Calabash pumped its wings and turned towards the west, Emuel easily shifting his weight with the dragon, becoming used to the feel of the creature beneath him. A flock of dragons ahead of them were now little more than dark specks against the setting sun. Emuel watched them wink out one by one. A moment later, two dragons flew in to flank Calabash. One had scales the colour of sunflowers, the other was a silvery grey with eyes as bright as diamonds. They called to Calabash and the dragon nodded to acknowledge their presence, before turning to look back at Emuel.
The eunuch patted his mount’s flank and settled himself more comfortably upon the gently rolling back. Twilight seemed so far away now, yet Emuel found that he no longer missed it. This place — this world of dragons and burgeoning potential — was his home now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ignacio and the remaining members of the Order of the Swords of Dawn began to sing hymns. For Silus, it was the last straw.
“You know what? You can take that elsewhere. I mean it.” Silus backed up his words by drawing his sword. He didn’t care that he and Ignacio had been through so much together, that they had once fought side by side; if he didn’t stop with the ‘Holy Holys’ and ‘Most Blessed on Highs’ right now, he was going to get a sword in the guts.
“But He has come to show us the way,” Ignacio said, a beatific smile on his face. “He has come to bring judgement to this godless world.”
“Ignacio, if you do anything to make matters worse I will stand by these people and I will fight you.”
Silus stared into Ignacio’s eyes, trying to find some remnant of his old friend, but the ex-smuggler’s gaze remained curiously blank.
Shaking his head, Silus went back to helping look after the wounded and the dying.
The Swords had gone through the settlement like a whirlwind, killing virtually everything in their path. No wonder Vos had prevailed against Pontaine in the last war, Silus considered, when Katherine Makennon had such men at her disposal. The Pontaine army, as organised and well-equipped as it had been, just didn’t have a chance against an enemy with such a capacity for cruelty and a lust for slaughter.
He found Katya tending to a little boy with a nasty head wound. His right eye had been gouged out; Silus tried not to wince when he looked at the bloody cavity. Zac was sitting on the ground nearby, smiling to himself as he ran sand through his fingers, seemingly oblivious to the suffering around him. Sometimes Silus worried about his son’s emotional health.
“Do you know where your parents are?” Katya was asking. “When did you last see them?”
“They ran,” the boy said. “I couldn’t keep up. And then they were gone, cut down.”
Silus could see the anger on Katya’s face, the desire to turn on the people who had done this and make them pay, but for the sake of the boy she remained calm as she sponged blood from his brow.
Above them, on the crest of a dune, Bestion was praying, facing the direction of the risen god, his forehead to the sand in submission. He’d been crouched in this manner for several hours. Silus was saddened to see the priest abasing himself in this way. He could remember a man with dignity and compassion, a man whose faith bound him to the community he served, but all that had gone. Now Bestion blindly looked to Kerberos for answers.
Bestion finally rose and brushed off his robes. Silus raised his hand when the priest looked his way, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he headed in the direction of Ignacio and the Swords, there to confer with them in a huddle. Silus was horrified when Ignacio shook hands with Bestion, welcoming him in amongst the fanatics.
This had not gone unnoticed by Kelos.
“That,” said the mage, sitting down next to Silus, “is not good.”
“Looks like they’re recruiting,” Silus said.
“Think we should stop him?”
“I don’t think we can.”
“What are we going to do, Silus? We can’t just stay here. We certainly can’t hang around with the Swords for much longer. Do you think that if we asked nicely they’d just let us go? Though, now I come to think of it, it’s not like there’s even anywhere to go on this godforsaken world.”
Dunsany wandered over. His arms were stained red to the elbows, and Silus couldn’t remember ever having seen him look so tired.
“You know what?” he said. “I’m beginning to regret that we ever stole the Llothriall in the first place.”
“No regrets, Dunsany,” Katya said. “If we had stayed in Nurn when the Chadassa attacked, our son would never have been born. Trust me, I don’t blame you for what has happened.”
“As ever, Katya,” Dunsany said, “were I differently inclined, I’d gladly steal you from this brute.”
“Hey!” Silus protested. “May I remind you that this brute has saved you on several occasions, thank you very much.”
“By the way,” Kelos said, “has anyone seen Illiun?”
“I think he retreated into the ship,” Silus said. “No doubt he’s on board somewhere, having a nervous breakdown. I’ll give him another hour and then I’ll go and have a word, try to make him see some sense about the ‘entity.’”
“And how do you feel about it?” Katya asked.
“I don’t know,” Silus said, looking up at Kerberos.
He thought that he would be pleased, that it would give him hope to see his god again. Yet he had reached out to Kerberos and felt nothing. “I don’t think I understand Kerberos anymore.”
There was the clash of metal on metal and Silus looked up to see a commotion amongst the Swords. The group parted as a blade flashed, revealing two figures engaged in combat. One was Ignacio, the sword in his hand dancing with consummate skill; the other was one of the silver-eyed men, handling his weapon as though he wasn’t entirely sure as to its use. Someone had armed the artificial man, Silus was sure of it. The sentinel wouldn’t have done this of his own volition; otherwise, surely, he would have attempted to block the blow that sheared away much of his left arm.
There was a cheer as the sentinel finally managed to land a blow, though it was more through random flailing than intent. A group of settlers had gathered to egg the sentinel on. The loudest of them was Shalim, who stood at the head of the rabble, his fists bunched at his sides, his face scarlet with anger. No matter how loud he shouted, however, the silver-eyed man was not built for this manner of combat. When the sentinel tripped over his own feet, Ignacio dispatched him by removing his head from his shoulders.
As viscous blue blood pumped over Ignacio’s boots, Shalim and his comrades fell silent.
“Which one of you is responsible for this?” Ignacio said. There was no reply. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I said, which one of you is responsible for this? Which one of you blasphemers would stand against the Swords?”
There was still no response.
“Brother Auden, kill the gentleman with the blond hair. Perhaps that will encourage someone to speak.”
“Ignacio, no!” Silus was on his feet and racing towards them. “Stop this, now!”
“Silus, perhaps you have forgotten that as a fugitive from the Final Faith you have no say in this matter. Brother Auden, you may continue.”
“And I said no!” Silus unsheathed his sword and forced the acolyte’s blade to the ground. Brother Auden looked back at Ignacio, not quite sure how he should respond.
“Ignacio, where exactly is this getting us?” Silus said. “We’re all stranded on this world. There’s nowhere for any of us to go, and, thanks to the Sword’s actions on the ship, Illiun and his people have lost everything. How do you hope to punish them any more than they already have been? Just let them be.”