God of Broken Things

Chapter 4

While I’d been tracking and waiting for Vivienne Adair, somebody else found out what I was up to and had spent those hours hunting me – my luck was as shitty as ever and I had just gone from predator to prey.

Cobbles and stone chips rained down all around me as I stared at Vivienne’s twitching corpse, impaled on stone spikes that had thrust from the ground beneath us. A geomancer had just tried to murder me.

I scrambled to my feet and pulled a knife from my belt. It was merely steel, and at times like this I missed Dissever’s enchanted black iron, despite the murderous and foul daemon that my spiritbound blade had contained.

My preternatural senses felt the air stir around me and pulled my gaze up into the night sky. Two robed men dropped on swirling wings of icy wind, splashing down into Vivienne’s pooling blood. One was burly and bearded, the other holding him aloft by the armpits, was freshly shaved and slim, almost androgynous: the big man was Alvarda Kernas, a geomancer of some small renown, and the other a nameless youngling freshly released from Collegiate training, new enough that I didn’t know his name. Both their expressions were curiously blank and emotionless – they were exactly who I’d been looking for. It seemed they had indeed heard I was closing in on them. Perfect.

I reached out with my Gift as Alvarda shrugged off the youngling and advanced on me. The merest brush of minds was enough to know I was correct – their thoughts were tainted with inhuman influence, a rancid oily scum spread across their emotions. The geomancer’s mind was a black morass of Scarrabusstain, indicating he had been infested for a long time.

We struck at the same moment, Alvarda’s power ripping cobbles from the street and launching them at my head, and mine smashing not against that experienced magus’ mental fortress but instead cutting straight through the youngling’s walls of green wood. I found his mind conflicted and confused, still instinctively trying to fight the parasitic creature’s controlling influence. They must have taken him in the last few months else his mind would have been as corrupted as Alvarda’s.

I felt what could only be that creature’s shock as I stormed the man’s skull. I didn’t try to fight it for control of his body, instead I was in and out quick as a sharp knife through the ribs, ducking and diving the flying cobbles while leaving the aeromancer to enact my orders before the Scarrabus knew what was happening.

Wind tore Alvarda from his feet and flung him face-first into the nearest stone wall – which parted and left him crashing through somebody’s kitchen, pots and pans clanging. With any luck he’d landed balls-first on a whole tray of kitchen knives.

I focused my Gift and will upon the aeromancer, peeling open his mind like ripe fruit. As I struck, the Scarrabus burrowed further into his mind like a maggot through rotting flesh. We struck and recoiled, both shivering and numbed like swords swung full force colliding into each other. These creatures controlled their hosts’ thoughts and feelings and twisted them towards their own alien ends, so it only made sense that they would be able to detect my intrusion and fight back. I recovered first, but then I’d come expecting this kind of fight.

I tore into the Scarrabus through the aeromancer’s mind, following the flow of thoughts and spreading stain to locate the vile thing’s connections to his brain. My magic burned through the mental pathways with righteous wrath. These were the vermin that had attacked my city, my people – and they had murdered Lynas. Nothing and nobody would stand between me and them. I could have killed them but we needed one alive. Man and creature convulsed and collapsed; the youngling lay foaming at the mouth, spasmodically twitching, leaving me free to focus on the more experienced and deadly geomancer.

I was a shade too slow. Alvarda had already recovered. He leapt from the gaping hole in the wall and gestured. The ground went liquid beneath me, swallowing my feet and ankles before solidifying again to pin me in place.

“Hey, hey, let’s you and me make a deal,” I said. “There must be something you lot want?” Shackles of stone slithered up my body to secure my arms.

His expression didn’t change as he reached inside his robes and pulled forth a pale ball that unfolded into a squirming segmented beetle with too many legs and dozens of translucent threads instead of mandibles. Scarrabus. This was the same kind of vile creature I had seen torn from that traitor Heinreich. “You are correct, Edrin Walker. There is something that we desire of you.”

My mouth was suddenly a desert. I swallowed and scrabbled feebly at his mind. His Gift was strong and his mind tight; he kept me out with apparent ease. “Oh gods. Please, no. How many of our magi have you already taken? You don’t need me too.”

His mouth ticked into a smile that came nowhere near his eyes. “You have talents that will serve us well, as they were always meant to. You will find it a most fulfilling life.”

I cringed, or tried to. The stone held me secure. “The two of you can’t possibly defeat the Arcanum.”

“Here we become three, but already hundreds elsewhere,” he replied. “Soon to be thousands. We have no intention of defeating your Arcanum. We will become the Arcanum, and so much more. Rejoice, for you will become what you were bred to be.”

I grinned. “Cheers for the information you festering piss-stain. Good to know there’s only the two of you here.” Then I raised my voice. “Now would be good.”

An arrow thudded into his eye. His head snapped back in a spray of blood and jelly. He didn’t scream or snarl or make any human noise, instead the street around me erupted as he flailed and fell. Anything less than a mortal blow would just have enraged him. The older a magus got, the harder they died.

I spat at him. “Fucking parasite.”

I scanned the rooftops and spotted a grey figure wearing a black leather mask perched on the roof above. My friendly assassin lifted two fingers in greeting – only a fool would hunt magi without somebody to watch their back.

My moment of victory was immediately spoiled as a pale and slimy creature the size of my fist escaped from the grasp of his corpse and scuttled straight towards me. I panicked, struggling against my prison, flooding my muscles with magic as I heaved at solid stone to no effect. My minor skill with body magics proved useless, and whatever enhanced strength I could gather was not even close to breaking free. I turned my Gift on the parasite, but the creature’s mind was too alien for me to understand, and too well protected to crush out of hand. I didn’t have the time.

“Layla!” I screamed, as the creature reached for my legs, translucent tentacles writhing.

A block of masonry smashed into the cobbles, crushing the creature to paste and almost taking my foot along with it. I loosed a shuddering breath of relief. Then I shivered at how close I’d come to being taken by those things. The horrors they could wreak with an enslaved tyrant would be unimaginable.

The tall grey-clad woman leapt from the high rooftops and landed with all the grace of the mageborn assassin she was. A four storey drop meant little to her magic-infused muscles and bones.

“You look a tad worried, Walker,” she said from behind her mask. “I’m wondering if I should be insulted you thought me unable to squash a mere bug. Did you imagine an assassin of my skill would miss such an easy target?”

What a magus she would have made if only her Gift had fully matured! She had already mastered our arrogance. I struggled against the stone clamping me in place. “Ach, save me the lip and just get me out of this.”

She removed her mask and smirked at me, brown eyes shining bright in the moonlight. Her dark skin bore numerous still-healing scars that made my withered old heart lurch. Even with her hair cropped short she resembled Charra far more than Lynas, but that was no bad thing. She noted my expression and the smirk dissolved. There were reasons we’d kept our distance these last few weeks after her mother’s death. Emotions were still raw and it proved to be too much of a reminder for the both of us. Still, I couldn’t have denied her this opportunity: these things had killed her father, the best friend I’d ever had.

Being what I was I harboured no illusions as to which of us hurt the most. It’s hard to wallow in your own misery when you can take a peek inside somebody else’s head and feel so much worse. Really, you’d expect I of all people would have more empathy for others. But this thing here and now was business and emotion had no place, not even our anger.

She picked up the block of fallen masonry and smashed it into the stone that held me. It took a few bone-jarring blows before it split in two and freed my arms. After that I was able to pry my feet free of their old boots, leaving them behind still stuck in stone. I sighed. Those comfy old boots had served me well over the years. I eyed the two fallen magi critically, then approached the corpse of Alvarda Kernas. His House were going to be beyond pissed, at least until the pungent stench of treachery rose around them. Hmm…he had some fine boots on him. I yanked them off his corpse and pulled on the soft leather. Luxury! They were a shade overlarge but an extra pair of stockings would sort that. My feet had never had it so good.

“Are you finished looting the corpse?” Layla said. There was no disapproval in her voice, just impatience.

“One second.” I cut free both magi’s money pouches and then pocketed them. “I earned this.” Layla kept watch while I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, picturing Cillian in my mind.

It was still tricky for me, this new magical technique. I’d only discovered it after my body and Gift had healed (more or less) from their traumas. I no longer had the control I’d once had in keeping out other people’s thoughts and emotions but I could also reach out further than ever before, but only with people I knew well or whose heads I’d already been inside.

I opened my Gift wide and the world rushed in. Layla was a snarl of anger and loss. Hazy blobs all around denoted sleepers and drunks whereas others felt razor-sharp as they padded down alleys with knives at the ready. Late as it was, the Crescent was filled with thought and emotion. Burning lust. Keenest loss. Terror. Pain. Joy. Love. It was almost overwhelming. Almost. I bit my cheek and used the pain to centre myself. I resisted the pull of myriad minds and reached up towards the Old Town on its high rock, to where the spired domes of the Collegiate now served as the beating heart of the Arcanum. I couldn’t see any of that of course, it was more like blindly groping my way around dead rock up towards bright stars of living minds.

I homed in on the familiar, finding Councillor Cillian awake, and judging from the faint images flickering through her tired thoughts, in bed reading ancient stone tablets by crystal-light. She had been waiting up for me. I felt her jerk straighter at my touch, but I didn’t dare do more than politely knock on the doors of her mind.

Cillian’s mind slammed shut and barred the gates, only allowing us to speak through the smallest of peepholes. I couldn’t blame her; Cillian knew exactly how untrustworthy I was. I’d lied to her for the better part of twenty years after all. After my return from self-imposed exile I’d earned back some small measure of respect, but then I’d gone right ahead and abused the writ she had just given me to let her sleep, but oh well, if she got some rest it was well worth it.

Alvarda Kernas is dead, I projected. Though his parasite may still live. He murdered Vivienne Adair and tried to kill me.

Vivienne was innocent? she thought.

Hardly. I dumped the entire confession into Cillian’s mind. It really was a superior method of communication. Her immediate flash of dread was only to be expected. If Vivienne’s devices had helped bring down the Templarum Magestus then the Collegiate was also vulnerable.

Alvarda was not alone, I projected. Who is this? I sent her the face of the youngling I’d disabled.

Rikkard, second son of High House Carse. I could almost feel the political wheels turning in her head. Will he live?

Perhaps, if you can remove the Scarrabus from his body. Even then I doubt he’d ever be whole again. Personally I’d use him to torture the creature for information. The infestation of his body must work both ways, and we only have the two of them.

There was a long pause as my once-idealistic and principled former friend Cillian wrestled with her role as a councillor of the Inner Circle. Duty won, as it always would with her. Are you certain you can learn more of our foe?

I opened my eyes and glanced at Layla. She had a satisfied smile on her face, revelling in striking a small blow against those who had murdered her father. From the darkness in her eyes and heart, it was far from enough. She was more like me than either Lynas or Charra would have liked.

At heart I would always be a creature of the Docklands, growing up running with street gangs and alchemic dealers. I’d made my first kill at an age when Cillian was still cooing over doll’s pretty dresses and I’d never had any qualms doing what needed to be done to survive. Can I be certain? No. I mentally shrugged. But it’s not like you have any other sources of information to hand. This magus was nothing to me.

Stay where you are. I will send wardens to bring all of you to Shadea’s quarters. Quarters? Bloody politicians always had to put the best face on things. It was such an unassuming word for that terrifying old crone’s dungeon. Hundreds of daemonic creatures, rogue magi and blood sorcerers had met their end in there under her questing knives. Parts of them sat pickled in jars for future research. A few months back I had almost joined them.

Your wish is my command, most esteemed councillor.

Her anger was less than I’d expected. Don’t push me, Edrin. Most of the Arcanum would sleep better with you dead. I’m still not entirely convinced they are wrong.

But pushing it was instinctive; I couldn’t help but slip that last little dig. That twisted present from my old mentor turned god, Archmagus Byzant, just kept on giving. I choked back a further needling quip. He’d meant to get me killed to purge the Arcanum of the dangerous tyrant in their midst, and I refused to give that lying old shitebag the satisfaction. Wherever he was now, I hoped he was in fucking agony. He was missing with the rest of our gods and I hoped he’d stay that way. From what I’d seen, Krandus was doing a decent job as our new Archmagus. He seemed willing to put his fear aside and give me an honest chance, which was more than most in this damnable city.

I said nothing and broke contact. We were both thankful.

Layla glanced at the corpses and the unconscious magus. “What now?”

“They’re sending men to scoop up this dung and cart it up to the Collegiate. You’d better make yourself scarce – I doubt wardens will be overjoyed at the sight of an assassin standing over dead magi.”

She smiled and set her mask back in place. “Always a pleasure, Walker. Let me know what you find out. I’m happy to take care of any more of these little problems you uncover.”

I nodded. Sod Arcanum secrecy, she had a right to know. Layla was the closest thing to family I had left and the only person I trusted to cover my back. Old Gerthan and Cillian were friendly enough, but their loyalty to the Arcanum was burned into their minds and magically enforced by the Forging. If they truly thought me a great threat they would burn me to ash without a second thought.

As Layla slipped away into the shadows I searched the ground in vain for any sign of the smoke that had fallen from my lips during the fights. A quick search through my pockets for any other wayward smokes that might be hiding turned up empty. I cursed and savagely kicked Alvarda’s corpse, then turned the collar of my coat up and stuck my hands deep into my pockets, waiting there freezing my arse off while the wardens and their cart took a sodding age to arrive.