32 Taking Refuge

THE WAY TO THE pantheon was lined with poplar trees and worn granite statues of ancient paladins. It wove through a park filled with fountains, marble gazebos, and more statues. An imperial church and graveyard occupied the centre of the park, and beyond it a broad paved pathway led to the highest of the nine white towers of Icarthya.

Sarscha’s imperial marshal looked off-colour as he marched beside her. ‘The Imperial and Pleth Quarters are overrun,’ he reported, ‘and they’ve begun to invade the palace complex.’

‘I know.’ She’d managed, along with her guards and some terrified servants, to escape through one of the secret tunnels. However, both Darken and Marshal were forcing her in the direction of the tower.

Her guards now formed a diamond around her, making it hard for her to tell what was happening. It made her feel somewhat helpless, like a grandmother being helped across a busy street.

She glanced at Artorius as they marched. ‘Don’t you need to be out there, instead of baby-sitting me here?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘but first I must see you to the tower safely.’

‘I’m headed to the pantheon,’ she snapped. ‘If the witch succeeds, I’ve a feeling the Tower will be no protection.’ Raziel had left her side only moments earlier. Eruptions of magic told her he, along with numerous virals mages, were ensuring the dead got no closer.

‘The virals have the perimeter of the pantheon secured, imperatrix. There is no need to put yourself at unnecessary risk.’

‘Fire?’ she asked, ignoring his concerns, smelling smoke but unable to tell where from.

His expression was grim. ‘The viral mages are using their own black fire. Does the job, but I’m worried they’ll burn down half the city too. Fire’s all that works against them, apart from that sword your Darken carries.’

‘Just like those revenants.’

Artorius stared at her. ‘Excuse me, reven-what?’

She’d forgotten he hadn’t been there when she’d re-enlisted as a recruit into what became an army of revenants. She touched the scar on her face. Somehow, it seemed like a half-remembered nightmare, but the corpses filling the streets of her city brought it back.

The soldiers halted, forcing her to a stop. A strange noise from a church graveyard ahead had them worried. Well, if she’d wanted to run, it was too late. Good thing she hadn’t wanted to, then.

Shadowy figures in the rain, made visible as lightning struck several times, stumbling towards them in an inhuman manner.

Huh, she thought, snatching a torch from one of the soldiers, who glanced at his imperial marshal in confusion. ‘I am the imperatrix,’ she announced in an authoritative but calm voice, ‘but once, I was imperial marshal of the Actaeon Guard. Prepare to fight, soldiers of Icarthya!’

She shoved her way to the tip of the diamond formation, Artorius on her heels. ‘Someone send for Raziel,’ he shouted, and then, ‘you always this stubborn?’ His face was red with either embarrassment or anger.

She smiled at him, glad to see he was growing into the role. ‘I won’t have soldiers dying for me while I curl up like a weeping princess, locked away in a tower. Now, somebody give me a proper sword. Rumour has it I knew how to use one once.’

Laughter greeted that last, but it was nervous and short lived.

In moments, the risen dead were upon them.

‡

SARSCHA TODRALAN HADN’T felt this alive in a long time. Fighting corpses wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but it was as close as she’d gotten to battle in years. She’d begun to believe herself going soft, that she no longer had what it took to be a leader. Her time in the palace, albeit brief, had changed her.

As she slashed at rotting heads, necks, distorted limbs, kicking and punching, setting flame to rotten fabric, she found she was enjoying herself. She uttered an excited yell as she took the head off a corpse. Her soldiers fought hard, doing their utmost to keep her alive. Artorius was no slacker, and stayed by her side as they fought their way towards the church doors. It seemed the pantheon would have to wait a while.

She was starting to tire, aches coming to muscles which hadn’t seen use for too long. Maybe I am gone a bit soft. She’d had no time or need for training since rising to the throne.

Anything that placed a wall between them and those moaning corpses was a decent plan, so the church was it. Lightning lit the skies above the capital, and she spotted a milling mass beyond the church, lumbering towards them. Somehow it made her childhood hatred of virals seem churlish. At least the undead had personality, if one didn’t count vampires of course.

One of the greencloaks who’d run ahead, held the church door open. When she got there, someone unceremoniously shoved her inside. Once in and the door shut, she did a head count. ‘Someone’s missing? Who? Who’s still out there?’

A soldier answered, a woman with white scars on her dark skin. Sarscha remembered her. Vilt, was her name, an experienced sergeant and someone she could trust. It was she who had held the church doors open. ‘Trotters, I’m afraid. Big guy fell as we got to the doors and they had him. There’s too many.’ She lifted the bloodied dagger in her hand. ‘I saved him, though.’

‘My Ma saved my Da like that,’ said another soldier who patted Vilt’s shoulder. He was scratching at his crotch as he spoke, squinting at Sarscha. ‘Saved him from a life o’ bad doings, she did. Always was thoughtful like that, my Ma. Heart o’ gold.’

Vilt frowned at him for a moment, but then smiled, patting his hand with bloodied fingers.

‘Won’t he just rise up like the rest?’ asked one of the greencloaks.

Vilt’s smile fell.

The imperatrix turned away to survey the inside of the church. Scratching and groans outside the doors, suggested they wouldn’t be exiting that way. ‘Is there a different way out?’

Art was already at the altar, searching. ‘Some of these old churches have tunnels underneath.’ After a long examination of the interior, he looked up, face grim as it often was these days. ‘If this place has one, I can’t find it.’

Vilt and Grudge joined him, helping in the search, while the other greencloaks made certain nothing got inside.

‘We can’t stay here for long,’ she whispered to herself rather than anyone else. If the witch arrived, and discovered the dead surrounding this church, she imagined fire would be an ideal way to dispatch the imperatrix and her hapless entourage. ‘We need to get out.’

It was then they heard the commotion outside quietening, and the scratching ceased. Her first thought was of Angrboda, walking through the milling ranks of upright corpses, towards them. Curse my bloody imagination. I never used to have one of those.

Someone knocked at the doors, and called out with a decidedly feminine and familiar voice. A nod from Sarscha, and Grudge cautiously opened the door with sword in hand.

Raziel entered first, with Tezcat on his heels. Both looked singed, blackened, although Tezcat more so. Her lank hair was in wild disarray, but she had a wide grin plastered to her face. Yes, she would have enjoyed herself.

‘So,’ asked Sarscha, with a grin of her own, finding Tezcat’s humour infectious, ‘how was your evening then? Mine’s been interesting. You know, I haven’t attended church in years.’

‘They is all dead,’ said Tezcat, waving an arm in the direction of outside. ‘Oh, what I means is ... they was dead already, I knows that bit, but we didn’t do nothing to ’em. They’s all just fallin’ down.’

Raziel surveyed the interior of the church with a critical eye. ‘A good thing you didn’t go to the Tower.’

‘I’m headed for the pantheon.’

‘It’s on fire.’

‘What, the Pantheon?’

‘The Aurealis Tower. The witch hasn’t appeared, but it seems she doesn’t just want the book. She wants to deny the imperium its champion.’

The imperatrix stared back at him confused.

‘You, Sarscha Todralan. She’s also come for you, if I’m not mistaken.’

The imperatrix shoved past him and went outside, and sure enough, flames licked the highest windows, smoke billowing out from the doors of the Aurealis Tower a thousand paces away. She turned to Raziel who had joined her. ‘An act of sabotage?’

He shrugged. ‘The witch is testing us, teasing out our strengths and weaknesses. The risen dead were a distraction. She knew about the Tower and that it was warded. Seems she was able to breach those. She knew it was the one place you might go to. I imagine the palace is also under attack.’

‘Since when is my tower warded?’

The angel shrugged. ‘I did it some time ago, though she seems to have broken through them. Angrboda has agents inside the palace and perhaps the pantheon. We should keep moving.’

‘What’s we gonna do?’ asked Tezcat as they set out, stepping carefully over the mob of corpses, which lay strewn everywhere.

‘There are several clots of virals in the city,’ said Artorius. ‘Most are gathered at the Pantheon, those not defending the palace. I’ll assign people to discover who the witch has on the inside. We’ll find any traitors.’

‘How are we going to do that?’ demanded Sarscha. ‘There are hundreds of staff and soldiers, and whoever it is might not be in the palace. They could be inside the pantheon, and we can’t get in there without taking on the paladin’s own guard.

‘We set a trap,’ suggested Artorius.

‘Yes,’ said Raziel, nodding, ‘but a trap with the one bait that will work. A bait to give us whoever works for the witch and Angrboda herself. We need to lay the trap in the vicinity of the pantheon.’

‘And the bait is?’ asked Sarscha.

‘I believe you know the answer.’

Knew he was a bastard. ‘We still can’t enter the pantheon, remember?’

Raziel smiled. ‘Have you forgotten, imperatrix. I was a paladin once.’