information about assembling certain relics so that even from here he could have the Dawnir technology manipulated in the manner he wished. And it wasn't difficult, ironically, the grand concept of extending life, it was just that only he knew the correct procedure and had kept it to himself for as long as he could remember. None of his fellow cultists would realize what they were creating from following his instructions. Although the methods were clearly not permanent – as he knew all too well now – it might at least give this wretched woman a little extra life.
Dartun said, 'If he comes tell him the process will be ready in ten days or so. And I take it there's no issue with the others from the sect in bringing the undead out to me?'
'No, all is as you scheduled.'
'Very good.' Dartun now manipulated the device so that the projected image faded to nothing, and the air around him was filled with an absolute stillness. But Dartun couldn't work out why he felt a sudden nervousness; he assumed it might be because he was so near the final stages of what he fervently hoped to achieve. There was always that creeping suspicion that nothing would be at the end of his journey, merely a simple reaffirmation that he could not live forever no matter how he tried to engineer it.
*
Tineag'l: the mining island lying north of Y'iren, and here the massive mineral belt had long been a supplier of much of the Empire's metal ores, an old industry of long-suffering workers and slaves. Snow had fallen evenly across the tundra, its serenity undisturbed except when auks darted out of the thick larix forest, their ragged shapes bursting starkly across the horizon. Much of the island's northern shores had once been heavily populated with dozens of mining communities stretching far beyond the Ring of Iron, as the largest of the Empire's industrial regions was known. Towns and villages were composed of sprawling wooden structures rather than the grand stonework of Villjamur. Men covered in black dirt would drag their feet towards the mines whilst women in dowdy clothing would try to scrape a living providing stores and taverns and brothels. Tribal slaves were treated well, the Council would say of this place, better than if they were merely given poor wages. It was a poor argument to own another person, in Dartun's view, but seemed symptomatic of how things worked in the Jamur Empire.
It was difficult to avoid the detritus from decades of excavations, and the roads interlinking such places were little more than well-trodden paths. There was a continuing problem with wolves scavenging in the scraps of food and Dartun was amazed that people would choose to live here, but he supposed that the mines at least provided a livelihood of sorts.
Their group had passed around the outskirts of several such settlements, but there was now no one here to be seen. It wasn't what Dartun expected. Was this due to the Freeze? Was it now so cold here that the inhabitants had been forced to evacuate? It was unlikely, he thought. The richer or more desperate residents would have sought shelter in the Sanctuary City, definitely, but there were bound to be a few hardened types – rumel even, with their more resilient skins – that could survive a harsher environment. There were still deer around, so the farming communities should at least survive being here. But where the people were was a mystery.
'Dartun.' Verain trudged towards him through the thick snow, her arms elegantly extended to each side as she navigated cautiously.
Her eyes shone with excitement. 'We've found two hunters from the Aes tribe just up the way.' She gestured towards the shoreline. 'I think they can give news of why this island is deserted, although so far we can't quite understand one another.'
Dartun took her gloved hands in his. 'Thank you for telling me.' He reached for the communication relic, held it beneath his cloak.
She smiled. She may have begun to feel a faint pity for his eccentricities.
Slipping now and then, Verain led him down a bank of snow, and he was forced to clutch thick clumps of ulex for stability. He could see Todi and Tuung still in conversation with the two tribesmen. The natives were dressed in furs. They both carried bows and hunting knives. Their faces were broad and tanned from a life in the sun and snow.
'Greetings, warriors,' Dartun addressed them in Sula, the common language of the Aes. 'The weather has turned for the worse, has it not?'
'You speak our language, magician,' the taller man said. They had to be brothers. Dartun could barely tell them apart, but for the high cheekbones of the shorter man. 'That is surprising.'
'I've used my long life sensibly,' Dartun replied. 'So, what news is there on this island?'
The tall tribesman regarded the other, whilst the shorter one nodded imperceptibly, indicating it was him who was the thinker of the two. An icy wind whipped by them suddenly, and both warriors tilted their heads slightly as if to listen for the sounds of the wild.
They're dressed to hunt – or be hunted… Which?
'Creatures now stalk this island, magician. They are not natural to any animal group we know of.'
Dartun wondered for a moment if any of his undead could have escaped and strayed this far north, without being directed by his sect. But surely that was impossible. 'Creatures?' he queried.
'That is why we've travelled here. Because our people have sent us to keep watch over things, according to the directions of shell readings.'
'Watch over what exactly? Is this why there's no one around?'
The tribesman nodded. 'No one is around because of the creatures. They have snatched the people out of the cities and villages.'
'What creatures?' Dartun demanded, growing impatient with the limited vocabulary of Sula.
'I am not sure if they have a name,' the hunter responded. 'They are like creatures of the sea, yet they walk on the land. They are like nothing I can precisely describe.'
Bipedal? 'They walk upright?' Dartun marched two fingers across the palm of his other hand. 'On two legs? But they come from the sea?'
'Yes, they walk like you and I do, but they have a shell like a lobster – or a crab perhaps I should say. A dark red shell the colour of the dying sun. This makes it difficult for our arrows because they cannot pierce the shell. We have tried to hunt some down, or rather other hunters of our people tried. Our folk were killed very quickly.'
Dartun was amazed at these accounts. 'Are any of them still around?'
'It is possible.' Both men shrugged. 'They're too difficult to catch. They have killed so many.'
'How many?' Dartun was eager for more as he'd never read of such a creature in any of the Archipelago's bestiaries. He felt both excitement and a threat, and this sort of thing appealed to his essential nature.
'Nearly everyone on the island,' the short man said casually, his voice as calm as if he was describing the weather.
'Everyone?' Dartun whispered. 'But there must be hundreds of thousands on Tineag'l. Surely they can't all have been killed?'
The tall tribesman grunted a laugh. 'Tell me, how many people have you seen since you arrived here?'
Dartun saw the truth of what he said, and the concept sickened him, yet there was still some base, primitive reaction that excited him. Such was his constant thirst for knowledge and understanding. A new, unknown race was a sensational piece of information. 'Please, could you tell me more about these creatures?'
'We have told you all there is. We are sorry, magician.' The two of them then headed back to their horses with that same annoying calmness. One added casually, 'There have been great problems for us with the coming ice.'
Ice. That word again – changing the fabric of the world, changing people's lives, their homes, their thoughts, bringing an unsettling texture of uncertainty about whether things would ever be the same again.
Ice. That was the reason he was now able to head for the Realm Gates since sheets of it had formed artificial land where previously maps had indicated only water. Could that bridge have allowed a new race to enter the Archipelago? Could these creatures have exited through the same gates that he was hoping to enter?
Dartun regarded his fellow cultists, who had soon lost interest in a conversation where they could understand little or nothing. The three of them were shuffling around idly in the snow, kicking up small mounds with their boots.
Todi noticed him watching them. 'What's up, Godhi? What did they say?'
Dartun rubbed his forehead as if to stir himself to some new state of alertness. 'To be precise, they said that there's some pretty major shit going on.'
Verain approached, took Dartun's arm. 'Should we be worried?'
