William King - Shadowblood

The building they ended up in was infested by rats and other vermin and Rik found himself wondering about pestilence, for such places were notoriously plague pits. There was a certain irony in worrying about such things when the undead plague was sweeping the continent, but nonetheless worry he did. It did not matter whether a disease made you rise from the dead after it killed you. Other sorts of plague would end his life just as quickly, and at this moment in time, he still had something to do.

Rik let himself out of the damp building and keeping to the shadows made his way along the street, determined to find out what was going on in the city. He had no fear of the usual criminal fraternity that would haunt streets like these. He carried a blade and brace of pistols. No ordinary man could take him off guard, and anyone who tried was in for a nasty surprise.

He made sure he knew where their hiding place was, noted its position near the canal and the local landmarks such as the burned down building opposite and made his way towards the harbour.

Within minutes he found himself in streets crowded with men and women, sailors and bar girls and soldiers off-duty. Costermongers sold fish and roast chestnuts and baked potatoes. The people roistered with a feverish, fear-fuelled merriment. He picked the purse of a drunken seaman just to keep his hand in and find some local coinage and made his way into a bar. Men played cards and backgammon and chess and bounced half-dressed wenches on their knees while calling for vodka and beer. Rik felt immediately at home. He had spent most of his life in places like this.

He found himself sitting next to a bearded sailor deep in his cups. The man looked at him sourly and cheered up when Rik offered to buy him a drink. “Been long in port?” Rik asked him.

“Too bloody long,” said the man, swigging at the beer and smacking his lips. “But it looks like we might be able to set sail soon.”

Rik raised an eyebrow and said nothing, and was rewarded when the sailor said, “Sounds like the Empress has managed to come to some sort of agreement with the Quan. Her fleet, anything bearing the colours of Sardea, will be allowed to sail.”

This was a new development and Rik had no idea what had provoked it. Was this the truth? Had the Sardeans found some leverage with the Quan? He supposed it was possible. If the Sardeans won this war, even the proud Sea Lords of Harven would have to deal with them and that would mean the Quan would have to do the same.

From what Rik knew of them, they could dominate the seas but there were things they needed from the land-dwellers and trading for them would be easier. Something else stirred in his alien memories, some memory of fear of the Terrarchs. Perhaps war at sea would not be totally one-sided.

He tried probing his Quan memories. It was not easy, for the creature did not think like a human or perceive the world like one, but eventually he found something- recollections of beings that could be summoned from the beyond that might wreck even the undersea cities of the Quan, and knowledge of something else as well, that the Quan were a dying race, and that it would not take a huge effort to wipe them out.

“You drunk, mate?” enquired the sailor, licking his lips cunningly. “You look as if you’re fading.”

Rik wrenched himself out the reverie and reminded himself that this was a dangerous place for such things. He smiled at the man, and said, “I’m fine,” even as he ran his fingers over his purse to make sure it was still there. He was sure the action was not wasted on the sailor. “Another drink?”

“Aye, but I’ll buy the grog this time.”

“So you think we’ll all be able to get out of here?” Rik asked.

“Aye, they say there’s a Quan ship out there below the harbour, and the beastly things have sent representatives to the Palace to talk with her high and mightiness.”

Rik suppressed a shudder. His last encounter with the Quan had not left him keen on having any further dealings with them but he sensed that there was something important here, some shift in the balance of power. An alliance between the Quan and the Sardeans would be bad for the rest of the world. More thoughts bubbled up from the alien within him. The Quan must be certain that the Sardeans were going to win this war, and they wanted to make sure that they came out on the winning side. It looked like things must be going very badly indeed for the Taloreans.

“I heard the Reds were putting up a fight out West,” he said, just to see what sort of response this got.

The sailor showed yellowing teeth. “You’ve heard different from what I’ve heard,” he said. “I heard they’ve been showing our lads a clean pair of heels all the way back to the Talorean border. Can’t say as I blame them either. No man wants to fight against the dead.”

“You’re right there,” said Rik.

“Heard they massacred a big Scarlet army a few weeks ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve done for another by now.”

“Nor would I.”

“Say what you like about the Empress’s sorcerers, they’ve found the secret of victory this time and no mistake.”

Rik nodded. He was in no position to disagree. He kept drinking and not just to blend in with the locals.

“It’s hopeless, sir, we’re never going to get away,” said Handsome Jan. He was puffing and out of breath just like most of them. Sardec could see that they were tired and could not keep this up for much longer.

It was easy enough to distance the walking dead by running. The problem was the runners got tired and the pursuers never did. The dead just kept moving: untiring, implacable, inexorable, unstoppable. Every time Sardec’s little party thought they had escaped and gave themselves the opportunity to take a rest, it was only a matter of time before the walking dead came into view once more.

They were like tireless hounds on a scent. Sardec was not sure why it had happened, why this particular group had decided to hound his people unto death, but it definitely appeared to be the case. Perhaps they were hungry. Perhaps there was something about the sight of the living that offended them but they had not given up the trail, and did not appear to want to.

“It’s never hopeless, soldier,” Sardec said. “We’ll find a way to escape them.”

“If you say so, sir,” said Handsome Jan. “Although I would be very grateful if you could tell me exactly how we are going to do that.”

Sardec grinned. Now was not the time to harangue the man for insubordination. Now was the time to encourage him to move so that he would encourage the others.

Sardec realised that he needed to encourage himself. Was there any way that they could escape? What would it take to get the walking dead off their trail? He could not think of anything. He glanced over at Weasel and the Barbarian. They came running up to him. The Barbarian was still carrying little Lorraine.

“You two, go and scout ahead. See what you can see. See if you can find a place that is defensible. I don’t think we’re going to be able to outrun these monsters. We’ll need to find a place to hold them off.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” said Weasel.

“There’s no need for you to take the girl with you,” said Sardec. “Give her to me, I’ll carry her for a little.”

The Barbarian loped off after Weasel. Sardec watched them go. He realised that in a way he had already given up hope. He knew there was no way they were going to escape. It was only going to be a case of finding a place to make their last stand.

“It’s important,” said Rik, looking around at Tamara and Asea. He did not like this place. Damp blotched the tumbled down walls. Rats scurried through the abandoned corridors. The house reminded him too much of parts of his childhood. “If the sea lanes are open again, I say we book passage out as soon as possible.”