The Relic Guild by Edward Cox Extract

8/9/2019 The Relic Guild by Edward Cox Extract

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e d w a r d c o x

GOLLANCZ


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Doubt & Wonder

In the long game, deeat was only part o the strategy.Alone and beaten, Fabian Moor strode across a narrow bridge o

stone. Cold purpose drove each o his steps as his path arced over achasm so deep that light itsel was swallowed into an endless void. Helooked up at the luminescent stalactites that hung rom the ceiling oa vast cavern like the spires o an inverted cityscape, glowing with a

violet radiance. With a surge o intolerance, Moor gritted his teeth ashe glimpsed something moving among the shadows there. A silhouette,dark and sleek against the pale light, lef the cover o a stalactite and

sailed down towards him with the slow beating o huge wings. Without breaking his gait, Moor thrust out a hand. A point o light,no bigger than a pebble, shot rom his palm and streaked upward. Ithit the silhouette with a flash o silver-blue that illuminated a creaturethree times the size o any man. Te creature recoiled, great leathery

wings olding orward, a bellow o pain coming rom a gaping mawmaniestly designed or rending flesh. As the light aded, a bitter windmoaned around the cavern, ollowed by the sound o dull creaking. In

the gloom, the creature’s rozen body hit the bridge several paces aheado Moor and shattered into a thousand glassy shards which glitteredlike jewels as they tumbled and spilled into the abyss.

Icy remnants crunched under Moor’s boots as he continued onward.Te bridge ended at a promontory, where, beore the rough and

sheer cavern wall, a stone golem stood sentinel. A thick neck and broadshoulders supported its boulder-sized head. Te wall o its chest tapered

to a marginally thinner waist; massive fists dangled rom powerul armsand hung down past the knees o tree-trunk legs. Hulking, easily twiceMoor’s height, the stone golem didn’t move, but its eyeless socketsseemed to glare a challenge to the man standing beore it.


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Moor sneered up at its chipped and worn ace. ‘Well?’ he said intol-erantly. ‘Let me in, you ool!’

Te golem shifed its bulk, its joints rasping with the grind o stone

on stone as it turned to ace the cavern wall. Raising both massive fists,it punched out at the rock. Te hard surace accepted the blows, turningto liquid, as i cowering in the ace o a greater might. It then solidified,using the golem’s arms to the wall at the wrists. Te golem leaned backand heaved. With more grinding, the stony sentinel wrenched ree agreat section o the wall as easily as i it were pulling out a plug. Itsootalls were heavy as it bore the hunk o rock back a ew paces to

reveal a round opening. Without a word, Moor stepped through the opening. A dull boom

confirmed that the golem had resealed the way behind him.Moor entered a circular chamber whose wall and floor were as

smooth as i scooped out o the rock. Above, the domed ceiling wascoated with a luminous substance that bathed the chamber in a warm,golden glow. A large round table o stone occupied the centre, around

which our people sat. All o them stared at the new arrival, but not oneuttered a word as he took his chair among them.Only when he was seated did Moor acknowledge the pain rom the

injuries he had suffered to his ribs, and the deep atigue overwhelminghis body.

He elt eyes upon him. Each o these people was well-known to Moor,though he would hardly call them riends. Tey had all been summonedto this council chamber beore, and always in secret, but never under

such circumstances as these. Teir dark cassocks were ripped andstained as Moor’s own, and all but one carried visible wounds.

o his right sat obese Viktor Gadreel; the old man held a bloodiedcloth to his lef eye, and shallow cuts and bruises decorated his baldhead. o his lef, Hagi abet’s glassy eyes stared off into some unknowndistance, a thin line o blood running down the side o her ace rom ahead wound partially hidden by her short, matted hair. Further along,

Yves Harrow was shaking, gritting his teeth against the pain o rawacial burns.

Te one person present who displayed no obvious injuries was MoAsajad. She sat calmly opposite Moor. Her long, raven hair was straight


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and neat; her gaunt, porcelain ace was blemished only by a patch oscarring on her orehead – the same ritual scarring each o them bore

with pride.

‘Where is Lord Spiral?’ Moor demanded o her.‘We do not know.’ Asajad’s thin, colourless lips gave him a cold

smile. ‘How goes your part in the war?’Meeting her dark eyes with a chilly gaze o his own, Moor remained

silent.‘Come now, Fabian,’ she said. ‘Tere’s no shame in deeat.’ Her smile

grew thinner and colder. ‘Even my own troops were destroyed today at

the Falls o Dust and Silver. I thought I was to die, too, but then I wasmaniested here.’

Viktor Gadreel grunted. ‘It is the same or us all, Fabian.’ He removedthe cloth rom his ace and looked at the blood upon it. His lef eye wasnothing more than red pulp. ‘I lost over a thousand today, dead to aman at the Burrows o Underneath. I should have allen with them.’

‘So many dead,’ Hagi abet whispered. With each passing moment,

she seemed more and more lost. Whatever wound she had sustained, ithad clearly addled her mind. ‘It all happened so quickly . . .’‘We didn’t stand a chance,’ added Yves Harrow. He closed his burnt

eyelids and continued to shiver.‘So you see, Fabian,’ Asajad purred, ‘each o our armies suffered

deeat in battle, and with synchronised precision, it would seem. But you didn’t lead an army, did you? Your part in the war was o a moreclandestine nature.’ She gave him a pitying pout. ‘I am assuming, by

your presence, your mission to the Great Labyrinth was not a success?’‘What do you know o my mission, Asajad?’ Moor’s tone was guarded.‘Enough to make an educated guess that the little magickers o the

Relic Guild proved too strong or even Lord Spiral’s most trustedassassin.’

Moor rubbed a hand across his bruised ribs and averted his gaze.‘Oh, poor Fabian.’ As Asajad’s unhelpul amusement deepened, she

looked at each person seated around the table. ‘A sorry lot or sure,’she sighed. ‘Yet, even in ailure, our lord and master has seen fit tospare us rom death, to bring us saely to this place. We must indeedbe avoured.’


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‘But are we ew all that remain?’ Gadreel said. ‘Did Lord Spiral saveothers?’

Beore any could speculate urther, there was a deep click and a

square section in the middle o the round table began to rise.Moor watched as a glass tank was revealed, slowly rising with puffs

o dust and steam. Within the tank stood a small and withered man,his body and limbs wrapped in strips o black cloth. He was bald and

pale-skinned. His eyelids were sown together with twine and his lips were used around a glass tube that connected to a box held in histhin-fingered hands. Te box was diamond-shaped and dark, but the

symbols carved into its surace glowed with a dull purple hue. A secondglass tube ran rom the box and disappeared into the withered man’stemple. Tick fluid travelled along both tubes.

A second click was ollowed by a long sigh, and the man in the tankspoke. ‘Greetings.’ His voice, stony and emotionless, came rom all

places at once. Viktor Gadreel was the first to reply. ‘Where is Lord Spiral?’ he

demanded.Te answer was matter-o-act. ‘I am to instruct you in the LordSpiral’s absence.’

Moor looked around the table. Tey all knew the abomination inthe tank, and knew him well. His name was Voice o Known Tings,and not one o them would dare reute him, or he had been created byLord Spiral to speak the truth. Voice o Known Tings was incapable omistake or lie, and his word was the word o their absent master.

‘Te war has reached its conclusion,’ the emotionless voice con-tinued. ‘Te imewatcher’s army has proved too strong, and HerTaumaturgists have pressed their advantage. Our allies among theHouses o the Aelfir have been broken and scattered. Even as I speak,the Lord Spiral’s enemies are clinching the final victory.’

‘Ten the war is lost,’ abet whimpered. Her eyelids fluttered, strug-gling to stay open. ‘Lost . . .’ Blood dripped rom her earlobe onto the

shoulder o her cassock.Gadreel growled defiance. ‘No. I will not accept that.’ He jabbed the

bloodied cloth towards Voice o Known Tings. ‘Te Great Labyrinthcan still be ours – I reuse to sit idly by while our lord alls.’


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Harrow, his acial burns weeping and ugly, hissed between chatteringteeth, ‘Yes. Better to die in battle.’

Moor remained silent. Only he understood there was more to this

situation than his comrades realised – or so he thought until he noticedMo Asajad, smiling at him through the glass tank. Te other three hadnot grasped the obvious: none o them would have been saved i it didnot serve some greater purpose in the war.

‘You will do only as the Lord Spiral commands,’ Voice o KnownTings said. It was simply a statement: the truth. ‘Te war or the GreatLabyrinth is lost, but your master does not lose hope in the ace o

deeat. Never again will he bow to the rule o the imewatcher andHer Taumaturgists, and nor will his generals.’

A moment o silence passed beore Asajad said, ‘How then can weserve our lord in these times o despair?’

Fluid gurgled along the glass tubes, and Voice o Known Tingsreplied, ‘No despair can last orever.’ He turned his head to Moor, asthough those ruined eyes could see him. ‘History will record that each

o you died during the final days o the war. Tat is as intended. Tat isas it should be.’He allowed a urther moment o silence to pass, and the glow o the

symbols upon the diamond-shaped box in his bony hands intensified.‘Te plans o your master have not changed, and your orders remain thesame.’ It seemed his words were directed at Moor alone. Ten, ‘Yourflesh is the sacrifice, but your souls are reserved or the Lord Spiral’s

will. In this matter you have no choice.’

‘And never could we conceive o reusing him,’ Asajad said. Her voice had become whispery, excited.

‘Indeed,’ Moor added.He elt a thrill that banished his pain and atigue. Gadreel, Harrow

and abet seemed perplexed as they stared at the abomination in theglass tank, but Moor understood where they were being led, as he hadalways known. For the first time, he returned Asajad’s mirthless smile

through the glass tank.Once again the stony, emotionless Voice o Known Tings spoke

rom all places at once. ‘You are the vanguard o the uture. You are thelast o the Genii.’


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The Great Labyrinth

Marney glanced up at the sky as she ran. A thick blanket o cloudsobscured the stars and blurred Ruby Moon to a smudge o dull red. Te

stench o mould filled her nostrils. Te air was warm and humid, damp-ening her skin, promising heavy rain. Already a fine mist o drizzle hadslicked the cobbles beneath her boots, and glinted as it clung to mossgrowing on the black bricks o the high walls flanking her. Surroundedby miles o intersecting alleyways, with only moonlight and shadowsto guide her, Marney blocked the pain o her burning leg muscles andheaded deeper into the Great Labyrinth.

onight, she searched or a denizen lost among the alleyways: a young woman with bad people on her tail, assassins more accustomed thantheir prey to the kind o danger lurking in this monstrous maze. Tegirl would only find despair in the complexities o the Great Labyrinth.However, on this occasion, her would-be assassins had more to deal

with than a straightorward killing. Tey had an empath on their tail.As the alley came to a cross junction, Marney paused in the shadow o

a buttress. Te alleyways o the Great Labyrinth did not differ rom each

other much: roughly five paces wide, twisting and curving in seeminglyimpossible ways, with pairs o opposing buttresses every fifeen paces orso. Usually, cobbled ground and mossy brickwork were all that could beseen or miles on end; but across this junction, standing urther downthe opposite alleyway, were the remnants o a makeshif camp.

A canvas sheet, damp and covered in mould, had been ashioned intoa crude bivouac. Te top edge was studded to the brickwork. It stretched

diagonally down to roughly the centre o the path, where it was held tothe ground by heavy weights. Tere were a ew metal storage containersclose by, piled on top o each other, rusty and ull o holes. Beside themlay a glow lamp, smashed and useless.


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A ew rats scurried around the improvised camp and into the bivouac’striangular opening. Marney could see the dark shapes o heaped bundlesinside. She knew it had once been the shelter o a treasure hunter, some-

one who had died o his own greed and stupidity, probably decades ago.Te camp appeared deserted, but maybe deceptively so . . .

Marney summoned her empathic magic.Her awareness shifed, alling out o sync with the world o dark,

cloudy sky and misted night air. She could no longer smell the damp oher hair and clothes. Detached now rom her intuition, Marney ocusedon a single moment, a single space, and her magic reached out.

Te mossy bricks o the alley walls and the slick cobbles became in-substantial as her senses searched or revealing signs: the emotions o anassassin hiding around the treasure hunter’s camp. But the only emotiveresponse was the otherness o rats existing within their simple-mindedroutines. No ambush awaited her. Marney didn’t know whether to eelrelieved or offended.

Tese rodents weren’t the only kind o creatures dwelling in the

Great Labyrinth; there were monsters too, especially here where themaze twisted and turned like the arteries o a black heart. I she hada mind to, Marney could be the worst monster o them all, yet theassassins had lef no trap. Perhaps they didn’t perceive her as a seriousthreat. She was only one old woman, afer all . . .

Marney stopped searching. Her restored awareness once again regis-tered the damp air and oul-smelling alleyways. She took the lef alleyat the cross junction, leaving the camp behind, and resumed running.

Te girl Marney was trying to rescue was known as Peppercorn Clara.Barely eighteen, she was a whore rumoured to have a libido as spicy asit was insatiable. Te story was that Clara had killed a client halwaythrough a job. Te man had been a disreputable sort who wouldn’t bemissed, and according to Marney’s inormation, Peppercorn had beenorced into a corner and had no choice but to deend hersel. Marneybelieved that somebody, somewhere, had benefited rom the murder o

Clara’s client. Tese assassins were on a clean up job.Marney cut a right and then a quick lef. She skidded on damp moss,

righted hersel and sped down a long alley that stretched straight aheadinto the gloom.


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ime was running short, and Marney was behind in the chase. Clara was too ar away to contact mentally, but her ear lef emotional oot- prints that led clearly through the alleyways. Unless Marney could head

her off, and ast, Clara would flee too deep into the Great Labyrinth, tothe places where assassins would be the least o her problems.

Between the alley walls, in the little niches and hidden corners o thegiant maze, there was a peripheral place that both inhabited the real

world and did not. Te denizens o Labrys own called this place theRetrospective; and there pockets o dead time existed – remnants olong gone civilisations. Tese epochs were a treasure house o orgotten

arteacts and secrets, or so it was said. But only the greed o treasurehunters, or insanity, could drive a person to search or the Retrospective.For within that twilight realm dwelt many terrible things.

Maniested as a horde o ghosts, they snaked and weaved throughthe very abric o the Great Labyrinth, like tendrils o dark history,remorseless aspects without good or reason; monsters, phantoms romnightmares with names only mentioned in whispers, or upon the pages

o secret books. Te wild demons o the Retrospective slept with oneeye open, always ready to swallow the unwary.And Peppercorn Clara was heading straight or them.As the light o Ruby Moon shone brightly through a gap in the

clouds, Marney reached the end o the alleyway and cut a sharp right.Somehow, she didn’t see the assassin until it almost was too late.

Boldly, he stood urther ahead, in the middle o the alley, dressed ina dark, flowing priest’s cassock and wide-brimmed hat. Te violet light

o thaumaturgy glowed rom the power stone set behind the chambero the pistol in his hand.

An instant beore the power stone flashed and the pistol shot itsdeadly slug with a low and hollow spitting sound, Marney leapt aside,ramming her shoulder into a buttress, and pressing her back flat to thealley wall. Te assassin’s bullet cracked the brickwork a ew paces to herright with a spray o stone. A sharp, high-pitched whine was immedi-

ately ollowed by a whirl o icy wind. Te noise scrambled Marney’sempathic senses, but she retained control and heard a creaking, deepand dull sounding.

Ice was orming where the slug had hit the wall. It spread out over the


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brickwork, creeping towards her like rosted breath on a windowpane.In an instant, the ice reached Marney’s right shoulder. She gasped andgritted her teeth as the cloth o her jacket began to reeze. Just as she

thought she would have to break cover, the ice ceased spreading andmerciully began to melt.

Magic: that bullet was designed to capture not kill. A direct hit wouldhave preserved Marney’s body within a cocoon o ice. But magical am-munition was rare in the Labyrinth, and no one – no one – packed thatkind o power into a bullet unless they were damn sure o their skills,unless they were . . . well connected . What kind o enemies had Clara

made?Te assassin still loomed in the alleyway. Marney tried to engage

with his emotions, to manipulate him into obeying her command, buthe was shielded rom her empathy. More magic. Tere was no way shecould get close to him while the gun remained in his hand, so she un-zipped her jacket and careully slipped it off. A baldric o slim throwingdaggers was astened around her torso like a girdle. She slid out a single

blade. Te silver metal elt cool and smooth in her hand.Marney waited several heartbeats, and then threw her jacket into thealley. Immediately, the power stone in the assassin’s pistol flashed andreleased a burst o thaumaturgy. Te ice-bullet fizzed into the jacket,reezing it in midair. It ell, shattering to shards o ice upon the cobbles.Marney spun into the alleyway and threw the dagger. It sliced the air

with a sigh beore thudding into the ace o her adversary. His headsnapped back, dislodging the wide-brimmed hat, and the pistol ell clat-

tering rom his hand. Te violet glow o its power stone aded and died.Marney wasted no time. She let fly with two more daggers; one took

the assassin in the throat, the other in the chest. He stumbled, but didnot all. Marney readied a ourth blade, but paused beore throwing it.

Something was wrong.Beneath the black cassock, the assassin’s body was misshapen, top

heavy. His back was hunched and his chest sunken. His limbs appeared

overly long and painully thin. Tere was no hair on his head, and hisace was grotesquely deormed. Te hilt o the first dagger protrudedrom his eye socket; it reflected red moonlight, but there was no blood,not rom any o his wounds.


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Silently, he began convulsing. Tere came a hissing sound andthe alley was filled with the hot and acrid stench o dispelling magic.

Violent spasms shook the assassin’s body, bending his already twisted

orm to hideous angles. Te hissing was replaced by a multitude o dullcracks, as i every bone in his body was breaking. Still, he emitted notone single cry o pain. Finally the assassin collapsed to the ground wherehis heaped bulk lay unmoving on the cobbles.

With the dagger still in her hand, Marney moved orwards cautious-ly. She inspected the remains. A knot ormed in her stomach.

Te souls o the dead could still talk, but even the most adept necro-

mancer would get no inormation rom this assassin. Te creature hadonce been human, she was sure, but now it was not even made o fleshand blood. Te cassock lay as rags upon the alley floor, and within itsblack olds the assassin’s body had shattered into small pieces o pow-dery stone. Not enough o the ace and body remained intact to suggestthat they had ever been part o a humanoid shape.

Tey said that empaths could never orget, though the imewatcher

only knew Marney had tried. Te situation suddenly smacked osomething rom a long time ago. Te assassin’s emotions had not beenshielded to her senses; it no longer had any. Her magic was uselessagainst creatures such as these. She could not eel them coming . . .

Her basic instincts kicked in. Spiky pulses o warning rushed upMarney’s spine and stabbed into her head. From the corner o her eyeshe caught the swish o a cassock and the violet glint o a power stoneas a second inhuman assassin rounded the corner into the alleyway.

Marney rolled to one side and the dagger flew rom her hand just as theassassin’s handgun spat out its bullet.

Documents

The Relic Guild by Edward Cox Extract