​​​​3 A Nefarious Plot

THE WOMEN IN Ancyra howled without end, displaying festering wounds ribboned with flies. A self-mortification to display their depth of pain or maybe to excise it. Food offered by the locals in the first few days sat rotting in the shimmering heat. Slat-ribbed dogs and rats scuttled between the refugees. When the soldiers removed the dead at the close of each day, the cries intensified.

Wither stepped among them in Martyr’s Square. Eight days and the wailing continued. Twenty-eight days since their loved ones had vanished. The survivors had fled to this city, desperate for protection. A fight broke out as he passed, husbands irritated by the noise, while locals hurled rotten fruit at them. The city dungeons were full, and fresh graves grew by the dozen outside the walls of the Pit District.

‘The governor’s losing patience,’ muttered his friend, who walked at his side. Slither’s eyes shifted from one person to the next.

Most of the female outsiders wore white, a sign of the purity of their suffering. Wither didn’t pretend to understand their customs. He did understand pain. In his ancestral home, such displays of grief would have shamed a family for generations. Suicide was the last path to regaining honour. There, a person bore it in silence. As it should be. ‘When he does, blood will flow,’ said Wither, as they crossed a short alley to another street. ‘The weeping will continue. He cannot stop it. He should wait it out.’

Slither glanced at his companion. ‘You don’t know much about these people.’ Slither was a Tarsus man, though his father was a northerner. Which city, Wither didn’t know. His friend didn’t talk about his blood. Something else he understood.

They passed through another square. The markets remained shut. The local economy was starting to suffer. Soon the soldiers would act with or without the governor’s consent, and those refugees would either leave or die. The men would stand and fight of course, leading to an inevitable conclusion. Pain and weeping, and shame. Worse, new refugees arrived every day. Wither did not think there were enough soldiers.

‘Are you sure about this,’ asked his friend as they passed through a long sandstone tunnel, gaining blessed relief from the sun. ‘Doing this in daylight seems foolish. What if someone tells a patrol?’

‘It is precisely because it is broad daylight it is being held. They believe no one would dare hold such. Besides, the patrols are lazy in this heat, and they have other issues to occupy their attention. They will not leave shade and water before dusk.’

‘I still don’t like it. Who is he to go taking risks like this? Won’t be him ending up in the dungeons or spitted on a spear let me tell you.’

‘You always do.’

‘All I’m saying is never trust a northerner. Especially one so fat. All fat men are liars and cheats. It’s well-known.’

Wither eyed his friend with a wry grin. ‘It was your idea to attend, remember? You came to me. Besides, you are at least half a northerner.’

‘Yeah, well, a man can change his mind if not his blood. I often admit I’m wrong, don’t I?’

Wither deemed that last comment unworthy of acknowledgement. ‘I will protect you as I promised.’

Slither shook his head. ‘All I know is as soon as I see trouble, I’m slipping out.’

Wither raised an eyebrow as he regarded the former Aidari.

‘What are you looking at me for? Figure of speech is all.’ Slither’s face broke into a wide grin, eyes twinkling.

Wither laughed, which turned a few heads. There didn’t seem much to laugh about in Ancyra. He’d taken work with a disreputable but tolerated spice merchant named Popper Nox. The woman traded in cinnamon, salt, alum, and certain weapons when no one was looking. As tedious an occupation as it was, it enabled him to lie low while he considered his future.

Beyond a warren of slum dwellings, most built in the local sandstone, with some tents on rickety poles, they climbed a series of steps to reach the pre-arranged meeting point. Inside a dim lit chamber, they found everyone assembled.

‘Quiet down,’ snapped the heavy-set figure of Davard Tystrus. How did he manage in this heat? Sweat poured from him in streams. A large, chilled flagon of watered wine sat next to the imperial conclavist’s elbow. To the man’s left stood a huge bodyguard, hidden beneath a deep woollen cowl despite the heat. As Wither stared, trying to see something of the face, the head turned to regard him. Wither ducked his. Whoever lay beneath, he could crush a man’s skull with one hand. A Nephilim came to mind, but he didn’t think the bodyguard big enough. Perhaps a man with giant’s blood? There were rumours of such in Eladaldor. Tystrus was taking no chances.

‘This meet has been called because of a deterioration in matters of mutual interest,’ announced Davard. A low murmuring among those assembled refused to die down.

‘What does that mean?’ shouted a voice from the back.

‘Enough with the fancy speak,’ said another. ‘Say it plain, and be quick about it afore we’re all collared and quartered.’

‘Nah, they did away with it five years ago,’ said a woman. ‘It’s hangin’ these days. After they break both yer legs and arms first.’

‘Cleaner,’ agreed another voice.

‘What about my husband,’ someone cried from somewhere within the assembled group. Wither believed there might be fifty clustered into the space. Merchants, bankers, clerks. Many were people of influence, but there were a good number of lower status folk too, including potters, weavers, and even two beggars.

‘My two sons,’ cried another, who must have been a refugee, followed by an older merchant shouting for his sister. Another for his father and aunt.

The conclavist’s face reddened as he wiped his thick forehead. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ he bellowed, loud enough the voices trailed off. ‘You all know the armoured giants failed, and our valiant Actaeon Guard prevailed.’ Some murmuring at the word valiant with several choice alternatives suggested.

Davard continued, drowning them out. ‘However, our imperium is in jeopardy and tensions have risen in every city. The reports of vanishings have increased. Rebellion is in the air, and soon enough Icarthya will be besieged.’

‘No one cares,’ a voice snapped from somewhere.

‘My authority,’ continued Davard with a glare, ‘is not what it used to be. The conclave no longer exists.’ He raised one fat finger. ‘However, most of you assembled here know who I am. Many of you had dealings with me in the past. You know me. You know, I always mean what I say.

‘I am a friend to Ancyra, to its people. A friend who has returned to warn you as I now warn every city I come to. I ask you to heed my warning and spread it far, though quietly as you can. No need to go upsetting the garrison and your illustrious governor. It might ruin his dinner.’

Silence filled the chamber, and Wither looked at the faces around him, confused. He had heard much of Davard Tystrus, but knew nothing definitive. Yet another reason for his attending. Curiosity. It appeared Tystrus had developed a reputation, or perhaps believed he had. Rumours shadowed the fat northerner like vultures to a dying beast. Apparently, more than one city governor had put a price on his head since the collapse of the imperium.

‘You must all gather those you love,’ Davard continued. ‘Leave this city and head north. Lose yourselves within the imperium. Get beyond the River Noy if you can, or at least as far as Frayle. Do not, however, go to Byrsa or the capital. Spread the word as quick as you can and leave within the hour. Do not delay. Great danger is upon you. Do not look to your governor or his soldiers. They won’t stop you leaving, but they won’t help you either. They couldn’t stop the vanishings. They won’t stop this.’

Silence erupted into heated arguing. Some were nodding, as though they didn’t just approve but had anticipated such instruction. Others were shaking their heads. Some argued the merits of such a journey, or whether the fat man was insane. The heat did tend to melt northerners. The wave of sound washed over Wither. He stepped forward, and in a loud voice, which quelled most of the arguing, asked, ‘What is this great danger you speak of?’

Davard looked up at him with watery eyes. He swiped at his thick forehead, and took a long gulp of watered wine from a stone goblet. ‘I know you, don’t I?’ His gaze found Slither who had moved up beside his companion. ‘I know you, too. Both of you served the viral mage. You were not there in the end. You should’ve been there. Why weren’t you there?’

‘I don’t know you,’ said Slither, ‘so don’t go thinking you know anything about me. I don’t owe you any explanations, neither. I think you owe everyone here one. People might die heading north.’

Of course, that set the others off again, the debate growing hotter.

Davard slapped his fist on the cedar table with such a wallop the goblet toppled, spilling his wine. ‘Do either of you half-wits know what the zorast faith teaches? No, you know them as fanatics who babble about the End of Days. Fools, charlatans, weirdos, yes, all true. They are far more, I’m afraid, and they are growing in number and influence. I don’t like it. Do you like it? Does anyone? No, I didn’t think so.’

‘Fine,’ said Wither. ‘We don’t understand the danger. Enlighten us.’

The fat man sighed. ‘They are behind the vanishings in some manner I haven’t been able to fathom. They are planning something terrible. I don’t like terrible. Do you like terrible, Wither and Slither? Hah, great names those, suggestive. I like suggestive.’ He gave them a look full of meaning. Wither noticed his friend beside him squirm a little.

‘How do you know all this?’ asked Wither and several of the audience behind him, mumbled the same. Some were not as polite about it.

‘Because, my dear friends,’ Davard said, ‘I deal in information. I know you, but you do not know me. This is how I operate, and how I like it. I know everyone, their great, great, grandmother’s terrible secrets, their hopes and dreams, their fears. However,’ he added with a long sigh, as he gestured for his overlarge bodyguard to pour wine, ‘infiltrating their Temple has proven a monumental task of such precarious undertaking as to have confounded most of my efforts. All my informants but one, are dead. I don’t like my informants being dead. They don’t give me information when dead. At least, I haven’t found a way for them to. Hmm, interesting idea. I should look into it.’ He stared off at nothing.

‘The cult?’ prompted Slither.

‘Ah, yes, well,’ sputtered the fat man, blinking, ‘all that is no coincidence you understand. They need absolute secrecy for what they do. The lone informant who lives has risen high among them. Good information to be gotten from on high, though one can get dizzy looking down. Well, my spy has given me such reliable intelligence as to have made up for all the dead ones. Coupled with the vanishings, I am in no doubt they plan something ... terrible.’

‘You’re still not giving us a substantial reason for leaving.’ Wither was beginning to wonder if he’d been right about the man. ‘What is this something?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘And, I don’t trust you.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘I don’t trust him, either,’ said Slither in Wither’s ear. ‘He’s too fat. In this part of the world, we never trust fat men. They eat all the food and don’t share. Maybe he’s in the cult. I heard they’re all fat. They eat people and stuff. In their rituals.’

Unfortunately, Davard heard every word. His eyes almost popped out of his round face. ‘I do not normally explain myself. To anyone. That I have told you this much is because of the seriousness of the situation. You are both interrupting this meeting. I don’t like interruptions. Do you like interruptions, Aidari?’

The chamber went silent. Wither could hear his own breathing and of those around him. He stepped closer to the table and leaned on it with both hands. He ignored the movement of the man’s bodyguard. He saw it better now, and recognised it as a Nephilim imp. Interesting. ‘You’ve told everyone to get out of Ancyra. The cult is planning something nasty. Now, tell us the rest. What are they planning? You know everything, remember? Who are you, anyway? Why should anyone listen to you?’

Davard lifted the goblet and took a sip, eyeing him. ‘This meeting is at an end,’ he called loudly. ‘Everyone, if you value your lives and those of your remaining loved ones, do as I say. Get out of Ancyra and go north. If you stay, you will die. Spread the word and quietly about it.’

The bodyguard and several other attendants of Davard’s herded the people outside. With a lot of pushing, shoving, and swearing, some at least took the former conclavist at his word, willing to leave immediately.

‘Not you two,’ said Davard to Wither and his friend, who were about to follow. They stood while the conclavist drained goblet after goblet. It seemed wasted on him as he sweated it all back out. The stench off him was over-powering.

‘You do realise,’ said Slither, ‘most of them aren’t going to spread the word, quietly or otherwise. Half of them won’t even leave. Once they’ve had time to think it over, some will decide to wait and see. Family or business commitments, property, goods, livestock. It all gets in the way.’

‘The fools will die,’ said Tystrus, ‘or worse. What would you have me do? Not bother at all?’

‘What is this about?’ asked Wither.

‘Confound this Spectrum-forsaken heat. I don’t like it hot. You like it hot?’ The fat man glared at them. ‘Come to think of it, I suppose you would. As for the people, I warned them.’

‘You could do more,’ suggested Wither.

‘Do you know why I organised this meet? I could have had a few loyal companions spread the word, in secret. However, there is no time, and rumours can be easily dismissed. I need the people panicked enough to go now, though not so much they trample one another. Word will get about, hopefully in time to save some lives. I was late getting here. I’ve had other pressing matters of such colossal importance you could not possibly comprehend.’

‘The governor is a zealot,’ said Wither, thinking it through, ‘or they’ve paid him off to prevent his interfering.’

‘So, you believe me, now?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Someone could go straight to the governor to report this,’ said Slither.

Tystrus gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘The soldiers won’t stop the people. Didn’t you notice the captain at the back? No? He was hiding beneath a cloak, true, despite this heat. None of the others noticed him either. Yes, the governor is under zorast influence, but they’ll never catch me so I’m not concerned.’

‘The cult,’ Wither prompted, watching as the bodyguard returned, taking up his previous position.

‘Nasty business, it was,’ said Davard leaning back in his chair. He was not sweating at all, now. Oh, this was a man of numerous talents. Davard’s demeanour had changed from flustered to relaxed in moments. A con man, but what was there to gain from a charade? Davard gestured at his bodyguard and the giant strode over to pick up a wooden bench, which lay against a white-washed wall. He placed it near them and both men sat.

I’ve underestimated him, Wither realised. He isn’t at all what he seems. Nothing even close. I must be careful. He knew Tystrus was Aidari, but had never had personal dealings with the man.

‘The viral mage triumphed over Avitus and her Nephilim horde of course,’ Davard went on, ‘but I knew he would. A complicated fellow, disrespectful at times, it is true. I’m fond of him, however, and his sister. She faces rebellion on a large scale. The imperium is in a precarious position. Many of its enemies are manoeuvring, seeking advantage.’

‘Surely,’ said Wither, eyeing the bodyguard askance, ‘the legions can handle whatever it is you fear is coming.’

Davard grimaced. ‘The legions were decimated during the Nephilim attack. A horrible affair. I barely managed to survive.’ He paused for comment and when none came, he frowned. ‘Well, without full control and without the official power to appoint a new imperial marshal, Aiyana Todralan cannot replenish the ranks, never mind train them. Added to her woes, the primes and their minions have taken over several cities. There are not enough soldiers to go around.’

‘Sarscha Todralan?’ asked Slither.

‘Missing,’ said Davard with a wave of one hand as though she was inconsequential. ‘The imperium is virtually undefended except for the mage and his sister. She is powerful in her way, but not in the right ways. As you are both Aidari, I assume you are aware of her nature.’

‘We were Aidari,’ said Slither, ‘once. We’ve gone our own way since,’ he added with a glance at Wither, ‘or at least, I have.’

Davard looked to Wither, seeming pleased for some reason. Wither didn’t take the bait. ‘The devious cult?’ he asked, instead. No doubt, he will discover the truth of my soul by day’s end.

‘Hmm,’ huffed the former conclavist as if disappointed. ‘Yes, as I said, enemies are gathering. These people are more dangerous than the old imperator realised. Markus Olen should have cut them out from the heart of the imperium while he had the chance. I warned him, you know. Told him twice.’

‘They worship the Grim,’ prompted Slither, ‘don’t they? I heard they make human sacrifices.’

Davard nodded. ‘A twisted and vicious bunch if ever I laid eyes on such.’ He stared at both men for a moment. ‘And I have. Well, they are preparing for a large sacrifice of some description.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘What I do know is this: the sacrifice won’t occur here. It will be within the Moral Desert of Eladaldor. Their nefarious plan is to initiate the end of the world. Now, do you see why I didn’t wish to give too much information to those previously assembled? Blind panic will see far more killed than the actual journey.’

He watched both for their reactions. Slither seemed to sink in upon himself, as though struggling to digest what he’d heard.

Wither felt no cause for immediate alarm. He tried thinking it through. ‘Assuming this is all not some fantasy of yours, this sacrifice is to release something.’

Davard’s eyes narrowed. ‘How astute of you.’

‘Let me guess; you don’t intend to elaborate on what this something might be. We should take your word on it.’

‘This Cleansing, as they like to call it, will destroy the world as we know it. Enough to be getting on with wouldn’t you agree? Stopping it is what matters.’

‘Can they be stopped?’

‘If we found someone strong enough, courageous enough, but alas, as I pointed out, the legions are licking their wounds. The governor of this city is a treacherous idiot, like many of his kind. Besides, as you well know, people prefer to bury their heads in the sand.’

‘I’ll go north,’ said Slither in a quiet voice. ‘I’ll see if I can’t get support. There are Aidari roaming the imperium. We will need help. I imagine magic will be of greater use than sword or spear.’

Wither glanced at his friend in surprise. The Slither he knew would never have taken the word of a northerner, would never agree to go north based on that word. ‘Quite an act you performed. I never suspected.’

His friend winced, but did not deny it. ‘You were reluctant to get involved. We needed you to hear the truth. Besides, it wasn’t all an act. I don’t trust everything about him.’

‘And what, sit back and watch as my conscience took over, compelling me to be a part of whatever this is?’

‘Er ... yeah, something like that.’

‘Too afraid to go alone, yes? You had me convincing you to attend. I should have seen it. You have become an expert at deception, my friend. I am both impressed and disappointed.’

‘If I’d asked you to come for any other reason,’ said Slither looking hurt, ‘you would’ve gone the other way, and you know it. You have no interest in anything these days. I had to make you think I needed you. Anyhow, it’s sort of true. We need you.’

‘What makes you think I still won’t go the other way?’ Slither didn’t know him at all. ‘How long has he had his teeth in you?’ he asked with a jerk of his head at Tystrus.

‘I’ve been working for him for two months, spying on zorast movements. It took him a while to convince me too. Listen, Wither, everything he says is true.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘I need you to go south,’ said Davard, ‘to discover those involved, and to stop them. It is my understanding they will gather in Shamar, before going on to Mourn. It is all the information I have. Mourn is where it will happen.’

‘You mean, this something they’re planning?’

‘Exactly.’

‘How am I supposed to stop them?’ This was why they had lured him. They wanted his help. Davard knew of his skills, but he obviously did not know Wither’s power had dwindled. He hadn’t told Slither about it either. Never a good idea to appear weak after all.

‘You will need to improvise, I imagine.’

‘I am no longer, Aidari. I do not think you can order me to do anything.’

‘It is a request, but your refusal may result in the end of the world. I don’t want to see the end of the world.’ Davard smiled. ‘Do you want to see the end of the world?’

‘Um, not laying it on a bit thick?’ Slither muttered, with a pointed look at the fat conclavist.

Davard shrugged and got up to leave. ‘It is what it is. Acquiesce to my request, or not. The choice is yours.’

The following morning, Slither came to see Wither for the last time. Some citizens had fled, with others in the process of going, but many were not.

Popper Nox was gone, although he didn’t think she’d left the city. Wither had work to do. His anger at his friend had faded, but he opened his mouth to tell him he didn’t care about fanatics or plots. The world could sink into the pit of Grim’s bowels where it belonged. As fate would have it, he never got the words out.

An uproar rose in the streets outside.

Then the screaming began.