Mother of Daemons Page 2

  Ari Frankel has made contact with men willing to advance the cause of suffragium and in so doing, break up the empire – but before this relationship bears fruit, he is captured by the Inquisition, to be shipped north to stand trial.

  As autumn advances towards winter, matters come to a head. At Sunset Tower, Alyssa is aided by a traitor, her nephew Kestrel Tovar, and breaks in – but Jehana escapes, thanks to Tarita and an intelligent construct known as Ogre, who once served Naxius.

  In Mollachia, Valdyr is ambushed by Asiv Fariddan, who has infected Dragan and his daughter Sezkia, with daemon ichor. Asiv kills the White Stag, the guardian spirit of Watcher’s Peak, and wounds the ghostly dwymancer Luhti, trapping Valdyr on the mountain with Gricoama, who assumes the mantle of guardian spirit. Asiv then turns his attention to Kyrik’s coronation, unleashing a horde of Reekers and capturing or killing Hajya, but Kyrik manages to escape.

  In Pallas, while Lyra is visiting the shrine of Saint Eloy in the Holy City, the Masked Cabal strike, with Medelie (Tear) moving against the Bastion and Ostevan (Jest) and Dravis Ryburn, Knight Princeps of the Inquisition (Angelstar), seizing the Celestium. But Solon Takwyth has actually been spying for Lyra, and with Dirklan Setallius, they kill Medelie/Tear. However, the renegade Keeper Edetta escapes with the children and takes them to their uncle, Garod Sacrecour.

  In the Celestium, Lyra and Wurther escape Naxius and the Masks, thanks to the dwyma and to Wurther’s new bodyguard Exilium Excelsior, a master swordsman. But the Winter Tree is badly burned, weakening Lyra’s grip on the dwyma, and she goes into labour.

  Despite everything, Lyra safely delivers a son, Rildan, heir to the empire.

  At Collistein Junction, the Imperial Army finally meets the Shihad in open battle. Ril’s disjointed, feuding and badly outnumbered army is defeated when Waqar’s roc-riders win the air battle; only the experienced hero of the Third Crusade, General Seth Korion, now Earl of Bres, prevents a total rout. Ril is slain by Waqar in a desperate mid-air duel.

  It is now Noveleve 935, and winter is almost upon Yuros. Valdyr, although fearing for Kyrik’s life and dreading Asiv’s return, tends the dying Luhti on Watcher’s Peak. Jehana, Tarita and Ogre are on the ocean, seeking to escape Alyssa. Rashid celebrates victory, knowing his army must find shelter before winter or a million men will likely freeze to death. And in Pallas, the widowed Lyra’s only consolation in defeat is that her enemies are finally unmasked – and staring at her from across the Bruin River, which is now the front line of a new civil war.

  The Events of Winter (Noveleve 935–Janune 936), as related in Hearts of Ice

  As the Sunsurge winter brings heavy snowfalls to Yuros, Ostevan takes the title ‘Pontifex’, signalling his desire to rule both Church and State, and with Dravis Ryburn he launches attacks across the Bruin River, burning the Pallas docklands. Garod Sacrecour prepares to support Ostevan with his army. Lyra fights back by sanctioning Treasurer Dubrayle’s imposition of tax on the Church. She faces down the Pallas mob and gains the funds to prevent the imminent collapse of the government, while Solon Takwyth drives Ostevan’s Reekers from the North Bank.

  Rashid’s victorious army marches on Jastenberg, seeking a winter base, but the Imperial generals burn the city and retreat north, leaving Noros unprotected. General Seth Korion, defying orders, diverts his army south to Norostein, meaning to deny Rashid his winter base. Waqar helps Rashid’s advance, but he is worried for his missing sister Jehana and his friend Baneet, who is now wielding the gnostic spear that killed their friend Lukadin at Collistein Junction. Waqar doesn’t know Jehana is trying to awaken her dwymancy in the village of Epineo in Verelon or that she’s being hunted by Alyssa Dulayne (Heartface of the Masked Cabal).

  In Mollachia, the death of his mentor Luhti breaks Valdyr’s connection to the dwyma; to restore it he must go to the volcano known as Cuz Sarkan. But Asiv Fariddan and his infected minions, now led by Dragan Zhagy, are hunting him. Valdyr believes his brother Kyrik, the rightful king, is dead – but Kyrik is alive and has escaped Hegikaro.

  He and Kip travel to Freihaafen, the hidden valley where Kip’s people have taken refuge, to share the news that silver is deadly to the daemon-possessed; Valdyr finds him there.

  Lyra, in desperate need, contacts Valdyr through the dwyma: Duke Garod’s men are marching on Pallas and Lyra’s army is too small to defeat them. Valdyr helps, despite not knowing her true identity, and with his guidance Lyra hurls blizzards at the Sacrecour armies, wreaking havoc on Garod’s forces. The rivers freeze and Lyra’s men are able to cross and take the Holy City by storm. Dravis Ryburn is slain, but Ostevan escapes. Amid the tumultuous celebrations, Lyra allows herself to be seduced by Solon, another ill-advised liaison.

  Ari Frankel, identified as a rebellion-preaching traitor; has been sent to Pallas to face execution.

  In the south, Seth’s retreat is cut off by Prince Attam, Rashid’s elder son and heir, but Seth is saved by mercenaries led by his old Third Crusade comrade, Ramon Sensini. The pair retreat to Norostein.

  When Baneet dies in the battle, despite Waqar’s pleas, the gnostic spear is taken by Fatima, Baneet’s lover and Waqar’s friend. Heartbroken, Waqar leaves the Shihad to seek his missing sister Jehana.

  Jehana and Tarita are in trouble: Alyssa has captured them and forced Jehana to accompany her to Epineo, believing she can gain the dwyma herself by consuming Jehana’s essence once the girl becomes a dwymancer. Ogre then rescues Tarita, but Alyssa has miscalculated: the daemon-ichor in her body and the dwyma are inimical and as she tries to take in the dwyma, it destroys her. Unfortunately for Jehana, the guardian spirit which had come to awaken her also perishes, so she’s still unable to awaken her power.

  It’s now early Janune, midwinter, and Rashid had reached Norostein, knowing he has only weeks to get inside the city and shelter his forces. He launches an all-out assault, but Seth, helped by Ramon, holds on. Latif and his elephant crew, at the forefront of the attacks, barely avoid death. But inside Norostein, Governor Rhys Myron is not just refusing to relinquish authority to Seth, but is hoarding supplies, undermining the defence. The siege hangs in the balance.

  In Pallas, Lyra has won a victory, and a respite. Intrigued by Ari Frankel’s ideas, she pardons him, but he promptly launches a new campaign of disobedience. Scared and lonely, Lyra continues her relationship with Solon, although she is troubled both by his ambition and his domineering manner, ending it only when he turns violently abusive – which means losing her most able commander. She faces many enemies: Ostevan has allied with Duke Garod; Father Germane, his agent in Pallas, is poisoning the mind of Domara, the royal midwife; and Lef Yarle, Ryburn’s former lieutenant, tries to murder her and Wurther. They are saved by Basia and Exilium, and by use of the dwyma.

  Meanwhile in Mollachia, Kyrik, Valdyr and their allies are trapped in a silver mine by Dragan’s possessed daughter, Sezkia. Valdyr reaches out through the dwyma: he finds Jehana, who has been reunited with Waqar, and the siblings, accompanied by Tarita and Ogre, fly to Mollachia. They capture Sezkia and rescue Kyrik and Valdyr – but Ogre is captured by Asiv and taken to Hegikaro. Naxius sends agents to collect his former servant: ogre-constructs masked as figures from the Book of Kore: the Angels of Plague and Famine. Famine is Cadearvo, a superior version of Ogre, while Plague is Semakha, a former friend Ogre had dreamed of being reunited with, but she is no longer the innocent he knew but daemon-possessed and evil.

  Asiv proposes a hostage exchange: Ogre and Hajya for Sezkia, Valdyr and Jehana. The proposal is accepted, although both sides intend to renege. Tarita will disguise Kyrik and the Sydian mage Korznici as Valdyr and Jehana; Asiv plans his own daemonic surprise.

  Using the hostage exchange drama as a distraction, Valdyr, Jehana and Waqar head for Cuz Sarkan, hoping to become full dwymancers – but Asiv is swiftly in pursuit with Cadearvo, leaving Semakha and Dragan to deal with the hostage exchange.

  In the last days of Janune, carnage unfolds. At Norostein, Rashid’s desperate assa
ult breaks through, but at the height of the battle, Sultan Rashid and his son Attam are slain. Xoredh takes command and captures Lowertown, but the mandatory period of mourning leaves him unable to press the attack. Unknown to Xoredh, the dying Rashid, believing Latif is the ghost of Sultan Salim, reveals that he commanded Xoredh to join the Masks, in return for the throne and the Shihad.

  Meanwhile, in Mollachia, the hostage exchange has turned bloody: Ogre kills his first love Semakha and Kyrik slays Dragan, who was closer to him than his own father. Thinking he’s dying, the wounded Ogre confesses his love for Tarita, only to awake next day, alive – and acutely embarrassed. At Cuz Sarkan, Valdyr, Jehana and Waqar find a path into the dwyma, revealing the Elétfa, a vast Tree of Life – but Asiv and Cadearvo attack, capturing Jehana. Valdyr is already inside the Elétfa, but Waqar, who chooses to step back, although he’s too late to rescue his sister, is forced to return to Freihaafen empty-handed. Inside the Elétfa, where minutes take hours, Valdyr starts climbing, with only Gricoama for company.

  The distraught Waqar enlists Tarita’s help to find Jehana, tracing her to Norostein. En route to confront his cousin Xoredh, Waqar is warned by Latif of their new sultan’s true nature.

  Back in Mollachia, Kyrik is in despair, for Hajya is still possessed by Abraxas. Ogre buries the ache of losing Tarita by trying to translate Naxius’ Daemonicon, hoping to discover Naxius’ plans.

  In Pallas, Lyra’s counsellors, fearing the empire’s collapse without Solon in charge, try to force her to marry him and make him emperor. Lyra, seeing no other choice, is about to concede defeat when the balance of power inside the council is altered on two counts: Dubrayle was being blackmailed to support the motion, but that hold is broken by his bastard son, Ramon Sensini – then spymaster Dirklan Setallius reveals himself as Lyra’s father; his vote tips the balance in Lyra’s favour. Now a pariah, Solon flees to Coraine to raise rebellion. Sister Domara, in Germane’s thrall, attempts to murder the infant Prince Rildan, but is killed by Exilium.

  And the ambassadors of five of the vassal states arrive at court demanding the empire be disbanded.

  Febreux, the coldest month of a bitter Sunsurge year, is about to begin. Xoredh prepares to unite his Shihad with the daemon-possessed armies of Naxius’ minion, the Lord of Rym. In Dupenium, Garod marshalls his forces for war and in Coraine, Solon does likewise. And in his secret lair, Ervyn Naxius gloats over his prize: Jehana, a semi-awakened dwymancer who can’t reach those powers is the perfect clay for him to shape. He places a mask over her face: that of Glamortha, the Angel of Death. In the Last Days, the Book of Kore foretells, Glamortha will lay with Lucian, Lord of Hel, and become the Mother of Daemons, beginning the eternal rule of daemons on Urte . . .

  Part One

  Prologue

  The Masquerade (Macharo)

  The Last Days

  . . . and the righteous shall abandon Urte, ascending unto Paradise to take their place before the throne of Corineus, their Saviour. The last days of Urte shall be filled with wailing and lamentation as the sinners left behind are beset by daemons, who shalt make of Urte their lair. Lucian, the lord of Hel, shall reign, with Glamortha the Angel of Death his queen.

  BOOK OF KORE

  Coraine, Northern Rondelmar

  Febreux 936

  Two squires hefted a breastplate embossed with the badger crest of Coraine and strapped it to the heavily built man standing with spread arms in the middle of the room. Another pair knelt at his feet, strapping on the greaves. The seneschal frowned over the helm, handing it to a servant with a glare and pointing out an almost invisible blemish in the polishing. The servant blanched and reached for a cloth, casting an anxious glance at his lord.

  Solon Takwyth was barely aware of their silent angst for the daily ritual had set his mind adrift. The familiar burden of forty pounds of metal and leather settled onto his shoulders while he dreamed of glory.

  Today, my redemption begins. No woman refuses me and walks away, not even a queen. The imperial throne is mine by right: I’ve earned it. I will show Lyra that I command the Corani legions, not her. She should have married me when she had the chance. An image filled his mind, of himself on the throne, Lyra kneeling before him with frightened but adoring eyes, scared of her own passions. She loves me; it’s the others who have poisoned her against me. Setallius, Wurther and the rest. I’ll behead the lot of them, then she’ll have no one but me.

  The seneschal, breaking into his reverie, handed him his helm, a ceremonial affair with winged flanges finished in silver and gold. ‘Milord, the Duke awaits.’

  ‘Thank you, Bailey,’ Solon replied, and the servants scuttled away.

  When he was alone, Solon turned to the mirror. He’d never considered himself a vain man – for several years his face had been horrifically scarred after bandits had applied a red-hot brand to his cheeks. He’d considered every wound a trophy, and he knew the scars intimidated some. But over the past days he’d let the best healer-magi in Coraine work their magic on him because he needed to exude a different kind of energy now. Those healers had – at considerable expense, thanks to a lot of exotic ingredients – done a remarkable job. He looked nearer thirty years old than fifty and the scars were barely visible any more. The face in the mirror was experienced, dignified, decisive-looking. Regal.

  Then the air in the corner of the room shimmered and from the gloom stepped a shadowy, translucent figure clad in scarlet, his long dark brown hair oiled and his fashionable goatee shaped into a spike.

  ‘Hail, Lord Takwyth,’ Ostevan Jandreux said in his greasy, mocking voice. The ghostly figure extended his right hand, offering the Pontifical Ring for Takwyth to kiss.

  ‘You can kiss my puckered arse ring, “Pontifex”,’ Solon told him. The title stuck in his throat: it denoted Ostevan’s lust to be both temporal and spiritual ruler of Yuros, which would never happen if he could stop it.

  ‘Manners, dear Solon,’ Ostevan chided nonchalantly. ‘We’ve worked together before and we need each other now. Between you and Garod, there are enough men to guarantee Lyra’s demise – but divided, we leave our fates subject to the whims of chance. We need to join forces.’

  ‘You don’t know my resources and I’ll not make common cause with Garod bloody Sacrecour.’

  ‘Don’t be so hasty,’ Ostevan reproved. ‘I’m still Corani. We’ve had our differences, I grant you, but I want a Corani emperor, even if it’s you. Ally with Garod, but keep your hand on your sword hilt.’

  ‘Garod Sacrecour and his cronies murdered half my brothers-in-arms back in 909. I’ve vowed to see him and everyone with him hanged, drawn and quartered for that.’

  ‘Keep a perspective,’ Ostevan chided. ‘You need the Church on your side and Wurther’s not going to give you the throne now.’

  ‘No,’ Solon said flatly, conjuring gnostic energy. ‘I know what runs through your veins, Ostevan and it’s not good Corani blood any more, but daemonic ichor.’ Light flared menacingly in Solon’s hands.

  Instead of recoiling, Ostevan’s gnostic image drifted closer. ‘So what if it does? My Master has struck a bargain with these daemons. It’s a symbiotic relationship, a mutual enhancement – and it’s not too late for you to share in it, Solon. The Master offered you a position once and you turned him down. He’s authorised me to offer you another.’ He produced a mask from beneath his robes, a skull visage wrought in copper and bone, spattered in blood that looked fresh. ‘The endgame has begun, Solon. Join us, or perish.’

  Solon eyed the mask uneasily. Unlike the previous set, this wasn’t a Lantric theatre mask, but taken from the Book of Kore: the face of Macharo, the Angel of War, one of Kore’s four agents of destruction in the Last Days.

  When he thought about Lyra’s perfidy, he involuntarily reached out—

  —and stopped. ‘I refuse, and you can tell your Master to go and rukk himself.’ He sent a blast of spiritualist gnosis that ripped through Ostevan’s projected image and blew it away, then checked the wards to
ensure it couldn’t return.

  Unfortunately, Ostevan was right about one thing: he still had too little support. The loyalty of a few men, however devoted, would not be enough.

  It’s time to rally my people.

  He clipped his heels together, saluted himself in the mirror, then marched from the room.

  Sir Roland de Farenbrette was waiting outside, with young Nestor Sulpeter. The former, a grizzled, hollow-eyed man with a strong, spare frame, rose stiffly, while Nestor bounced up like an eager puppy. Roland made a show of looking over Solon’s newly enhanced face. ‘Never thought you one to value prettiness, Sol.’

  ‘With this good-looking young fellow with us? They’ll be wanting to crown him instead,’ Solon replied, slapping Nestor on the back, making the young man, whose father commanded the imperial army in the south, blush.

  ‘Come on, let’s do this,’ Solon told them, striding on towards the throne hall of the Sett, as the Corani stronghold was known. Green-and-white clad soldiers snapped to attention and a gaggle of minor nobles and hangers-on bowed or curtseyed as they marched into Duke Torun’s throne room.

  Trumpets blared.

  ‘Lord Solon Takwyth, Knight-Commander of Coraine and the Rondian Empire!’ the herald boomed and the hall, packed with men and women in sumptuous velvets and furs, burst into applause, welcoming their ‘finest son’.

  Here we go . . .

  He took his time, making sure to grip the out-stretched hands of the most prominent men who’d positioned themselves carefully in his path: the biggest landowners, the wealthiest merchants, the most renowned of the mage-nobles. Behind him, Roland and Nestor were doing the same, establishing themselves as his right-hand men. It took a good five minutes to reach the front of the room, where Torun Jandreux, Duke of Coraine, waited, sweating.