1 Unintended Consequences

Year 926YC, in the Year of the Church

IN THE IMPERIAL Quarter of Icarthya city, the crowds filled the square of marshals as the imperatrix arrived. It was early summer and the day was comfortably warm, the parks flourishing.

Sarscha Todralan’s armoured entourage forced people back, something she would’ve preferred they didn’t do. After all, to speak with the people was her reason for being there. Her imperial marshal, however, had proven increasingly overprotective, taking his role far too seriously. It wasn’t her own people she needed to fear.

Crowds had been protesting for days, and though she’d met with their representatives, there had been little progress in calming things. Her father, Markus Olen, would’ve had the lot of them arrested for disturbing the peace, but she understood them. They were afraid, and well they should be, she thought. A darkness has befallen the world.

They quietened to a low murmur as she halted within the square’s centre, her guards fanning out to keep everyone at a reasonable distance. Sarscha approached the nearest protesters, the guards between them somewhat ruining the moment she had hoped to create. ‘I have come to listen to you. Tell me, what is it you want me to hear?’

Immediately, scores of voices clamoured as one, and she could barely make sense of the noise. She held up her hands until they quietened again. ‘Is there someone who will speak for you?’

An elderly man shuffled forwards, though the shields of her greencloaks prevented him from getting too close. ‘Imperatrix, my name’s Tobias Notch. Am a glass-maker from the Prole, but I hail from Frayle originally. Been working hard all my life, my sons too. But that’s just the problem, see? My sons’ gotten sick and not just them, but others. Droppin’ like flies they all are.’

Another voice piped up. ‘My livestock are all sick too. I can’t sell them if they’re sick, you know. Worthless now. What are we supposed to do?’

A woman shouted, ‘My chickens died the day afore yesterday. Dropped dead they did, like they’d seen the Grim himself. Turned all black. Not even good for roasting.’

‘What’re you going to do about it all?’ the first man demanded. ‘When’re you going to get rid of ’em?’

The noise rose again as everyone tried to get their chance to speak.

‘We want them out of our city,’ a Prole worker shouted.

‘Why are they here anyhow?’ This from an elderly lady near the front. ‘We don’t want their sort.’

‘Plagueborners ain’t welcome in this city.’

‘Unnatural it is, havin’ them creatures near decent hard-workin’ folk.’

The clamour worsened, and Sarscha gave her imperial marshal a perplexed look. No matter how it was explained to them, ordinary people – who were once called plebians or plebs, until Sarscha had recently outlawed the belittling name – refused to understand.

Artorius Agrippa winced as he glanced back at her. ‘I think, imperatrix, they are referring to the mages.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear her, ‘I think I gathered that.’ Days of negotiation with the people’s representatives, to the point of allowing two of them to speak in the newly named Cipius Conclave, had done nothing to quell their fears. Every ill, every disease, accident, or misfortune was now attributed to the presence of the undead.

‘They steal life, don’t they?’ shouted another man. ‘Murderers the lot o’ them!’

‘They kill everything they touch,’ snarled a butcher in a red splotched leather apron, which Sarscha saw as a touch ironic.

‘It’s not right,’ cried a woman, shaking her fist. ‘It’s no place for them undeaders to be walking among us living, breathing folk. No place, I’m tellin’ you. Get them out of our city!’

‘Kick ’em out!’

It took a few minutes for the crowd to calm and Sarscha took a deep breath. This had been a long time coming. The gathering had swelled by now, and she knew they wouldn’t all be able to hear her, but she hoped her words would be passed among them.

‘You’ve all heard the reports from foreign shores,’ she said, as loud and as clear as she could. ‘Now you’re hearing it from my lips. A darkness has fallen over the world, to the north, to the east, and the south. The sorceress Astra Dar and her armies lay waste to empires and kingdoms, spreading death and destruction across entire continents.’

A silence had descended, apart from some muttering as some of the crowd passed her words along. They looked terrified now, but it was necessary for them to understand. Her father had seen ordinary people as stupid, like sheep to be led. She was not her father.

‘I know you’ve suffered, and that many of you continue to suffer. Most of you here today are from the Prole, but I see folk from the Muck among you. You work hard, for little, and life hasn’t been easy. I promise you here today, you will all receive compensation for any losses, and a medicus will see to your sick loved ones at no expense.’

There were a few appreciative murmurs, still some grumbling, but they seemed less hostile. She was giving them something back, and that was rare if not unheard of, especially for those from the poorer quarters.

‘The undead walk among us, it is true,’ she continued. ‘However, they’ve always done so, even when we weren’t aware of it.’ She thought of her younger brother when she spoke those words, how they’d kept his nature hidden as though some filthy secret. She now understood the damage it had done to him. She bitterly regretted her role in it, not to mention her estrangement with Aiyana. But all she could do was move forward, try to do better. It was all anyone could do.

‘Yes, the virals gather here in Icarthya,’ she said, ‘and other imperial cities, but they are here to protect us. You must believe me in this. They are not here to harm any of you. A dark war has been waged on this world, not just on our imperium. The enemy marches for our borders, and soon our Actaeon Guard will stand in defence of our imperium.

‘But I warn you now, without the help of the viral undead, none of us will survive. A little pain in the present,’ she added, deciding not to argue whether the virals were responsible for their ills or not, ‘a little suffering, is surely worth the price of their protection. Go back to your jobs, your homes, your families. The imperial marshal will see to your needs. Prepare yourselves. A dark tide is coming, and we must be ready to meet it.’

There were some nods amid the mob, a few shaking of heads, though she didn’t know what that meant. Some mumbled while others peeled away, satisfied by what they heard, or sensing they were going to get nothing else. One or two still shouted slogans against the virals, but they were half-hearted about it. They had all heard the stories of death and destruction from the refugees who had fled their lands.

Sarscha turned and stalked back across the square in the direction of the Black Palace. Artorius had insisted she ride a sydarag or worse, travel in a carriage, but she’d refused. It wasn’t often she got to walk through her capital, albeit with dozens of greencloaks in tow.

She didn’t know if her words had done any good, but at least they seemed mollified, for now. It was a fact she herself had struggled to accept; the undead fed on life. Hundreds of virals occupied Icarthya, though she’d done her best to spread many of them throughout the imperium. Beezer and Lyrin were gone, leaving her little brother to guide the horde. When he was around.

She mulled long about Threadfin as she marched up the broad avenue, lined with oak trees. She was annoyed she hadn’t seen him for months, and then when he had returned for two days, he went and disappeared again. She wondered where he’d gotten to, and more importantly, what in the name of the Spectrum divine was he doing?

‡

The undead mage swore as his magic fizzled out with a spitting puff of black smoke. The eighty-foot red oak, warped and bent at odd angles, swung a massive branch at the mage, who leapt out of its way with inches to spare.

The ancient tree began to pull itself out of the ground, revealing great snarled roots, darker in colour at first but getting lighter as they thinned. Like snakes, they slithered out of the churned soil. Another thick branch, laden with leaves, whipped the ground at Threadfin Todder’s feet, making him dance.

Attempting to turn and run, he stumbled and fell flat on his face with a grunt, producing another flurry of well-conceived curses. This spectrum-forsaken day, he thought, just keeps getting better, and it’s not dawn yet.

‘Um, I don’t think it’s meant to do that, uh, Mr Mage, sir,’ noted the captain at his side, while helping him to his feet. They both ducked as another bough swung in their direction.

Murdered by a tree. Well, if that isn’t a fitting comment on my miserable existence to date, I don’t know what is. At least, somebody might get a laugh out of it. He thought he could hear Tezcat already laughing somewhere.

‘I do realise trees aren’t meant to attack people, Grudge,’ he muttered, struggling to think of a solution as the captain helped him to his feet for a second time. So much for relearning my bloody magic. At this rate, there’ll be no imperium left for the armies of Tartaros to invade, if they ever get around to it. What are they waiting for anyway?

Six months had passed since the events at Elysium and the angelic temple. A tight noose was being drawn around the imperium, squeezing tighter as the weeks ticked by. Still, nothing happened. The waiting was beginning to get on his nerves, not to mention belligerent trees.

As he faced down the malevolent forest dweller, both he and the breather backing away, an idea occurred. What about soldier-trees to defend the imperium? He then made a face, realising his sister would never go for it. Besides, he doubted he’d have the magic to control them all. He couldn’t control this one for starters. He tried to drain its lifeforce, and to his shock, found it wasn’t working. Whatever his errant magic had done, it was now protecting the tree from him.

Grudge slashed at a swinging branch with his iron sword, and suffered a slash across one cheek for his trouble. ‘You know, it reminds me o’ my Ma a little. Always swiping at us with a knife, she was. Loved discipline and respect, did my Ma. None better. Loved nature too. Always one for forest walks she was. Calmed her down something unnatural.’

‘This is hardly the time to discuss your Ma,’ the mage said through gritted teeth. He was trying to figure out a way to render this leafy nightmare harmless, but he couldn’t think of anything. Fire? No, knowing my luck, I’ll burn the whole forest down.

He felt the dragon deep within him awaken, the creature known as the Watcher, which represented his viralic power. It always threatened to devour his mind and soul. Especially now, since the restraining presence of the aura was gone, but he forced his will on it, as though he sat astride the great beast, reins in hand.

He’d done so once before, when he’d first encountered the Watcher, but it always fought to free itself. He suspected it always would. He felt the horns on his head and face lengthen, his body begin to enlarge as he transformed.

No! he shouted in his head. I’m in charge here, dammit, not you! It had grown more difficult since losing the aura. He’d no idea how much he’d begun to rely on it, until it wasn’t there. Now, nothing stood between him and a corrosive power with a mind all its own.

Besides, changing into an undead dragon wasn’t going to help. Changing while losing control of himself definitely wouldn’t. Maybe he could fly Grudge away, but he’d be leaving a homicidal tree on the edge of a forest a few miles from the capital. Breathers were already on edge what with trade from beyond the imperium falling and rumours of strange goings-on in the city.

Having regained control of his magic, he twirled his right hand to the right, and his other to the left, both palms aimed at the tree, and let loose twin spirals of viralic power. They struck and began to entwine its thick trunk, the bark cracking beneath the pressure. The ropes of magic hauled on the maddened forest creature.

Bit by bit, the magic began to seep into the tree devouring its life force, and transferring that life to Threadfin. A viral fed on life, which was necessary if he or she wanted to use their magic. A pity he had to kill it rather than render it normal again, but destruction was always the easiest solution.

There had been a time he could have done this from a great distance, but that had been the Aura enhancing his innate power. Now it was gone, and he was having to relearn it all as though a young acolyte. It was embarrassing, which was why he had just Grudge for company. The poor man was missing his fiancé, who was currently in the south with several legions. Threadfin knew he’d have to let him leave soon to join her.

He’d chosen as isolated a location as possible for his training. The last thing he needed was to embarrass himself in front of other virals. Grudge didn’t seem to care. He just pined away quietly for Vilt, and his Ma.

Closing his eyes, he felt those pink blisters on his skin inflate, filling with stolen life. The tree had been over four hundred years old, and its life force wasn’t insignificant. He opened his eyes to find Grudge scratching his ass as he inspected the fallen tree, nothing more than firewood now.

‘You are progressing well, but far too slowly,’ said a voice behind them. Both breather and mage whirled, one with a sword ready, the other with magic.

In a simple robe of white, an angel stood smiling at them, wings folded neatly behind his back. It was a rather condescending sort of smile, if anyone was asking this viral.

Threadfin snorted. ‘What do you want? Didn’t I tell you not to bother me again?’

‘I wanted to warn you about a new threat,’ said Adal, now the most ancient of angels, especially since the Despoiler’s soul had taken up residence in a certain artefact.

The viral mage placed fists on knobbly hips, wondering if blowing up an angel might be considered taking it a bit far. Likely wouldn’t be that easy. Unpredictable, interfering bastards were angels. ‘The entire world is in danger, if I’m not mistaken, a fact I’m certain hasn’t escaped your omnipotent notice.’

Adal spread his hands in a peaceable gesture. ‘You’re still a little angry with me I see, but I told you before—’

The mage held up one skeletal grey finger. ‘Don’t you dare say those words. I’m feeling rather vulnerable right now.’

‘—I will always watch over you. I mean it. I always have, haven’t I?’

‘Oh right, well um, yes,’ he mumbled, ‘uh, thank you I suppose, but there really is no—’

‘And you always were my favourite, Fin.’

The undead mage growled, strongly reconsidering blowing him up after all. Wasn’t like he would manage it, but it would be nice to let out some of his anger.

‘It’s the truth. Now, Fin, you must listen to me. Lucifer has almost completely taken over the sorceress, both her mind and soul. Once he has her body, he will then attempt to cross over. My sources tell me she still fights him, but I don’t know for how much longer.’

Threadfin winced, remembering the younger Astra Dar, whom he had believed he was supposed to protect. Back then, he’d thought her misunderstood; a child with great power who needed his guidance and some understanding. Now she was the enemy, and still he felt protective towards her. Also, there was sadness and regret, with a little guilt thrown in for good measure.

Beside him, Grudge was chewing something, but Threadfin had no idea what and wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

‘What’s up?’ asked the captain between chews. Must’ve been resin. Threadfin screwed up his face in disgust, while he picked at a maggot under his armpit, reaching into his robes. The blighter managed to evade his fingernails digging deeper into his undead flesh. The one consistent truth of his existence. Maggots. He’d been neglecting his natron baths lately.

‘The invasion is close,’ continued Adal, ‘much closer than you think, but Lucifer wants rid of you first. You must return to your sister, and make plans while you have time.’

‘What do you mean he wants rid of me? What did I do? I’m just taking a nice stroll through the forest.’

Adal didn’t look amused. ‘My agents have told me Lucifer has sent a creature to hunt you down. Its name is, Gressil.’

‘Sounds foreign,’ said Threadfin, ‘from one of those far-flung places nobody’s ever heard of.’

‘Its current form is a monstrous creature, but it can take others including that of a man or woman. How it will attack you I’ve no idea, just that it will.’

Threadfin glanced at Grudge, and over his shoulder at the fallen tree. ‘I’m not ready,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t have full control of my powers yet.’

‘Losing the Aura left you at a disadvantage,’ Adal noted, ‘but you have the Crystal Sword to make up for it. It contains the Aura’s magic, and that of a powerful angelic soul. It can destroy Gressil.’

Threadfin began to pace in the little clearing, stepping over rotting wood, the ground slick with wet leaves. ‘I need more time. It’s too soon.’ He was opening and closing his fists, looking about him, as though searching for something, though he didn’t know what.

‘I have not forgotten him, Fin.’

The viral mage halted, turning his head to regard the angel. ‘What did you say?’

‘None of us have. His name is a legend, and will be remembered for eons. This I vow, and you know I’m good for it no matter what else you may think of me.’

Now Threadfin Todder was like any other undead mage, and didn’t devote much time or energy to emotions. Those were for the living after all. Cold and calculated he was. Just ask anybody. However, in that moment, had he the ability to weep, he would have gladly disgraced himself. Surely his friend’s memory deserved that much, but he was undead, and no tears fell. He did feel a knot twisting in his gut as though something was trying to eat its way out. Maybe something was, but that was beside the point. ‘He shouldn’t have died.’

‘No, he should not have, but many have perished who did not deserve it. Podral Pole was your Darken, but he was also your friend. I know what he meant to you, but he knew the risks, Threadfin, and he took them willingly for the greater good.’

‘Don’t lecture me about the greater good, you sanctimonious, feathery...’ He couldn’t get any more words out, the pain much sharper.

‘He also took those risks for you.’

‘I never asked him to,’ he spat, almost doubled over in agony. What was wrong with him?

‘No, you didn’t, but he had faith in you, Fin. Much more than you have in yourself. What would he say if he could see you now?’

‘We are done talking, angel.’ He straightened a little, but the pain remained.

‘He had faith in you,’ Adal repeated, ‘as do I. What you need most is faith in yourself. For that reason, I’ve made some arrangements. Your sister will explain.’

Threadfin stomped past the angel, shouldering him out of the way, something that was surprisingly easy to do. ‘Come on, Grudge, we’ve got to get back.’ He couldn’t listen to any more.

A glance over his shoulder, and he saw the captain genuflecting to a bemused Adal before hurrying after him.

‘You shouldn’t show him such respect, Grudge,’ he chided the captain as he caught up.

‘My Ma always prayed to the angels, she did. Right religious she was.’

‘Exactly, and look where that got her.’ Not to mention the rest of your family.

‘Gressil is on its way to Icarthya,’ Adal called after him. ‘If it finds you, it won’t just be you it’ll kill. This creature can wipe out an entire city. You must prepare to deal with it. War is at your doorstep. You’ve run out of time, Fin Todder.’

Threadfin stomped through the forest, his thoughts awhirl. Sure, he’d run out of time, but then time had never been on his side to begin with.

This day just keeps getting better and bloody better.