On his knees, hands pressed to his thighs, Tayschrenn raised his head to find himself in familiar surroundings. It was a private audience chamber off the side of the cult’s main temple. Shelves of scrolls lined the wall, while the top of a central table was hidden beneath numerous open manuscripts of ongoing research projects.
He crossed to the door and listened: the massed whispering and brushing of robes betrayed a service in progress. D’rek’s timing could not have been better – of course. He took hold of the latch then paused for a time, readying himself. He was terrified, he discovered; his hands shook, his stomach clenched and rebelled. Why so much more nervous now? And he knew, of course. Now was about so much more than merely him.
He yanked open the door and entered the temple. It was crowded with the faithful, all in ranks before the raised altar at the front where the cult elders led the service. Tallow stood in the central place – the Demidrek’s. He was in mid-sentence, exhorting the faithful.
Tayschrenn calmly strode towards the altar, passing through line after line of the massed acolytes and full priests. At first a silence grew behind him as he passed, then it filled with gasps and awed whisperings.
The hissed discordance grew in volume and reached the front ranks. Tallow faltered, losing his tempo. ‘And so, my children,’ he was saying, ‘we must return to the proper path, for we have lost our way…’ He paused, eyed the rear of the hall, frowning. ‘We must…’
His gaze found the vector of the growing disturbance and his eyes widened in shock. Beside him, Salleen lurched to her feet, glaring.
Tallow pointed, bellowing, ‘What impostor’s game is this? Who are you?’
‘I am Tayschrenn,’ he answered, and was proud of the steadiness of his voice.
Tallow was shaking his head, ‘No. That is impossible.’ Beside him, Salleen turned sickly pale, almost staggering.
‘Not impossible. I have been sent to carry a message for the—’
‘Seize him!’ Tallow roared. ‘He has evaded D’rek’s justice! He is a blasphemer! He has spurned D’rek!’
‘No!’ a new high voice shrieked, a young woman’s. A slim figure fought its way forward to the altar, approached Tallow. Now Tayschrenn felt his legs weaken and his resolve faltering as he recognized a dishevelled Silla. ‘He is innocent!’ She clasped Tallow’s sleeve. ‘You promised me he would live and now look! Look!’ And she laughed wildly.
He pushed her from him. ‘You are ill, sister. Someone restrain this poor child.’ He turned from her, yet even as he did so her face grew savage and she leapt forward, swinging an arm. Something glinted in her hand, striking Tallow in the back, and he bellowed, staggering.
A burst of power from him tossed her backwards into the stone wall behind the altar, where her head hit with a meaty crack. She slumped to the floor, motionless. Tallow swung back to the hall, a hand over one shoulder, pressed to his back. ‘He has sent his assassin upon me! I see it now! He would suborn the cult to his own ends! Slay him!’
Those nearest Tayschrenn now closed on him, grasping his dirty robes. Almost as an afterthought he raised his Warren and flicked them away, for his gaze was fixed upon the motionless shape of Silla where she lay. You promised … So, she said those things to try to save his life – a bargain offered by him.
And now … now she was dead.
Slain by … him.
His gaze shifted to the man himself as he straightened, rolling his meaty shoulders as if throwing off whatever damage the wound might have inflicted. Tayschrenn saw in his churning Warren-aura that strange taint, or coloration, now even more potent than before. And now he recognized it – the stain of Chaos. He raised an arm, pointing, ‘Who do you serve?’
The Invigilator smiled. Then he swept his arms forward, motioning all the cult’s highest ranked priests and priestesses into action. ‘Destroy the apostate!’
The entire body of Kartool’s High Temple of D’rek hurled themselves upon Tayschrenn.
He threw up his protective barriers and was bludgeoned and buffeted within. He could not bring himself to strike back, and so he shifted into the Warren of Thyr and fled. And the army of D’rek mage-priests, those who could, followed.
Chapter 17
The coast looked wild and uninhabited to Lars, yet Kallor remained locked within his cabin, so he and the other seven survivors of the great ocean crossing waited at anchor while white tendrils of noxious smoke came leaking round the door and through gaps in the planking of their master’s cabin walls.
Finally, towards noon, the door opened, disgorging a massive cloud of evil-smelling smoke that quickly wafted away. Kallor strode out accoutred as usual in his full-length coat of mail, his weapon at his side. He carried a burning smudge-pot that he waved in front of him as he walked to the side.
Lars, weak and faint with starvation, limped to him. Taking a deep breath, he dared, ‘M’lord … shall we … disembark?’
Kallor ignored him. He studied the shore as if as hungry as Lars. He waved more of the dense smoke across his face, and murmured, bizarrely, ‘Try to smell me now, bitch.’
The smoke lashed then, fuming as if caught in a fierce wind, though no such gusting brushed Lars or the gentle waves about them.
Kallor raised a hand for silence and studied the smoke intently. After a time he nodded as if at some conclusion, then covered the pot with its lid. ‘We wait,’ he announced, not even turning to face Lars. ‘Something strange is coming.’
Lars eyed the quiet coast, uninhabited but for a few modest fishers’ huts. What could possibly be coming that this fiend would be wary of? Whatever it might be, Lars decided that he certainly wanted nothing to do with it. Still, land, animals, larders … ‘But perhaps there is food,’ he whined before realizing it, and he flinched, covering his head, ready for a kick or a blow.
Their tormentor turned to him, scowling his profound disgust. ‘There are fish, aren’t there?’
Lars glanced at the listless, huddled crew. Fish! Of course! ‘But,’ he ventured, bowing, ‘what can we use as bait?’
Kallor had started back to his cabin, but he paused, glancing at Lars. His deeply lined mouth drew up in an evil one-sided smile. ‘Those rotting bodies you have hidden below, I should think.’ And he slammed the door shut.
Lars started guiltily. He eyed the ragged sailors, who stared back, blinking, almost uncomprehending. He pointed angrily. ‘You’ve been nibbling too! I know it! Now get some lines over the side!’
The sailors shuffled to obey.
*