Shadowblood

Chapter Twenty-Six

From the very first Rik did not like Askander. It had the air of a trap. It stank of dark sorcery, and the powerful nexus of energy swirling in the sky above the Imperial Palace was all too visible to his increasingly sensitive eyes.

He did not get the thrill he had always previously felt from arriving in a new city. He did not know the narrow streets of the human areas or the broad wide roads where the nobles dwelled. He felt vulnerable and alone despite his growing confidence in his new powers. The Empress’s secret police had a well-founded reputation for efficiency and he doubted that they had become any less so with a servant of the Shadow in charge.

He had practised speaking in the local dialect with Tamara and he thought he sounded passable but he knew there were many ways a native might be able to detect him as a counterfeit. It was just another way in which he was vulnerable.

Their first problem was to find a place to stay. According to Tamara, all Innkeepers were required to register their guests and report them to the secret police. A group of unknown nobles from out of town would attract too much scrutiny. And there was no way they could quarter themselves in her family mansion or with at the homes of any family friends. Doubtless all those places would be under close observation. They could be too easily exposed or betrayed.

According to her there were rough districts with empty houses but if a group of Terrarchs were spotted in those areas it would attract attention. They could disguise themselves as much as they liked but Asea and Tamara were still conspicuously Terrarchs.

They had discussed what to do in the approach to the city, and in the end had decided to abandon the coach and risk the abandoned houses. Tamara and Asea were muffled in padded jackets to make their outlines more like those of humans. Asea wore a high collared greatcoat and a broad-brimmed hat. Her hair was chopped short and her face smudged with soot and dirt. No one looking at her would think of the proud lady of the First.

Rik was surprised to see that she was in high spirits, taking the whole business in good parts, as if she were playing some game. She did not seem frightened at all, but then he had always known what a good actor she was.

Conspicuous as Rik felt, no one seemed to pay them undue attention as they made their way through the streets. Everyone seemed too wrapped up in their own fears and thoughts. All of the people looked hungry and wretched, not at all like the inhabitants of the capital of a nation that was conquering the world. The effects of the plague were being felt even here, and the hunger had come from a bad harvest.

Rik had no idea what became of the dead but he saw none of them wandering the street. Perhaps they were rounded up to join the army, or perhaps something else happened to them, or possibly some potent sorcery kept them from rising but he doubted that. There were too many horror-haunted faces all around. Something strange and dark and terrible was happening.

He could smell the salt tang of the sea now, and the air held that trace of moisture that he always associated with the coast. They trotted along beside a canal. Things floated in it, and green scum coated the water’s surface.

Sometimes he saw a drifting corpse, and that triggered those strange other memories that came from the Quan. He found himself feeling the urge to dive into the waters and swim bonelessly out to sea, and had to force himself to remember that he did not have the alien demon’s trick of being able to breathe water as well as air.

Other memories stirred within him, of drowning men and women killed while still in the water, and he had to force himself to face down fears that were not his own but yet were still part of him. It seemed the presence of the sea had brought back the submerged memories of the voices with redoubled force.

It was dark by the time Tamara had led them to the run down area by the docks, old buildings of wood and brick with smashed doors and boarded windows and a smell of rot about them. It took several attempts to find ones that were not already occupied by humans.

The building they ended up in was infested by rats and other vermin and Rik found himself wondering about pestilence, for such places were notoriously plague pits. There was a certain irony in worrying about such things when the undead plague was sweeping the continent, but nonetheless worry he did. It did not matter whether a disease made you rise from the dead after it killed you. Other sorts of plague would end his life just as quickly, and at this moment in time, he still had something to do.

Rik let himself out of the damp building and keeping to the shadows made his way along the street, determined to find out what was going on in the city. He had no fear of the usual criminal fraternity that would haunt streets like these. He carried a blade and brace of pistols. No ordinary man could take him off guard, and anyone who tried was in for a nasty surprise.

He made sure he knew where their hiding place was, noted its position near the canal and the local landmarks such as the burned down building opposite and made his way towards the harbour.

Within minutes he found himself in streets crowded with men and women, sailors and bar girls and soldiers off-duty. Costermongers sold fish and roast chestnuts and baked potatoes. The people roistered with a feverish, fear-fuelled merriment. He picked the purse of a drunken seaman just to keep his hand in and find some local coinage and made his way into a bar. Men played cards and backgammon and chess and bounced half-dressed wenches on their knees while calling for vodka and beer. Rik felt immediately at home. He had spent most of his life in places like this.

He found himself sitting next to a bearded sailor deep in his cups. The man looked at him sourly and cheered up when Rik offered to buy him a drink. “Been long in port?” Rik asked him.

“Too bloody long,” said the man, swigging at the beer and smacking his lips. “But it looks like we might be able to set sail soon.”

Rik raised an eyebrow and said nothing, and was rewarded when the sailor said, “Sounds like the Empress has managed to come to some sort of agreement with the Quan. Her fleet, anything bearing the colours of Sardea, will be allowed to sail.”

This was a new development and Rik had no idea what had provoked it. Was this the truth? Had the Sardeans found some leverage with the Quan? He supposed it was possible. If the Sardeans won this war, even the proud Sea Lords of Harven would have to deal with them and that would mean the Quan would have to do the same.

From what Rik knew of them, they could dominate the seas but there were things they needed from the land-dwellers and trading for them would be easier. Something else stirred in his alien memories, some memory of fear of the Terrarchs. Perhaps war at sea would not be totally one-sided.

He tried probing his Quan memories. It was not easy, for the creature did not think like a human or perceive the world like one, but eventually he found something- recollections of beings that could be summoned from the beyond that might wreck even the undersea cities of the Quan, and knowledge of something else as well, that the Quan were a dying race, and that it would not take a huge effort to wipe them out.

“You drunk, mate?” enquired the sailor, licking his lips cunningly. “You look as if you’re fading.”

Rik wrenched himself out the reverie and reminded himself that this was a dangerous place for such things. He smiled at the man, and said, “I’m fine,” even as he ran his fingers over his purse to make sure it was still there. He was sure the action was not wasted on the sailor. “Another drink?”

“Aye, but I’ll buy the grog this time.”

“So you think we’ll all be able to get out of here?” Rik asked.

“Aye, they say there’s a Quan ship out there below the harbour, and the beastly things have sent representatives to the Palace to talk with her high and mightiness.”

Rik suppressed a shudder. His last encounter with the Quan had not left him keen on having any further dealings with them but he sensed that there was something important here, some shift in the balance of power. An alliance between the Quan and the Sardeans would be bad for the rest of the world. More thoughts bubbled up from the alien within him. The Quan must be certain that the Sardeans were going to win this war, and they wanted to make sure that they came out on the winning side. It looked like things must be going very badly indeed for the Taloreans.

“I heard the Reds were putting up a fight out West,” he said, just to see what sort of response this got.

The sailor showed yellowing teeth. “You’ve heard different from what I’ve heard,” he said. “I heard they’ve been showing our lads a clean pair of heels all the way back to the Talorean border. Can’t say as I blame them either. No man wants to fight against the dead.”

“You’re right there,” said Rik.

“Heard they massacred a big Scarlet army a few weeks ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve done for another by now.”

“Nor would I.”

“Say what you like about the Empress’s sorcerers, they’ve found the secret of victory this time and no mistake.”

Rik nodded. He was in no position to disagree. He kept drinking and not just to blend in with the locals.

“It’s hopeless, sir, we’re never going to get away,” said Handsome Jan. He was puffing and out of breath just like most of them. Sardec could see that they were tired and could not keep this up for much longer.

It was easy enough to distance the walking dead by running. The problem was the runners got tired and the pursuers never did. The dead just kept moving: untiring, implacable, inexorable, unstoppable. Every time Sardec’s little party thought they had escaped and gave themselves the opportunity to take a rest, it was only a matter of time before the walking dead came into view once more.

They were like tireless hounds on a scent. Sardec was not sure why it had happened, why this particular group had decided to hound his people unto death, but it definitely appeared to be the case. Perhaps they were hungry. Perhaps there was something about the sight of the living that offended them but they had not given up the trail, and did not appear to want to.

“It’s never hopeless, soldier,” Sardec said. “We’ll find a way to escape them.”

“If you say so, sir,” said Handsome Jan. “Although I would be very grateful if you could tell me exactly how we are going to do that.”

Sardec grinned. Now was not the time to harangue the man for insubordination. Now was the time to encourage him to move so that he would encourage the others.

Sardec realised that he needed to encourage himself. Was there any way that they could escape? What would it take to get the walking dead off their trail? He could not think of anything. He glanced over at Weasel and the Barbarian. They came running up to him. The Barbarian was still carrying little Lorraine.

“You two, go and scout ahead. See what you can see. See if you can find a place that is defensible. I don’t think we’re going to be able to outrun these monsters. We’ll need to find a place to hold them off.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” said Weasel.

“There’s no need for you to take the girl with you,” said Sardec. “Give her to me, I’ll carry her for a little.”

The Barbarian loped off after Weasel. Sardec watched them go. He realised that in a way he had already given up hope. He knew there was no way they were going to escape. It was only going to be a case of finding a place to make their last stand.

“It’s important,” said Rik, looking around at Tamara and Asea. He did not like this place. Damp blotched the tumbled down walls. Rats scurried through the abandoned corridors. The house reminded him too much of parts of his childhood. “If the sea lanes are open again, I say we book passage out as soon as possible.”

“You’re hopeful, Rik,” said Tamara. “I doubt that any of us will be walking away after we close the Gate.”

“I prefer to plan for all possibilities, however slight,” said Rik. “If we do get in and out we will want to be able to get out of the city as quickly and safely as possible and a ship is the best and easiest way of doing that.”

“Rik’s right,” said Asea. “We can’t go in assuming its hopeless right from the start. That way lies failure. We have to assume that we will succeed and that some of us will survive. That being so, we need a means of escape although I am not sure this is the best way.”

“A ship to Harven and on from there. The free city is still technically neutral even if it is making treaties with Sardea.”

“I suppose I should remind you that the last time we visited Harven we were not exactly warmly welcomed. I am still wanted there, and the danger is even greater for you.”

She was right. The Quan were the real masters of Harven and he doubted they would welcome him, having killed one of their number. He could not see any other way though.

“I think a ship, to anywhere, it does not have to be Harven, is preferable to trying to a getaway over land. No walking dead, no Sardean troops.”

“Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?” said Tamara. “We don’t even know how we will get into the Palace yet, and already we are planning our escape.”

“I think you can help us there,” said Asea. “You know the layout of the Palace and the secret ways of getting us in.”

“Rik and I can get in easily enough by shadow-walking,” said Tamara. “I don’t know about you. And once we are in we will need to break into the vaults and find the Black Mirror.”

“There are postern gates leading into the vaults from the outer walls of the Palace. They lie on the external cliff walls. At least there once were,” Asea said.

“They are still there, as far as I know, but they will be guarded. You still have not said how we will find the Black Mirror.”

“It will not be difficult to detect once we are within the wards of the Palace walls. Its power will make it easy enough to find.”

Asea looked at Tamara. “You will prepare maps of the Palace. I can compare them to what I remember.”

She turned to Rik. “Once those are done you will plan how to get us into the heart of the place. I trust you have not lost your old skills?”

“If there are ordinary locks I can open them,” he said. “What about Karim?”

“Once he has helped me to the postern gate, he should go. There is nothing he can do to help us once we are inside the walls. He can wait for us outside the gates in case we make our getaway that way. If we do not join him within a day, he can make his way back to the West. I will write him a mandate of freedom before we set out.”

Karim did not like this but he could not argue with his mistress. Rik did not like it for his own reasons. It seemed obvious to him that Asea had her own death on her mind.

Even as that thought occurred to him, he saw her eyes widen. He felt something too, an increase in the level of ambient magic, an intensification of the spells being worked in the sky above them.

“We need to move very quickly,” Asea said. “They are going to try and open the Gate tonight. It’s the full moon. That will be the best time for it.”

“We’re not ready,” said Rik.

“Nonetheless we need to go. Otherwise it will not matter whether we are ready or not. We will be too late.”

As he jogged along, the Barbarian decided to speak what was on his mind. All around them the land looked eerie in the moonlight.

“There’s no way they’re going to get away,” he said. “You know that and I know that.”

Weasel altered his pace so that they were running alongside each other and looked at him directly in the eye. “What’s your point?”

“If the deaders overtake them, they’re all going to die. There’s too many walking dead and not enough bullets and not enough soldiers.”

“I’m surprised that you can count that high.”

“I can count high enough to know when there’s going to be a massacre and so can you.”

“What are you suggesting we do about it?”

It was funny, the Barbarian had thought that Weasel was brighter than this. “We don’t have to go back. We can get away. You and me are still fit and we can both run fast enough.”

“Particularly if the others are left behind to distract the deaders.” There was something strange in Weasel’s tone. The Barbarian could almost have sworn that it was disapproval. He could understand that. He did not exactly approve of what he was hinting at himself.

“Exactly correct.”

“Are you suggesting that we do that?”

“I don’t like the idea but I don’t see what’s to be gained from making a heroic last stand either. We’ll all die together but we’ll die all the same.”

“How long do you think we’ll live for, on our own, out here in a land infested by the undead?”

“Long enough. Longer then we will if we wait to be overtaken by that army of walking dead.”

“And you’re willing to leave little Lorraine and her brothers to fight our battles?”

“I never said that.”

“And you’re going to show those walking dead a clean pair of heels?”

“I never said that either. I just brought the subject up because I didn’t think you would want to die.”

“That’s very generous of you, thinking of my feelings like that. I would hate to think that you brought it up because you were afraid. I’ve always thought better of you Northmen.”

“So you’re saying that you don’t want to run away then?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Well I’m glad that’s settled. I would hate to think that you were the sort of coward that would run out on his friends and companions when the going got tough.”

“Well, good we settled that to your satisfaction. Unless I am much mistaken that farmhouse on the hill there will make a good camp.”

“Yes, I think you’re right. We’d best be getting back. The others will be wanting to camp down for the night.”

“Ready?” Tamara asked.

Rik gazed up at the massive structure of the Palace through the gathering gloom. He was awed by its size and the power he felt flowing through it. He was garbed in black, armed with blade and pistols, and profoundly wished that he could carry truesilver bullets through the Shadow Realm. With all his heart he feared what they were likely to encounter within the Palace.

“As I will ever be,” he said. “Are you sure they cannot detect us? If I can spot you as you pass through the shadows then surely they can spot us.”

“They did not seem to be able to when I arrived last time. Now does not seem to be the right time to be discussing the metaphysics of sorcery. It’s a bit too late to back out of this now.”

Rik smiled and studied the deep shadows. They whispered to him. “It’s never too late to back out of things.”

“You feel like running?” she had the look of someone who only needed the slightest encouragement to run away herself. He considered it. This was most likely his last chance to get away, to have a chance at living, at least for a little while. They could use their powers and head off. But that would mean leaving Asea in the lurch and all the other people who were depending on them.

He shrugged. “I’m curious to see what’s inside the Palace,” he said.

“Feeling larcenous?”

“Well, if we see any good loot, I’ll be having it.”

“We’d best go then.”

He concentrated, reached out across the shadows and opened his path. He sensed the inside of the Palace, scanned around the shadows and found one far from the nearest guard. He stepped forward, passed through the whispering void and emerged on the other side. As he did so, he tried the twisting sorcery, he had done the first time, cloaking himself in shadows and making himself invisible.

A moment later he sensed Tamara arriving. “Rik?” she whispered, “are you there?”

He reached out and touched her. It felt as if he was insubstantial or she was immensely dense. “I am here,” he said. She glanced around fearfully and said, “What are you doing?”

“A trick I thought of.”

“Are you sure it’s wise, that you can control the magic?”

“If it lets me walk through this place undetected…” She nodded and worked sorcery herself, her outline shimmering and changing until she looked like a Palace guard. Rik doubted that the disguise would fool Asea or a truly potent sorcerer but it would deceive an ordinary Terrarch.

“Watch over me,” she said. Rik nodded even though he doubted that she could see him, and moved as quickly and quietly as he could in her wake as she moved towards the door.

Sardec looked at the ruined farmhouse and wondered if this was the place where he was going to die. It was not the most inspiring of spots but it was the most defensible position for miles around. It looked as if the building had been abandoned long before the plague. It had that sort of feel. Ivy overgrew many of the walls and the shutters were partially rotted. Any glass that might have been in the windows had been removed a long time ago. It was valuable and would have been carried away when the occupants had left.

It was a sort of place that featured as a haunted house in the stories he had read when he was a child. It seemed appropriate to be making a last stand here against an army of the walking dead.

The building lay near the top of the slope and it had clear fields of fire all the way down the hill. If Sardec had had a company of men and they had been fighting against ordinary foes he would have felt confident that he could have defended the place for a week given enough supplies.

In the distance, despite the fading light of the early evening, he could see their pursuers moving like a dark tide through the valley below. There were so many of them and they moved with a deceptive slowness that hid the fact that they were tireless and implacable pursuers.

He cursed their bad luck. They had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time and crossed the path of a wandering horde of undead monsters.

He kept looking at them, hoping that it was a mistake, and that the creatures would pass on along the trail. Perhaps it was just a coincidence that they were on the same path.

For a moment, his hopes were raised, for the creatures passed where the Foragers had left the road. They streamed past the narrow trail as if they intended to continue along the valley. Sardec let out a long sigh of relief but then one of two of them stopped, looked around with a sort of stupid puzzlement and began to follow the pathway up to the ruined farmhouse. There could be no mistake. They had not missed the Foragers trail after all.

"Get everybody inside," Sardec said. "See if you can find a way to barricade the doors!"

"Yes, sir," said Weasel. He stared down at the oncoming horde of dead men impassively and Sardec could tell that he had the same thoughts on his mind. He knew they were going to die here and quite possibly join the legions of dead men who were conquering the world.

Perhaps not though, perhaps it was infection with the plague that made the dead rise after they were killed and perhaps the fact that they had taken the cure would also prevent them from rising. Sardec hoped that was the case, for the sake of the men at least. He was pretty sure it would not happen to him. He had never seen a Terrarch among the walking dead.

One by one the small party passed into the farmhouse. Sardec remained outside keeping an eye on the advancing enemy. They shambled slowly up the slope. It would probably take them at least an hour to get here. At least there was a full moon tonight and there were not that many clouds in the sky. They would have some light to shoot by.

Who was he trying to fool? It did no matter how many shots they fired or how many of those shots hit, there was still no winning this battle. There were so many of the dead down there that they would be swamped by simple weight of numbers. He racked his mind to try and find a solution to the problem. There had to be some way of stopping the monsters. There had to be.

If he had naphtha or oil he might have burned the dead as they advanced. If there had been a sorcerer present, magic might be usefully deployed. But he did not have any of those things. He had a small group of armed men and some women and children, all of them tired, all of them hungry, all of them scared and none of them over-supplied with bullets.

Think. There had to be an answer. Reason told him that there was not. His grasp of tactics let him know that the situation was hopeless. All they could do was barricade themselves in the ruins and fight until they ran out of bullets and strength. He doubted that would take very long. In the end, he would achieve the same result by simply surrendering to the undead and letting his people be devoured. Whether they fought or not would not make much difference.

He told himself not to give in to despair, that there was always hope, that somehow they would make it through the night. He could not convince himself though and he knew he needed to if he was going to convince the others. Why? Why give them false hope when they were all going to die anyway?

From behind him came the sounds of the Foragers at work, as they manhandled old furniture into position to block the doors and threw open the shutters to give themselves clear shots. Sardec was amazed by their energy. They knew as well as he did what was going to happen but still they went on behaving as if there was a chance of survival. He could do no less.

"Better get inside, sir," shouted Weasel. "We're about to barricade the door."

Sardec hurried inside and swiftly the soldiers piled up old furniture behind him and then took up their positions with rifles ready, waiting for the armies of death to come.