28 Discovery of a Witch

LATER THAT MORNING, the imperatrix found herself surrounded by a gaggle of engineers, stonemasons, and business representatives from several regions of the imperium. There were also a handful of conclavists, most newly risen to their positions. She noted Paladin Creed prowling on the fringes, watching her. Now, what did she want?

After the attack five hours earlier, Sarscha had found it impossible to concentrate on anything as mundane as imperial business. However, she knew she had to seem to be in control, no matter how chaotic matters became.

The imperial marshal had imposed on her, without her consent, some three dozen greencloaks, whom she believed would have been best used elsewhere. It made her seem paranoid, insecure, which she did not appreciate, and besides, none of them could stop a shraed. Raziel loitered in the background, reluctant to leave her side.

In the main palace meeting chamber, she’d had a long table installed, with numerous plush chairs and cushioned benches. It therefore made a perverse sense that most of those invited had decided to stand and argue, rather than sit and discuss. Servants had been offering watered Valtari wine, soft cheeses, figs, and olives, but she had dismissed them. Wine would not help matters, nor food.

Her announcement of war coming to the imperium had spread like wildfire, and the previous night’s events had underscored it. Whether people knew what had actually happened or not, the rumours would take on a life of their own. She supposed it was understandable that those gathered might be somewhat agitated.

Presently, the guards were doing their utmost to keep the press of bodies back, while trying to treat them with the dignity the imperatrix insisted on. After all, these are the people who will rebuild our imperium, who will usher in a new era of prosperity. Or well, they would do if they got the chance, and a certain evil sorceress didn’t upset matters.

‘The new development in the Muck Quarter is halfway completed,’ one engineer was saying with a nervous tremor to his voice, ‘but imperatrix, the masons are refusing to finish the rest until they’re paid in full. After last night’s events, they’ve decided they might not see a copper dralan of it. None turned up for work this morning. So, money first.’

‘We have to eat, don’t we?’ one of the mason representatives shouted back. ‘I don’t suppose you had any problem gettin’ monies? We’ve heard the rumours like everyone else has. Now there’s a dark witch loose in the city? How’d you expect us to react?’

‘I was told Paladin Redeemer would provide the finances for the new streets in Tystria,’ said another man. ‘That was almost a year ago, and we’ve yet to see one dralan.’

‘What about the monies we require,’ said a rotund woman, with dark skin and darker hair, ‘for the new plantations and shipping of Valtar? Are we not as valued citizens to the imperium? The zorasts have been expelled, and they have left us destitute. If war is coming, should we not be among those first in line? After all, almost half the legions are made up of Valtarans. In fact, we deserve to be compensated for the lack of willing workers, whom the legions have devoured.’

‘Yes, exactly,’ interjected another Hatavan woman. ‘I do not see such destitution here in the capital, nor lack of workers either. I had heard the city had been flattened, and I arrive to find a small section destroyed, and news of some minor disturbance last night? What about us in Hatava? When disaster strikes, are we to be forgotten and discarded?’

Sarscha rubbed at her brow, lifted the one remaining goblet in the room, and took a long drink. Why did I ever accept this role? she wondered. All anyone cares about is money, and any excuse to beg for it will do. Even an evil witch raising the dead brings demands for coin. As if that would solve everything.

A squeakier voice close to her ear made her jump. A rich trader of the Pleth Quarter. ‘The destruction is but a third remedied. It would seem completion of the new conclave is of greater importance than our homes and livelihoods. Surely the politicians can wait their turn. We require funding now, just to survive, imperatrix. To survive!’ Sarscha winced. It had been a younger Astra Dar who had destroyed most of that section of the city, apparently in self-defence, but the damage had been extensive.

A soldier managed to grab the trader, and gently pull him away. Sarscha had purposely delayed those repairs. How could she see them completed, when the Muck Quarter developments were needed, not to mention every other area of the imperium? She suspected someone was funding the new conclave build against her orders, but she had no concrete proof.

She did not want to be accused of looking out for the wealthy first. Progress had been made, of course, but there was much left to do. I wonder if I’ll get the chance to see it all done, or will it all be destroyed soon?

All her plans were possible and affordable given time, if not for those petulant paladins. Misers, it was easier to squeeze blood from her sword than money from those ‘wrinkled-tight-arsed-inbred-so-called-patricians.’ She felt irritable. In the legions, even as imperial marshal, she’d never had to deal with such pathetic squabbling. Politics and money. She hated them both.

The room had gone quiet, and placing her goblet back on the table, she realised she must’ve said something aloud. Oh well, so much for her reputation. She’d been off to a bad start with that anyway, at least in the political arena.

They took their seats, some of them not looking her way, some unable to keep their eyes off her. One way or another, she was determined to complete the rebuilding of the imperium, war or no, but finances were problematic. She’d managed to secure enough grain from Ewsann. With the legions rebuilt, she had managed to negotiate a settlement, which had quietened things in the borderlands. She had a viral mage named Thera to thank for that. Her undead mages were proving invaluable, in fact.

Her imperial marshal had also managed to secure an agreement with the primes of Byrsa. Apparently, they’d had enough of living in squalor. In exchange for pardons and some private land, which would be farmed to provide the imperium with food and the primes with profit, they had agreed to attend her later today.

She drained the goblet. Watered wine. Hardly worth the effort. She smacked her lips and then glared at everyone seated around the table. ‘Yes, I know. Everybody wants money, and I will do my best to get it for you. We are rebuilding our imperium, and it will take time. We cannot undo all the damage done in a single day. I require from you firstly, patience. I beg of you all, please give me time, for a war is now upon us, and it will sap both our finances and strength in the short term.’ She pointedly ignored the mumbling from some of the attendees.

‘As you have all no doubt heard by now,’ she continued, ‘it is a war threatening our existence. Right now, my friends, I need your patience, support, and your trust.’ She left out mention of Angrboda. No point agitating them all over again.

Around the table, blank faces stared back, and again she wondered why she’d ever become imperatrix.

‡

SARSCHA STOOD IN THE palace library, watching Tezcat tossing books and parchments aside in her hurry to find something. The imperatrix had asked her if she’d known anything about this Angrboda, and the girl had dragged her here. Well, not dragged exactly, but Licolo could be very persuasive. Besides, Sarscha needed the distraction.

Artorius stood by the imperatrix’ side, sword drawn as though another corpse might at any moment appear. There were over three dozen greencloaks guarding the library entrance led by a burly Sergeant Trotters, who was munching on a hunk of grolg shank with one hand.

She had discovered that whatever authority she’d once possessed over the ordinary soldier, wasn’t the same as imperatrix. Her safety mattered more to these men and women than her orders. She glanced at the soldier beside her. She couldn’t help but think of him as anything else, despite his new position. The previous imperial marshal, Scatter, had recommended him for promotion. After Scatter’s death, Sarscha had obliged.

‘Do you miss it?’ she asked him.

‘Imperatrix?’

‘My name is Sarscha, Artorius. Formality does not need to be observed when we are speaking in private.’

The imperial marshal glanced around, as though he might at any moment be arrested for daring to think of speaking her name. ‘My friends call me, Art,’ he muttered.

‘Well, Art, do you miss being a soldier?’ She smiled at him, trying to put him at ease. He had no difficulty holding his own on something as important as allowing Byrsa’s primes into the palace, but when it came to ordinary conversation with her, he got tongue-tied. Likely because of who I am, I guess, or who I used to be. Maybe both. She thought of Tame Vara, Pittle, and others. The memory of their bodies torn asunder popped into her head, and any urge to smile vanished.

‘Yes,’ he said, possibly wondering what to think when one minute she smiled and the next, scowled, ‘although I am of course, honoured to serve—’

‘Oh, don’t you start with all that grolg shit,’ she snapped, a little too loud, startling everyone but the undead mage rifling through centuries worth of parchment, raising a cloud of dust. There were several frowns on the faces of the paytors watching on. ‘I miss it like you wouldn’t believe, soldier. Just strap on a sword, mount my darag, and head into the mountains of the borderlands, hunting rebels or whichever enemy it happened to be.

‘Gazing at campaign maps in my tent with a cup of wine, arguing with my marshals over tactics and strategies. Walking among my soldiers while they ate by their fires as darkness fell, the cool mountain air on my face. Sleeping out under the stars with nothing but a sword for company.’ Well, that last had happened only once. She raised her head and sighed. It was easy to ignore all the bad bits, the constant marching, illness running rife through camp, the deaths of those she’d known for years, the stench of burning flesh and the screams. Easy to ignore the bad.

She glanced at her imperial marshal who stared back at her with his jaw hung open, which he quickly shut.

‘I know,’ she added, ‘it wasn’t always so romantic. I know I had a reputation as a ruthless commander too, but I loved it. It defined who I am.

‘Now,’ she said, gesturing at herself, ‘I don’t know myself. I never expected to be a ruler of anything. I led soldiers, and now I lead everyone. Instead of giving orders and having them carried out, I find myself fighting with everyone to get anything done.’

‘I never thought I’d be imperial marshal neither,’ said Artorius. ‘Never entered my head to be honest. Sometimes I still can’t believe it.’

She clapped him on the back, surprising him again. ‘Art, we will get along just fine. We’re stuck in the swamp, up to our necks in it, but we’re stuck together.’

He didn’t look anything like happy about it.

‘I founds it!’ a voice shrieked, once again startling the paytors hovering in the background. Raziel was there somewhere too, keeping to the shadows. A couple of mongrel scribes also popped their heads up. Survivors had begun to return to the city, since the coup, but there were still too few of the old scholars. Tezcat was holding a scrunched-up piece of goat hide, waving it over her head. ‘I gots it right here.’

The mage hurried over to them, and laid it out flat on a wooden desk. In the weak torchlight, Sarscha stared at it and saw nothing. ‘It’s blank, Cat. What is this?’

‘Just waits for it.’ She screwed up her face in concentration, and the imperatrix couldn’t help but give a smile. She’d grown fond of the girl since their odd introduction. Tezcat Licolo was anything but deferent, which was one of the things she loved about her. All the fawning and fear of tripping over one’s tongue had begun to irritate her no end. Art was different, in that he was nervous, but when it mattered, he stood up to her. She needed honest advisors who told her the truth, even if it meant she ended up drinking more.

A wisp of magic escaped from Tezcat’s hands, which then fingered the old parchment. Slowly, words appeared until they filled the page.

‘See, see,’ the girl crowed, obviously delighted with herself. ‘I told you I gots it.’

Artorius seemed confused, and Sarscha couldn’t help agreeing with him. ‘Cat, what is it? What does it say?’

The girl frowned, ‘Oh, I doesn’t read ol’ ghost-script, but I knows someone what does.’

‡

THE ANGEL RAZIEL, WHO doubled as a Darken these days, squinted at the strange script in the meeting chamber of the Aurealis Tower. Sarscha had decided to return there since Raziel wanted time to examine the document. Two hours had passed, while Sarscha glugged watered wine. She’d been trying to cut back, but it was proving more difficult than she’d anticipated. She’d always prided herself on discipline and control, until the events of Liviana Avitus’ coup. The deaths of both her sister and Tame Vara had made it worse.

Tezcat was near hopping with impatience. ‘What’s it say?’ she’d demanded several times over the past hour, at which point, Raziel would always frown at her and then continue to read, lips moving silently.

After a few more long minutes, he lowered the parchment, gazed at the small gathering about the table and said, ‘Nothing good as it happens.’

‘Tezcat is correct though, right?’ asked Sarscha. ‘It is angelic script as she suggests?’

Raziel nodded but said, ‘Yes, and no. That the child knew how to find it at all is a revelation and a mystery.’ Tezcat beamed at what was obviously rare praise. ‘There is something odd about this writing, which hints of both a spectralic and viralic origin. Very rare.’ He glanced at her with a curious look. ‘How did you know to look for this?’

Tezcat squinted at him, trying to look as serious and as scholarly as she could. ‘I had a long ... appren-tee-shup.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Raziel turning his attention back to the parchment. ‘Aiyana Mayala Todralan and all that curious business. Sometimes I forget you are one of those lost souls.’

‘I isn’t lost, stupid,’ she shot back with a frown, causing Raziel to raise an eyebrow. About as much emotion as he ever shared. ‘I is right here.’

‘One of the lost souls returned to us, then,’ he said with a smile, and the girl grinned back.

‘What does it say?’ Sarscha asked, her impatience growing. She’d rip his wings off if he didn’t get to the point, not that he displayed them often. Almost never, in fact.

He paused, and glancing back at the script, said, ‘This is in fact, a page out of the Book of Chains. How it came to be in a palace library is a mystery. The location of that book is unknown.’

‘Aiyana again, o’ course,’ Tezcat said with a grin. ‘She were always findin’ bits o’ old stuff and hiding ’em. Was why I ’membered, see?’

‘Yes, I do see. Well, it speaks of a prophecy. It is rather rambling and confusing to be honest. I can’t imagine Aiyana Todralan could have made any sense of it.’

‘Maybe not,’ said Sarscha, ‘but my sister would have recognised the importance of it. She was clever like that. Now are you going to tell me what it says, or do I have to beat it out of you?’ She hadn’t meant that last bit to come out so loud.

‘Essentially,’ said Raziel, showing no sign he’d noticed her impatience, ‘when you remove all the extraneous bits, it speaks of an ancient cabal of witches in Icarthya. Flesh eaters, they sought the darker powers and sold their souls to the Darkness, gaining immortality. They called themselves Lucifer’s Daughters.’ He glanced up at Sarscha. ‘In fact, I know of them. Over the centuries, your ancestors had hunted them down, one by one. The last died several hundred years ago. This cult no longer exists ...’

‘And yet?’

‘Yes ... and yet.’ He examined the end of the parchment for a moment longer and then paused, and if Sarscha had thought an angel couldn’t turn pale, she was wrong.

‘There’s a prophecy here. I ignored it earlier, thinking it was a poem of some sort, but it says one Daughter of Lucifer will be reborn. Given the details, and if my calculations are correct, she was born sixty-eight years ago.’

‘So, she’s probably dead then,’ said Sarscha, wondering if this was all worth her time. ‘Or getting on a bit. Can she be such a threat?’

‘Remember, they are near-immortal, living hundreds of years - a gift for their service to the Darkness. I believe there is a daughter out there now, and I imagine her power would have grown with experience.’

‘Angrboda.’

He nodded. ‘The rumours we’ve heard from the north, yes, I believe it must be her. The message you received also confirms it. I am sorry, Sarscha Todralan, but it is no accident, no mere strange occurrence that we recently battled the dead, and then discovered this parchment.’

‘Raz,’ asked Tezcat with a deep frown, ‘what’s you sayin’?’

Raziel lowered the parchment, not batting an eyelid at the improper and irreverent use of his angelic name. ‘The witch Angrboda, a Daughter of Lucifer, is coming for the Book of Chains.’

‘What are you talking about?’ the imperatrix demanded. ‘No one knows where it is. You said so.’

The angel looked worried, which terrified Sarscha. ‘I’m afraid the witch knows, and she’s coming for it. According to this bit of text, it lies somewhere within the Heart.’

‘Wait, in the past the Church often referred to their Pantheon as the Heart, though it is rare to hear them say it now.’

‘Then,’ whispered Raziel, ‘I’m afraid, she is coming to the Pantheon.’

‡

THUNDER RUMBLED IN the skies over Icarthya, lightning on the horizon. The rain fell in sheets, filling the cobbled streets of the Imperial Quarter with rivulets, then rivers, which soon became floods. At this rate the River Sulk would flood within hours.

The balcony doors to Sarscha’s bed chamber stood open, the wind mauling the hemp curtains. The imperial marshal paced back and forth, uneasy. She’d invited him for an informal discussion on important matters, such as the looming war, and a possibly homicidal witch who might be a flesh-eater in her spare time.

‘I’ve posted an extra hundred guards around the palace complex,’ Artorius was saying, ‘and all arrivals into the city are being checked. The paladins are securing the Pantheon themselves. They’ve insisted no soldiers of the imperial legion can enter. A rude woman by the name of—’

‘Let me guess,’ interrupted Sarscha, ‘was it Creed by any chance?’

‘Yeah, how did you know?’

‘The paladins will take care of themselves, as they always do, but I want a secure cordon around the entire Pantheon. Maybe you can’t go inside, but you can also prevent anyone else from doing so.’

Artorius grinned. ‘Already done. Creed looked like she’d sucked on a lemon when I informed her no one would be going in, or out.’

‘But you is forgettin’ Angrboda’s a witch,’ noted Tezcat, who sat on a red velvet cushioned bench not far from the window, legs dangling. ‘You’s not goin’ to find a witch by ruffling through folk’s undergarments.’ She giggled, before visibly controlling herself. ‘She’s never gonna walk up and demands to get in.’

‘Tell me of this Lucifer,’ Sarscha asked of the viral, knowing she was correct. The witch wouldn’t be thwarted by mere soldiers with swords. Besides, Raziel still maintained she was already inside the city.

Sarscha had grown used to Tezcat’s presence, and often found her dark humour entertaining, and a distraction from her thoughts. ‘Well, I doesn’t knows much,’ said Tezcat, ‘but he’s like some high and mighty o’ Tartaros. He’s using Astra Dar somehow. I’s not sure, but I thinks she’s a sort o’ doorway.’

‘Through which he can cross into our world, I’m assuming,’ said Sarscha. Not long ago, she would’ve found such notions laughable. Having witnessed certain events in recent times, she no longer felt like laughing. ‘So, the witch and Astra Dar are connected.’

Screams erupted in the distance, the long and blood-chilling sort. Sarscha was on her feet rushing to the balcony, but of course, both her guardians were there to prevent her going outside.

Shouts and cries, nearer this time, and then a ridiculous shriek, which couldn’t have been human.

‘What is happening?’ the imperatrix demanded, just as her Darken entered her bed chamber. She turned, and seeing his face, knew the answer.

Raziel shut the doors, the guards outside visible for a moment. They looked nervous, and she didn’t blame them.

‘The witch is attacking,’ announced Raziel.

‘You’ve seen her?’ asked Artorius, a hand on his sword hilt, as though he would personally see to decapitating the offensive daughter of whomever.

Raziel ignored him. ‘I’m afraid we have a slight problem, imperatrix.’

Sarscha knew that look. Angel though he was, he was also, in form at least, a man. He felt fear like anyone else, no matter if he didn’t show it. But she knew the signs. ‘Just tell me. It can’t be any worse than what we’ve already learned.’

‘The dead have risen.’

‘Well, that happened already, and we dealt with it. Nothing new there.’

‘All of them. They’ve all risen, right across the city.’

‘I stand corrected.’

Artorius turned a slight shade of green, which Sarscha had seen on a viral and imagined couldn’t be healthy. Taking the two greencloaks with him, he rushed from the room, snapping orders at the guards outside.

Sarscha felt a hand touch hers, and turned to find Tezcat grinning at her. ‘I is good with dead stuff,’ was all she said, and then she left too.

‘And what am I supposed to do?’ the imperatrix demanded. ‘Stay in bed? Take the day off?’

‘The Aurealis Tower,’ suggested Raziel. ‘We cannot protect you here. I will take you there now.’

Sarscha stepped out onto the balcony, and into the driving rain.  She was soaked through in seconds but barely noticed. Was this what it had come to? Her people under attack while she fled to hide inside a tower?

Lightning lit the streets in the distance beyond the palace complex, and she spotted people running, though whether living, undead or just plain dead, she couldn’t tell.

‘I was a soldier,’ she whispered into the tumultuous night. ‘I fought soldiers. What do I know of fighting the dead?’

Huh, she then thought. I’m supposed to protect my people. The world truly has lost its mind if it thinks I’m just going to sit in a tower like some shivering maiden and wait.

A screech, but this time much closer, and she felt the blood drain from her face. She went back inside. Grabbing a cloak, although it was almost pointless as her clothes were sodden, she took a dagger from the bed, which she then belted on. Her Darken shadowing her, she vacated her rooms. Two dozen soldiers, the imperial marshal at their head, soon joined them.

Another scream, but this time coming from inside the palace. It was too late to exit by the normal route, but there were secret passages. No, she was not going to let this witch force her into hiding.

This witch had never met Sarscha Todralan.