treated with the appropriate reverence — but sometimes he allowed himself just the merest hint of pleasure.
The creature did now appear to be about to say something and Querilous powered down the machinery so that he could make out its words.
'Mercy. I said mercy. I'll talk.'
The prisoner broken, Querilous loosened its bindings, allowing some respite before sending for a scribe to take down the monster's statement.
Several days later, in a cove not far from the bustling port of Turnitia, lay the fleet of ships the Faith had prepared to deal with the Chadassa threat. It was true that none of the vessels were as magnificent as the Llothriall or would be able to weather the tumults of the Twilight seas for long, but then not one of the ships would be returning. Each vessel was manned by a crew consisting of a selection of the most fanatical and devoted members of the Faith. These men and women did not care that, moments after they had delivered their deadly payloads, their bodies would be broken on the rough seas. In fact, their faith burned so fiercely within them that they considered this sacrifice the least they could offer up.
Katherine Makennon was a little in awe of such martyrs, even some of the highest-ranking Archimandrites would be hard pressed to equal their levels of devotion. In turning themselves into holy weapons they had assured their passage to Kerberos. Makennon couldn't believe that she hadn't considered the use of such martyrs on the battlefield before. Such suicidal devotion may have shortened the last war between Vos and Pontaine considerably and may even have seen the destruction of the Brotherhood. Once this foray was over she would certainly look into the benefits of a programme of radicalisation.
Katherine looked down at her feet as the iron floor began to vibrate. She was standing in the lamp room of a lighthouse, the entire structure of which had been converted to accommodate the magical equipment that would teleport the fleet. In the centre of the room a tangle of hair-thin wires rose from the floor. Katherine watched as a mage poured a tray of metal balls into the steel web. As they fell they emitted sparks where they came into contact with the wires, before falling through a trapdoor in the floor. Katherine could hear their progress beneath her as they raced through the interior of the lighthouse, crashing through more trapdoors, setting off cantrips and making the wires sing with arcane energy.
Beside her, Querilous Fitch was talking to a mage as he polished the great lens that stood before the equipment, the circumference of which was inscribed with runes and lines of prayer.
'Brother Querilous, you are certain that the fleet will be transported to location of the Chadassa citadel?' Makennon said.
'Oh indeed, Anointed One. I broke through the prisoner's lies and truly did I see the seat of all their blasphemies.'
'And the weapons aboard the ships will work?'
'A fire that burns underwater and cannot be extinguished. It will destroy their city entirely and Twilight shall be free of their kind.'
Katherine hoped that they would also soon be rid of the black sphere that had been plaguing Kerberos. Brother Incera had still not discovered anything further concerning the planetary body and it was beginning to affect the morale of her flock. It had even been rumoured that a cult had sprung up near the Drakengrat mountains, dedicated to the worship of this aberration. Makennon would make sure that they were put down by the Swords before she delivered her next address at Scholten Cathedral.
'Anointed One, the equipment is ready if you would like to make a blessing?' one of the mages said.
As her attendant lit a censer Katherine sketched the symbol of the Faith in the air. Those gathered before her bowed their heads as they prepared to receive the blessing.
'Lord, send these ships to enact your will. Remove from the face of our blessed seas this unnatural scourge and call into your arms these brave holy warriors. Amen.'
'Amen,' chorused the Faithful.
'Anointed One, it will be safer if we leave the tower,' Querilous said. 'There is a slight risk of backlash and we wouldn't want to put you in any danger.'
Katherine followed Querilous to a bluff that overlooked the cove where the ships were readying themselves for the voyage. She was pleased to see that each of them had raised the flag of the Faith, the sight of the crossed circles snapping in the wind instilling within her the fervour of hope.
To their left the room atop the lighthouse began to blaze with a light so intense it was as though a new sun had appeared in the sky.
A jagged crack ran up the side of the building and there was a rain of crumbling mortar.
'Querilous,' Makennon said, as stone began to grind against stone, 'I think that something is wrong.'
'Don't worry Anointed One, the structure has been reinforced, it won't topple.'
As the lighthouse began to sway Katherine wondered what it was like, at that moment, to be one of the mages in the lamp room. The light above them intensified even further, bathing the cove in a startling brilliance that threw the shadows of the ships far across the waves. There was a sudden cold wind and then the ships were following their shadows across the sea; though as Katherine watched it was almost as though they weren't moving at all, rather it was she who was rushing away from the fleet. She got the impression of a sky heavy with boiling clouds above a landscape of mountainous waves, but then she blinked and the vision was gone, along with the ships.
The wind died as suddenly as it had risen and the light above them winked out. Katherine found herself plunged into absolute darkness. She was beginning to fear that the spell had backfired and she had been transported to the void when she detected the soft sound of the waves.
The cove and the lighthouse gradually emerged from the gloom, bathed in Kerberos's glow.
'Anointed One, are you okay? You appear shaken.'
'I must admit, Querilous, that sometimes magic scares me.' Katherine sketched the symbol of the Faith in the air before taking the Inquisitor's arm. 'Back to Scholten I think. I wish to spend time in prayer while we await the news of our glorious victory.'
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bestion's pen skidded across the page, digging a shallow trench in the paper as another tremor struck the ruins of Morat.
In the aftermath of the attack that had seen the majority of the city devoured, the power of the stone of the Allfather had been utilised to draw together the remains. Bestion sat at the centre of this tiny archipelago of ruins, working in a chapel attached to the house of the Stone Seers.
He had set himself the unenviable task of documenting the last days of Morat — for already the power of the stone was waning — and he had finished his account of the attack and was now moving onto his recollections of the strangers. In particular, the extraordinary individual Silus.
Bestion had been astonished to discover one with such a strong link to the Allfather — especially one who was not from Morat — and for a moment he had even contemplated the possibility that Silus was the herald of their God, sent to lead them on the journey home. If anything, though, he had turned out to be a portent of destruction. Yet Bestion had been with Silus as his soul had left his body to commune with the Allfather, and he had sensed no malice within him. Bestion would have given anything to know what Silus had learned during the ritual, but the stranger had taken that knowledge with him.
However, the visitors had left something behind. The magnificent vessel they had arrived in — the Llothriall.
The ship lay anchored near the ruins of the palace and Bestion had visited it often, mainly to study the stone that sat at its centre. This was clearly the sister of the stone of the Allfather. Indeed, it had begun to respond to the death song that now emanated from the temple, harmonising with that melancholy hymn as though in sympathy. Bestion had contemplated taking the Llothriall, loading up the survivors and leaving Morat. But while the stone of the Allfather still sang he could not leave his home, not while there was the merest chance that He would call them into His arms. For surely the Allfather could see the suffering of His people, surely they were now worthy of His forgiveness? Bestion was beginning to wonder, however, whether the Allfather cared at all.
