[center][h3]Empire of Lynn-Naraksh[/h3]

[b]South of Nergerad, Demesne of Urvetschin[/b][/center]


“Oer this ridge there, you’ll see it now.”

The small column wound its way between the jagged crests of a line of squat hills that protruded from the waste like pustulent growths on the black, scarred hide of some tremendous beast. While this was not the path Valdik had followed the first two times, he had discovered that it was much faster to reach the place from the closest town this way than by the detour through the mountain pass, and going through Nergerad was unavoidable once people higher up than the [i]bäkhte[/i] had become involved. They certainly wouldn’t stop at Valdik’s own village, if only because there was not nearly enough room for them there, even in what passed for an inn and the church put together. He was indeed a little surprised that they had been able to fit in Nergerad itself. An Episcope, he could understand. Under their masks, they could not have been very different from anyone else. But this was the Exarch of the South. Someone who surely lived like a lord, and under whose hood he was sure he had seen a small red glimmer.

Yet the Exarch had obviously spent the night in the town’s finest attic, and still did not look any less imposing for it. The robed figure could not have been much taller than himself, nor was there much that distinguished it from the cenobites following it, aside from the slightly more numerous and visible ornaments on its trappings. It was certainly far less impressive a sight than the Knights marching at its sides. However decorated with eyes and other mystical symbols, its vestment was no glimmering suit of armour, and its mask no bone-fanged helm. Even the black adjuncts behind them might have seemed to surpass it in menace with their swords and spiked maces, or the three brown-cloaked strangers who came last of all in their mystery – Valdik did not know what they could be, or why they would have been travelling in the prelate’s train. But they all paled near the Exarch, for the sole reason that it was the Exarch. He had never truly thought he would see one from up close, let alone be a guide to one, but his discovery was proving more and more miraculous by the day. Maybe he would someday be called for by – Well, it was always too early to think of that.

“There is, Eminence. You can see it from ere.”

The procession had by this time climbed over the spine of the last hill, and nothing more stood between them and the black plain. Like everywhere in Naraksh, be it south or west, the sky was dim despite it being high noon, but the view from the hilltop was clear. The whole of the wasteland, from there to the mountains that stood far over the horizon, was open to their sight. Or it would have been, were it not for the sea of dark shapes that stretched over it, vanishing into the distance.

“Godsblood” Valdik heard one of the adjuncts swear under his breath. Several others inhaled sharply through their masks. He had grown to expect these reactions by now. Even the Episcope had drawn a Triangle in the air when seeing the things for the first time.

It was just as well there were people with the Exarch, or he would have been even more unnerved. The high cleric had not said anything, nor even raised a hand. Despite this being his fourth time before the carven ranks, Valdik himself was still struck with the same awe and fright as he had been when he had first discovered the titanic work. These things, whatever they were, could not have been something of this world or age. They belonged in the tales and legends of times gone by, when the gods broke the earth with one hand and breathed rivers of fire into its depths. Never mind what people said about that Prophetess. Her words about some “darkness” – as though that was something a proper Narakshi needed to be warned about! – were worth less than the pebble that had found its way into his boot if they shied away from a true miracle like this. The faith of the Eyes had something to stand on, here on those stone shoulders. This was what the [i]bäkhte[/i] spoke about in church, and what the Exarch must have read about hundreds of times from those tablets they had in the cathedral. Signing, praying, even simply rejoicing, he could have understood anything. But not this silence.

He caught himself wondering if what was under that mask was really a man like him, and how much it could have known about the gods that it should not be astonished. [i]How[/i] it could have known that much. The thought almost made him shudder.

They were now close to the first row of sculpted warriors. The Exarch stopped some steps away from it, and the entire procession ground to a halt behind, spreading out in a semicircle around them. Mutterings coursed among the party as its members admired the inhumanly fine design of the figures’ carven armaments, rivalling, as Valdik had heard the Episcope say, even the old monuments in the Throne. The contrast between them and the blank features was a rough and unpleasantly familiar one, all too reminiscent of the faceless lords of the land.

“You said they change when you touch them?” Valdik still could not say whether the hissing, rasping voice from under the prelate’s hood was that of a man or a woman.

“Yes, Eminence. Like this, see…” Stiffening his hand to stop it from trembling, he raised it to the nearest statue’s head. They were, he had discovered, safe to the touch, warm yet not scalding. That did not make the sight of the transformation that came over them every time any less eerie. He had never been fond of mirrors – his face was more distinct in them than even he remembered it, which always bothered him – and this was the most unsettling one he had ever seen.

His fingers found a shoulder of black stone, and the whispers behind him rose in intensity as the sculpture radiated a sanguine glow, lines and bulges forming on the previously smooth surface under its helmet. There he was, immortalised better than anyone short of the Emperor himself could hope for. Every scar, every stray hair on his chin, every single pock-mark under his eyes, each of what he knew to be the exact length and depth. He wanted to withdraw his hand, but the looming dark form of the Exarch in the corner of his eye was more threatening than the dead rock was sinister. Thus, it was only after a few more moments that he lifted his hand, passing it slowly before the statue’s head, which briefly reawakened it. Not without some relief, he stepped back, looking expectantly at the robed figure beside him.

The high cleric motioned for him to back further away, which he was glad to obey, and advanced towards the figure. Cloth rustled in the silence of the wasteland as a draped arm swept up, repeating Valdik’s movements. Once again, a dark red streamed from the statue, though its face was covered from where he stood by the Exarch’s head. Nevertheless, he knew the shifting stone had not failed when subdued exclamations rose from the closest acolytes. This time, even the Exarch nodded briefly in what might have been surprise. It drew back, and the glow died down; however, it was soon replaced by a new, harsher light. The prelate was holding a palm outstretched towards the stone warrior, and bright fiery sparks were gathering at the tips of its fingers. There was no smoke or crackling, nor was the black glove burned by the dancing shards of radiance. The priests and Knights standing around them seemed far less astonished by this display than by the changes in the sculpture’s face, but Valdik could not help but bite down. He had been right about the red glimmers under that hood after all.

The sparks surged up in a stronger flare, and, detaching themselves from the Exarch’s hand, flowed at the statue like a stream of fiery arrows. They struck the stone, crawling over it like a swarm of wasps, then disappeared into it, sinking as though it had been quicksand. Evidently, this was not what the Exarch expected. The masked head swayed a second time, and the sparks turned and twisted into each other, coalescing into something Valdik could only think of as a bolt of flowing amber lightning that arced through the air at the very centre of the carven chest. He had to squint not to be dazzled by the flash; when he blinked off the reverb in his eyes, he saw the statue stood unchanged and the Exarch had lowered its hand, which was now pensively intertwined with the other. A few moments passed in silence. It was clear even to those less adept in the magical arts that, whatever the high priest had tried, it had been to no effect, and it was just as clear that this was not what had been expected.

Despite the failure, however, the Exarch did not seem entirely lost. Turning and moving towards the semicircle, it gestured at the three brown-cloaked strangers, who had until then remained standing some distance away from the rest. They now came forward, two of them casting off their mantles as they did to reveal worn grey wurm-hide leather clothing and masks of the cheaper sort. At their belts they had short, straight-bladed swords, which their hands reached for even before they had fully come to face each other. At first, Valdik could make little sense of their movements, until it dawned on him upon seeing the number of roughly patched slashes and suspicious dark stains on the figures’ clothes. These were [i]bloodbrothers[/i]. Followers of the deceiver Prophet. How were they here, with the Exarch?! Why had they not been seized and imprisoned? The [i]bäkhte[/i] said that bloodbrothers were crazed murderers and animals, everyone knew this. And yet the Exarch had allowed them to come here. Maybe they were prisoners? But then, why?

While he was still wondering, the answer had already begun to unfold before him. The two bloodbrothers had drawn their blades and were now swinging at each other with savage abandon. From what he knew of swordfighting, he could see they were good, though reckless as nobody he had ever known before. They seemed to ignore any defensive motions with the weapon, only making slight attempts to dodge before plunging into flurries of brutal lunges and slashes.  Fresh blood was already welling out from new gashes. Valdik found himself enthralled by the weave of their swords and the sheer fury that exuded from their skilful yet beastly movements. There was little doubt they would not stop until one or both would be on the ground. Was this why the Exarch had brought them along, to circumvent the law against blood sacrifice if sorcery failed? It would have been callous, but Valdik had to admit no one could have said anything against the prelate if this were indeed the case. As far as anyone was concerned, the bloodbrothers would kill each other, and that was all. No one was even forcing them to.

Whatever the reason, beyond the more immediate one of their bloodlust, that pushed the supposed captives against each other, their duel seemed to be coming to an end. The one to Valdik’s right clearly had the upper hand; while its opponent was growing more and more sluggish, seeping red from several wounds over the body, its own thrusts were only slightly slower than at the beginning. A sidestep and a lunge, and its blade was in the other’s flank. The adversary answered with a backhanded blow, more by reflex than consciously, followed by a swing that sliced across its back, but by then it had already moved around the sagging body and struck it again between the ribs. The other slumped to its knees, dropping its sword as a gurgling sound rose from its chest, red-tinged foam dripping from the sides of its mask. Crying out something harsh and guttural that Valdik did not understand, the victor pulled up the victim’s head and slashed across the exposed throat, sending an almost black gout spraying on the nearest statue’s feet.

Instinctively, Valdik raised his eyes to the head of the sculpture, which had once again begun to pulse with light, as though bleeding itself. Its blank surface was warping as new features rose from it like bones from the descending tide. The third brother bent down to tear off the fallen one’s mask, threw a glance at the transforming visage, then nodded to the assembled group. The Exarch stepped closer as if to satisfy itself, and Valdik, safe enough behind its sight, did the same. The corpse’s sharp, narrow Eastern face was twisted in the stomach-churning cross of a grimace of pain and a maddened snarl. An identical deathly mask now marred the once-pristine stone; the only difference was that this one would never rot. Nor, it seemed, would it ever be replaced. The Exarch swept a hand before the unnatural likeness, then touched its helm. There was neither light nor change.

Valdik tentatively held his own palm to a second sculpture. The stone flared up in red, and his own eyes looked back at him.

When he turned back towards the bloodied scene, the Exarch was looking at him, or, more likely, at the statue. There was a red shimmer behind the mask, he was now certain.

“That place, Nergerad. Is it the closest to here?”

“…Yes, Eminence.” His throat felt dry. The words did not come nearly as fast as he would have wanted, and for a moment he was afraid the Exarch would do the same to him as to that Easterner. But that did not happen.

“Clear it.” The high priest had turned towards its followers. “Remove everyone from Nergerad, and anywhere from which this can be reached in less than a day. Let none approach without our blessing.”

Somehow, Valdik felt this was the best outcome there could have been for those people. He took a step to leave the sculptures' side in the wake of the Exarch, when a call from one of the adjuncts drew his attention. His gaze strayed to where the masked warrior was pointing - and he bit down painfully on his tongue, as his throat felt as dry as the soil under his feet.

Where the corpse of the fallen bloodbrother had lain, nothing remained but a mound of dust, already half-lost in the ash of the wasteland.