As he walked through his private study to the chapel he called softly, ‘Kerek?’ The vicious little clerk turned, an enquiring look on his face. ‘Yes, your Eminence?’
‘Well? What is it?’ Certinse asked gruffly. ‘I assume you’re in here for a reason and I don’t believe it’s a love of Nartis.’
His aide frowned. ‘Your Eminence, you ordered me to wait for you here.’
Certinse opened his mouth to deny doing any such thing when he heard the door open behind him and the Senior Penitent strode in. Before Certinse could protest, the mercenary had his left arm out wide and was hugging Certinse to his chest.
A white-hot pain flared in Certinse’s back and wrapped its way around his body. He felt as though his ribs were on fire. Yeren kept on moving, his powerful arm keeping the High Cardinal upright as he bore him backwards.
Kerek started to move, but he faltered at the sight of Yeren storming towards him, so shocked that he didn’t even raise his arms to defend himself as Yeren hacked his broadsword into his scrawny neck.
The aide dropped like a stone, blood spraying out over the highly polished wooden floor. His legs kicked once and fell still, but Certinse, himself paralysed with pain, saw none of it. He stared up at Yeren as the mercenary surveyed the room, then checked back the way he’d come. Certinse’s body spasmed and he wheezed in pain, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t find the strength to scream. His body rigid in agony, he watched Yeren’s expression change from grimly professional to calculating wariness, until, finally, he allowed himself a small smile of relief.
‘That went well, don’t you think?’ Yeren said quietly to Certinse. ‘Weren’t sure how quick Kerek was going to be there. Still, he were just a priest in the end, however much he liked his knife.’
All Certinse could manage was a small ‘gah’ of wordless pain, which served only to increase Yeren’s smile.
‘Aye, hurts like a bastard, don’t it? My advice is to try not to scream, not when you got a knife in yer lung. You’ll just make it worse, and you already pissed yerself, which ain’t fitting for a man o’ the cloth.’
Yeren peered over Certinse at Kerek’s corpse. ‘Good thing you lot ain’t priests of Death,’ he said brightly, ‘I hear some o’ them dabble in a bit of necromancy on the side. Wouldn’t want anyone callin’ up yer spirit and askin’ who did this.’
Certinse felt a chill start to seep into his legs. He tried to push Yeren away, but the slightest movement sent a spike of pain down his back and he could do nothing to fight the man.
‘Yeah, I know,’ Yeren continued in an almost sympathetic voice, ‘but I can’t be dealin’ with any o’ that “last dying breath” crap. We’ll stand here ’til you pass out, which shouldn’t be long now, and I’m sure yer beyond savin’ - better that than I stick you a dozen times to make sure.’
Certinse listened dumbly to the sequence of his death, unable to respond or even move. Suddenly words from his childhood appeared in his memory, prayers of repentance he hadn’t spoken in earnest for decades. Yeren watched his lips move fractionally and nodded, as though his concerns had been confirmed.
‘Close yer eyes now, Old Bones hisself won’t be long.’
CHAPTER 9
Ilumene couldn’t stop himself grinning. Despite the early hour and the dew seeping into his breeches, he found himself waiting with a handful of others to ambush a deranged dragon — it was so daft, it was hilarious. They lurked under a damaged roof in the ruined building nearest to the Byoran tunnel in the Library of Seasons. Next to him stood the immortal mercenary, Aracnan, who was by contrast, still and entirely emotionless. He looked asleep but Ilumene knew that sleep eluded him, no matter how tired or how hard he tried.
Aracnan was meditating as a way to deal with the pain the King’s Man had inflicted upon him, using his millennia of experience to block out the fire in his veins. His hairless skin looked different now, greying and stale where once it had been ivory and full of unnatural vitality. He had lost none of his bulk, but the toll of his shoulder injury was evident to all. Ilumene had fought with the King’s Men long enough to know the poison they had used — and the festering hole that would have opened up when Aracnan tried to heal himself with magic.
The stink of Aracnan’s flesh was revolting, but Ilumene had spent the summer months in Rojak’s company, while the minstrel decayed from the inside out as Scree slowly collapsed. After that he could endure any stink.
‘This is crazy,’ whispered one of the soldiers for the fourth time that morning. ‘Styrax has gone mad with grief.’
His taciturn companion, a white-eye with a mass of scars on his face and throat, grunted in agreement. It was the most noise the man made, and Ilumene was starting to wonder if that was all he could say.
Ilumene’s grin widened even more. ‘You think?’
He looked over at the valley wall, twenty yards to the left of the Akell tunnel entrance. Tethered to the rock was a thick-shouldered fighting dog. It had been unmuzzled ten minutes ago, but instead of barking to draw the dragon’s attention it had settled down and contentedly gone to sleep.
‘Foot-traps?’ the soldier hissed. ‘Ballistae to pin its wings? Soldiers on foot? That’s no way to hunt a fucking dragon!’
Ilumene shrugged and patted the crowbill axe he’d brought from the Ruby Tower’s armoury. There was a second strapped to his back and a normal axe on the ground behind him; the crowbills were the best thing a man on foot had to pierce a dragon’s scales, but if he did, the weapon would most likely lodge there and he’d best have a back-up ready.
‘Something of a speciality of yours, is it?’ Ilumene asked lightly.
Major Fenter Jarrage, of the Knights of the Temples, was in full battle armour, which told Ilumene that the man hadn’t thought too hard about what they were about to do. The white-eye was too, but he looked far stronger and quicker. Despite being the poorest fighter of the four Jarrage nodded emphatically, as though he were a veteran leading a squad of recruits. Just around the cover were four more noblemen from Akell and Fortinn — they were all past forty summers and they were dressed in gaudy hunting leathers, so Ilumene hadn’t bothered with their names.
‘Done a bit in my time,’ the Major went on, ‘not dragons, but sand wyverns are close enough, I reckon. Was stationed in Tserol for a time and they would come in from the desert.’
‘How would you do it then?’
Jarrage slapped the crossbow slung over his shoulder. ‘Bloody regiment with these would be a good start, lined up where we are. They punch through armour well enough; reckon they’ll manage dragon scales too, and they’re easier to aim than ballistae. Biggest problem is stopping it flying away, you put a hole in its wing, you ain’t stopping it, and if it can choose when and how it’s going to fight you’re lost.’
Ilumene didn’t bother to ask how one got a hundred crossbowmen out of those tunnels without making a sound, nor point out the bolts wouldn’t go deep enough to do much more than irritate a gigantic, deranged, fire-breathing dragon.
Nice to know someone’s probably going to die before me though
. He was well aware that they were all most likely a distraction when it came to the actual killing. They might get a lucky blow in, but it would be someone rather more than human who did the real damage.
No, we’re not just a distraction
, Ilumene reminded himself.
Styrax is building himself a legend and he needs witnesses. They say he killed a daemon-prince in Thotel and won over the Tachrenn of the Ten Thousand
—
now he’s going to add a dragon to the tally of his kills.
Even Ilumene had to admit it was an impressive list; killing Lord Isak was nowhere near the greatest feat Styrax had achieved, notable though it was.
Show the priests you can face down and kill a daemon-prince. Show the commoners you’re a dragonslayer. Remind the soldiers like me you cut down Koezh Vukotic, one of the greatest swordsmen in history. If my loyalty were up for grabs
I’d
be persuaded.
‘Bugger this for a game of soldiers,’ Ilumene announced suddenly. ‘I’m bored now.’
He picked up a broken stone the length of his thumb and threw it with unerring accuracy at the dog. The stone thwacked into its flank, causing the dog to wake and yelp. It looked up and Ilumene waved to attract its attention, swearing at it under his breath. The fighting dog jumped to its feet and began barking as loudly as it could, straining at the chain tethering it to the cliff. The sound echoed around the still valley, strangely loud as it reverberated back off the cliffs.
‘Piss and daemons, Kayel!’ Jarrage exclaimed, hurriedly winding back the mechanism of his crossbow and slotting a bolt into place. He did have a halberd as back-up for the slow-loading crossbow and Ilumene was keen to see how that fared, albeit from a suitable distance.
‘I’ve got a busy afternoon planned,’ Ilumene said with a cruel grin and turned to Aracnan to attract the Demi-God’s attention. His eyes were open and Ilumene saw a moment’s confusion before Aracnan focused on the barking dog and remembered where he was.
‘It is time,’ Aracnan said, and he rose to one knee with a wince.
His right arm was bound to his chest to keep the wound from working further open, but Ilumene knew he was as capable with his left arm. Aracnan drew his black sword and Ilumene saw the Crystal Skull he possessed moulded around the guard — the Skull called Knowledge that Aracnan had taken from the original owner, though he had claimed it had been destroyed. Although any use of magic would cause Aracnan unbelievable pain, the Skull’s power could still augment that of his sword. The blade’s surface was swirling and surging with pinpricks and trails of faint light, like a meteor shower in the sky.
Ilumene reminded himself of the plan, such as it was. Ballistae were hidden inside the two tunnels. Behind one were three Litse white-eyes, the Jesters and a Ruby Tower captain, while Lord Styrax, General Gaur and four more Menin were positioned behind the other.
The dragon would be attracted by the noisy snack, then snagged by the foot-traps that, with luck, would keep it distracted long enough for the ballistae to wound it and keep the beast on the ground. After that Ilumene had stopped listening to the briefing. He was confident Styrax would be the one to kill it; all he had to do was concentrate on staying alive.
On cue a low sound rumbled across the valley like distant thunder. The fighting dog hesitated and stared into the distance, then started to bark a challenge. Ilumene kept his eyes on it, moving to one knee and working his muscles to loosen them up after the wait.
The only real armour he was wearing were the long steel-backed gloves he used to cover the scars on his arms. The rest of his outfit was tailored black linen, like he’d worn when still a member of the Narkang Brotherhood, and a stiffened brigandine. It wouldn’t stop the dragon’s claws, but it might protect his ribs if he was knocked flying.
A second rumbling growl was followed by a single whoosh of wings against the air. The dog faltered, turning in a circle, trying to run and bark, while keeping its eyes on the dragon. Ilumene followed the beast’s approach by watching the dog, gauging distance by the increasingly frantic barks.
Two more wing-beats, then a thump as the dragon landed. From the sound it was just around the corner of the building. For a moment it didn’t move, then there was a loud hissing rasp, like a snake moving through leaves, and the dog yelped in fear as the creature advanced into view.
Ilumene gaped for a moment; it was vast, bigger than any living creature he’d ever seen. The dragon’s body was long and lithe with a bulky knot of muscle at the base of its wings, a deep emerald colour that shone in the pale winter light. It had three sets of black horns; one shorter pair swept low and forward to protect its throat, a long recurved pair above those and a third set pointing back to complete the protection of its head. The dragon’s muzzle was thick and snub-nosed, sporting a large pair of upper canines — inelegant but powerful.
Ilumene glanced over at the tunnel doors. They remained closed, ready to jerk back the moment the order came.
‘Now’s our chance,’ he breathed, looking back at the dragon. Its wings were half-furled, doubled over, but standing high on its back like a butterfly’s. ‘Gods, it’s a perfect target.’
He jumped to his feet, waving frantically towards the tunnel doors. ‘Now! Now, you bastards!’ Ilumene screamed as loud as he could, ‘Fire!’
The dragon snarled and jerked its head around. Seeing them it half-turned, pushing up from the ground with its powerful forelimbs, but dropping back with a jolt as one snagged. The beast roared with fury and lunged forward but the movement was awkward as a second cable on the ground hooked its rear talons.
‘Fire, you bastards!’ Ilumene roared again, waving his axe madly to keep the dragon concentrating on him.
For a moment nothing happened and he felt a cold trickle of terror run down his spine, from the left a black bolt flashed across the valley and sped past the dragon, causing it to rear up in surprise and rage. Now it was facing the doorway where the shot had come from. It roared at the new threat, a deep bellow magnified by the cliff-walls that Ilumene felt like a blow to the head.