Then, with a sound like the breaking of a thousand dry branches, the walls of bone shifted.
Silus ducked as a cloud of desiccated remains erupted around him, the vicious dust scouring his throat and making it difficult to breathe.
'Get back!' He shouted. 'It's coming down!'
But Silus didn't have a chance to see whether his friends fled to safety, as he was swept away on a wave of bone.
The clattering avalanche that enveloped him sounded like the chattering voices of the dead. Wicked shards scratched his face and the lightstone was knocked out of his hand as he tumbled head over heels. And then, there was nothing below or above him as he fell into empty space, only to land with a thud that punched the air from his lungs.
From somewhere nearby there was the thud and crunch of living bodies impacting with long dead ones, as Silus's companions tumbled after him. He scrabbled his way to the surface and, looking around, he could see where some of their lightstones had fallen. Silus crawled his way to one of them and, raising it, he could just make out his friends, struggling to their feet.
'Well, I suppose that was the quickest way down.' Father Maylan said, wading towards Silus. 'Gentlemen, shout if you're amongst the living.'
All answered and soon they had picked themselves up and were peering into the darkness that surrounded them.
This room felt bigger than the one from which they had descended and, as their eyes adjusted, they began to make out rows of columns rising to a roof far above them. The glow of their lightstones was thrown back by their smooth, reflective surfaces and Silus realised that the columns were made of glass. Within them, cloudy liquid moved sluggishly.
'What does this do, do you reckon?' Ioannis said, and before they could stop him he had turned the wheel he'd found attached to one of the columns.
A massive thunk echoed through the room and a rain of dust sifted down from above. Then, with a rumbling hum that rattled the bones on which they stood, the liquid starting rushing through the vast columns, gradually clearing as the cloud of particles that muddied them were sucked up through the ceiling. A soft glow began to infuse the room then, starting at the base of each column and working its way up as thousands upon thousands of tiny, glowing creatures were pumped through the mighty glass cylinders. Silus moved his face closer to one of the columns and could see that each creature was no larger than a mayfly, composed of a glowing, rapidly beating heart surrounding by hundreds of cilia.
'Gods, this place is huge!' Dunsany said, and Silus turned to see that the light had banished the shadows, revealing the full extent of the room.
As he looked around him there was a sudden, searingly painful flash of insight and Silus knew the nature of the death that had come to consume this underwater citadel.
Silus was amongst them as they stormed through the tunnels, threading their way through the under-levels of the citadel. In their hands they held staffs with glowing ruby gems set in their tips, the burning hearts of the stones pulsing with the fire barely contained by their facets. Ahead of them Silus could hear the first wave of their brethren laying waste to the outer defences and they soon piled into their rear of that skirmish, burning or slashing any of the mongrel creatures that made it past their brothers. The yards of tunnels they passed through were soon decorated with the bodies of their enemies; some burnt to a crisp, others gored beyond recognition.
They flooded into the great hall and the wave of their attack washed over the creatures milling there in panic, some with their young hugged to their chests as they made to flee to the upper levels. But they were soon overtaken and added to the pile of their dead, already several layers deep. Some fought back and some took down their assailants, but the sheer number of their attackers prevailed in the end.
And Silus stood amongst the growing mounds of the dead, covered in blood, the battle cries rising around him like some hideous chorus. The creatures that poured from the mouths of the tunnels fought with a joyous ferocity, never once pausing between kills. Even in the black pits of their eyes, Silus could see the terrible lust that possessed them, and he felt some of that same hunger himself.
Looking down Silus flexed his claws. They had yet to be baptised in the blood of his enemies but that would soon change.
For Silus did know the nature of the death that had come to the citadel of the Calma, because he was, himself, part of that terrible horde.
With a guttural, animal cry he launched himself at the creature cowering before him and knew his own name.
Chadassa!
Chapter Eleven
Querilous Fitch hated the way this place smelled. No matter how thoroughly they cleaned the chamber, the stench of burning heretics still clung to the walls. For a while they had tried adding aromatic oils to the naphtha used to incinerate the accused, but all that had done was add a cloying perfume to the odour of cooking human flesh. Still, Querilous considered that one wasn't supposed to enjoy the atmosphere here. The suffering of a soul being purged should not be pleasing, no matter how much it gladdened the heart to see a heretic dispatched to the judgement of the Lord of All.
A door opened in the far wall and Brother Sequilious — the Final Faith's head sorcerer — entered, followed by Katherine Makennon. Sequilious acknowledged Querilous with a nod as Makennon held out her hand to be reverently kissed. The Anointed Lord was not surrounded by her usual entourage of acolytes and personal assistants this evening, as the business that they were to conduct here was not to be common knowledge amongst the faithful. The use of Old Race sorcery wasn't forbidden as such, but the magic that Sequilious was about to weave within this soot-stained room would be considered heretical in some quarters. This was why Makennon had to be in attendance, to absolve the sorcerer of the sins he was about to commit.
Brother Sequilious entered the circle of cages in the middle of the room and stood at the centre of the black spiral painted on the floor. Each soot stained cage mimicked the basic form of a human and stood at just over seven feet tall. In several places carbonised flesh still clung to the bars. A pipe rose from the top of each cage, juddering and steaming where it entered the ceiling, filling the room with a muggy warmth from the heat of the naphtha that flowed within.
As Sequilious closed his eyes, Makennon took a small silver sprinkler from her robes and anointed the sorcerer with holy oil while chanting the rites of absolution. After the ceremony was complete Sequilious bowed to Makennon and she exited the circle. When he looked up at Querilous there was a cruel glint in Sequilious's eyes, as he indicated to him to bring in the heretics.
The seven men that were led into the room by Querilous's assistants had been discovered on Sarcre. They were members of the cult of Many Paths, a heathen religion that Querilous had thought long since purged from the archipelago. It seemed, however, that the cult was very much a part of island life. In the light of this Querilous had suggested that a detachment of the Order of the Swords of Dawn be sent to Sarcre on a purification mission as soon as possible. The islands may be of little military or commercial interest to the Faith, but that was no reason why they should be allowed to lapse into the old heathen ways.
The heretics were in various states of distress. The youngest had fought against his bonds and screamed so much in his cell that Querilous had had to administer a strong sedative, and now the man drooped against the bars of his execution cage, a thin line of drool swaying from his stupidly grinning lips. Several of the other heretics were praying loudly to their ancestors, others were singing and one man stared at Sequilious with such intense hatred that the sorcerer was forced to look away. Final Faith protocol required that each prisoner be read a list of the charges brought against them and offered the chance to confess before the purging began, but Querilous didn't deem it necessary in these unusual circumstances. Besides, he considered, it was unlikely that these souls would be winging their way to the clouds of Kerberos once the spell was completed.
'Before we start,' said Katherine Makennon, 'are you sure that this will render the eunuch useless?'
'Indeed, your Eminence,' Querilous said. 'Once the magic has been woven, the crew of the Llothriall won't
