6 Black Sludge

ARTORIUS WATCHED WITH a mixture of fascination and horror as the nightmares, which he’d heard Licolo refer to them as, rushed him. The undead girl didn’t waste time forming a magical weave, and there was no mistaking it this time. He could see it, woven like a spider’s web, and despite the imminent danger, he was fascinated.

The web caught the first of the nightmares. However, the second and third both raised an arm to unleash a gushing stream of black sludge. Tezcat leapt aside, having no other choice Artorius could see. The sludge, however, struck two of his greencloaks instead; their screams ripped the night air, turning the marshal’s blood cold.

The only thing he could think of doing was either to run, which was inconceivable, or attack. He ran at the nearest of the nightmares, and ducked aside just in time. A ball of sludge flew past his head, but he felt his blade bite into the side of the monster all the same.

Unfortunately, since the creature wasn’t flesh and blood, he went stumbling onwards, pulling the blade with him; there had been little resistance. When he whirled around, he found the nightmare coming for him with no damage to its form. Just as he’d thought; swords were useless.

Oh, Grim’s own Hell. How do we fight these things? What he wouldn’t have given for an ordinary flesh and bone opponent.

Tezcat leapt out of the way of more strikes, and hit back with various types of viralic weaves. Whenever her attacks struck their target, the nightmares appeared to adapt. If something worked against one, it failed against the others.

‘Run,’ she cried, but Artorius couldn’t. His path was blocked and if it hadn’t been, it wasn’t in him to abandon his people because death stared him in the face. No, running wasn’t an option.

The nightmare leered at him while lashing out with a vicious swipe of its claws. This time, he moved too slowly. It scored a deep wound across his upper left arm, and he stumbled aside, the pain blindingly hot.

He fell to his knees, clutching the wound. The marshal wanted to get up, to fight, but found he couldn’t. He watched as the creature stalked towards him, and knew it was toying with him. A slinkt or warg with its prey, but then comparing these manifestations to anything in nature was a terrible joke.

The nightmare then gave a weird jolt, and shrieked in rage. Something had stuck it, once, then twice. It turned about, and another volley of attacks overwhelmed it.

Artorius spotted a clot of viral mages coming to the rescue. Tezcat had joined their number, leading the counterattack. By now, all the greencloaks were dead but for his captain, and she was wounded.

These mages had been the same ones with the litter bearers plus a half dozen new additions. They attacked as a clot, Tezcat shouting instructions while hitting the nightmares with spear-like bolts of power, with spitting balls, with weaves and waves, not giving the creatures time to adapt.

One of the nightmares burst apart, fish, mud, river grass and water flying everywhere. The others vanished, clambering over the walls, and leaping back into the river.

Moments later, Tezcat approached him, while one of the other mages tended to Lazar. ‘You don’t look good,’ she remarked, face grave. She was usually bouncy and fun for one of the undead, and he found it unnerving to see her concerned. I must be in a bad way then.

Artorius lay down and groaned, the world going darker than it had any right to be.

‡

Sarscha rolled over in the wide bed, gazing up at the silk scarlet canopy overhead. She felt him moan in his sleep beside her, and on impulse propped herself on one elbow to examine him.

Her fingers traced the tips of his silver horns, feeling their edges, wondering if they hurt. She couldn’t imagine how they wouldn’t, but he didn’t like to speak about that side of himself; the Torment within him was something he bore alone. She felt close to him perhaps because of that, for there were torments of her own she would not speak of either.

As she counted the horns from the smaller ones on his neck down his spine, and the ones across his shoulders, each almost hidden, she realised there was so much of the world she’d grown up without knowing. What had been myth or mere impossibility turned out to be real, the once imagined now possible.

After all, Tezcat Licolo had transported her in the blink of an eye to the south to inspect and organise the Gulley’s defences, and then back to Icarthya. Part of her still wondered if it had happened, and if she had really met her brother in Cantrip.

Sometimes it didn’t seem real, until she could touch the evidence with her fingers, as she touched Ralan. Of course, the man himself was kind and caring, unlike his siblings, or at least according to everyone who’d met them. She’d not had the opportunity to meet them all yet, her introduction to Striga having been brief. She felt a little apprehensive at the prospect as it was still unclear, at least to her, whose side they were on. Apparently, it was a bit of a grey area.

Ralan mumbled something incoherent and woke, twisting around to smile up at her.

She grinned back, and then as he turned properly, sank into the warmth and strength of his arms. The formidable imperial marshal, the strong, unflappable imperatrix; sometimes she got tired of being strong, of leading, of being expected to solve every problem. Sometimes, she just wanted to be held, but only Ralan could offer her that in the quiet of her palace rooms.

‘We can hope your imperial mage doesn’t storm in on us again,’ he mumbled in her ear. ‘I can put up with a lot of things, but that last time was ... awkward.’

‘She cares for you, Ral.’

‘It’s not like that, you know. Well, maybe a long time ago, but not anymore. She’s more like a little sister to me.’

‘I think she knows that.’

‘Does she? It was great to see her again. I waited two centuries, you know, but ... it’s not like it used to be. We tried to pick up where we’d left everything but, so much has changed.’

‘Well, it was two hundred years ago since she last saw your hairy butt. That’s a long time.’ She snorted in laughter.

‘That’s not funny. And it’s not hairy.

‘Oh, my love, yes, it is.’ She kissed his forehead, smiling at the memory. Ralan had been naked of course, and in a very compromising position at the time of Tezcat’s intrusion. Having spent most of her life as a soldier, privacy a luxury, Sarscha hadn’t cared quite as much as Ralan had.

She understood that he and Tezcat were close, and had history, although it was in another lifetime when he’d had a different name. Apparently, he regarded this life as separate to that other one. How could a person have more than one lifetime? She didn’t even pretend to understand how his mother, Astra Dar, had died after which her soul had fragmented to become many different people.

One of those fragments had become his mother for a second time, her name Rade Wyn. It made her head hurt to think about it. He’d tried explaining it to her one night, but she’d ended up drinking too much, just to blot it out.

At least, having an undead mage with both Tezcat’s abilities and personality certainly made for some unusual and hilarious incidents. She started to giggle again, and felt a flood of warmth. This was likely her happiest moment and the last for some time. In her experience, those moments were rare and one had to luxuriate in them while they lasted.

‘When do you leave?’ she whispered.

‘This morning.’ It came out as a croak, and he cleared his throat before continuing. ‘Finding them is not going to be easy, and I’ve a bad feeling about the whole thing. Sooner I get started the better.’

‘You sure about this?’

He squeezed her tighter. ‘No, but we agreed. Not just you and I, but everyone. We will need their help to get the shards, I think.’

‘And will it be enough? Will it make a difference?’ She didn’t want to pester him, but the imperial marshal in her, the imperatrix, needed to know.

He did not answer, and the warmth turned a little cold. It was not long ago she’d been battling revenants to stop them reaching Icarthya, not to mention the walking dead under the control of a witch. She dreaded to think about what might come next. The sorceress, and the Darkness she served, had not gone away. The enemy had not given up.

But neither would the leader of the Icarthian imperium. Not while she drew breath.

He rolled over on top of her and began to kiss her as she threw her arms around his neck. She felt the horns lengthen; it wasn’t just anger or threat that got those excitable she’d discovered. The Son of Grim had proved to be full of surprises.

A cold breeze washed over them, and then a voice. ‘Uh oh, I is so sorry. I doesn’t see nothin’, honest!’

Sarscha opened one eye, as Ralan let out a groan, and this time not one of pleasure. ‘You have got to be kidding,’ she whispered.

‘No, sounds about right actually,’ he muttered getting off her, and rolling onto his back.

Tezcat, proud as you please with not a sorry bone in her undead body, stood at the end of their bed, staring as though it was all perfectly normal.

‘You do know I am the imperatrix?’

‘Course I does.’

‘And you know my rooms have doors, with guards on them?’

‘Yep, so what’s you gettin’ at?’

Sarscha sighed, feeling surprised she wasn’t in the least bit angry, but then what would be the point? The girl could pass through walls on a whim. It went with the territory when you got yourself a viral mage and insisted, she be available to report anything important. ‘What can I do for you this morning, Cat?’

As though she’d been bursting, Tezcat let it all out in a rush, words tripping over themselves, but Sarscha managed to get the gist and interrupted her. ‘What you’re saying is those killings are spreading?’

Tezcat nodded vigorously. ‘Them black corpses been poppin’ up all o’er the place. Byrsa, Tystria, and even been reports o’ strange goings-on in the borderlands.’

Sarscha shot up in bed. ‘What black corpses?’

‘Oh,’ muttered the undead mage, looking a little sheepish. She was pretty despite being half dead, her grey-green skin relatively untouched by decay, but there were telltale signs. One thing that set Tezcat out from the rest were her expressions. It made her easy to read, and Sarscha now saw trouble written all over that face.

‘What are you not telling me?’ demanded Sarscha with an imperious a tone as she could manage.

‘The murders that’ve been happening in Icarthya,’ muttered Ralan beside her, almost asleep again, ‘they’ve spread everywhere, and it seems they’ve got a magical edge to them. A nasty edge.’

She gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs and received a satisfying grunt. ‘You knew about this?’

Tezcat realising she’d put her foot in it, tried to fix things. ‘Some o’ us knows, but we wanted to be sure first. We wasn’t afore you see, not until now.’

‘And, what did you find out?’ asked Ralan, sitting up, all bleary eyed.

‘I calls ’em nightmares,’ she announced, looking proud of herself.

‘I’m not going to like this, am I?’ Sarscha asked.

‘They climbs out o’ gutters, puddles, rivers, and all sorts, and they set about murderin’ and stuff.’

Sarscha sensed there was more, as though what she’d just heard wasn’t bad enough. ‘Yes, and...?’

‘Well, them corpses they makes go black and all swelled up, you see?’

Sarscha didn’t, and didn’t want to. This sounded all too familiar albeit with a different sort of murderous slant.

‘But then,’ Tezcat continued, ‘them corpses wakes up and start killin’ folks too. Viral mages all over been right busy trying to stop ’em.’

Sarscha swung her legs out of bed, ignoring the fact she was naked and grabbed her robe. ‘Cat, find the imperial marshal immediately.’

Tezcat nodded and vanished in a dark cloud. Spectrum above, but how she envied the girl’s ability to disappear. She’d long gotten over any personal issues she’d had with dark magic, never mind virals. That same viralic magic had saved her life. She turned to Ralan, who was also up and getting dressed. ‘It’s begun, hasn’t it?’

Face dour, he met her eyes, and in his she saw fear. Something she wasn’t used to seeing in this man. ‘It began some time ago, truth be told. I need to go, immediately. I think I may have already delayed too long.’

‘You are coming back though, right?’

He walked around the bed, knotting the leather belt around his trousers as he did, and then reached out and cupped her face in both hands. ‘I will always come back for you. Besides, you want those soul shards we talked about.’

‘You still sure you can get them?’ It had been her idea, although she hadn’t known how or where to get a hold of any. Ralan had figured out those details.

He nodded, giving her a kiss, and then pulling away to grab his tunic off a cushioned bench. ‘I’ve a feeling I know where to find them, yes, although how easy it will be to get at them, I don’t know.’

‘Whatever you can do, will help. I have a feeling ordinary iron isn’t going to be enough in this war. Not even Nephilim blades.’ She’d already traded with the new Nephilim king, although she suspected they weren’t sending their best. ‘Not with what’s coming.’

He gave her one last glance as he paused at the doors, a hand on the gold handle. ‘Stay safe.’

She nodded, feeling sick. ‘You too.’

Then he was gone, and with him her moment of happiness.