The Grim Company

The Hero’s Destiny





Davarus Cole stepped carefully around the debris and glanced up at the black monolith soaring above him. Smoke still billowed from the top of the Obelisk. Chunks of granite – the fallen remnants of the tower’s apex – littered the surrounding courtyard almost to the entrance, which was deserted. At any other time, at least twenty Watchmen would be stationed in the barracks either side of the courtyard. Right now every soldier in the city was desperately holding the walls against Dorminia’s would-be liberators.

Lost in thought, Cole accidentally bumped the chair against a piece of rubble. It jerked and almost toppled over. ‘Shit! Watch where you’re going!’ hissed his charge as he clung on for dear life.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. They had got this far on the pretence that Eremul had been summoned by the Tyrant of Dorminia, with Cole his begrudging helper. That deception would be useless once they were inside the tower. He was sweating under his leathers, and not just from the warmth of the afternoon sun.

Eremul hissed suddenly, ‘There’s someone coming.’ A red-cloaked guard emerged from the shadows shrouding the entrance to the Obelisk. The mage shot him a warning look. ‘Let me do the talking.’

The two of them continued on up to the gates. The uneven surface caused the wizard to bounce up and down like a man sat astride a particularly recalcitrant mule.

‘Halt!’ demanded the Watchman. He levelled his spear at them. ‘The Obelisk is not expecting visitors.’

‘Well met,’ said Eremul brightly. ‘I am the Halfmage. You may have heard of me. I am here in answer to his lordship’s summons.’

The guard appeared unimpressed. ‘Tough shit. I was told to allow no one through. Thurbal’s orders.’

A strange expression slowly distorted Eremul’s face. Cole almost shuddered, so gruesome and unnatural did it appear. It took him a moment to realize the mage was smiling. ‘Come now, friend. We both know Lord Salazar does not explain his whims to the likes of us.’

The Watchman’s monobrow arched in confusion and his eyes seemed to glaze over. Finally he nodded and lowered his spear. ‘Right you are. I’ll open the gates. Ah, about your friend here…’

‘He’s with me. While my compact frame bestows many benefits, traversing multiple flights of stairs by myself is not among them.’

‘Of course.’ The guard’s face seemed frozen in a peculiar dreamy stare. He turned and unlocked the great iron gates, then beckoned Cole and Eremul through with his spear. ‘How’s it going on the wall?’ he asked as they strolled by him. He gestured in the direction of the fighting.

Eremul gurned again. ‘Your brave colleagues fight with the courage of men possessed. They will never surrender so long as our beloved ruler watches over us.’ He made a show of patting his robes suddenly. ‘You know, I do appear to have dropped a sceptre on the floor back there. I don’t suppose you would be kind enough to retrieve it?’

Much to Cole’s surprise, the guard nodded happily. ‘Aye, not a problem.’ He turned and began searching around for the non-existent silver coin.

Eremul shot him an urgent look and made a fierce stabbing gesture.

‘What?’ said Cole. ‘I… Oh.’ With a grimace, he drew Magebane and sidled over to where the Watchman was picking around in the dirt.

‘There doesn’t seem to be anything down— Urgh.’

The guard tumbled to the floor. Cole wiped the bloody edge of Magebane on the man’s cloak and gave the wizard a reproachful look. ‘We didn’t need to kill him.’

Eremul sneered unpleasantly. ‘That guard was not overcome by my irresistible charm alone. Sophistry is one of the hardest forms of magic to master. I was fortunate he was a dull-witted sort or manipulating him might well have proved beyond me.’ The mage paused. He seemed to be trembling now, his face sweating with exertion. ‘My spell would have worn off at any moment. He needed to die.’

Cole stared at the corpse. A hero doesn’t manipulate people. A hero doesn’t stab someone from behind. Sasha’s words returned to haunt him again. You’re an a*shole, Cole. Your father would be ashamed of you. And so would Garrett.

He had spent the last four days turning those words over in his head. He still wasn’t sure what he had done wrong, but he had evidently misread the situation back near the Fade ruins. Sasha had always been feisty and unpredictable. That was one of the reasons he found her so attractive. But what if she had meant what she said?

Damn Isaac. It was all his fault, with his stupid lute and irritating face. He had waltzed in and stolen Cole’s rightful place in the group, somehow fooled them all into believing he was a boon companion when he was nothing but a dirty fraud. He would have told the man that himself, but as far as Cole was concerned Isaac was beneath him. No doubt the bastard had his eye on Sasha and had been working to turn her against him from the moment he wormed his way into her company.

He shook his head. There was no hope for deadbeats like Isaac. When it came right down to it, he was the one standing at the entrance to the Obelisk, preparing to rid the world of a foul tyrant. Not Isaac, oh no. He’d probably have pissed his pants if he’d found himself in this situation.

He would show them all that he was a hero just like his father. He would make Sasha proud of him. Make Garrett proud of him.

‘Are you just going to stand there?’ The Halfmage sounded vaguely annoyed.

‘I was just working out the best way to make Salazar suffer,’ replied Cole. He set his jaw in what he hoped was a suitably grim fashion. ‘Let’s do this.’

They entered a sparsely decorated hall. A scarlet carpet ran for perhaps sixty feet before terminating in a set of doors. Other doors led off the passageway into plush sitting rooms.

‘The kitchens and servant quarters are near the back,’ muttered the Halfmage as they progressed down the hallway. ‘Keep your head down. They know me.’

A couple of old maids eyed them warily as they passed a small mess hall set with a long table covered in breads and cheeses. Cole felt his stomach rumble. The gruel that had been served in the militia camp was barely fit for a dog, but he had forced it down.

They reached the double doors. They were unlocked, and creaked open to reveal a set of steps leading up into the darkness. ‘The Grand Council Chamber is on the second floor,’ said Eremul. ‘Keep going on up. Pass through the library and then up to the fourth floor. The Stasiseum should be unguarded. Salazar will likely be on the sixth floor, if it is not destroyed.’

Cole scratched his head. His cropped scalp was still itchy, though having caught sight of himself in the waters of the Redbelly River he had to admit he looked rather fetching. Dangerous, even. ‘What’s a Stasiseum?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Eremul spun his chair around to stare him directly in the eye. ‘This is where we part ways.’

‘You’re not coming with me?’

The wizard shook his head. ‘The incident with the guard left me emptier than a magistrate’s pockets after a night of moon dust and expensive whores. I will be impotent, figuratively speaking, for the next few hours. Focus on killing the Magelord and nothing else. Do you understand? We will never have a better opportunity to rid the city of that genocidal, deicidal son of a bitch. Salazar must die.’

Cole nodded. He gripped Magebane’s hilt tightly. ‘I won’t fail. This is what I was born to do. My father’s legacy to me.’

Eremul looked at him, a strange glint in his eyes. ‘Go and make your father proud, Davarus Cole.’



The second floor of the Obelisk opened before him like the entrance to hell. Unlike the first level of the tower there were no windows to let in any natural light. Torches on brackets provided the only illumination. Cole crept down the narrow passageway, sticking to the inside wall, a loaded crossbow in hand. His booted feet made no sound on the soft carpet.

The passage curved slowly around the side of the tower. He followed it until he spotted a shadow looming on the opposite wall, moving towards him. He crouched low and prepared to shoot. The shadow suddenly wavered, then turned and disappeared in the other direction. Cole took a deep breath and padded forwards until the shadow reappeared and he could see the Watchman who cast it.

The sentry was facing away from him. He appeared to mutter something, and Cole’s heart sank as another voice mumbled a reply. Two of them. This could prove tricky.

He retreated back down the passageway and waited. After a minute or two the shadow of the closest Watchman drifted back into view. He moved with it, keeping just out of sight. When the sentry finally stopped to turn back in the other direction, Cole made his move. He raised his crossbow and fired. The bolt hit his target in the neck. He was on him in an instant, Magebane silencing the guard before he could utter a sound.

He dragged the body along the passage all the way back to the stairwell and hid it there. The carpet would hide the bloodstains, but he would need to be quick now. He sped down the passage as quietly as he could manage. A shallow alcove opened on his right, leading to a huge set of metal-bound doors. The other guard was just ahead. He was facing in the other direction.

Cole thanked his luck and raised his crossbow again. He was just lining up a shot when the Watchman turned. The young Shard threw himself into the alcove and back-pedalled until he was pushing up against one of the huge doors. He held his breath.

‘Who’s there?’ the guard demanded. There was the sound of steel being drawn. Cole dropped the crossbow, drew Magebane and plunged it into the sentry’s chest just as he rounded the side of the alcove. The enchanted dagger drove through the chainmail armour and deep into the flesh beneath. Death, Cole thought. Death is here.

Staring at the dying man’s face, though, the desire to utter some witty remark wilted like parchment caught in a flame. He’s not much older than me, Cole thought. He doesn’t have cruel eyes like Pock-face or that other one, the Watchmen who killed the old man back at the Hook.

He remembered Kramer’s shocked expression when he had slit his throat. Murder isn’t noble or just or heroic. It’s… just murder. Cole sagged back against the double doors. This is Salazar’s fault, he told himself. When he’s dead there will be no more killing. Dorminia will surrender and we will be free to build a better city. A fairer city.

He put his ear against the double doors. They were locked. The Grand Council Chamber must lie beyond, but he could hear no sound from within.

Stepping carefully over the body, he continued down the passageway, eventually reaching another set of stairs. He climbed them and emerged into the library on the third floor. There was no one about, but he flitted from bookcase to bookcase just to be safe.

When he reached the Obelisk’s fourth floor, Davarus Cole’s breath caught in his throat.

The entire level was a huge circular chamber. Thick transparent glass ran all around the circumference save for where the two sets of stairs connected to the lower and upper floors. Behind the glass, artfully positioned and displayed, was a wondrous array of stuffed creatures he had never before seen.

One display held a green-skinned humanoid with protruding tusks. The taxidermist had teased the beast into an aggressive pose: the spiked club in the creature’s ham-like fist was raised as if it would smash open its glass prison. The display was so detailed Cole could see the individual hairs bristling from its piggish snout.

In another part of the chamber he saw what appeared to be an egg the size of a child suspended above a large brazier. He stared in amazement. There was fire around the edge of the brazier, so realistic it couldn’t possibly be fake – and yet the flame was completely static, as motionless as ice. He put his hand to the glass and felt the warmth emanating from behind. Smoke was suspended near the top of the display, unmoving. It too was apparently frozen in time.

What had Eremul called this place? The Stasiseum?

The dome in the centre of the chamber stood apart from the rest of the displays. Cole walked up to it, peered inside – and was almost sick. A robed man was spread-eagled in the middle of the dome, suspended some six feet in the air by four iron spikes driven through his wrists and ankles to the small tree behind him. A fifth stake emerged from the floor vertically to impale him up the length of his body. Cole stared at the designs on the robe. He recognized the symbol of the Mother from the temple near the Hook as well as the ruins beneath Thelassa. There were other symbols too – the black horn of Tyrannus he knew, as well as the skull of the Reaver and the anchor of Malantis.

The priest’s face was locked in a scream of eternal agony. Beads of blood hung suspended in the air, caught in the act of dripping from where the spikes pierced his body. Just in front of the priest was a pedestal, and in the centre of the pedestal was a golden urn. There was a name inscribed upon it. Cole peered more closely and saw that it read Dorminia.

He stared at the tree to which the priest was staked. It was a small oak, with leaves the colour of gold. There had been a tree like that in Verdisa Park in the Noble Quarter when he was a boy. It had burned down years ago. Shortly before his father’s murder.

He tore his gaze away and headed for the stairs.

Cole hurried through the gallery on the fifth floor. He had become distracted, a mistake the Darkson would surely have chastised him for. What was his mentor doing now? What part would the master assassin play in the fighting? He didn’t have time to worry about that, he realized. He had a destiny to fulfil.

Benches lined the centre of the gallery. Sculptures stared proudly at him, positioned at intervals down the chamber. Covering the walls were paintings and tapestries depicting places and events from the distant past. One of the largest tapestries caught his eye and against his better judgement Cole slowed to inspect it more closely.

It depicted a pretty young woman standing between two men, one of an age with her and the other old enough to be her father. Both men wore robes. Cole concluded they must be wizards.

He squinted at the tapestry. The mage on the left looked very much like a somewhat younger Salazar. The girl gazed at him with undisguised adoration while she held the hand of the other man, who regarded her with worshipful blue eyes. Behind the three figures, woven in exquisite detail, was a forest of the most vibrant greens and golds.

A slight noise ahead of him snapped his attention away from the tapestry. Cole’s heart lurched in his chest. Staring across at him from the other side of the gallery was a burly warrior.

‘The f*ck you doing here?’ the man growled. He wore grey chainmail, and, like Cole, his matching hair was cut short.

The warrior’s hand hovered over the hilt of the weapon at his belt. Cole suddenly remembered he had a loaded crossbow in his hand. ‘I’m here for Salazar,’ he replied. ‘Don’t make me kill you.’

The drab fellow smiled, his eyes never leaving Cole’s crossbow. ‘If you’re gonna shoot me, you’d best pray you don’t miss.’

Cole’s gloved fingers twitched. There was maybe forty feet between them. ‘I want you to place your sword down on the bench to your left. Slowly. Then sit down on the floor over there.’

The man appeared to consider this. ‘You got me,’ he said, with a nod. With delicate care, he placed his fingers around the hilt of his weapon and carefully drew it. Cole relaxed an inch.

Another mistake.

The grey warrior dropped to the ground suddenly, rolling behind a bench. Cole pressed the trigger almost instantly, but it was a fraction too late. The bolt missed by a hair’s breadth and struck the far wall of the gallery.

Shit. The man was back on his feet and pounding towards him before he even had time to reach for another quarrel. He hurled the useless crossbow at his attacker, who drew his scimitar and cleaved the makeshift projectile in half in a single motion. Cole saw the glow around the edge of the blade and his heart sunk further. Augmentor.

‘Come here, you little prick,’ snarled his pursuer as Cole turned and ducked behind a statue, fumbling at his belt for Magebane. There was a whistling sound just above his head and the top half of the statue simply fell away, a foot of solid stone cut through like butter.

He reeled away from the ruined sculpture and turned to face the Augmentor, who saw Magebane’s glow and slowed his advance. ‘How the f*ck did you get your hands on that?’ he snarled.

Cole didn’t respond. He was weighing the odds. They didn’t look good. The Augmentor was clearly a veteran warrior – and the man carried a scimitar capable of cleaving stone. There was only one thing for it. He would have to fight dirty.

With his free hand, he reached inside a pocket on his cloak and withdrew a handful of the powder the Darkson had given him. It was mildly corrosive, capable of causing a great deal of irritation to uncovered skin. He took a few steps forwards and then tossed the powder at the Augmentor’s exposed face.

‘You sneaky little cocksucker,’ the warrior screamed as he desperately tried to wipe away the burning substance with the back of one hairy hand. Cole was on him in an instant, Magebane plunging downwards. The Augmentor shifted at the last moment and it caught him in the shoulder rather than the chest. Cole tugged Magebane free, preparing to finish the job, but at that moment the Augmentor’s knee shot out and caught him square in the fruits.

He reeled away in agony, turning back just in time to catch a headbutt to the mouth. He fell back against a bench and spat out a tooth, bloody drool spraying everywhere. The world spun.

The Augmentor’s face leered into view above him. It was covered in red spots, pus-filled cysts already beginning to form. ‘Like to fight dirty? You’re not the only one. I’m gonna enjoy this; take my time.’

The scimitar inched down towards his face. Cole watched it descend with growing horror. As it got closer he could see that the blade was vibrating, the motion so fast it was almost imperceptible. He tried to kick out, but the Augmentor had his legs pinned. All he could do was bring Magebane across to try and cover his body – a futile gesture.

His tormentor laughed. ‘Think that will protect you? This scimitar can cut through anything, boy. Even your enchanted pigsticker.’ With a grin, the Augmentor brought his weapon down, lowered the edge against Magebane.

There was an explosion of white light and a noise like a horse screaming its death cry. Redness filled Cole’s vision. Clashing kaleidoscopes of colour danced across his eyes, but he could just make out his opponent’s scimitar spinning wildly away across the marble floor. He shook his head desperately. It seemed to take an eternity to clear.

He heard a wet gasping noise from just ahead of him. The Augmentor was lying face down. His right arm and leg rested six feet away on the floor like a couple of tasty morsels thrown to a dog. The sinewy stumps just below the man’s shoulder and above his knee squirted fresh blood with every beat of his heart, turning the marble wet and slippery.

The Augmentor’s ruined scimitar lay nearby. The weapon’s glow was gone and the curved blade was bent out of shape. In sudden panic Cole glanced at Magebane. It appeared to be unharmed, the magical radiance that surrounded it stronger than ever.

There was something else, another sound besides the dying man’s gasps. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

Tick tock tick tock.

With a growing sense of dread, Cole reached down over the maimed Augmentor and untied the pouch hanging from his belt. He reached in and pulled out Garrett’s pocket watch.

Time seemed to stand still.

‘Where did you get this?’ He grabbed the Augmentor’s face and turned it towards him. ‘Where? Tell me!’

‘Why?’ the maimed man breathed.

‘It belongs to someone very dear to me.’

There was no reply except for an ugly chuckle. Cole turned the fallen Augmentor onto his back, heedless of the blood spurting up his trousers. ‘Tell me where you got this!’ he demanded again.

The Augmentor’s sightless eyes stared at the ceiling, his mouth frozen in a permanent death grin. His chest had stopped moving.

Panic seized Cole. He had tried to leave a message several times while at the militia camp but had not received any response. He wanted to flee the Obelisk, to run through the city to Garrett’s estate and the temple at the Hook and anywhere else his foster father might be found.

Instead he gripped the pocket watch tightly, trying to calm himself as he watched the hand tick slowly around the face. Whatever had happened to his mentor, Garrett would want him to see this through.

With a deep breath, he climbed the stairs to Salazar’s personal chambers.



As it turned out, the top two levels of the tower had been forcibly merged into one. The ceiling above the sixth floor had caved in during the magical assault on the tower, leaving a sloping pile of rubble to form a makeshift staircase. Cole found no sign of Salazar or anyone else on the wasted remnants of the sixth floor, so he sheathed Magebane and began climbing towards the guest quarters above him. Rock and debris shifted beneath his feet. The air was cooler now, and he could feel a light breeze brushing against his cheek.

Grunting, Cole hauled himself up over the edge of the shattered ceiling and onto the seventh floor. Just ahead of him the Obelisk’s roof had been split open, revealing a blue sky overhead. Smoke and dust still drifted through the air, obscuring his view. It seemed to be blowing from the east, so he plunged into it, pulling up his hood to shield his face and mouth. Either side of him collapsed rooms poured their destroyed contents across his path. He was forced to climb over the wreckage of four-poster beds, ornate dressers, grandiose armoires that had spilled their contents everywhere. His boots trampled silk gowns and gold-trimmed jackets into the filthy debris as he clambered across them. The wind grew stronger and the dust began to clear…

The Tyrant of Dorminia bled into view.

The Magelord was gazing out at the city, his back to Cole, scarlet robes and cloak fluttering out behind him.

He edged closer, as silent as a ghost. The yards closed between them. Fifteen. Ten. Five. He reached under his own cloak, placed a hand on Magebane’s hilt. This was it. One thrust and it would all be over.

‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

He froze. Salazar didn’t turn around. The Magelord’s voice was calm, measured. Cole’s mind raced. Should he charge, stick the bastard before he had the chance to react?

‘The White Lady sent you, did she not? A knife in the back. That was always her style.’

Salazar turned to face him.

Cole stared from beneath his hood. The most powerful man in the north seemed small up close. Small and very ancient. His skin was sagging and lined with wrinkles and he leaned on a cane, apparently unable to carry the weight of his withered body without support.

Tick tock tick tock.

The instrument at his belt, Garrett’s timepiece, reminded him of the folly of judging this man by his wretched appearance. He was a despot. A Godkiller. A Magelord.

‘I’m not here because of the White Lady,’ Cole said grimly. ‘I’m here because of the people of Dorminia. I’m here because of what you did to me.’

Salazar raised an eyebrow. ‘And what have I done to upset you, young man?’

Cole threw back his hood. ‘You had my father killed.’

The Magelord didn’t react. He simply stared at him. His eyes were sunk so far back in their sockets he looked as if he hadn’t slept in months. ‘Illarius,’ he said eventually. The ancient voice betrayed no emotion.

‘Illarius Cole,’ repeated the young Shard. ‘A hero. A hero you murdered for daring to stand against you.’

The Tyrant of Dorminia cocked his wizened head slightly. ‘Is that what they told you?’ he asked softly.

Cole could feel the anger rising within him. ‘That’s the truth! Don’t try and manipulate me. Your magic won’t work. My father’s legacy protects me.’

For the first time he saw a flicker of emotion on Salazar’s face. ‘You have Magebane, then.’

Triumph flooded Cole. He tore the glowing dagger free of its sheath and brandished it before him. ‘Yes. A hero’s weapon. And it will be your death.’

That pronouncement wasn’t met with the sudden fear he expected. Instead the Magelord closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he looked tired. So very tired. ‘You are aware Magebane’s power functions only for you. Did you ever question why?’

Cole shrugged. ‘What does it matter?’

‘The weapon you hold is tied to your father’s blood, which you alone share. It is bondmagic.’

‘No – that’s not true!’ Cole felt anger take hold. Bondmagic was something only Augmentors used.

Salazar raised the thin cane on which he leaned and pointed it at Magebane. ‘The blade is an alloy of unique potency. Abyssium is rarer than dragon’s teeth.’ He lowered the cane and leaned on it once more. ‘The process of enchanting the weapon was complicated. It took me ten days spent in isolation. It is perhaps my finest work.’

Cole’s mouth dropped open as the implications of what he was hearing sank in. ‘You created Magebane?’ he asked in astonishment.

Salazar nodded. ‘After a cabal of wizards attempted to have me assassinated, I decided the city must be purged of those with the gift.’ The tyrant sighed and shook his head. ‘It was not an easy decision. There was a time when I defied the very gods to protect my brothers and sisters from persecution.’

‘What does the Culling have to do with my father?’ Even as he asked the question, Cole could feel cold dread worming its way into his heart.

The ruler of Dorminia raised an age-spotted hand to stroke absently at his drooping moustache. ‘Illarius was a man of many qualities. Loyal. Reliable. Ruthless. He alone I deemed fitting of the weapon you hold. He served me well as an Augmentor for many years.’

My father… an Augmentor? One of Salazar’s killers? Cole wanted nothing more than to plunge his dagger into the wizard before more lies could spill from his mouth. ‘You’re lying!’ he shouted. ‘My father was a rebel leader! Everyone knows that!’

‘Do they? How many men and women in the street, when stopped and asked, have heard the name Illarius Cole?’

Despite his rage, Cole paused to consider this. Only the older Shards, it seemed, had ever mentioned his father: Garrett, and Remy and Vicard, on occasion. They had never been very effusive on the subject. But why would Garrett and the rest lie to him? Salazar’s trying to trick me into letting my guard down.

‘If he truly did serve you, why have him killed?’ Cole shot back, desperately hoping he had found a fatal flaw in the Magelord’s argument.

‘The abyssium that I used to forge Magebane did not react quite as expected to the binding spell. It left me… vulnerable.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Cole, now genuinely confused.

‘The bondmagic possessed by my Augmentors should remain bound to me. Yet I had no control over Magebane. I could not sense its presence, or that of its wielder. I could not siphon from it. Most troubling of all, I could not sever the weapon’s link to Illarius when it had fulfilled its purpose.’ He sighed, and there was a hint of regret in his voice. ‘It pained me to order his death. There was simply no alternative. Not after witnessing his efficacy during the Culling. The threat was too great.’

Cole wanted to refute that cold logic, ridicule the words as a pack of lies. He couldn’t, and so he played the last card he possessed. ‘My mother would never marry an Augmentor!’ he spat. ‘She was a good woman.’ Garrett had always told him so.

Salazar was silent for a time. ‘The Illarius Cole I knew never married,’ he said evenly, without humour or malice. ‘His son was begat on a whore.’

His son was begat on a whore.

Cole took a step towards Salazar. ‘My mother was named Sophia, you lying bastard! She was the daughter of a shipwright. We had a house on—’

‘—on Leviathan Walk just north of the harbour. Yes, I recall. I had offered him an estate in the Noble Quarter. Illarius was never much for ostentation.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Sophia… An exotic name. The kind a harlot would choose.’

Cole’s world was threatening to collapse around him. It all made sense now. The story about his father being a hero. His mother dying in childbirth. The false legacy he held in his hand, a few feet from Salazar’s wrinkled old neck. Lies. All lies.

He stared out past the Magelord, towards the fierce fighting that still raged far below them in the distance, and came within a whisker of tossing Magebane over the edge of the tower. What was the point? He wasn’t the hero they thought he was. He was a fraud. No better than Isaac. And Sasha had probably known it all along, which is why she had rejected him.

Tick tock tick tock. He reached down, pulled out Garrett’s pocket watch. His foster father had lied to him as well. He had known the truth. He had known that Davarus was the bastard offspring of a murdering Augmentor and a whore.

He stared down at the city again. Far in the distance he could just about see the old merchant’s estate west of the river. He had spent much of his time there, growing up. Despite his parentage, Garrett had taken him in. Offered him a home. Treated him like his very own son.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Garrett had lied to protect him, he realized. Lied only because he didn’t want to see him hurt.

Tick tock tick tock.

He shifted Magebane slightly, brought his hand a fraction closer to Salazar. ‘We can’t change who our parents are,’ he said slowly. ‘But we can decide who we want to be. A chance you’ve denied to countless innocent people.’

Salazar stared back, unafraid. ‘I have always done what I thought necessary. The longer one lives, the more one understands that there is no inherent goodness in the world.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, and Cole was shocked to see wetness glistening on the wrinkled skin beneath those sunken sockets. ‘My daughter’s heart was the purest I have ever known. If good ever really existed, it was within her. And the Inquisition burned her alive.’

Cole stared back, too surprised to speak.

‘I punished all those responsible. I erected this city and named it in her honour. I planted her favourite tree, but even that was desecrated.’

Cole remembered the Eternal Tree which once had stood in Verdisa Park. He recalled the urn down in the Stasiseum. The name that was engraved there. Dorminia.

‘You are not the first to stand here today and judge me,’ the Magelord continued. He drew himself up to his full height then, straightened his robes and wiped the tears from his face. The momentary weakness was gone, and he was once again the formidable Tyrant of Dorminia. ‘I would have tried to kill the other – but even at full strength I might not have succeeded. And I would not give that selfrighteous bastard the satisfaction of witnessing my failure.’

There was a moment of deathly silence – and then Salazar raised one wasted hand. ‘So. You wish to be a hero? Let us see if you have what it takes.’

Cole gasped as Magebane began to throb in his palm. Almost instantly it was boiling hot, burning through his glove to sear the flesh beneath.

He was across to the Magelord in an instant.

Gasping from the pain, still clutching Garrett’s pocket watch in his other hand, he plunged the glowing dagger through those scarlet robes and deep into the withered body underneath.

Salazar’s arm wavered and then flopped down to dangle by his side. Magebane’s hilt cooled almost instantly as the Magelord’s magic sputtered and died. The killer of gods, the most powerful man in the north, began to sag.

Cole held him up, staring into the wizard’s eyes. He was shocked to find that he weighed less than a child. ‘Why?’ he asked quietly. ‘You had the power to change the world for the better. Why didn’t you?’

The Tyrant of Dorminia sighed softly. Cole had expected Salazar to die screaming and cursing his name, but the Magelord appeared peaceful. Almost content. His voice was a bubbling whisper.

‘Things… rarely go as we hope they might. I once thought to save humanity from the gods…’ He coughed suddenly, blood bubbling around his mouth to stain his beard and moustache the same colour as his robes. ‘I did not realize humanity needed the gods more than they needed us. I was blinded by hatred.’

‘And Shadowport? Was hate the reason you murdered an entire city?’

‘“Hate”…’ the dying Magelord repeated, his voice now so weak Cole could barely hear it. ‘That was not hate. That was… compassion.’

Compassion? That made no sense. ‘What do you mean?’ he was about to ask, but Salazar’s breathing had stopped. There was no sound but the whistling of the wind and the tick tock tick tock of the timepiece in his hand.

The Magelord shuddered once. His fading gaze settled on the pocket watch. ‘Time… to die…’ he whispered.

His eyes closed one final time.

Cole slid Magebane free of Salazar’s body. He was about to lower the corpse to the ground when suddenly it began to glow. He jerked backwards as it floated up and drifted out of the side of the tower, rising higher and higher, above even the Obelisk itself.

Without warning, blinding rays of golden light burst from the dead Magelord’s eyes and mouth. Cole shielded his own eyes as the incandescent rays shot upwards – a stream of divine energy fleeing its host to return to the heavens whence it was stolen.

The spectacle continued for two or three minutes before the light died. Salazar jerked once when the last golden motes had finally faded. Then the Tyrant of Dorminia began to fall, tumbling end over end.

The body struck the courtyard hundreds of feet below and burst apart.