“What is Harailt planning?” Cillian said. “Why do this?”
Krandus’ fists shook with fury. “Targeting the magical centre of Setharis makes perfect sense if you want to crush your greatest obstacle to conquest with a single blow. I suspect that the wolf-ships are merely there to hunt down fleeing stragglers and sweep in once the Magash Mora has finished its feast.” He exchanged glances with Shadea. “The Forging rite should have ensured the loyalty of all magi; however, we cannot know what strange powers are at work here.”
“And what are our bloody gods doing?” I said. “Hiding away like scared children? This stinks. That thing needed serious power to create. Godly power most likely.” The gods should be floating above the city, casting fire and lightning down upon our enemies, ripping the magic and life from their bones and opening the earth to drop their corpses into the Boneyards. All the beasts of Setharis should be rising up to tear down the invaders with tooth, claw and beak. Instead our gods did nothing.
“Ah yes, Cillian mentioned your previous ranting,” Krandus said. “The Hooded God is not a suspect, whatever his old temple in the Warrens was used for.” He gave a queer, sad smile as he said that.
“But–”
“Silence!” A vein throbbed in his temple.
I clammed up, simmering inside. He meant it, and now was not the time to push the Archmagus.
The clank of steel-shod boots and heavy armour drew our attention. A dozen dirt-caked figures marched up the street towards us, massive two-handed swords as tall as me held out before them. They were covered head to toe in an entire forge worth of steel plate, razor edges and wicked spikes. Their helms didn’t have open eye slits, instead light glinted off some kind of clear crystal embedded in the metal, and artificer-wrought magical metal replaced leather straps, chain and vulnerable joints. They looked bulky and clumsy to my eye, awkward to fight in, and yet they covered the distance between us easily and fluidly, faster than humanly possible. Looking closer, Eva’s green-flecked blade was strapped to the back of one of them. The immensely heavy armour suddenly made perfect sense – only knights could possibly fight in that.
A dark-haired boy and girl, twins by the looks of them, trailed a safe distance behind. They bore a passing resemblance to Martain, making them the other sanctors. They were far too young for the insanity we were about to put them through.
The knights formed a hulking line in front of the Archmagus, their boots stamping down like a thunderclap. “So few, Evangeline?” he said.
Eva’s voice came out tinny and muffled. “The others were buried in the collapse, Archmagus.”
Krandus grimaced, rubbed his temples, eyes falling. “It is not enough.” Everything was failing and falling to ruin. He was desperate. It was the first time I’d ever seen him so weak, so human.
Somebody tossed me my old boots and grey coat. I buckled on the coat and tugged on the boots. It felt like donning armour against change: I felt like my old self.
“If only we could unleash the titans against the Magash Mora,” Shadea said to the Archmagus. “I believe that is what they were originally created for, though completed too late to save Escharr. The puzzle of the titan’s strange luminescence is no longer a mystery: it was a warning we were too ignorant to heed.”
Krandus said nothing, didn’t look at her.
Cillian sagged against me, her strength ebbing. “The point is moot. The activation keys are buried within the vaults.”
Shadea said nothing, watched Krandus until he finally met her gaze.
He swallowed. “No. Never again. We swore an oath.”
Cillian rallied, scrutinizing the Archmagus’ face. She forced herself to stand on her own and let go of my arm. “Explain yourself. As a member of the Inner Circle I demand an answer.”
“There is one,” he said. “An activation key kept apart from the others. A… contingency. Is one monster not enough, Shadea?”
“Sometimes you need a monster to fight a monster,” she replied.
Krandus raked a hand through his perfect hair and sighed. “So be it. Fetch it before I change my mind.”
Shadea turned on her heel and disappeared into the streets of the Old Town. He straightened up and cast off his distress, and with it went that small measure of humanity he had displayed. He looked us over, eyes shrewd and calculating, and I knew we were nothing but pawns in a desperate game of life and death.
“Magus Walker,” Krandus said. “You are in the hands of the sanctors until such time as you are needed. You will obey them without question.” Piss on that. “Martain, a word before we march.” The twin sanctors stood on either side of me as Krandus and Martain moved away for a private discussion.
When Martain returned he appeared troubled, refusing to meet my eyes. I didn’t like the way Krandus had spoken to him in private. I was all too aware I was expendable. Others also owned spirit-bound blades…
The ground lurched as the Magash Mora loosed an ear-splitting howl and slammed its bulk down to pulverize a whole block of buildings. The creature squatted over the ruins, pulsing tendrils rooting about in the debris.
I had to look away as it slurped up maddened horses still hitched to a wagon. The massive gate between the Old Town and Docklands seemed impregnable: ancient oak bound with the hardest of mage-wrought steel and reinforced by centuries of potent magics. It was able to ignore besieging armies and battering rams, never mind screaming hordes of terrified Docklanders begging to be let in. All of our wards and protective magics would prove useless if that monster outside climbed the cliff and reached the gate. Mere wood, stone and steel was not going to be enough.
Chapter 28
Dozens of armoured wardens knelt before a gaggle of priests murmuring useless prayers to absent gods, while others were more interested in hurriedly scrawling notes to their loved ones before handing them over to a solemn-looking young lad with a sack. Eva formed her knights into a wedge of jagged steel in front of the gate and coteries formed into ranks behind them. Setharis had never done battle as lesser peoples did, with rank upon rank of spearmen, horse, and heavy infantry. Instead the core of our armies split into independent coteries existing solely to protect individual magi. With so few magi experienced in battle perhaps that had to change. A dozen wardens encircled the sanctors keeping me under guard. The girl sanctor took the front while Martain and the boy stood behind me.
The Archmagus and the other members of the Inner Circle, save the injured Cillian, moved towards the gate, giving the sanctors a wide berth. Shadea carried something bulky and metallic in her arms. I was disappointed to discover that a titan activation key was a plain metal box with little gold studs all along the sides. She was guarded by a wall of steel-clad wardens carrying tower-shields as tall as they were.
Krandus turned on his heel to face us. The wardens all shifted nervously, leather and metal creaking and clinking. They were terrified – and so were the magi, most of whom had never seen a street fight, never mind a battle. I didn’t think it would take much to break them, and it didn’t escape Krandus’ notice either. His eyes found mine with an unspoken warning to behave.
“No time for a pretty speech,” he said, voice ringing loud and clear over the background mayhem. “This is Setharis. We have always stood against blood sorcerers who cut out the beating hearts of children as sacrifice for their inhuman and daemonic masters. Kill them all.”
The gate doors yawned wide and Setharis marched to war. A mob of sooty Docklanders spilled in pleading for safety. They pushed through the widening gap, then stopped and panicked, scrambling backwards as the steel wall of the siege-breakers advanced at a steady and unstoppable march. Beggars and dockhands, seamstresses, merchants and children shouted, screamed and begged even as they streamed back down the slope, pushing and shoving in a disorganized mess.