​​​​20 A Zorast Gathering

MUSTY AIR AND a scent of fear filled the cavern under Shamar. The zorasts were a mixture of peasant and noble, though their positions no longer mattered. Myral detected an undercurrent of fear. Not least because she shared it. Word had reached her in the night to attend. No messenger. A note by her cot, but it could have been a knife across her throat.

One or two attendees stood apart. These were the strong ones, those who had served long and willingly. They effected an outer serenity few could fake. Most of the host did not bend knee gladly, and thus volunteers achieved greater rank. Although, often it was through murder or some nefarious scheme.

Flowing gowns of reds, blues and greens muted in the ruddy light. She saw cloaks and coats of silver and white, flowing lace and thread of gold. Rags and muddy shoes, no shoes at all, and the calloused hands of labourers. They all mingled as one. An army of mortals who would join in the Cleansing. Some hoping for reward. Most to survive.

They stepped wide of the cadavers between the pillars, glancing at the dais. As always, death was the hearthstone of the Faith. The Grim was a capricious master, and sacrifice was the only influence followers had. Myral was glad she’d arrived late. As a highest, perhaps she would not have needed to participate. She’d had enough of death, and did nothing to announce herself. Word of her promotion might have reached Shamar, but she hoped not. She had come to observe. She thought she’d spotted the priestess Shiva but wasn’t certain.

There were wooden walkways situated overhead, shrouded in darkness above the torchlight. She glanced up, and jumped when a hand touched her elbow. A figure moved passed and to the left beneath the stone columns and into gloom. After several moments, she joined him.

‘I heard you dealt with the other problem,’ a voice whispered at her side. ‘Efficient. I like efficient.’

She couldn’t see Davard Tystrus, a shape in the near-darkness. She had not expected him. Now the note made sense. He always chose to meet under their noses claiming it was the surest way to guarantee privacy. ‘The highests ordered it,’ she replied. ‘Not an order one refuses.’

‘An order, which fitted well in to our plans.’

‘You mean your plans.’

‘No body was found.’

‘What?’

‘I always keep an eye on my favourites. I would hate anything to happen to you.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘A warning.’

‘Make sense and be quick about it. Look where we are!’ She checked her voice, glancing about to be certain no one noticed. Zorasts were always plotting, creating little cliques. Nothing unusual.

‘His body vanished shortly after you had him killed. My people confirmed it. The others were all where you left them. Not his. An odd conundrum isn’t it. I don’t like conundrums. Do you like conundrums?’

‘Oh, say it plain. I’m a dead woman.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘You know he’ll come after me,’ she said, again checking the level of her voice mid-sentence. She needed to control her emotions. Seth Marak had managed a resurrection; his notoriety, his influence, would be unstoppable.

‘I remember a fresh-faced recruit, eager to serve the imperium. I like eagerness in a recruit, and innocence. Best to break such innocence early though, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘This is getting too dangerous,’ she said, ignoring the taunt. ‘What are you doing here? I do not believe you came to warn me.’

‘Just so.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I like a good return on my investments. You like a good return, don’t you, Myral? I’m sure you do.’

‘I am not one of your investments, the Grim damn you to hell!’

He uttered a low grunt, which might have been a laugh. She could see his face better. At least his eyes. They roved constantly. No doubt, he was watching for eavesdroppers or unwanted attention. ‘You should be careful with such curses, here. Anyhow, in this instance, I wasn’t referring to you. I do have directives for you as it happens.’

So, he had other business in Shamar. She hadn’t seen the fat conclavist in a year. He often disappeared without a trace, rumours in his wake, and then appeared with instructions. ‘Why should I listen to you,’ she asked. ‘There is no imperium anymore.’

His large head swivelled towards her. ‘And this means you have no responsibilities? No duty, but beyond those serving your own needs?’

‘I do not serve the imperium because it no longer exists.’

‘I see,’ he said. She swallowed hard, knowing the man was weighing her usefulness. ‘Have you become a true priestess, my dear? How many throats have you slit? I don’t like throat-slitting. Messy business, which is always unnecessary, and the rug stains, oh my.’

Her voice trembled as she spoke. She fought to keep it low. ‘It’s your fault I’m here you bastard. Your fault. All of it.’

The man had the grace to nod. ‘A difficult assignment. You think I am incognizant of the horrors you’ve endured. In the beginning, I did not anticipate how deep you would need to delve into this filth. I apologise, unreservedly. If you wish release from service, you have it. I will make certain you are compensated, and that he never finds you. You know I am a man of my word, no matter what else you think of me.’

A generous offer, and one she hadn’t expected. After a moment’s hesitation, she said, ‘You can still rely on me, one last time.’ She thought she heard him sigh in relief. Did he think she’d become a true fanatic? She simply did not want the man thinking he controlled her.

‘I must warn you that by following my directives you will encounter him, and soon. Can you handle it?’

‘When I’m done with this, I want out. Forget money or any other form of gratitude. I want you and your dead imperium to forget I exist.’

‘Undead.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘The imperium. It’s not dead, despite rumours to the contrary.’

‘I don’t care.’

She thought the imperial spymaster beside her giggled. He was an odd man. ‘You may have to travel exceptionally far for such a reward, my dear. I like to travel. Do you like travelling, Myral? Good for the mind and the soul. Not so much the feet.’

She glared at him. ‘My instructions?’

‘I do not believe you are going to like this. Perhaps you should reconsider?’

‘Get on with it before someone notices.’ The truth was, everyone was too busy huddling together, worrying over why they’d been summoned. One never took a summons to a zorast temple lightly. One never refused. There were new arrivals every minute. Perhaps a hundred shivering bodies filled the cavern.

‘Do you know,’ asked Tystrus, ‘why this gathering is taking place?’

She shook her head, waiting.

‘The Grim’s servant is here, although it is merely touching this reality. It cannot fully cross into our world, yet. The Fetch has called this meet. You would have felt its summons too, if I had not interfered. I think the local temple has outlived its usefulness.’

Myral felt herself shake as fear took hold. ‘You are certain? No, don’t answer. You’re always certain.’

‘You will go to Mourn once this night is finished. I believe you are aware of its location?’

‘The vampires,’ she whispered, so low she wasn’t sure he’d heard.

‘You have risen high to gain such knowledge. I’m impressed with how well you’ve done.’

‘Not a pleasant tale.’

‘I like stories, preferably over a cup of tea. Maybe one day, yes?’

As if you don’t know everything already, she thought. ‘How do I stop them being released?’

‘Stop them?’ he whispered, and his form shuddered in what she took for another laugh. ‘No, you will not do that.’

‘Are you insane? Of course, we must stop them.’

‘You fail to grasp the severity of the situation. There is no stopping them. They are the vanguard to a terrible army. Your task is to attach yourself to the one who will steal this vanguard from under the Grim’s nose. You are to make certain he succeeds. Control over them, no matter how tenuous, is our only chance.’

‘And how am I supposed to do this?’

‘The one I speak of is also here. A coincidence, an aberration of the Spectrum? I doubt it. Someone I know has her talons in him, but not for long. She and I have an understanding but our goals aren’t always compatible. You are far more suited to the task ahead. Fortunately, this time she agrees.’

‘I don’t care about any of it. How do I find him?’ Do this last job, get out, and forget my entire life up to this point.

‘He goes by the name of, Wither. I will show you where he resides and give you a description. When he emerges, you will distract him. He must accompany you, but he must not know who you are. You will make certain of this. He may prove reluctant or compliant. An enigma is this one. Make sure he fulfils his role, Myral. Let no one get in the way.’

‘So, a simple task as usual.’ Seth would be after her, no doubt about it. She had to hope she could achieve her objectives before he caught up to her.

The press of bodies was closing on their position, although a loud murmur ensured privacy. Myral felt rather than saw the fat man shrug. ‘Gain his trust. Encourage him. You will be building upon what another has begun, but she must not be the only one with influence over him. Humanity must have a stake in this game too. I like games.’

Humanity? Who or what was this other guardian? ‘Why would he listen to me?’

‘He knows your mother, or rather knew her. He does not need to know this but he will find himself drawn to you.’

‘What if it doesn’t work?’

‘Improvise.’

‘I hate you.’ She felt his smile, a big fat smug face beneath his hood. Others were moving closer to their position. The cavern continued to fill. Soon, any private conversation would prove impossible. ‘How can you be so calm?’

‘Considering our host’s sentimental deficiency,’ said Davard, ‘I think we should leave. The time of his arrival is upon this hapless gathering. You will use your, peculiar talent, if you wish to survive this night. I like dogs. You like dogs, Myral?’

‘What?’

Davard Tystrus grabbed her arm. ‘I will take you out of here. You will not wish to see what comes next.’

Myral resisted, pulling away as she heard the first cries. Amid the gathering, an apparition had manifested from the shadows.

Seven foot tall, looming over all, it had an odd shaped head. Horns followed the length of its spine and spanned its shoulders. Dead skin hung from its arms and legs. A dark, writhing fog hid much of its form, but enough remained visible for a thousand nightmares. It didn’t appear solid. No, it hadn’t crossed, but if it ever did, there would be no stopping it.

Davard grabbed her arm a second time, his grip like a vice. The Fetch laid its ethereal fingers on the head of the nearest priestess, one who’d foolishly bowed to it. Blood dribbled down her face, before her skull burst like a melon. The screaming began. Jerking its head upward, the Fetch spotted them, as the spymaster used his peculiar magic to zip her away.

Sometime later, Davard left her in a stone house within the depths of Shamar. She vomited in a corner, face wet with tears. The spymaster’s method of travelling was gut-wrenching at best. The image replaying in her head of a bursting skull didn’t help. Among her former acquaintances, she’d never heard of anyone with his ability. He was a man of many secrets.

A lone mangy dog stood beside the low cot within the ruined house. It had followed her inside before with the promise of food and it often returned. She’d found feeding creatures kept them close for when she had need. I am likely, she thought with sadness, as terrible and cruel to these creatures as the Fetch is to us. The difference was, she knew it and cared.

She petted the animal, feeling nothing but heaviness. ‘I am sorry, for what I’m about to do to you.’ She lay down, and let her mind quest. It did not need go far. The dog whined. It knew something was happening but didn’t understand. Like those poor fools beneath the city. Like the inhabitants of Shamar who lay in their beds, fear clutching hearts. Is it better not knowing? Myral wondered as she closed her eyes.

The dog’s whine grew louder.

No, she thought before she opened them to a very different world, I don’t think it is.