She was right. Charra was always right.
A young girl with a wine-stain birthmark caught my eye, busy splinting and strapping up a man’s broken arm. I recognized her and remembered tossing her a handful of silvers outside an inn. She looked half-starved still but did have a new dress, albeit now bloodstained. She busied herself helping the wounded with a determined air, her hands deftly wrapping bandages. One of the chirurgeon’s apprentices came over to speak to her. She gave him a shy smile and he flushed a little red. Their body language gave them away, both feeling that unspoken attraction. Good for you, girl, I thought, a worthy profession, and perhaps even a loved one. There would certainly be a need for healers in the days to come. I sat a little straighter.
Charra gave me a sad smile. “It feels petty to cry over my death amidst all of this. Let’s have a going away party instead. I’d get more enjoyment by having it before rather than after. I don’t see why everybody else should get all the fun.” She slapped me on the back, making me squeak with pain.
“So I’m dying,” she said. “Shit happens.” She put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close. “You saved Layla. I can never thank you enough for that. Now stop being a big, ugly, moody bastard and give me a hug.”
Gods help me, I did just that. My tears came thick and fast as I let go of all that bottled up emotion.
Something had changed inside me: all that stolen magic roaring through me, the god blood that soaked into my skin, the emanations of the crystal core and my own tampering… I felt a strange numbness when I thought about the masses of unknown dead. Hopefully it was just shock, but I wasn’t holding my breath. All I could do was to hold onto my love for Charra and Lynas, and what was left of my humanity. Just because Lynas was dead didn’t mean he was gone.
I pulled back from her and scowled down at myself, “Self-pity never helped anybody.”
“It’s good to have you back, you big idiot,” she said. “I’ll get a decent send-off now, hey?” She gave a morbid chuckle, then coughed blood again.
My heart gave a twinge. I couldn’t save Charra, but I’d done good. And I’d damn well be around to help Layla – not that an assassin needed much help from anybody. We sat in silence for a while, lost in contemplation.
I couldn’t help but absorb the mood of the people. More than ever their thoughts bled into my mind. It was not a hot anger, quick to flare up and swiftly burning out. This was a stone-cold fury that would not stop until cities burned and the shattered bones of our enemies were ground into dust.
This attack had been a very grave error. It was on every face, in every look of shock and loss that was slowly changing to rage. Apathy and in-fighting had been endemic before the horrors of yesterday. We had been a city divided and gnawing on its own rotting innards. If the enemy had bided their time and taken the Free Towns Alliance piece by piece before turning their eyes on us… but no, now that they had roused the serpent from its long slumber there was no lulling it back to sleep. We were a city united by rage and loss.
The Arcanum and the High Houses thought they ruled Setharis with an iron fist, but in reality they too bent to the will of the masses. Magic, wardens, steel and stone – all would be swept away if they dared oppose the unified will of the people of Setharis, and the people demanded war.
Setharis had once had a mighty empire, had callously crushed countless armies and ruthlessly consigned entire peoples to a footnote in history. The Skallgrim tribes would soon learn to regret ever rousing this dark leviathan from its apathetic slumber. And behind them their Scarrabus slavers would learn to fear. We knew they existed now, and we would hunt them with vicious zeal. But all of that would need to wait.
Layla approached us, face drawn and worried, “You found him then?”
Charra opened her arms and Layla flew into them, kneeling in the dirt next to us.
My withered heart gave a lurch, a pang of pure joy.
“So tell me, ladies…”
Charra quirked an eyebrow. “Tell you what?”
“The last ten years,” I said. “Tell me everything. Layla, I wish I could have been here to see you grow up.”
We talked for hours, and it was just like old times. Lynas was gone, but his daughter was here, safe and telling me silly stories about her beloved father. The hours galloped past until daylight ebbed and night’s chill misted our breath.
Eventually Layla helped us old and broken things to rise, and as we limped off I vowed to focus all my efforts on making sure Charra’s last days were the best they could be. We were going to lose somebody we loved, somebody who should have had years left to her. With my accursed magic all I could offer was an end to pain and the company of an old friend.
We passed through throngs of the homeless, the wounded and bereaved. My lot was better than theirs. They’d had far more to lose in the first place.
Charra coughed again, tried to clear her throat with little success. “I could do with a strong drink.”
“I’ll buy,” I said.
She half-laughed, the very best that could be hoped for under the circumstances. “It seems there is a first time for everything. Never thought I’d live to see the day when Edrin Walker bought the rounds. Wait a moment, you cad – I bet you’re hoping that you can salvage ale from the ruins!”
As we talked my worry for the future deepened. I was not what anybody could ever call a good man, and soon there would be precious little left in this world that I truly cared about. I feared how deep into darkness I would sink. Other than Layla, what did I have to live for after Charra was gone?
With the gods still missing and the Arcanum wounded, the Skallgrim and their Scarrabus enslavers must have thought their plans successful, at least in part. They thought us defeated. They were so very, blindly wrong. Soon they would experience the pleasure of facing an enraged tyrant with little left to lose. I had run from everything for ten wretched years – no more! It was time to stand and fight. If Nathair had spoken truly then a grand conjunction of realms meant these disgusting parasites were only one of several awakening ancient powers, but none of them had ever seen anything like me. I had bathed in the blood of gods, and my power was growing.
In the back of my head the remnants of Dissever pulsed with pleasure. Images of rivers running red flashed through my mind.
A great war comes.
Acknowledgments
Hi Mum and Dad! Look, I wrote a book, and it’s in bookshops and everything. How very fancy. I guess all those after-school trips to the library for armfuls of books really paid off. Thank you for everything! Billy, thanks for letting me read all your sci-fi and fantasy books as a kid. I would not be a writer at all without my family’s support – thanks for introducing me to fantastical worlds beyond number.
To Natasha, waves you always said I would make it. You were right, but then you usually are. Thanks to you, Paula and Michael for your constant encouragement and belief in me.
Thanks to the Glasgow Science Fiction Writers’ Circle for all the sage advice and honest critique over the years, and especially Hal Duncan and Neil Williamson, without whom this book would not be a patch on what it is now.
Too many friends have given me encouragement and support to name them all here, but you know who you are, and you are awesome.