Looking down Silus flexed his claws. They had yet to be baptised in the blood of his enemies but that would soon change.
For Silus did know the nature of the death that had come to the citadel of the Calma, because he was, himself, part of that terrible horde.
With a guttural, animal cry he launched himself at the creature cowering before him and knew his own name.
Chadassa!
Chapter Eleven
Querilous Fitch hated the way this place smelled. No matter how thoroughly they cleaned the chamber, the stench of burning heretics still clung to the walls. For a while they had tried adding aromatic oils to the naphtha used to incinerate the accused, but all that had done was add a cloying perfume to the odour of cooking human flesh. Still, Querilous considered that one wasn't supposed to enjoy the atmosphere here. The suffering of a soul being purged should not be pleasing, no matter how much it gladdened the heart to see a heretic dispatched to the judgement of the Lord of All.
A door opened in the far wall and Brother Sequilious — the Final Faith's head sorcerer — entered, followed by Katherine Makennon. Sequilious acknowledged Querilous with a nod as Makennon held out her hand to be reverently kissed. The Anointed Lord was not surrounded by her usual entourage of acolytes and personal assistants this evening, as the business that they were to conduct here was not to be common knowledge amongst the faithful. The use of Old Race sorcery wasn't forbidden as such, but the magic that Sequilious was about to weave within this soot-stained room would be considered heretical in some quarters. This was why Makennon had to be in attendance, to absolve the sorcerer of the sins he was about to commit.
Brother Sequilious entered the circle of cages in the middle of the room and stood at the centre of the black spiral painted on the floor. Each soot stained cage mimicked the basic form of a human and stood at just over seven feet tall. In several places carbonised flesh still clung to the bars. A pipe rose from the top of each cage, juddering and steaming where it entered the ceiling, filling the room with a muggy warmth from the heat of the naphtha that flowed within.
As Sequilious closed his eyes, Makennon took a small silver sprinkler from her robes and anointed the sorcerer with holy oil while chanting the rites of absolution. After the ceremony was complete Sequilious bowed to Makennon and she exited the circle. When he looked up at Querilous there was a cruel glint in Sequilious's eyes, as he indicated to him to bring in the heretics.
The seven men that were led into the room by Querilous's assistants had been discovered on Sarcre. They were members of the cult of Many Paths, a heathen religion that Querilous had thought long since purged from the archipelago. It seemed, however, that the cult was very much a part of island life. In the light of this Querilous had suggested that a detachment of the Order of the Swords of Dawn be sent to Sarcre on a purification mission as soon as possible. The islands may be of little military or commercial interest to the Faith, but that was no reason why they should be allowed to lapse into the old heathen ways.
The heretics were in various states of distress. The youngest had fought against his bonds and screamed so much in his cell that Querilous had had to administer a strong sedative, and now the man drooped against the bars of his execution cage, a thin line of drool swaying from his stupidly grinning lips. Several of the other heretics were praying loudly to their ancestors, others were singing and one man stared at Sequilious with such intense hatred that the sorcerer was forced to look away. Final Faith protocol required that each prisoner be read a list of the charges brought against them and offered the chance to confess before the purging began, but Querilous didn't deem it necessary in these unusual circumstances. Besides, he considered, it was unlikely that these souls would be winging their way to the clouds of Kerberos once the spell was completed.
"Before we start," said Katherine Makennon, "are you sure that this will render the eunuch useless?"
"Indeed, your Eminence," Querilous said. "Once the magic has been woven, the crew of the Llothriall won't be going anywhere."
"Excellent, do please proceed."
Querilous went to stand behind a steel screen set into the floor a short distance from the cages. It rose to a height of just over six feet and there was a reinforced glass viewing port set into it at head height. Behind the screen an array of levers extended from the floor and Querilous pulled one of these towards him.
There was a thunderous clank from somewhere in the ceiling, and then only the loudest of the prisoners' cries could drown out the sound of the naphtha rushing through the pipes.
The heat in the room intensified and Querilous looked through the viewing port to see Sequilious making the passes and muttering the incantations that marked the beginning of the spell.
As Sequilious sketched a dwarven rune in the air with his left hand and the black spiral upon which he stood began to glow with a maroon light, Querilous pulled on another lever.
The pipes were silent then for the briefest of moments and the only sounds in the chamber were the muttering of the sorcerer and the cries of the heretics, before the valve at the top of each cage squealed open and naphtha rained down.
As flesh began to sizzle under the onslaught of burning oil and the screams of the condemned men rose to an almost girlish pitch, Querilous pulled another lever and the fans set into the walls began to suck the human smoke from the room. It would rise through the many levels of Scholten cathedral to pour from the great chimneys that extended high above the church. Pilgrims making their way to prayer would pause and think that this smoke was from the incense of Makennon's devotions, and give thanks that they had witnessed the smallest part of such a holy rite.
The naphtha did its job quickly and the heretics were soon silent. However, their part in the ritual was far from over. Querilous began to manipulate the levers and the cages in which the heretics burned began to revolve around Brother Sequilious. The flames reached high as the cages spun faster and faster, adding their light to the glow of the magic that suffused the sorcerer. Sequilious threw up his arms and his pupils were suddenly full of the azure light of Kerberos. Threads of dark energy began to extend towards him from the circle of flame and, as they touched him, a strange cry filled the room, like the whimpering of whipped dogs. A dark aura began to weave itself around Sequilious and he was soon lost in the folds of a strange black caul.
Querilous pulled another lever and the spinning cages came to a sudden stop, the blackened bones within rattling against the bars.
The black aura surrounding the sorcerer began to grow until there was a dark column reaching to the ceiling. As it towered above Querilous it seemed to lean forward and he was suddenly fearful that it would fall on and consume him. But then a shudder passed through the column as the air in the room was sucked toward it with a great rushing of wind.
Above the keening of the maelstrom Querilous could hear the beating of his own heart and, as he struggled to breathe, he prayed to the Lord of All that the spell would soon be over. Through the blur of tears, he saw the dark column give a great shudder before it exploded outwards, bringing with it the smell of burning stone and cherry blossoms.
Querilous would have expected Sequilious to be flattened by the force of the magic he had just woven, but he stood in the last flickers of the dissipating energy, untouched. Brushing down his robes he stepped from the circle and bowed before Makennon.