City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [84]
The impending ritual followed an antiquated tradition, involving a stylized liaison between cultists from the Order of the Dawnir and the senior military official, which went back several hundred years. It went back so far, in fact, that no one really knew how it had all started, but it had succeeded in binding the Empire to one of the major cultist orders.
Tiendi was beckoned to lie down on a thick stone table positioned in the centre of the room, while all her comrades-to-be stood around her in a circle, watching. A few cressets burned steadily, casting enough light on the procedure, but not so much as to make the scene seem eerier than it should have been. She was strapped down, the muscles of her pale, lean body tensing, and her chin-length blonde hair bunched up to one side.
Blavat’s gaze was utterly focused as she assembled her bits of equipment around the new recruit, cautiously adjusting some settings, deciphering the technology. Two metal plates were attached to Tiendi’s forehead, whilst a brass syringe was poised just above the base of her neck. Blavat deftly flicked the switch on a cylinder resting behind Tiendi’s head.
Then she was injected.
Tiendi screamed and clenched her fists, saliva appearing in a thin line across her cheek. Her body flared into a network of purple, as if a luminous web clung to her skin, forcing a surreal display of veins and arteries. The soldier tried to reach up to her face, but her arms were restricted by the straps, biceps bulging under the strain, and all the time Blavat stared nonchalantly at the spasming body of the young woman before her. Brynd watched with concern – this was not always a procedure without casualties.
Once Tiendi’s screams died away, once her throes had diminished, she was unbound. She rolled off the table, collapsed sweating onto the ground and begun hugging her own body, scrunching up her eyes to hold in the tears. Gradually, the trauma wore off, and she began to gape around the room as if discovering the view for the first time.
Brynd knew what was happening, that she was becoming accustomed to the enhanced vision, more perceptive of details in both shadow and highlight, of colours at the limits of the spectrum – seeing the entire world so much more clearly.
He smiled as the rest of the Night Guard swarmed around Tiendi, patting her on the back and genially welcoming her into their elite brigade.
TWENTY-TWO
Randur slapped down a mug on the table next to the settee. Munio woke and immediately gaped at the flames. They were roaring away in the fireplace, the spare logs neatly stacked to one side, even the mantel thoroughly cleaned. Randur had transformed this part of the manse into something almost habitable.
‘Ah,’ Randur remarked. ‘I see the princess awakes from her slumber.’
‘The hell hour is this?’
‘Late afternoon, nearly time for dinner.’
Munio pushed himself to test his feet, swaying gently as he came to terms with the new day.
‘Is that baking bread I can smell?’
‘Yep.’ Munio probably couldn’t remember the last time he had smelled such a heavenly aroma. To be honest, neither could Randur.
Munio leant over to pick up his mug of tea from the side table. ‘This will not do. The day must begin with something a little stronger.’
‘You’re a total pisshead – and that’s why your life’s such a mess.’
Randur shuffled through into the kitchen, where he found Eir intent on working through some Vitassi moves with a ladle. He humoured her, as they clattered around the room.
‘No, no,’ Munio called out to her from the doorway. ‘Eir, your left foot is all over the place.’
She whispered something to Randur, then made to leave the room.
‘Don’t go on my account,’ Munio yelled after her.
‘I’m just going for a walk with my sister. You two need to catch up.’
‘Is she around somewhere – Rika?’ Munio struggled to contain his eagerness.
‘Later,’ Randur declared, then gave a nod to Eir, and she left.
The two men said nothing for some time, and Munio began ambling around the kitchen with a sense of