Page 81 of Crucible of Chaos

She smiled, patting Imperious’ flank before leaping onto his back with the practised ease of an experienced horsewoman. ‘I doubt there’s a finer mount in all of Tristia. I shall never treat him as anything less.’ Taking the reins in her free hand, she said, ‘Farewell, Estevar Borros. I hope you make it out of this madness alive. If you do, come and find me. You’d make a fine captain.’

‘May your journey be both safe and swift,’ Estevar waved to her, stumbling as the abbey’s foundations began to collapse beneath his feet.

Mother Leogado kicked her heels into Imperious’ sides, and like the majestic steed she had praised him for being, he leapt into motion, bolting ten feet across the path before skidding to such an abrupt halt that his rider went flying head over heels to slam into the crumbling flagstones.

Estevar ran to her, being careful where he stepped to avoid trapping his heels in the widening crevices. He knelt beside her, but she was unconscious, blood matting the short grey hair at the back of her head.

‘Alas, Madam, the wishes of mere magistrates rarely hold sway over the unruly natures of cantankerous mules.’

He took the general into his arms, grunting from the pain of too many untreated injuries, and lifted her onto Imperious’ back before mounting up himself. ‘I know, I know,’ he said in response to the mule’s braying snarl, ‘but justice can be merciful once in a while.’ He leaned over the unconscious Leogado to whisper in the mule’s ear, ‘Now, my friend, show the gods themselves that the Greatcoats die harder than most, and never, ever kneel, not even when Death demands it.’

With a burst of speed that forced Estevar to cling onto Mother Leogado’s unconscious body lest she fall by the wayside, Imperious galloped madly from the cloister, twisting and leaping this way and that through the collapsing abbey.

Estevar glanced up at the blackened sky where his Piccolo, as slight as a silver flute, fought against a bloated god ten times her size. He had no conception of the mystical mechanics driving the battle or what esoteric forces infused their blows, only that she looked so terribly small, and in dire need of a friend.

Show them, my Piccolo, he told her silently, repeating the words he’d whispered to Imperious,show the gods themselves that the Greatcoats die harder than most, and never, ever kneel.

Onwards they rode, clouds of dust rising from the ruins in defiance of the lashing rain, blinding Estevar until he could no longer keep track of all the perils menacing their escape. He let go of the reins and closed his eyes to keep from leading Imperious astray, trusting instead to the mule’s judgement of where to leap and when to turn.

Each second felt like hours, with the thunder booming all around them. Bolts of lightning left the air sizzling, filled with the stench of burnt flesh and scorched stone. He could feel the mule fighting for every pace. The dust and smoke forced him to keep his eyes closed still, but he chanced a glance when they passed through the archway and began their desperate skidding descent down the spiral road and through the abandoned village.

The mule’s hooves slipped on the slick cobbles as the rains beat down upon them and all Estevar could do was cling onto the unconscious Mother Leogado and pat Imperious’ neck now and then, whispering what encouragement he could, shedding tears of unbridled admiration. Of all the wonders Estevar had witnessed upon this island, none was greater than his mule’s courage and daring nimbleness.

When suddenly they came to a halt, Estevar forced open his eyes once more, to behold the inevitable end of their escape. Surprisingly, even as he prepared to meet his doom, he found himself saying, ‘I never thought to witness such terrible beauty.’

They had reached the edge of the rocky shore, the causeway that would have been their only avenue of escape still flooded and unpassable. The lightning that had turned the abbey to rubble was now striking the waters surrounding Isola Sombra, sizzling the ocean itself. Half a mile over the drowned causeway, Estevar could make out the flashes that were setting alight the Margrave of Someil’s magnificent pavilions.

Estevar dismounted and wrapped his arms around the mule’s neck, waiting for the end to come.

‘By all the gods,’ he heard Brother Agneta cry out, and turned to see the elderly inquisitor supporting herself against Strigan’s arm, followed by dozens of those monks not slain by demons or some other calamity, who came rushing down to the shore behind them.

‘Is there a chance of swimming across?’ Strigan asked as they reached the water’s edge.

‘I do not believe so,’ Estevar replied. ‘Too much lightning is striking the channel– the water itself is boiling.’

‘Then we’re dead,’ Brother Agneta said, sitting down on a rock. ‘I suppose my old masters who recruited me into the Cogneri were right: the godsdofavour vengeance over mercy.’

A voice drifted down to them from above– a voice so familiar and utterly human as to defy what she had become. ‘We might think more kindly of you were you not such terrible people,’ she said.

Estevar looked up, and there, borne by the wind, was the young woman who’d been known in life as Caeda, his Piccolo. The shimmering, rocky armour no longer encased her, but the flecks of sacred ore were still there, gleaming just beneath her skin. She floated thirty feet above them, her red hair swirling in the wind like a fiery halo. There was a fierce joy bursting from her, a song as yet unsung, a goddess awakening at last.

‘Well?’ she asked, looking down at Estevar. ‘Didn’t I say something to you about running for your life?’

‘I took it more as suggestion than divine edict,’ he replied.

‘You do that a lot.’

He shrugged. ‘Greatcoats make poor soldiers, I’m afraid, and even worse worshippers.’ Gazing up across the cloud-covered sky, he asked, ‘Need we fear the imminent return of the God of Abominations?’

She drifted in the wind and rain, then came back towards him. ‘Only me, I’m afraid.’

The tremors shaking apart the island were worsening, slabs of stone breaking from the clifftop to tumble down towards the shore. The survivors were caught between an avalanche of falling rocks and a boiling sea waiting to drown them beneath its depths.

‘Oh, must I do everything myself?’ Caeda asked. She grinned mischievously.

The next rumbling that shook the shore came from the half-mile strait separating the island from the mainland. The surface of the water bubbled up, then sandy rock and mud broke through to form a flattened ridge. The monks, drenched by the rain, their robes in tatters, cheered with relief as they raced across the bridge Caeda had summoned to allow their escape.

Estevar handed the unconscious general into the arms of two of her yellow-robed followers, waiting with Imperious until the last of them had escaped. As a magistrate, he had one final duty to perform before the island sank into the sea.

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