​43 The Red Prince

WITHER STEPPED AMONG the vampires, hearing them in his mind. They called him the Red Prince. Yes, they’d known he was coming. He answered their questions, but found their appetite for knowledge insatiable. They wished to know of the world and its denizens. Intelligent creatures but devoid of emotion. Cold, indifferent, efficient killers, had no place for sentimentality. Others of their kind, virals like Threadfin Todder and his sister, feared them. Rasnal Nalrost, unable to control them, had put the vampires to sleep.

An injustice.

A betrayal.

A crime requiring answer.

Once they were satisfied, with a silent command he bade them vanish from sight. They faded, blending into their surroundings, but they were there, watching. Wither smiled. His own talent was not unique, but born of vampires. They were his inheritance, and they would help him build his legacy. At last, the boy Grat understood who he was, what he must do, and the man named Wither would not deny him.

A shimmer and snap of air caused him to turn. A ghoul appeared, and beside it, Threadfin Todder. The undead mage was on his knees, horned faced filled with agony. Pain was the one truth Wither knew, the only honest feeling. It sundered his heart and carved out the core of his being, and he let it. For now, he understood its purpose.

‡

THREADFIN GOT TO HIS feet, and stared at a man he’d once known as an Aidari, a quiet reclusive sort. The last time he’d seen Wither, he’d been in the company of Scatter, among others ... including Lorn. He’d thought him dead and now felt relief. At least another had survived. However, when Threadfin looked into his face, saw the hatred, the pain, and the darkness of his soul, no, I don’t know this man, and I don’t want to.

‘You failed,’ said Wither in a controlled tone, eyes hard, fists clenched, ‘as you always have. I understand, Todder. You’re not my enemy but neither are you, my saviour.’

‘It was you I saw? You helped me destroy it. You have my gratitude.’

‘Keep it. I want no part of you or your undead imperium. Do you hear me, mage?’

On the edge of his vision, Threadfin spotted a blur of motion. For a breather’s heartbeat, he felt nauseous. He focused on the spot, and saw Davard Tystrus, a man he’d once known as Crawl, lounging about as though he’d been there all the time. The fat man stumbled a little, looking weary.

No one else was alive. Bodies lay scattered about, with just a handful being vampiric. He met the spymaster eyes. Davard gave a slight shake of his head.

‘You may not have a choice,’ Threadfin then said to Wither. ‘The Grim prepares to take this world. I’ve seen the beginnings of his army. You, have stolen his vanguard. He will strike at you and attempt to take them back, or, he will attempt to use you. Help us fight him.’

‘There is always a choice,’ whispered Wither, and then turned away. He walked into the night, and vanished.

Threadfin felt the vampire host follow, as though thousands of ghosts passed him by, and he shivered. ‘No,’ he said to himself. ‘Sometimes, the choice is taken from us. Sometimes, we must do whatever it takes.’ A part of Lorn lived on in a girl named Astra. Having looked into Wither’s eyes, he knew he could never tell him the truth.

‘Ah, Mr Mage, sir?’ said a voice beside Threadfin. The viral jumped in surprise and delight to see Grudge stood there, wringing his hands.

Threadfin grabbed the scout by the shoulders. ‘I thought you all dead. What in the name of the Spectrum above are you doing here? How did you get here?’

The man struggled to speak. Threadfin realised he was shaking him, and stopped. ‘No, no, Mr. Mage,’ said Grudge. ‘I fair near came to dying, I did. A few times now I was near off to visit my Ma, I was. One minute I was in the cave battlin’ shadows, and next I was waking up in a desert. A desert in this world, I mean, which was lucky I suppose, now I think about it. Ah, I was wondering if we could go home, uh your Mageship, sir?’

‘Call me Threadfin, or Fin, my friend. You’ve no idea how glad I am to see you.’

‘Imperial Commander-in-chief Pole says he don’t see why we can’t go home, but said you might prove a stubborn scaly son o’ ... um ...’

‘What?’ This time Threadfin shook him until his eyes rolled. ‘What did you say?’

‘Ah, it was he what said it, not ...’ Grudge squeaked.

‘Imperial Commander-in-chief, Pole?’

‘Oh, he gave himself the title. Says he earned it, and you could go stuff a sack o’ maggots down your gob, if you don’t like ... ah, well, ah, it was him what said it, like I said. My Ma always said a good title was a—’

‘Grudge, shut up about your bloody Ma! Podral Pole! He’s alive?’

‘Well, of course he is, Mr. Mage, sir. Vilt too, the angels bless her from head to those lovely satin toes. Them toes can do things I never dreamed of toes doin’. My Ma’s toes never did things like that, no they didn’t. Ol’ Nevet didn’t make it, though, what with all them shadows stabbing, ripping, and ... well, you know.’

Threadfin felt a presence behind him as he let go of the scout. A familiar voice spoke, ‘I won’t step through no bloody mirrors, lad. I’ve had my fill of all this magery grolg-dung. I’ll walk it back if I have to.’

Threadfin never would recall turning and grabbing hold of his friend. He would, however, remember hugging the Darken so tight the man complained he couldn’t breathe. Pod always did complain about everything like most breathers. Threadfin hugged him all the harder.

When he finally relented, and stepped back to examine the man, he said in a choked voice, ‘You’ve looked better, you know.’ The right side of Pole’s face and scalp was burned with part of his face blistered. Half his hair was gone too, and his clothing was shredded. ‘You don’t look much like a Darken. More like one of the undead, to be honest. Suits you.’

Pole grunted. ‘Yeah, feel like one too. It’s strange, but I remember fighting whatever it was – and no, I don’t want to know, so don’t go tellin’ me – and I woke up in the desert, a good few leagues from here mind. I remember someone stood over me as if checking I was breathing and then whoever it was vanished. I found Vilt and Grudge nearby. Both were unconscious, so it weren’t them.’

‘Sun-lash.’

‘What?’

‘Heat plays tricks on a breather’s mind. I hear they call it sun-lash down here. Next, you’ll be telling me you went and saved the world or something. You do know it’s my job. You get to bring me my slippers and such.’

‘You don’t own slippers.’

‘Put it on the list. Something satin with a bit of gold trim. What do you think I keep you around for?’ Threadfin knew who had rescued Pole, though he couldn’t understand how. It didn’t matter. I owe him.

Pole spat to the side. ‘So, how’s all the saving the world stuff coming along anyhow?’

‘A work in progress.’

‘Lad ...’ Pole began in a whisper, face softening. Somehow, he knew, though Threadfin didn’t ask. Maybe it was written in his eyes or something.

Threadfin looked away not willing to go there. ‘I know where the Shathra Stone is.’

‘Should keep your sister happy, for a bit.’

‘Nope, because I’m not going to retrieve it. It’s somebody else’s problem.’ It would be good to see Aiyana, though. The pain he held within would need a release. Only his sister would witness it. Only she could help him through it.

‘Who was she?’ asked Vilt, stepping up to join them. The lithe woman, her leathers torn and tattered, her face scratched, threw an arm around Grudge. The scout managed to blush.

Threadfin glanced over at the body, Vilt was referring to. Greencloaks had already begun gathering the dead zorasts, or what was left of them. He walked towards the dead woman and stopped a few feet away. Her eyes were open and staring. Davard Tystrus was on his knees beside her as though in prayer. The former prime brushed the hair back from the woman’s face and whispered something to her. Threadfin was about to turn away – not wishing to intrude on the man’s grief – when he noticed something.

Davard took from within his robes a weapon of unusual make, a type Threadfin had seen before. The blade shimmered as though filled with liquid gold.

‘You have a soul shard?’ asked Threadfin. The fat spymaster ignored him. Pole had followed, and stood beside Threadfin, arms folded and face grave.

Continuing to whisper something inaudible, Davard touched the blade to the woman’s neck. The blade tip entered the flesh, and if it had shone before, it blazed now. Threadfin shielded his eyes. When he lowered his arm, the brightness was gone. Davard was standing, and the woman was rising to a sitting position. She had a bewildered look on her face.

Threadfin stepped closer to the spymaster. ‘I never trusted you, but I never imagined you had power like this. Who are you?’

The former prime and conclavist glanced at him before he offered the woman a hand. He pulled her to her feet, though she looked unsteady. ‘I am sorry you and I are at such odds, Fin. You know, you’ve always been my favourite.’ He gave him a wink.

‘She was dead,’ Threadfin snapped, and then felt ashamed as the woman stared at them, wide-eyed. ‘Look, you did something ... Adal.’

Davard gave him an appraising look, and smiled. ‘I look out for my own as I looked out for you, and your friends. As I always will. You’ve come a long way, Fin, since Lame.’

For the first time, he realised he didn’t know this man. Adal was a stranger, a name out of legend, like Astra. He was of a power beyond anything this mage could imagine.

Adal placed a thick hand on Threadfin’s shoulder. ‘My old friend, I will be there when you need me. You will need me.’ A heaviness seemed to settle upon him. ‘You should return to Icarthya. Your sister needs you too. Many will need you during the darkness to come.’ Adal and the confused woman turned and left. The greencloaks continued preparing the graves; the sands of Mourn would swallow the dead, keeping them for eternity.

‘Pod,’ the viral mage snapped, ‘gather the others and whatever supplies you can. Be quick about it.’

‘No mirrors, lad, no more magic—’

‘Podral Pole, you will do as I command or find another line of work. You’re going to have to suck it up, and get over it. Magic is a part of both our lives, like it or not. Hurry, my friend. We’re going home.’

‘Yes . . . Mage,’ said Pole, for the first time with no hint of mockery in his tone.

Threadfin Todder’s answering smile couldn’t have been brighter.

This Ends

A PLAGUEBORN NOVEL BOOK 2