FORTY
‘But you told me he was dead,’ Waylian said, looking in disbelief at Bram though his words were directed at his mistress.
‘I told you no such thing,’ Gelredida replied.
They stood in the entrance hall to the Tower of Magisters. Outside the distant roar of battle crept over the sound of the rain beating down.
Waylian could only stare at Bram, at his hollow, dishevelled features, at the arrogant smile he held despite his appearance. Hatred burned inside him along with the need to throttle the bastard, but he knew he couldn’t. If Gelredida had released him she must have done so for a bloody good reason.
He could only think about how they had been friends. About how popular Bram had been with the other apprentices, but what a dark secret he had hidden. The murders he had committed and the evil magicks he had conjured that day within the Chapel of Ghouls. Had Waylian not managed to manifest some magick of his own and stopped Bram, the outcome would have been catastrophic. And here was Magistra Gelredida, unleashing him from his prison to roam the city once more.
‘Why is he alive?’ said Waylian.
Gelredida glanced over at Bram, who shrugged his reply, obviously as much in the dark about that as Waylian.
‘He is the Maleficar Necris. He has power beyond imagining. Power that perhaps no mortal should be allowed to wield, but right now he could be the only thing that will save this city.’
Waylian was about to say he didn’t understand, but he stopped himself. He’d said those words far too often. Made himself look the dolt on too many occasions. He was damned if he’d do it again, especially with that murdering bastard Rembram Thule leering at him like some loathsome toad.
‘If there are no more questions, we have work to do,’ said Gelredida.
In the absence of further argument she led them from the tower. Bram followed, Waylian at the rear. Gelredida had seen fit to send the rest of the Raven Knights within the tower to the wall, so they had no further escort as they made their way out onto the city streets.
Two sets of manacles secured Bram’s wrists; one made of iron and another similar to those Gelredida had worn in the Crucible of Magisters to nullify her powers. Waylian could only hope they would be enough. He had seen Bram’s potency first-hand and it had almost killed him. The only reason he’d survived was blind luck and he was in no mood to push it any further. It was times like this he wished he carried a blade. Then he could see how dangerous Rembram Thule was with a knife between his ribs. He wouldn’t be so fucking scary then, would he?
‘How’ve you been, Grimmy?’ Bram asked conversationally, as they made their way across the city. Screams rose above the sounds of battle and the rain had already soaked through their cloaks to the robes beneath. And now a man Waylian thought he’d killed was talking to him like they were strolling along a quiet beach. Of everything that had happened to him — from a near icy death in the Kriega Mountains, to facing a murderously animated tree in the amphitheatre — this was the most insane.
‘How the fuck do you think I’ve been?’ he replied.
‘I don’t know, Grimmy. That’s why I’m asking. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been locked up in a dungeon for Arlor knows how many weeks. They didn’t keep me apprised of how you were getting on and I’ve missed my old pal.’
‘Fuck off,’ Waylian spat. ‘Fuck off, you fucking mad fucker.’
Bram looked genuinely hurt. ‘Aw, come on now. There’s no need for rudeness.’
‘No need for … You tried to end the fucking world, Bram. What in the hells is wrong with you?’
Bram shook his head. ‘There’s no need to be hostile. I’ve just got ambition, that’s all, Grimmy. It’s not my fault you’re happy to be someone’s lapdog.’ He nodded towards Gelredida. If she could hear she didn’t acknowledge it.
‘I’m no one’s lapdog. And you’re bloody insane. Don’t talk to me.’
He dropped back a little, letting Bram and Gelredida walk ahead some distance. As much as he wanted to believe he was no one’s lackey, he knew the truth of it. And he knew he’d let Bram get to him. Despite his former friend being insane he was clearly still a manipulative bastard. Probably best if they both kept their mouths shut.
They didn’t have to walk on much further for Waylian to realise where they were headed. The Chapel of Ghouls stood ominously in the distance. Waylian felt a knot tighten in his stomach as they neared it, the memory of what had so nearly happened in that place making him feel sick. What made that sickness worse was the uncertainty about why Gelredida was taking them there now. Luckily Bram asked the question so Waylian didn’t have to.
‘Far be it from me to doubt the wisdom of the Red Witch, but why on earth are we returning to this broken-down old ruin?’
They had reached the gate now, with its fiendish brass carvings, each one in the shape of a ghoul or its victim. She drew her hand over the gate panel and whispered her quiet words. Waylian felt nausea engulf him as it had done the first time he came here, only now it was not so intense. This time he almost seemed to handle the experience with ease.
As the brass carvings moved in their silent dance and the gate opened, Gelredida stood and stared up the path to the Chapel of Ghouls. ‘You wanted your chance at greatness, Rembram. And now you’re about to have it.’
Bram glanced over at Waylian, both eyebrows raised as though the prospect excited him.
‘Er … Magistra?’ said Waylian. ‘You can’t possibly be thinking about what I think you’re thinking about.’
Gelredida crossed the threshold and made her way up the path towards the chapel. Bram matched her long stride as Waylian stumbled along beside them.
‘Magistra?’ he said again.
‘If you’ve never trusted me before, Waylian, you need to trust me now,’ she said without turning towards him, her focus fixed on the ominous building.
‘But this is madness. This is insane, you can’t …’ But Waylian knew she could.
Of course she can, Grimm. She’s the Red Witch; she can do as she pleases. How many people has she burned to get her way? How much has she risked to save this city? She was only too eager to put you in harm’s way and you’re her apprentice. Do you think she gives a shit about the lives of a few bog trotters swelling the city’s underbelly if it defeats the Khurtas?
Gelredida didn’t lead them into the chapel itself, but up a makeshift stone staircase that twisted up the side of the building. Waylian followed behind Bram, mad thoughts of tipping the bastard off the stairs to his death flying through his head. But he knew he’d never have the courage for that, never be brave enough to defy his mistress, even when it seemed that she had lost all reason.
They reached the roof of the chapel and Gelredida walked around the perimeter with her hand held out, palm facing down. As she passed each stanchion set in the parapet that surrounded the rooftop, a torch burst into bright yellow flame. Despite the rain drumming down hard, the flames burned bright. In the light Waylian could see the roof was perhaps twenty feet wide, gaps in the flat mosaic tiles under his feet showing through to the chapel beneath. The pattern on the tiles was laid in some arcane design which Waylian didn’t recognise.
Gelredida came to stand before Bram, staring him in the eyes. In return he regarded her with his usual arrogant expression.
‘You will finish the ritual,’ she said. ‘You will unleash the ghouls on this city. Only you can do that. And only you can stop them.’
‘What makes you think I’ll do that?’ Bram asked with a grin.
‘Because if you don’t, Waylian will kill you.’
Waylian will bloody what?
Bram glanced over at Waylian, who tried to look as brave as he could, and not like someone had just kicked him in the fruits. ‘Him? He got lucky last time, you know that as well as I do, witch. He couldn’t kill a crippled fly.’
‘You would be surprised at what he’s achieved since you were locked away from the sunlight.’