In the latest chapter of the Dawnbringer Chronicles, we witness Grand Justice Gormayne navigating the treacherous court of his liege lord Ushoran, the Carrion King. Despite his disdain for the theatrics surrounding Ushoran’s injury, Gormayne plays his part, feigning concern and rallying the king’s followers against imagined enemies.
The mournful dirge of horns heralded the coming of the king’s entourage. Through the mountain valleys they came, scrabbling and howling, beating the ground with gore-smeared fists. At the centre of the procession lay the burly mass that was the Carrion King, sprawled upon a palanquin of knotted sinew, one hand slack across his brow, the other clutching at a finger-width hole in his chest. Even prone, Ushoran dwarfed his teeming progeny. Two attendants dabbed at their liege’s wound with a rag of human skin – a wound inflicted by the wretched humans who had so treacherously spurned the hospitality of Ushoran and attacked him even as they broke bread together.
Grand Justice Gormayne observed the display from a distance, twiddling a fleshy loop of his intestinal periwig and striving to appear stricken by his master’s predicament. In truth he found the entire spectacle rather ridiculous. He felt an elbow in his ribs.
‘Our brave liege,’ the ghoul next to him said, snuffling and wiping a dribble of pus from his eye. ‘Viciously attacked, and for no other reason than an excess of charity.’
Gormayne smiled wanly and nodded. At that moment he noticed Ushoran gazing at him through narrowed eyes, and the Grand Justice suddenly found his voice.
‘Regicide!’ he cried. ‘Betrayal! Is there no low to which our foes will not sink?’
There was a general outcry from the procession. Gormayne continued stirring them up, condemning not only the vile Sigmarites but also the murderous vampiress Sekhar and her Nulahmian brethren, surely co-conspirators in the humans’ vile assassination plot. Needless to say, he made no mention of his own dealings with said conspirators, nor his various other attempts to undermine Ushoran’s will.
It was not treachery, he still told himself. Ushoran simply needed direction, lest he lose himself in his world of violent theatre. The Grand Justice had simply wanted to force his master onto the right path: the sacred path of blessed Nagash. But that particular barque had very definitely sailed.
The sound of crashing water could be heard. Ahead of the procession, the canyon path of the Neck descended sharply. It led down to the lip of a great misty basin, fed by a waterfall. Off to the right there was a cluster of rocky teeth, and beyond that the fast-flowing river surged out towards the lowland valleys, just visible through heavy banks of fog.
The wounded Ushoran held up a trembling hand, and the procession halted on the shore of the lake. Gently, the king’s attendants lowered his bier, before prostrating themselves around their master’s body.
‘Glymloch!’ Ushoran cried. ‘Where is loyal Glymloch?’
A winged horror leapt from the boulder atop which it had been perching, and glided down to kneel before Ushoran. Bloody tears streamed down the creature’s face, and it clasped its hands together as if in prayer.
‘My liege,’ it croaked. ‘How may I serve thee?’
‘Ye shall be our herald and general, faithful friend,’ said Ushoran. ‘Speak with the authority of the Summerking, and summon the banners to defend their lord’s demesne. The War of Red Errantry is upon us.’
‘I shall paint the valleys with the blood of the betrayers,’ snarled Glymloch.
Ushoran bared his fangs in a red grimace, and shook his head. ‘Nay, our leal servant, not that. There is a sickness that festers in their hearts, these rogues and rapscallions. They know not what they do. Are we not a forgiving king, good Gylmloch?’
‘You are, sire.’
‘Then obey us now. If their curse is to be broken, these corrupt souls must sup from the hallowed waters of this very river, whose blessings will now mend our torn flesh. Only then can they return to the Summercourt, to share our plenty and sup wine with their king.’
Glymloch bowed deeply. ‘Thy will be done, my liege.’
With that, the Abhorrant leapt into the air, beating its leathery wings and soaring away into the clouds, letting loose a howl as it disappeared from sight.
Ushoran hauled himself upright, one massive, clawed hand still pressed to the hole in his chest. With quivering hands, he removed his cloak, letting the mouldering garment collapse to the floor. He staggered, appearing to swoon, but when his attendants scrabbled forwards to aid him he held out a palm.
‘Nay, I have strength enough.’
If Gormayne had not been so painfully tense, he would have rolled his eyes.
With slow, purposeful steps the Carrion King dragged himself to the edge of the sacred pool and eased his immense bulk into its waters. Soon, all that could be seen of him was the crown of bone that protruded from his skull. After a time he emerged, his great head peering back at his court like a basalt rock.
‘Grand Justice Gormayne!’ he cried. ‘Join us, will thee?’
Gormayne licked his lips, feeling a thousand jealous glances turn his way. Though he would have very much liked to be anywhere else at that moment, he gingerly made his way down to the lake and slid in. His periwig draped along the surface of the water like a bloated octopus.
Ushoran’s eyes followed him.
‘Tis a sad truth that a royal court always seethes with betrayal,’ said the Carrion King, his voice so low that only Gormayne could hear. It no longer trembled with false pain. ‘Dost thou not agree, my loyal friend?’
‘Quite so, my liege,’ said Gormayne.
‘Mine blood-sister Neferata,’ Ushoran sighed. ‘Ever doth the Mistress of Nulahmia seek to undermine me. Her agent, the foul Sekhar – dost thou imagine she plotted alone, to turn the Summerking into her petty blood-bag? And, when that failed, to murder him?’
The Grand Justice knew he must choose his next words very, very carefully. Ushoran smiled at him, revealing a row of knife-sized fangs stained brown with dried blood and scraps of flesh.
‘Not alone, Your Majesty,’ Gormayne said. ‘Verily, this must have been a scheme long in the planning. An alliance between Azyr and Nulahmia, sealed by a cowardly act of treachery. I already had my eye upon the creature, but even I – a student of just law – was swayed by her hypnotic wiles.’
Ushoran’s smile only widened at this. Gormayne winced, thinking that perhaps he may have overplayed his hand.
‘Blessed it be that you survived, my liege,’ he went on, speaking too fast in his nervousness. ‘Vile Sekhar underestimated your boundless cunning.’
‘My enemies oft do,’ said Ushoran, that shark’s smile spreading wider. ‘It is good that I have such men as thee to count upon, good Gormayne. Loyal Gormayne.’
‘I am your eternal servant, sire.’
‘Eternal,’ purred Ushoran. ‘Yeeessss… Thy wisdom and counsel will serve well, in the wars to come. No more shall I hide, Gormayne. No more shall I wither in darkness, while mine dear sister Neferata and that blackguard von Carstein indulge their every whim unchallenged. It is time for war and for glory. We hunger for it.’
Ushoran raised one swollen arm. With the fore-talon of his other hand he peeled a strip of skin away, releasing a gush of dark gore. The waters of the lake clouded, turning from an azure blue to muddy red. The pool began to thrash and stir. Fish broke the surface, ripping one another to bloody shreds. Gormayne felt his own paralysing dread ebb away, that cursed flicker of lucidity that forever plagued him overwhelmed by the rich, stupefying ichor of his liege-lord. The kingsblood.
Ushoran tipped back his head and roared, a primal sound that soon turned to hacking laughter. And – unable to help himself – a rapturous Gormayne joined him.
The red stain was swept along by the current, running like spilled ink as the river carried it down through a winding canyon of jagged rocks towards the lowland hills – and towards the human settlement of Naithwaite’s Crossing, whose inhabitants knew nothing of the seeping corruption drifting ever closer.
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