13 Bolam

ZANE INSISTED HE keep the hood of his cloak up and face hidden. It was a bit large, but it obscured his features better. She had found him some fresh clothing in a small village, since his own had been in such a state from the salt water. There’d been hardly anyone about, so Zane had grabbed them as they’d passed through. It appeared there were mostly humans living in this region, which had surprised him.

Virals did visit Raddhon, mostly ones Threadfin or his sister had sent as envoys to the new king. However, she suggested it unwise to draw more attention than necessary. They were still a rarity there after all, and a lot had changed since.

‘If anyone asks, we’re merchants,’ she told him as they’d walked the long miles to the nearest city of Bolam. ‘The invasion has already begun; it’s much more insidious and less visible than you’d imagine. Astra Dar could attack openly, but all Nephilim are warriors first, and it would be a long fight. Far easier to infiltrate and defeat us from within. I bet she’s saving the fighting for your imperium. She’s a clever one this sorceress of yours.’

Threadfin noted how she said your imperium and felt both amused and disturbed. ‘She’s not my sorceress.’

‘You knew her once though, didn’t you? You were close.’

‘Guess I’m not the only one who is well informed.’ Close isn’t exactly how I would put it either.

‘Once an Aidari, always. Information is key to survival in my world. You were friends with her back then, allies?’

Threadfin concentrated on the rutted track they followed, smoke rising in the distance from what he imagined was Bolam city. ‘It was complicated.’ He thought back on the young Astra Dar and his attempts to guide her, his desire to help her. Now he was hunting her down, to kill her. I really should take up another occupation.

On their first meeting, Astra’s strangeness had bothered him, but he realised it should have terrified him. Had he known the truth of what she was to become, it would have. Not to mention that a fragment of the sorceress’ soul belonged to a woman he had fallen in love with. ‘Very complicated.’

By the end of the day, they had reached the Nephilim city. Threadfin was at first surprised to see there were no walls, just towering buildings. Then again, when he thought about it, why would they want walls? They were all warriors. Who would attack them except for other clans, and they likely saw walls as cowardly.

The sun hadn’t set, and there was a hustle and bustle the likes of which no imperium city could match. Massive figures strode through muddy streets, the buildings displaying doors and windows too large to be real. He had to remind himself constantly that this was a city built by and for giants.

Threadfin reflected that these people likely didn’t see themselves as giants at all, but everyone else as being little. There were ordinary humans too, Raddhon-born who had grown up trading and living among the Nephilim. There were also slaves in filthy pens, which shocked him when he spotted them. Some of the humans were taller than normal, suggesting Nephilim blood.

Passing by one large pen, he found the stench of urine and sweat quite pleasant. Threadfin spoke quietly in Zane’s ear. ‘Shouldn’t we do something? I don’t know, free them or whatever? I could use just a trickle of magic.’ He felt like he might have recovered enough for something small.

She grimaced, shaking her head. ‘Many of Raddhon’s humans are born free, but some are born into slavery. It’s all they know, and freeing them will just get us caught in the process. The slaves would turn on us. They don’t know any better.’

‘Oh right, I see. You know I thought this new Guardian King was a better sort. Now, I learn he keeps slaves.’

A large Avim lumbered past a few feet away. It could have crushed them both if it had the mind. Threadfin gave it a second glance, and realised it was female.

Oh, so that’s what they look like. Four breasts? One didn’t find that in any of the palace library books. He couldn’t help but wonder what Podral Pole would’ve made of it, and had to fight back a snort of laughter.

Had that Avim had any noble status, Pole would likely have gone running after her. Threadfin did manage a chuckle, and realised it was possibly the first time since he’d lost his friend that he’d laughed in memory of him. Oddly, it felt good. It felt right.

Zane halted in the middle of the street, and whirled to face him, cutting his chuckles short. She gave him a hard poke in the ribs to get his attention, forcing a grunt out of him. ‘Never speak ill of Desool. He is the Guardian king, but more than that, he’s a good and honourable man.’

‘He keeps slaves, though. How’s that good or honourable?’

She screwed up in her face in a mixture of consternation and anger, which did nothing for her looks as far as this mage was concerned. ‘You don’t get it. This is Raddhon!’

‘I did notice you know, considering I had to swim most of the way to get here.’

She looked ready to slap him, and for a moment he believed she might. ‘You listen to me, undeader; he is the Guardian King, but he is no tyrant. Not like his father was, nor like his brothers. He can’t change it all in one day. Slavery is a part of Nephilim culture and has existed for millennia. He doesn’t keep them himself, but he can’t force the entire Nephilim nation to do exactly as he wants.’

‘But ... he’s the king.’ Threadfin had to jump out of the way, albeit too late, as an Emim handler astride a warg passed by rather too quickly if this mage was allowed any opinion on the matter. A splash of mud slapped into his face. He wiped it off, glaring after beast and rider, recalling the war in Byrsa when Gog of Magog had invaded. He was not a fan of the beasts. Or the wargs. ‘You know, I hate those things.’

She poked him again, harder. ‘Shut up, or you’ll get us both killed. Now, what was I saying?’

‘Blah, blah, blah, or something to that effect.’ He was feeling irritable, tired, and hungry since he’d had no meat or guck for over a week, and he was still damp, despite his new clothes. He stuck a finger in one ear, rooting around. He felt certain something had slipped in there while he was in the water. A good natron salt bath would sort him out, but he doubted he was going to get one.

This time Zane slapped him, and a long-necked Anakim barked a deep-throated laugh, before shoving them both out of her way. Now sitting in the mud on the edge of the street, Threadfin stared after the second female. At least that one looks like a female this time, but only three breasts. Wonder what that means?

‘Was that necessary?’ he demanded. Zane had staggered to the side, but had managed to remain on her feet. She was becoming tiresome. Maybe he could lose her somewhere and continue alone. He thought about it for half a second and dismissed it. He’d never make it far without help.

Zane didn’t miss a beat in resuming her tirade, however, as she helped him up. ‘Does your imperatrix rule with an iron fist?’ she asked. ‘Does every single person in the imperium do exactly as she wishes them to? Do the primes of Byrsa obey her every order?’

Threadfin realised she was right, but didn’t want to admit it. She was looking too satisfied with herself, and she’d slapped him. ‘She’s your imperatrix too, you know.’

Zane shook her head. ‘No, I’m a Raddhonar now. I have made my life with Desool, and I plan to stand by his side no matter what comes.’

Wonder how that’s going to work? After all, Desool was said to be massive by now; how was she ever meant to bear him any heirs? Then again, love was a strange thing. Threadfin placed his fists on scrawny hips and glared about him. ‘So, what next, then? Where are you taking me?’

‘For a start,’ said Zane, with the first hint of a smile, which did a lot for her looks this time, ‘you need to get cleaned up. Those clothes may be clean, or they were when I gave them to you, but you’re still filthy underneath. Just happens, I know a place.’

‘Great, lead on, oh knowledgeable one.’

She shot him a glare, but turned to do just that. She spoke over her shoulder as she went. ‘You’ll need to watch your tongue here. I know that’s difficult for you, but you’ll have to be on your best behaviour, Todder. I mean it.’

He offered her his best grin. ‘You kidding? I’m the most mannerly viral mage in all imperial history. Just ask anybody. You’ve nothing to worry about in that regard.’

‡

Ferocious gusts assaulted the fortress walls of the Gulley, ripping at the imperial flags on their iron poles. Standing on one of the large sandstone towers, Captain Vilt squinted against the wind, as she stared out into the darkness.

Night fell quicker here than back home, exactly where she wished she was. The fortifications of the Gulley stood at the narrowest point of the southern tip of Adalalcas, also marking the southern edge of the imperium. It was a piece of land some thirty miles across with ocean on either side. Storms were common enough and highly unpleasant at best.

She couldn’t understand how some soldiers could spend years walking these battlements, huddling against the wind in their thick green cloaks. There had been a time when the worst soldiers, often criminals who’d been pressed into serving in the legions, had ended up at the Gulley, but those times were long past. The threats from the southern continent had become very real, so much so that the best soldiers now patrolled these walls.

Another joined her, spitting over the side into the deep ditch below. Iron stakes glinted dully in the torchlight. ‘Looks like another bad one is due,’ noted Captain Grudge, who’d arrived a week ago.

She resisted the urge to move closer to him, knowing there were too many eyes. They had already broken every rule in the Actaeon Guard, but that wasn’t the problem. It happened sometimes, and everybody accepted it, at least unofficially. Getting caught wasn’t a good idea, however. Marshal Janus was a stickler for the rules, far more so than Imperial Marshal Agrippa. Vilt didn’t like Janus, but she didn’t have to. She just had to obey her orders.

‘What are those mages up to?’ Vilt asked, staring out into the night. They’d gone over the wall two hours ago, and there had been no hint of their return. A secretive bunch, those viral mages. So unlike Imperial Mage Todder. They didn’t like to share their plans except perhaps with the marshal. Useful to have around, though, she had to concede, especially with the way things were going.

Grudge squinted into the darkness, and for a moment his words were lost in swirling gusts, which also had Vilt gripping the wall.

‘... to do with magic, I suppose,’ he said, his voice carrying to her over the wind. ‘Might be they’re prepping some sort of nasty surprise for the enemy.’

Vilt sighed. ‘I sure hope so, because whatever’s coming, I got a gut feeling it’s going to be bad.’ There’d been no sign of life in the south according to their scouts, several of which hadn’t returned. Empty villages and towns, and the scouts who had come back had each possessed a haunted look. After that, the marshal stopped sending them, but the viral mages, of which they had over two hundred, making up several clots, had gone instead.

The undead kept to themselves mostly, choosing to remain separate from the living, though Vilt had managed to make friends with one of them. Wallow was the most talkative and friendly, and she didn’t seem to care about the differences between them. In some ways, she reminded Vilt of Tezcat Licolo, if a little more mature.

Over the past week, the two had become good friends, to the point Grudge had acted a little resentful of the time they spent together off duty. It wasn’t like she could spend it with him between the sheets like she wanted, and Grudge had never been much of a conversationalist anyway.

Fifteen mages had gone over the wall. Crossing the ditches, they’d vanished into the night. Whatever they were up to out there, it wasn’t something Janus wanted any of her officers to know about.

Thunder rumbled in the sky overhead, and the first drops of rain whipped across the battlements. Thousands of soldiers either lined the walls and towers, across the thirty-mile-wide fortifications, or huddled in the mud brick forts below. Others trained on a circle of ground surrounded by mesquite and acacia trees a quarter of a mile behind the fortifications.

‘Shouldn’t you be with your cohort?’ asked Vilt, glancing sidelong at the man who’d changed her life. Before Grudge had come along, she’d done her duty. However, she’d not cared much whether she lived or died. To be honest, she’d scared some of the other soldiers in her unit, often behaving as though she’d had a death wish. Now, she couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful than life.

The problem was, while she would’ve left the Actaeon Guard in a heartbeat, Grudge was a career soldier. He never stated it as such, but then he never needed to. Without the Actaeon Guard, what was he? A very odd man with no other skills, family, and no purpose. She didn’t think he could handle civilian life. Still, she was a lot happier than she had been before she’d met him.

He shook his head. ‘Them mad bastards don’t need me around mindin’ after ’em,’ he said, hacking and spitting over the wall again. The wind whipped it aside this time. ‘Besides, they’ve not been paid this last month, and they’re getting grumpy. Reminds me o’ my—’

Vilt punched him in the arm earning a satisfying grunt. She loved the man, but sometimes he could be a real spear up the ass. ‘Don’t you dare say it, Grudge. The rest o’ them might have taken those stories about your deadbeat Ma as part of your charm, but not me. She was a thundering bitch, Grudge, psychotic and murderous, and that’s all there is to it.’

He just grinned back at her. ‘You kind o’ remind me of her when she got angry. She used to use them big words and all.’

She punched him again, but it was a waste of time. It never seemed to affect him. He was made of stone. ‘You’re lucky I feel the way I do you know? Any other woman would’ve stabbed you, and left by now.’

‘I know I’m lucky. Been that way ever since I joined the legion, haven’t I?’

Vilt barked a laugh. ‘Poor old Podral, though. You tormented that man too much with all those stories. The poor fella was fond of you, Grudge.’

The captain glanced down at his scarred hands. He tried to say something, but had to wait for another vicious gust to die down. ‘I thought he liked my stories if you must know. Besides, I miss him, I do. Honest. He was a fine leader and I would’ve followed him into any fight, no matter that he wasn’t no soldier, just like I would’ve done with Mr. Todder.’

‘Yeah, I wish either one of them were here with us now. Both would be better.’

Grudge risked giving her a playful nudge. ‘Me too, since I never told them about that time when my Ma got hold o’ the cleaver and—’

This time her punch had more power behind it, and he swayed a little, rubbing his jaw. At least it shut him up. ‘You know, you are one messed up bastard. Now enough about the psychotic mother from hell.’

‘Yep,’ he said, with a sharp nod and a sly smile. ‘I hear you, but you wouldn’t have me any other way, and don’t dare try to convince me different.’

It was then they both spotted it. Their pleasant conversation, despite the dark surroundings, was cut short. Flashes of light erupted in the far distance, and at first, Vilt took them for lightning. After all, there seemed to be another storm approaching from the South Adalcis ocean.

The flashes however, came far too frequently. A delayed deadening thunder rumbled after each burst, sending vibrations through the wall. The flashes also changed colour from white to red, and then green to blue. Another sound reached the Gulley. Not of thunder, but of a rendering of the air that was unnatural, as though an angel was being tortured, its long-drawn-out wail magnified a thousand-fold.

Grudge was about to turn away, likely to rush back to his section of the wall, but then he grabbed her and kissed her long and hard. It was wet, dirty, sloppy, his breath foul in her mouth, but she loved it, clutching him tight.

Then he turned and ran back along the battlements, back to his post two hundred feet away. He’d risked the kiss because they both knew it didn’t matter now. Whatever was coming was nasty, and likely out of this world. Vilt had seen enough to know that much. She knew she might never see him again, but then that was the soldier’s life. They both knew the risks.

With care, she uncovered her bow from its oiled rags, and removed some gut string from a pouch at her waist. Placing one leg across it, bending it slightly, she began to string it. She’d not had much chance to use it of late, but she reckoned she was about to get plenty of practice.

Her quiver lay on the wall beside her, stuffed with arrows, but there were several full barrels close by. She heard curses from other soldiers and several commands along the wall. She then shouted out her own orders, the archers in her cohort stringing their bows and getting ready.

Cries erupted from several of the soldiers, the nearest fifteen away from her. They were pointing south and she saw what had gotten their attention. One of the mages who’d gone over the wall was hurrying back. Just the one and she was stumbling, gripping her side. Wallow, and she looked in bad shape for someone who was undead.

The flashes in the distance had ceased, and silence had fallen over the land beyond save for the howling wind and the distant peals of thunder.