City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [167]
The army this. The army that.
The other cultists in this emergency unit were seven men and one other woman. Originally congregated from various minor orders, two of which she’d never even heard of, they were all keen if not completely proficient.
Two of the men were middle-aged, one with grey hair and the other with none, and she felt immediately that they were powerful, despite their seeming unwillingness to take the threat of war all that seriously. They gave their names – well, one of them did: Abaris and Ramon.
Ramon had a look of psychopathic intensity about him, the kind of glint in his bright eyes that suggested he could be friendly one moment, but would have no trouble in slitting your throat the next. Stocky, with perspiration glistening on his bald head, he stank of stale sex and bad magic. His colleague, Abaris, chubby and moustached, was the only one of the pair who would ever speak. Only in the silences did she notice how Ramon had one blue eye, one brown.
Abaris made a minimal yet bold claim. ‘We might’, he said, ‘be able to do things with the dead.’
He marched his fingers across the tabletop as if to suggest their intentions.
Necromancy . . . Is that what they do?
And how exactly would that be of any help? Beami had never heard of these people, but the more macabre cultists did tend to isolate themselves.
‘Which is fine,’ she replied to the weirdly light-hearted figure of Abaris, ‘but what about making the enemy dead in the first place?’
‘Lass, we’ll require a measure of time before we can go into action. And then . . .’
Ramon did nothing but grin, yet she noticed the creases in his face, evidence of years of almost blissful anguish. The two of them frightened her with their deep serenity. They possessed a kind of confidence that overwhelmed her.
The conversation lurched back and forth between the commander and the cultists. She did not want her kind to be treated merely as weapons. They were people who thought and reacted carefully and could use relics to a devastating effect – if they were allowed a little freedom.
Messengers frequently interrupted them with updates on the invasion fleet heading towards the city. Every new one of them left the room feeling darker, as if a death in the family had been announced. And how many thousands of those would there soon be? The increasing stress was obvious on the albino’s face. Frequently he would rise from his chair and circle the room as if no one else was present, and occasionally he’d catch the eye of Ramon, who would smile back at him in a macabre fashion.
As Beami peered out of the window trying to see where the enemy were currently, her vision drifted over the docks and the front line of fortifications, the makeshift barricades and the archers stationed in windows and other vantage points. Would they really be enough?
*
An idea came to mind and Beami announced it to the room.
Abaris clapped his hands. ‘Lass, that’s proper genius, that is. Me and Ramon will wait for you to finish up, before we can make our immediate contribution.’ Ramon’s head began to rock back and forth, his eyes firmly closed as if he was contacting someone outside the room via some ethereal means. Abaris adjusted his tweed robe and leaned in to await a further reaction from the room.
A murmur of approval rippled towards her.
The albino slumped forward in his chair, resting his chin on his hands, and he stared at her. He didn’t seem particularly unenlightened in his attitude towards her, but did he really believe she was capable, this mere woman? She had been used to receiving that response throughout her life, and had learned to suppress her frustrations. Brynd said, ‘We could defend the docks with our forces stationed on the quayside to prevent the enemy getting into the city.