter. Samnir, how’s the training going?’

Jillan recalled that when he’d met Jacob in Saviours’ Paradise, the trader had urged him to hand himself over to the Saint. ‘You would prefer to have the plague than let my unclean magic touch you, wouldn’t you?’ he said softly.

‘Do you also hope my training of the mountain men is going badly, Jacob?’ Samnir asked darkly.

‘Father, no!’

Jacob met his daughter’s eyes, anguish creasing his face. ‘Hella, you’re too young to understand. We are citizens of the Empire. Everything we have is because of the Saviours and their Saints. They help us keep the Chaos at bay. But we have allowed the dark magic of the Chaos, plague and pagans into Godsend. We must resist …’

But Hella turned her face away and stared at the wall.

‘Hella, please!’ Jacob begged. ‘You cannot be so wilful. Show some gratitude. I have clothed and fed you your entire life. The
Empire
has clothed and fed you. These pagans will ruin everything!’

‘What’s there to ruin?’ she demanded as she whipped her head back, fury in her eyes. ‘We work and work and we have nothing to show for it. The elders, Heroes and Minister took any profit we made and any stocks we built up. You never stood up to them. You let them take everything. Did the Saint ever come to help us against the plague? No! Because he doesn’t care about us. And now you turn down Jillan’s help because of some stupid loyalty to that selfsame Saint. If mother were alive, she’d be ashamed of you. She’d call you a coward!’