THE MESTER

30

She Will Have Blood

Eisheth and Mammon stood facing each other, some distance from the walls of the Lochlanach war camp. It had been easy enough to lure the shaman into the fell while the rest of her team got away. Most of the barbarians had rushed up the steps towards the moongate, and the few that had followed them were easily dealt with. One of the men charged Eisheth; his pike levelled at her heart. She flicked him aside with a blast of air. She used a bit too much, and he crumpled to the ground and didn't get up.

"Go back home, Mammon," Eisheth said to the Teurek princess, without looking at him. "There is nothing here for you but death." She knew Mammon wouldn't listen, but she had to try to honour the tenets of the Kenning, as impractical as they were. She felt her anger rise like a wave within her and forced it down, hard. Behind her, she could feel the clouds pouring down the high slopes, answering her call. She was dicing with her sanity by using so much magic, but she needed to make sure everyone was safely away before she started killing. Or rather, she thought, glancing guiltily at the pikeman, before she killed anyone else. She had hoped to avoid this sort of bloodshed. She would have preferred to do it sooner, alone and quiet, preferably with no witnesses, but the Kenning had insisted. Usually minor confrontations with the Teurek could be squared away before the Kenning even knew about them, but these barbarians had gone and murdered a whole city worth of people, so naturally, they were interested in the outcome. She had been patient and followed the teachings of her adopted people, and as a result, Havi had died. The people she had sworn to protect had died. It was unacceptable. A red haze flickered across her vision, and she blinked it away.

Several of the Lochlanach fired their weapons at her, and she held up her hand, pushing the bullets away with the brute force of the air. It took a surprising amount of energy, and she realised the lead balls would be lethal if they hit. She wanted to learn more about them, but that would have to wait. First, she had to deal with Mammon. The pale woman opposite her gestured to her brutes to stand back, laughing in her youth and arrogance as she came at Eisheth. She moved faster than should be possible and tossed her hair as she struck Eisheth with all the power of her demon-strengthen fist.

Eisheth smiled as her fist made contact with her face, knocking her back a little but causing no damage. Mammon thought herself strong because she had consumed the hearts and strength of a handful of men. She had never faced one such as Eisheth who was cunning and ancient and had tasted the victory of a thousand battles. She felt the killing rage rise and this time she couldn't keep it down, so she rose to meet it. She reached out and ripped Mammon's head from her shoulders in one smooth motion. Everything went red, and for a while, Eisheth forgot who she was as she gave into the delights of violence.

Sometime later she awoke in the fell with her arms covered to the elbows in blood and gore. She stumbled upright and tried to wipe it off on some nearby leaves. The sun was high in the sky, so it was at least one day since the ill-fated meeting at Sterlester, maybe more.

"Mistress," said Moloch. "There is more to do."

"No," she said, cursing under her breath. She needed to find some water to the wash the bloodstains off her skin. She needed to find a stream, fast and get back to Gwavas. There was no knowing how much time had passed since she had regained her sanity. Once before she had been missing for weeks. She couldn't afford to lose that much time now, not with the Kenning waiting. Hopefully, only a day or two had passed. "You've fed enough," she told him, eyeing the remains of several barbarians that lay scattered around the bush. Ancestors knew, she wanted to carry on. One of these days, she would give into the rage and not come back. Ancestors help them all if that happened, but that was a problem for the future. Right now, she needed to calm down and think - but her head was pounding and the blood singing through her veins, demanding more. She fought down the passion and the anger, dousing it with the sheer force of her will. This was not who she wanted to be. It was a part of her she could not deny, truly, but she could control it. She would control it as she had done so many times in the past. It was just so tempting to smash everything, she thought, looking up at the Old Man of Sterlester. She could single-handedly destroy every barbarian and every airship that sullied the air currents of the Reaches. She could wipe them from the earth as if they had never existed. She allowed herself one glorious moment to imagine it before brutally crushing the vision with the cold and passionless blanket of reality.

She could do it, but she knew, deep in her heart that there would be no coming back from that. Moloch would take her soul, and the Night be damned. She had to focus on what was right, on her duty. The Ancestor's Own needed her; the Reaches needed her. Letting her soul be taken to the Night was the last resort, the final line of defence for she risked becoming a threat far worse than the barbarians. She stretched, gingerly, working out the kinks out of her neck. There was a reason the Teurek left the border of Havi alone, and it had little to do with Treaties, whatever the Kenning might think. The border tribes feared Eisheth and rightly so - she had sent so many of their finest to the Night. If she had still lived in Teurek, she would have been worshipped as a living god. It was ironic, really.

She forced herself back to the present. She always had a hard time concentrating, afterwards - she felt too good, too invigorated to be still. She focused on her surroundings, eyes roaming from the mountains to the distant barbarian camp to the human remains in front of her. Something twinkled in the sunlight, and she stared down at the stump of a Lochlanach arm on the ground with some satisfaction; it was still gripping one of their appalling mechanical weapons. She picked it up curiously and examined the shaft. The weapons were effective killing machines, she conceded, even though they seemed to take a long time to load. She sniffed at the end where she had seen the barbarians stuff black powder before firing them off. The smell was unpleasant and a little familiar. What was it? She wrinkled her nose and caressed the wood and metal weapon with her fingertips.

"One more?" asked Moloch, and she nodded, her heart skipping a beat.

"Just one," she said, looking back towards the camp. She needed to know how these machines worked. She had hoped by getting a closer look at one she might be able to figure out how it worked, but now she had it in her hands...it was more complicated than she had anticipated. It didn't matter how tarnished her soul was; she would gladly blacken it further. The fact that she would enjoy it was irrelevant.

She turned to go, then paused, looking down at the mangled remains of the barbarians she had killed. Duty first. She had to try to remember to think like a member of the Ancestor's Own; like a Havi, born and bred. She dragged over a couple of dried branches and covered the dead men and then set it alight with her index finger. She waited impatiently as the dead were fully consumed by the flames and said the words that would send their souls to their Ancestors. Then she prayed to her own Ancestors that she not left any other bodies lying around unattended. The last thing they needed right now was an epidemic of Skinwalkers.

Chores done she slung the wood and iron shaft of the barbarian weapon over her shoulder and set off towards their camp. "Let's go hunting, Moloch," she whispered to her demon, and he surged up the hill behind her, his eyes burning pits of anticipation. He had feasted well, she had no doubt, and it would take her a long time to atone for their actions this day. She picked her way carefully, humming softly and keeping to the undergrowth and deliberately focusing on all the details of the plants she passed. She was determined not to give in the killing rage. She didn't want to waste this death, not if she wanted to retain his knowledge.

It did not take her long to locate an isolated barbarian walking beyond the walls of their encampment. He was looking for something, probably his missing compatriots. It was the work of moments to sneak up behind him and murder him with clinical calculation. She snapped his neck and dragged his body out of sight. Once she was sure, she would not be disturbed; she cut out and ate his steaming heart. She offered his soul to Moloch who accepted it with malevolent glee. She managed to keep from blacking out as the dead man's memories flooded through her mind. She sat so as not to fall over, her head swimming with visions.

It was hard to keep everything straight, her sight blurred and misted, the fell fading in and out. The man she had killed had been named Louis. He was an airman and pikeman with the Queen of Lochlanachs' expedition to the far south. He sailed aboard the great airship the Bright Terror, which Eisheth now recognised as the largest of the ships she had seen tethered under the shadow of the Old Man. She looked down at the weapon in front of her and recognised it as an arquebus, a firearm made in Stonehafen, the city Louis considered home. Her mind reeled as she shared the barbarian's memory of his country. She had never seen so many people gathered together in one city! She had never seen such wealth, such excess. She had never seen such efficient war machines. The Lochlanach were a prosperous and warlike nation with an appetite for conquest.

She gasped for breath and rubbed her temple, her veins pulsing with fear and adrenaline. They were in even more trouble than she had initially thought. She had presumed that by destroying the shaman, she would be able to neutralise the barbarian threat. It seemed things would not be that simple. There were many, many more barbarians than there were Havi, and once the word got out about the moonsilver mines...

She looked up at the westering sun. It was well past time she returned to Gwavas and reported to the Kenning.