11 A Fell Gift

BACK IN THE TOWER of Wept, wallowing in his natron salt bath, whistling and with one grey scaly foot hanging over the edge of a bronze tub, Threadfin was enjoying the first bit of peace he’d known in weeks.

For one thing, the Grim hadn’t spoken in several days. He’d begun to hope that was an end to it. Maybe Beezer and Lyrin had gotten it all wrong. I might just be insane after all, he thought happily. Wouldn’t that be a fine thing? He knew it for a fantasy, if he was honest, but he had a right to indulge, didn’t he? ​

He’d also managed to beat Beezer at a game of Soul & Fury the night before, which tickled him no end. The old buzzard had slapped the soul board off the table. A most enjoyable experience, all said. They took turns watching him to make certain nothing untoward happened, and Threadfin found great enjoyment in irritating Beezer. Lyrin was more of a challenge.

A fluttering in his chest had him concerned right enough. Either moths or the Grim. Neither were pleasant and both pests of a sort. When he shut his eyes, he thought he heard distant laughter. Still, it was easy to ignore such things and just be. Almost like being back to his old self, except for the ban on his use of magic. That had proved difficult; it was odd since he had once managed so well without it for the most part. Now, it proved a struggle.

He was just considering if such a ban was necessary, and whether he shouldn’t try an experiment, when Tezcat burst in. Or rather, appeared in a cloud of dark vapour right through the wall and on top of his bath. ‘Raz gots word back,’ she sputtered, almost falling into the tub with him in her excitement.

‘What are you doing?’ He did his best to protect his honour, not feeling at all like an imperial mage right then. Not that he often felt like one. What did one feel like anyway? Probably should ask Beezer.

‘Them shraeds o’ yours sent a message.’

‘They’re not my shraeds, Cat. They don’t belong to anyone except each other, I suppose. You know, you could’ve just used the door and maybe knocked.’

She sniffed, pretending not to hear him as she gripped the edge of his tub. ‘You is wanted at the palace too. All official like.’

Forgetting himself for a moment, he sat straight up in his bath. ‘You mean they’ve actually got him? The Librarian?’ Oh, they better have. I’ll kiss them both if they’ve caught the bastard. Once I’ve got some clothes on. He paused in getting out of the tub. Well, I’ll kiss Mania. Maybe a handshake will do her brother or a swift kick. I’ll go with my mood in the moment. Make it a surprise.

‘Hurrys it up,’ ordered Tezcat. ‘Yours sister ordered you intimately.’

Threadfin groaned. Did other imperial undead mages have to put up with little sisters ordering them out of their baths? ‘I think the word is, immediately.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ she said, eyes popping as he stood up in the bath, ‘I knows whats I said.’

‘Er, do you mind?’

She giggled. ‘I’s seen worse than yours scabrous butt in the crypts, and Pod is right; it is bony.’ She burst out laughing, slapping her knees she was enjoying herself so much.

At least someone’s having fun. He reached for his robes, wondering where Nipper had gotten to. He missed his old borderlands clothing, but those hadn’t said, ‘imperial mage.’ Feeling somewhat decent, he stepped out of the bath.

‘Hurry’s it up, Threads.’

‘I’m coming as fast as I can. Everything takes longer without magic you know.’ How did breathers do it? Honestly, how did I do it before I discovered the extent of my powers?

Dressed and ready to leave, he’d just reached the door of his bedroom when he heard laughter again. Not Tezcat, for this echoed through his skull.

The Grim was awake, and for some reason thought the whole business hilarious.

‡

A HALF CIRCLE OF MAGES had formed inside the lower courtyard, facing the main gates of the outer palace wall. Water trickled in a fountain set in a small garden, clogged with dead leaves, the courtyard itself surrounded on three sides by columns and dotted with angelic statues. The aesthetic scene was somewhat ruined by soldiers with long spears trampling the grass, checking their swal leg wrappings, their armour and weapons, or squatting on the fountain to rest their rumps.

Threadfin wondered what these breathers would make of it all. Most of them, he had no doubt, had trouble accepting there were undead mages resident within the palace and city, never mind that virals existed in the first place. There were several wide-eyed recruits in the courtyard.

A cold mist had descended on city, palace, and a grumbling Threadfin Todder. He had good reason for his foul mood. Damp fingers were undoing the natron’s work of an hour ago. I’ll need another bath, he thought with irritation, if I need to stay out here much longer. Trust those nutty nitwits to be late. I bet they’re doing it on purpose too. Manic probably needs to fix his hair. That should take a few hours by itself.

Usually, he would use his magic to cloak himself in feathery wings and keep the dampness at bay. Due to his current circumstances, it wasn’t an option.

‘Oh, go on,’ said the voice, ‘you know you want to. You’ll be nice and dry. Do it.’

Not going to make it so easy for you, Grim.

‘We’ll see.’

Where’ve you been, anyway? Haven’t heard your disgusting voice in days.

‘Busy.’

Threadfin tugged his drab red-black cloak tighter about him with a growl. The Grim was up to something, and it had him worried.

‘It’s a chilly one, I’ll admit,’ said Pole, leaning in close. ‘Thought you undead types don’t feel cold? I think I recall you shouting about it once upon a whenever.’

‘I’m not in the mood to tolerate simpletons, Pod. Go annoy one of the soldiers. They seem to think you’re clever or something. Can’t imagine where they got that idea.’

Unfortunately, his friend didn’t budge, enjoying Threadfin’s discomfort as always. After all, what were friends for? ‘This Librarian, what’s he like? I mean, apart from being into books and libraries.’

Threadfin didn’t answer, instead recalling his first encounter with Orthrus. A two-headed monstrosity, the heads called Enep and Sigos. What was he like? Oh, Podral, you have no idea.

‘But I do,’ said the Grim. ‘You’re wasting your time and mine. He will never betray me. I created him. I can destroy him, and he knows it.’

Two lines ahead, the imperial marshal stood on Sarscha’s left, the angel Raziel robed as a paladin in red on her right. The imperatrix wore a simple soldier’s cloak of dark green, disdaining the traditional purple of her position, as Threadfin disdained the traditional dalba. Surrounding them were a dozen viral mages, all hand-picked by Beezer or Lyrin. Neither had deigned to ask Threadfin for his opinion of course.

‘Shouldn’t you be up there with them lot?’ asked the most irritating Darken to have held the title.

Threadfin answered him through gritted teeth, ‘When I’m ready. The Grim was this creature’s master, and in case you’ve forgotten, a master now hidden inside of me.’

‘Probably having a nice sleep,’ Pole grumbled. ‘Like I should be. You know what time this is?’

It was then the gates opened. No one had touched them, and Threadfin couldn’t tell if it was one of the mages. Beezer turned and frowned hard at Threadfin who relented, moving forward to join them.

He heard Pole snigger, but it might have been paranoia. All decent undead mages should have a healthy dose of paranoia. Another law he needed to get Nipper working on. Well, that one might be more of a rule.

Ghouls entered through the gates first, drawing gasps and curses from many of the breathers. One soldier let out a cry before being growled at by a captain. Brown spindly hair covered the ghouls’ wrinkled hides in patches, their human-like faces shrunken. Their arms and legs ended in talons, and they moved both upright and on all fours. The ghouls dragged a massive writhing shadow into the courtyard by long ghostly chains. The gate proved barely wide enough.

The shraeds came next, floating to either side of the prisoner. Their forms were ethereal in nature, but there could be no doubt as to their identity as far as Threadfin was concerned. I’d know those two anywhere, if not which one is which.

Beezer, Lyrin, and Threadfin moved to position themselves in front of the imperatrix. Where these two shraeds were concerned, let alone their prisoner, anything was possible.

‘Well,’ said Threadfin, ‘fancy meeting you two halfwits again.’ He stepped forwards, before halting to place a hand on the heads of both ghouls. He stroked their filthy skulls; loyal creatures, misunderstood and most definitely misused. They appeared to enjoy his attentions as he kept his eyes on the infamous duo before him, and on the shadowy lump they’d delivered.

The shraeds were impossible to tell apart until they spoke, nothing but squirming shadows visible. It wasn’t often they visited this world apparently. ‘We received your invitation, and we bring this offering,’ said a female voice on the left. Mania.

‘A gift,’ added her brother, Manic.

‘A solution.’ The shadowy figure of Mania gestured at the bound monstrous figure.

Threadfin stared at the prisoner, restrained with oblivion chains, and wrapped in darkness. Nicely trussed up. Could be anything under there though. The otherworldly bonds bit deep into their victim, binding its magic. He knew all about those, having once felt their bite. The prisoner had to be ten-foot tall at least, which fit with the Librarian he’d met. How the ghouls had managed to drag him there, he had no idea. Fantastic creatures.

‘Threadfin Todder, did I not tell you that anything could be?’ Mania’s form shimmered until a curvaceous outline appeared. Not quite as he remembered, but closer to the mark. He had to force away an image of her visiting him in the bath.

‘You do say a lot of rubbish,’ Threadfin replied. ‘Which bit are you referring to?’ He could feel the elder mages behind him bristle, but he knew how to handle these two. Politeness and diplomacy didn’t work; they simply took advantage of those.

‘You insult us?’ Manic spat.

‘Offend us,’ wailed his sister.

‘Our plight never ends.’

‘Our suffering is eternal.’

‘Our—’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Threadfin almost yelled at them. He raised both hands in a placating gesture, feeling a headache coming on. Around the sides of his skull, feeding towards the back a bit. ‘I asked you for a favour and you both delivered. I won’t forget it. Er, fine, we accept your gracious gift and all that whatever.’ He waved at the prisoner. ‘Can you let him speak now?’

‘First, our price,’ said Manic in a sly tone.

Threadfin had no time to panic, curse or cry out, as the air around him shimmered, followed by a bright flash of light.

And then everything vanished.