The crowd was frantic – almost violent. Their roars roiled, rolled and echoed down the city’s street like a savage beast, as the people chanted for their king and his champions. Though it was yet early, many were already high on drink and bravado. All along the parade route there were boasts and tall tales about the parts people had played – how, in truth they were the heroes and it was them who should be honoured. Here and there exuberance overflowed. The city guard, well aware of how quickly a crowd could become a mob, were taking no chances, lashing out indiscriminately with truncheons and the flat of their blades at any hint of trouble. But this crowd was no meek thing. After many years of war they had learned not to take anything lying down. Coil could see at least half a dozen brawls through the gap between the shutters.
As if they somehow sensed the violence to come.
But no, that couldn’t be. It must just be the scale of the Aberfell’s achievements that had everybody on edge. The reasons for today’s parade – the unification of the Borderlands and conquest of the unconquerable city – were, after all, no mean feats. Not so long ago anybody who would have suggested this little back-water nation could have done what it had, would have been called a fool. It must be that which was making the crowd giddy; that and the bright sun up on high – a sight that, courtesy of the Krull, hadn’t been seen for what seemed an age. Only last night the clouds had been thick and the snow heavy. Today, however, nothing marred the deep blue sky. Today the Winter Warlocks had temporarily suspended their weather siege.
It made for a spectacular view. For a time at least, the snow concealed the filth, the debris and the city’s stench. In their place lay a sheet of sparkling, fragile whiteness that sharply offset the blood-red banners wielded by the cheering crowd.
Red gashes against virgin snow.
Coil remembered such parades from his younger years, back in Northvale. They had always been good days – back before all this, back when all he’d wanted was to become an alchemist and eventually take over Master Ubud’s business. Those days were gone now. The business had burned down, the town was uninhabited and Master Ubud was dead. But then, like they said, the way to make the Gods laugh was to tell them your plans. Those bastards had a sick sense of humour.
Would he ever stand in such a crowd again? Doubtful. Even if he lasted out this day, even if he managed to survive the uprising, even if the rebellion was somehow successful, he’d still be a persona non grata. After all, who would trust him? Who would forgive him? Hell, he doubted he’d be able to forgive himself! There were children down there. But there were always children down there. That had never stopped them. In fact they’d probably laughed, they’d probably applauded as the little ones were torn limb from limb. For a moment the dark thoughts threatened to rise up and overwhelm him. He fought them down. Don’t think about that! Now is not the time!
As he adjusted his hood his hand momentarily caught the light between the shutters – the only light in the room. Dust mites danced around his remaining three fingers and swirled about the stumps and scar tissue that marked what had gone before. The wound still hurt him sometimes – when the weather was cold. But thanks to the Krull, today there was no pain. Life was all about such small blessings. They were the only ones he had left.
Across the way, upon a roof, unnoticed by the crowd below, several darkly clad figures were making furtive preparations; unwrapping wands, polishing rune-staffs, preparing spell scrolls and quaffing mana potions. He knew that above him another team was mirroring their actions. As no alarm had yet been raised their actions remained undiscovered. All was as it should be.
Down below the parade was coming into view. Armour, arms and the King’s crown, a crown Coil knew well, glinted in the winter’s sun. Pennants flapped in the morning breeze. Some flags were clean, others torn; the former belonged to the victors the latter the vanquished. Half of the parade sat their saddles straight garbed in furs and gold; the other half stumbled, bent shoulders weighed down with manacles and chains.
That would all change if everything went according to plan. All along the route weapon caches had been set up to re-arm the vanquished. It had been a contentious point. Many among the Shroud had argued it was reprehensible to arm the prisoners. There was no way, after all, to know what they would do. It was a fair concern, but what else could they do? To leave the prisoners unarmed was to pronounce the Shroud’s uprising stillborn, for there was no way that they could tackle the Contenders, the King’s guard and the Krull on their own. They needed all the help they could get and thus couldn’t turn from the army that Aberfell had unwittingly welcomed into their city. So they would arm them.
And live with the consequences.
It was no more than the King had done in the cities he’d conquered. It was no more than the Contenders had done in the cities they’d destroyed. But somehow that didn’t quiet his guilt. Taking a hand for a hand wasn’t justice. All that did was leave the whole world maimed. In fact, the souls of the soon-to-be dead already haunted his dreams. His only succour lay in that sometimes the ends justified the means, even as a little voice at the back of his mind – her voice – told him they never did.
He ignored her. She couldn’t be trusted. Fortwo – the creature that had told him the truth and had sowed the seeds that they were reaping today – had made that clear. The realisation hadn’t been an easy one, but he could no longer deny the truth in the daemon’s words or its visions. It had opened Coil’s eyes and laid bare the enormity of the deceit. There would be no more lies. No more telling him she loved him even as she played by different rules.
But I tried to tell you everything, she said. Too little too late, he silently snarled back.
He closed his eyes. This was not the time. Those that stood behind him in the darkness of the shuttered room needed leadership not rage. Three deep breaths and then he turned towards them. They were scared. No wonder, for this daylight attack was the most audacious thing the Shroud had ever attempted. There would be no coming back from this. They would no longer be a rumour in back alleys, guard houses and magician’s circles. Instead, the kingdom, the empire, even whole worlds would know of them. Today many in this room would die. He knew it, they knew it. You didn’t challenge the Contenders and expect to walk away.
And yet, win or lose, these people would go down in history books.
While he didn’t even know all of their names! Some he had down. Like Sheila – he tried to ignore the feeling that it was only because she, with her gentle eyes and shining hair, was beautiful. The man next to her, the sniper, his name he’d forgotten. It was something foreign – as if that was an excuse! The youth behind him was called Gear. He also hailed from Northbridge. One of the few. The next two were brothers – and that was all he knew about them. And so on throughout the crowd. Coil sighed. It was a little late in the day to rectify that mistake. Better he accept it and just give them hope.
“Today,” Coil said, “We change history. Today, we begin to take back our world from those that have oppressed us, have toyed with us, have sacrificed us. Today we strike the first blow against these invaders who, in the name of entertainment, have slaughtered generations. This will no longer be their playground. We will no longer sit idly by as their game tears our world apart. We will be free from their tyranny.”
“We will be free from their tyranny,” intoned the others. He looked at them and they looked at him. He saw fire in their eyes. And trust. Always too much trust. He was the hero of Drieburg. Nobody ever let him forget that. Nor the expectations that came along with it. That was the problem with being a hero.
If that were ever to change, today would be the day. This uprising should eclipse that battle, shouldn’t it? Time would tell. Time to get this show on the road. Quietly, with equal parts resignation, anticipation and dread, they filed out of the room. Those that needed it took small twists of mana. Coil took a double dose. Dangerous for the untried – but then Coil was hardly untried, and he was going to need the drug’s power for what was to come. He struggled not to make a face as he drank it down with watered wine.
Out a side door and into the sea of blood red banners, streamers and rose petals. The energy was more noticeable, more infectious, here. To think that all this madness, the parade, the civil war, the eternal winter and the devastation of the North, could be placed at the feet of five outsiders. That five strangers to the realm had been the catalyst, the provocateurs, the engine of Aberfell’s rise – and now perhaps its demise.
Of course, their greatness hadn’t been immediately apparent. Most wouldn’t have given the heroes-to-be a second look. He’d noticed it, though. To him they – she – had immediately been special. He’d met them and within moments found himself pulled along in their wake. He’d followed them adventuring. It had been magical, trudging through the forests, sleeping under the stars, vanquishing beasties and saving the innocent.
It hadn’t lasted.
At the time he hadn’t understood why. Now he did. They weren’t ordinary people. Coil wasn’t even sure if they were people at all. They weren’t even simple heroes. They were Contenders in the Game of the Gods. And that wasn’t a game you could win by trudging around abandoned temples and forgotten caves. It was much bigger than that. It needed armies, it needed bloodshed, it needed a kingdom. It needed the blood of a hundred nations shed upon a thousand fields. It needed the sacrifice of what others held dear. They’d certainly sacrificed. Coil doubted he’d ever be able to scrub the vision of Northvale burning from his mind’s eye or the feeling of betrayal from his heart.
The people of the capital, the people around him, didn’t seem as affected by what had been lost. They’d apparently already forgotten the civil war, the Krull invasion and the Infected. Or perhaps it wasn’t so much a matter of forgetting as ignoring the suffering of their country brethren. After all none of it had ever reached the capital. And besides, the consequences, the alliance with the Krull, had made the city rich, powerful and famous. It was easier to look the other way when you had the shine of gold to distract you.
But the north hadn’t forgotten. They remembered. They still mourned. They still demanded justice, thirsted for revenge. That was why there were so many northerners in the Shroud. They couldn’t see any other way to seek recompense.
And they would paint the snow red to get it.
So, Coil thought, enjoy these last few moments of blissful ignorance. Watch and celebrate your conquest over the chasm-spanning city of Bridgeton – the city that had been thought unconquerable. Ridicule, while you can, that city’s once proud draconian prisoners-of-war, as they struggle dejectedly with tied beaks, weighted wings and hobbled feet. Remember the elation, hold close this incredible high for it will never come again. For today the fallen will take their revenge and your world will come crashing down.
It was almost time. Coil was at the front of the crowd now and could see down the promenade. It was breath taking, caught as it was in that particular light of a winter sun, made all the sharper by the faintly unpleasant acrid buzz from the mana. For a moment it was hard to see anything but the pearl white snow banks. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked the oncoming riders into focus.
The fore riders were already past. That was good. Some of them he recognised, which meant no doubt more of them could recognise him. Next came the King himself, upon a chariot that shone like fire in the sun; so did the King, for that matter, his wide girth bedecked with satin and precious stones. Coil didn’t pay him any mind. His eyes instead were on those behind, those he’d thought friends. There they were, the ones who had led him here, to this place, hidden among this crowd with violent intent. They were the people that had transformed him from a bumbling shop keep into what he was today, a self-admitted monster, willing to spill innocent blood to get his revenge. I thought you were trying to make the world a better place, said the little voice. He grimaced but had no answer, so focused on the Contenders instead.
First was Koral, the group’s unofficial leader, in the Tinkerer’s armour of moulded steel, inlaid with sculpted flames. The pitch-black double-handed pommel of the great sword Wither over his left shoulder, a cocky grin upon his face despite the sword’s ill effects.
On the other side rode Elder. Ah, but that was no longer his name! He was Snow now, since his transformation. By the gods, if Coil was a self-admitted monster, that man was one for all to see – a monster that revelled in his monstrosity. He was Krull now, his flesh sunken and grey, his eyes strange, his jaw home to insect-like mandibles that quivered and worked at the air. He’d done it for peace, he said. Coil knew better. He’d done it for power. And no doubt he was more powerful now, but how could that ever be worth never again feeling warmth, enjoying a meal or giving a loving caress?
Behind them rode Marthew. He hadn’t changed one jot from when Coil had met him. He was still the same enigmatic inscrutable Voider. Even his clothes looked the same, black and loose – his head still shaven, his expression still mild; a carefully cultivated illusion, for mild he was not. He was a mage-killer, a witch hunter, almost immune to any magic. That would make him dangerous in the moments to come. That was why they couldn’t rely on magic alone.
To the Voider’s right rode the dwarf Elutheur – drunk, loud, greedy and yet with real kindness inside. Like how he’d pretended he’d needed Coil’s lessons long after he’d learned everything Coil could teach. If only it were Snow or Marthew that they were targeting with today’s operation. But it wasn’t. It had to be Elutheur. His innate – almost savant like – understanding of magical theory meant that he could unravel all of the Shroud’s enchantments. All their hard work could be undone. They couldn’t risk it. Guiltily Coil moved on.
And then he saw her. For the first time since she’d come back he saw her. He’d hoped his feelings would have changed, that his plans of bloody revenge would have hardened his heart. They hadn’t. Instead he realised that he’d secretly been hoping for this moment, all along.
Elaine, oh Elaine – creature of the Gods, exotic and esoteric both! Through her veins flowed a hint of blood from some elfin race. You could see it in her eyes, ears and cheekbones. Like his feelings, she had changed little since that first time in the shop. Still he felt like dropping everything, falling to his knees, and begging her forgiveness. She was still – and there was no denying it – the reason for the beating of his heart.
He wrenched his eyes away, fished a Darkberry leaf out of a pouch and began to chew. Immediately his heart hardened and his feelings dulled. It was a good thing Fortwo had insisted he take them.
It embarrassed him that he still felt this way. It did not matter that it was a common occurrence, that the Contenders had that effect, that people always fell for them. In fact, that just made it worse. It meant he was just another one; just another fool. Does it make no difference that I felt the same way? She asked. If you would have felt the same way you wouldn’t have lied to me! You wouldn’t have let me put my life on the line! She had no answer to that.
Resolutely he took the solid metal orb out of his pocket. From deep inside himself he brought his mana-enhanced – yet still meagre – abilities into play. His Othersight roved over the intricate patterns and swirls upon its surface. Carefully he plucked at a few – gathering those strands he needed. He pushed away the thought that everything today hinged on this, and that premature discovery would mean their ruin.
Fortunately, that too was made easier by the Darkberry leaf.
As Coil worked he watched the heroes. Fearful they might notice. He saw Elutheur frown slightly as he rode past. Coil froze for one heartbeat, two. The dwarf rode on. Satisfied he remained undiscovered, he returned his attention to the orb. With a careful twist it came apart into two somehow still spherical halves; magic trumping nature. He studied the mechanism. It was a masterful creation, manufactured for today and today only. And yet despite being so short-lived, a huge amount of the Shroud’s resources had been poured into its creation. It was still only a drop to the ocean of power the heroes carried.
There were two reasons why it might work. First, it wasn’t designed to last. It would expend all its effort in that one giant burst which would hopefully be too great to overcome. Second, the item had – just like their ambush – been specifically crafted with the strengths, habits and weakness of the Contenders in mind. He prayed it would be enough. If he timed it right it should be.
There was no more time for doubt, for the parade was quickly approaching the booby-trapped flagstones. Coil anxiously watched the horses’ hooves. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to raise his protective wards, but to do so now might give away the game. He needed to wait and trust his reflexes.
Time slowed. Attention narrowed. He thought he could see the offending hoof descend. Then it happened. The very street exploded. Moments later another explosion rocked the street further back, followed by a third blast further down the street and another and another – a daisy chain of fire and death.
Instinct kicked in and his magical wards went up. Just in time. Fire washed over him, but did no harm. All he felt was a slight burning sensation on his chest, where the lodestone drew in the magical power. Around him others weren’t so lucky. Screams ended as suddenly as they began. People ran this way and that in utter panic, as smoke and fire swirled and raged. The devastation was astounding. Without the mana he had no doubt his defences wouldn’t have held against the onslaught. Wherever had they got it from, anyway? Mana was rarer than tall dwarves.
A woman rushed by, wailing as she burned. He knew that the simplest of weaves would have doused the flames, transformed it into light, sound, or movement. It would only take a moment, her voice told him. He turned away, towards the Contenders, even as the teams on the roofs began their assault. From wand tips, spell scrolls and warlock’s minds power poured forth – fire, ice, lightning, death and chaos roiled through the streets, adding to the mass panic. It was only a cover – they all knew on its own it wouldn’t be enough. Coil wasn’t the only one with wards. And even with all their preparation, the element of surprise and the mana too, the Shroud mages were no match for the Contenders.
But cover was all they needed. Coil pitched one half of the sphere down towards the middle of the road, where he’d caught a glimpse of Elutheur. Just in time, too. Suddenly there was a huge boom. A shockwave rushed outwards, pushing the smoke and flames before it and knocking down whatever still stood. The five heroes were revealed in all their glory, standing at the centre of the street, in a tight circle, weapons drawn and not a scratch on them. In their midst lay the King. At least he looked the worse for wear, though if it would be enough to kill him Coil couldn’t say.
Not that it mattered. They couldn’t touch him at present. The magical assaults were being absorbed by Koral’s armour. Their only effect was to make the sculpted flames glow and an ever expanding circle of snow melt. It would take far more than that to overcome the Tinkerer’s creation.
The others stood at the ready. Elaine with her hand still raised from the shockwave she’d just created. It was one of their strategies. Clear the air and knock the enemy off balance so the rest can retaliate. The Contenders were a well-oiled machine, but that was also their weakness, for to work well together they had to be predictable not just to each other, but to those that knew them too.
Marthew leapt up and away, the chains he wielded lashing out, one striking out at the enemy, even as another sunk into stonework, yanking him out of the way of oncoming fire. Koral swung his great sword and ten yards away, beyond the sword’s edge, the roof crumbled, sending mages tumbling down. Elutheur’s efforts were more subtle, he made the very magics of his enemies backfire. Coil watched one mage spontaneously combust while another struck one of his own. Elaine summoned creatures of stone, wood, smoke and fire to battle and they leapt gleefully forth to slay those arrayed against them.
Now, Coil’s instincts screamed, throw it now! Up into the air arced the other half of the sphere, between the Contenders and the decimated rooftop attackers. Coil whispered a prayer that he’d timed the throw correctly.
Snow was always a little slower than the others. He enjoyed his overkill and had reached far through the gateway into the realm of Krull ice-fire. Coil could feel the power even before Snow released it. When it did roll forth it was largely unformed but all the more intimidating for that. Coil had seen Snow – though he’d been just Elder then – shatter walls and level buildings. He was far more powerful now. Even the Krull Archmage would have had trouble had this come unexpected.
So it was a good thing they were expecting it.
Rather than devastating the Shroud position the energy instead curved inwards, towards the hurled globe. The immense power almost instantly made the sphere glow white hot. Cold sweat drenched Coil. Would the mechanism be able to hold? Upon its construction they had allowed that Snow would grow stronger, but none of them had expected this much power! There were shouts of alarm from the heroes as understanding dawned, but once opened Snow’s gate was not so easily closed – another thing they’d counted on. The man’s control had always been suspect.
Power flowed through the mystical byways, down metal tubes and across magical runes. Pistons whined, carvings glowed and flywheels whirred. The conversion rate was almost perfect – another advantage of knowing Snow intimately – yet even the little bit of energy that couldn’t be converted melted the thing down to slag. Would it be enough?
It was. Reality distorted and tore. A gateway telescoped open. Beyond it lay thick mist. Air rushed in towards it – taking fire, smoke, the dead and the living with it. Coil was ready. He channelled the earlier explosion’s energy from the lodestone to sink hands and feet into the very roadside. The rift tore at him but he didn’t budge.
Koral – always surprisingly quick for somebody that big – plunged his sword into the ground, while he held the King by his collar, even as he bellowed at the others to save themselves. He was a rock. There was no way the rift would pull him in. Marthew wouldn’t get sucked in either, for his magical chains couldn’t be broken. That meant that Elaine with the other chain wrapped around her middle, was safe was well.
Snow was another matter. He was flailing and sliding – fighting upon stones made slippery with blood and snow to retain his footing. It would be a real bonus if he went. But he wasn’t the target. The target was even nearer the rift, but somehow keeping his footing. He stood there, in the tearing wind, fighting with every ounce of his strength and going nowhere fast. It was a tossup which would last longer – the dwarf or the portal.
They couldn’t leave that up to chance. Fortunately, Coil wasn’t done yet. He raised his hand and hesitated. He could still switch targets. A couple of good hits and it would be Snow tumbling into the Arcant’s abyss – an immensely satisfying idea. He shook his head. Snow wasn’t the problem. It was Elutheur that could ruin all their plans. It had to be him.
“Coil?” There she stood, staring at him in disbelief, “Coil?” She said again, “You’re alive?” Her actual voice nearly overwhelmed the Darkberry leaf. He felt his heart crumble. He couldn’t wait any longer. Any further delay could mean he wouldn’t act. His felt something die inside him as he swung down his arm.
Crossbows twanged. Cold metal quarrels fizzled and cracked as they tore through Elutheur’s wards. That was supposed to be impossible. Cold metal was supposed to be impervious to magic. Yet still the bolts were nearly thrown off course. But not quite. With an anguished cry Elutheur toppled backwards – still fighting each inch of the way. Suddenly there were multifaceted eyes staring out from the gateway, a scuttling of chitin legs. A step back, one foot now on the precipice. The dwarf arrested his slide.
“No, Coil, No! What are you doing!” Her voice sheered through his mind, overwhelming the Darkberry leaf. Wasn’t that too supposed to be impossible? He needed to act or accept he never would. With a strangled cry he rushed forward – like some kind of bull. He kept his head down, trying his hardest not to see, not to look any of them in the eyes. Even then he could imagine their looks of stunned betrayal.
Somehow that gave him strength. He threw himself into the tackle shoulder first. Koral had taught him well, the hit was good. This time there was nothing the dwarf could do. Together they toppled backwards. Behind them there were shouts, but they were too late. None could stop it now. None could stop Elutheur’s descent into the realm of the Arcant, the Eaters, where nothing magical could survive.
For a moment he considered letting himself fall as well. There would be moments of horror, to be sure – the Arcant weren’t known to be kind to their meals – but it would be blessedly short. The emotional agony that was to come once the Darkberry leaf had ceased working was certain to be greater. Better to die, quickly.
But what of the others? What of their mission to save the very world? Would the Shroud survive without him? If Fortwo was to be believed the answer was an irrevocable no. Without him the rebellion would be lost. Not that Coil understood the why or how of it – but that the daemon believed it, after all the trouble he’d gone through to save him, there was no doubt. There was more work to do. So, with no small regret, Coil took the last of his stored magical energy and channelled it into his escape clause – the ring at his finger.
Reality distorted, as the enchantment in the ring interacted with the portal. The two powers pulled him this way and that – smearing him out over space and time. For a moment he was everywhere and nowhere. For a moment his memory was cast back to that first day he’d met her.