Zhia stepped forward, watching her brother as intently as one might a cobra. ‘Brother,’ she said without affection.
‘Sister of mine,’ Vorizh replied with a small smile. ‘See this city I built? This monument to the curses of Gods?’
‘You never told me what you were planning.’
He turned with shocking, blurring speed. ‘ Tell you? ’ Vorizh hissed. ‘Of course not! You are too rash, for all your plotting. You always lacked vision; remember the lover you took all those years ago, the chaos it caused? You only ever see how to further your own ends in the game, never how to end it. Better you than our noble Prince Koezh, of course; our solemn heir of suffering could never resist an added burden, but both were found lacking.’
‘And now you have found one worthy?’
Vorish turned, unblinking, towards Isak. ‘Perhaps. There is change on the wind, of that I am sure.’
‘Daemons too,’ Daken growled. ‘Don’t mean shit, though.’
Vorizh cocked his head at the white-eye as Daken advanced slowly towards him. ‘You have a pet? One that smells of the Gods?’
Zhia shook her head as Vesna stepped in front of Daken to halt the man’s advance. ‘Just a white-eye whose goal is glorious battle; do not indulge him.’
‘Another day then, lapdog,’ Vorizh called to Daken. ‘Enough battle even for your thirsty heart is at hand, I think.’
The crackle of tension in the air awakened Isak from the distraction of Termin Mystt. ‘Is this permanent?’ he demanded of
Vorizh, looking at his hand. He was holding the long weapon in a reverse grip that was completely impractical if it came to fighting.
The vampire bestowed upon him a reptilian smile. ‘Unless you can remove your own hand, dead man,’ he said with a flourish of black-iron-clad fingers. ‘I smell the marks of daemons upon you, the endless torments of the pit. What did they do to you in the Dark Place? Perhaps your hands grew back more than once down there, before some God plucked you out and back into the light.’
Isak staggered, struck by a sudden weight of memories; flashes of light burst before his eyes as lines of hurt flared across his body. Again it was Mihn who reached his side and supported the huge white-eye with a strength beyond that of his small stature.
‘Aha, it was a thief, not a God!’ Vorizh crowed. ‘Would you venture that way a second time, I wonder, little man? One day my soul may follow a similar path; what price would you ask of me for such foolish devotion, thief?’
Mihn matched the vampire’s gaze unafraid. ‘After the cruelties you have caused Vanach’s people, the anguish dealt by your own hand? Could you make amends for such a thing?’
‘If your price is an apology, I would be a madman to refuse it,’ Vorizh said, his eyes glittering in the dark.
‘You are a madman,’ Mihn said, turning his back on Vorizh as Isak started for the stair to follow the members of the Sanctum, ‘and so I offer you nothing.’
When they reached the entrance, Isak paused to summon his strength. The ziggurat was the highest point for miles around, and he felt like one missed step and he would tumble, crashing into madness or death.
‘So it looks like life did have a plan for me, after all,’ he muttered to Mihn, who was still struggling to bear as much of Isak’s weight as possible. ‘The balance of forces, controlling something inhuman inside.’
‘Could the Gods even have planned such a thing?’ Mihn asked sceptically.
The relief on his face was plain when Isak responded with a laugh, ‘No, but it’d be nice to have someone to blame. Not even Azaer forced me into these choices. This life’s my own.’
‘But you can control the forces?’
Isak nodded. ‘It looks like I’ve made myself into the tool required for the job.’ He made a show of prodding Mihn in the chest as he straightened, taking his weight of him. ‘Never say I don’t plan ahead, eh?’ He took a deep breath and surveyed the illuminated road. There had to be hundreds of soldiers out there, thousands, even. Faint movement in the streets beyond told him the troops were not alone, that the people of Vanach were creeping closer to see their long awaited saviour. The Gods’ plan was not for most to know, but some things would inevitably have escaped the Commissar Brigade. What it meant for the faithful servants of the Gods, only time would tell.
The question is, have they learned to fear any change, or are they desperate for release?
‘My Lord?’ called a trailing member of the Sanctum, the tall one from the Night Council who looked like a eunuch, Priesan Horotain. ‘Do you need assistance?’
‘Just a moment’s peace’d do,’ Isak muttered. He started off down the stairs, his companions following closely behind, Zhia and her brother bringing up the rear.
Should I tell her what I found down there? Isak wondered, a glance back showing him the distance between the two vampires. Does she already know? They’ll recover, maybe even find their eldest brother waiting, but she’s a cold one. From all I hear Koezh wouldn’t stand for enslaving their weaker siblings, but Zhia? There’s no way to tell; she feels the suffering of others but she’s still a politician.
He returned to the task of descending the stairs, trying to stop his uncertain legs pitching him forward into the night, but as he descended the great ramp that led from the lowest level to the island shore, he turned towards a strange scent on the air. It was hard to discern against the overpowering presence of Termin Mystt, but he was certain something had changed; some new presence lingered nearby.
‘Anyone else sense that?’ he murmured.
Fei Ebarn shook her head when Isak turned to her, but Vesna and Legana nodded, their attention focused on the unknown.
‘ More than one thing,’ Legana said into Isak’s mind, ‘ a presence in the streets — a presence in the lake. ’
As though in answer to his question, a figure loomed up from the lake surface ahead of them, startling the nearby soldiers, who scrambled out of the way. The figure standing waist-deep in the water was joined by another, then a third and a fourth; lean, grey faces all silently watched Isak. Heavy, discoloured armour was bound to their filthy bodies by belts and straps, baldrics and fraying leathers. Massive two-handed swords and axes were stowed on their backs and each stared at him through a curtain of dripping, bedraggled hair.
Shock froze Isak to the spot as he saw a gaping, bloodless wound on the neck of one, a mangled arm hanging useless from another. Their pallor was not because of cold or injury; these men were already dead. Doranei had called them the Legion of the Damned.
‘Zhia,’ Isak called softly as the panicking Black Swords fell back in disarray, abandoning Isak’s party as they scattered, ‘is this your doing?’
‘The Legion do not obey me,’ she replied, advancing to join him, ‘only my eldest brother and their own leaders.’
The four sodden figures offered perfunctory bows to Zhia, but Isak could see their attention was focused on him. Dead, milky eyes observed his every movement, but only when Isak raised his black sword in anticipation of an attack did the closest advance another few steps, stopping just at the water’s edge.
Vesna was immediately in front of Isak, his own sword drawn, sparks crackling from his black-iron arm, but the undead soldier appeared not to notice him. The muted scent of decay reached Isak’s party: not rotting flesh, but some mouldering odour mingling with the smell of mud on the shore.
Without warning the four dead soldiers dropped to one knee and bowed their heads. Their leader spoke a brief sentence in a grating, ruined voice, then raised his head to look Isak in the eye.
‘They greet you,’ Mihn translated hesitantly. ‘You bear the sword that can free them from their curse. They pledge themselves to you, in the hope that you will do so once they have proved worthy.’
‘Free them? How?’
‘Their souls were sold,’ Vorizh provided, walking forward until he was face to face with the leader of the legion. The undead warrior stared at him as though desperate to draw his greatsword and attack, but whatever his wishes, he did nothing beyond facing Vorizh down.
‘The necromancer who made them this way tricked them into selling their souls. Those who fall in battle are damned.’
