Thief of the Ancients
An Abaddon Books™ Publication
www.abaddonbooks.com
abaddon@rebellion.co.uk
First published in 2014 by Abaddon Books™, Rebellion Intellectual Property Limited, Riverside House, Osney Mead, Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK.
Editor-in Chief: Jonathan Oliver
Desk Editor: David Moore
Cover Art: Pye Parr
Original Series Cover Art: Mark Harrison & Greg Staples
Design: Simon Parr & Sam Gretton
Marketing and PR: Michael Molcher
Publishing Manager: Ben Smith
Creative Director and CEO: Jason Kingsley
Chief Technical Officer: Chris Kingsley
The Clockwork King of Orl Copyright © 2008 Rebellion.
The Crucible of the Dragon God Copyright © 2009 Rebellion.
Engines of the Apocalypse Copyright © 2010 Rebellion.
The Trials of Trass Kathra Copyright © 2011 Rebellion.
All rights reserved.
Twilight of Kerberos™, Abaddon Books and Abaddon Books logo are trademarks owned or used exclusively by Rebellion Intellectual Property Limited. The trademarks have been registered or protection sought in all member states of the European Union and other countries around the world. All right reserved.
ISBN (epub): 978-1-84997-684-8
ISBN (mobi): 978-1-84997-685-5
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
The Twilight of Kerberos Series
The Lucius Kane Adventures
by Matthew Sprange
Shadowmage
Night’s Haunting
Legacy’s Price
The Kali Hooper Adventures
by Mike Wild
The Clockwork King of Orl
Crucible of the Dragon God
Engines of the Apocalypse
The Trials of Trass Kathra
The Silus Morlader Adventures
by Jonathan Oliver
The Call of Kerberos
The Wrath of Kerberos
The Gabriella DeZantez Adventures
by David A. McIntee
The Light of Heaven
Twilight of Kerberos – The Final Adventure
by Mike Wild
Children of the Pantheon
CONTENTS
The Clockwork King of Orl
The Crucible of the Dragon God
Engines of the Apocalypse
The Trials of Trass Kathra
Also by Abaddon Books
INTRODUCTION
What I really wanted to do was put the fun back in fantasy. Okay, that sounds ridiculously flippant and not necessarily a good way to start an introduction, but bear with me on this as I have a serious point to make about the state of modern fantasy.
I’d never been one for huge epic fantasy sagas where each book weighs in around a 1000 pages and is usually one of a series of ten, or even thirteen! I struggled with Lord of the Rings at university, though I adored The Two Towers. The fantasy I was reading was the old stuff, and by old I don’t mean creaky and redundant; I mean works by writers such as Fritz Leiber, Robert E. Howard, Clark Ashton Smith and others. Leiber’s stories of Lankhmar were, in particular, a huge influence on myself and Matthew Sprange as we were putting together the world of Twilight of Kerberos. The other big influence on the series is the roleplaying game Dungeons & Dragons. Essentially what I envisioned for our sword and sorcery world was zesty, fun, stand alone novels that would still link together into a pleasing whole; books packed with incident, great characters, wild magics, vicious monsters and adventure. As I perceived it, there was certainly a niche for these in a market where every fantasy novel that came out competed with the last in terms of girth. Now don’t get me wrong, I now do love a bit of epic fantasy and have since become a fan of such practitioners of the saga as Steven Erikson.
What we were trying to achieve with Twilight of Kerberos, however, was a new wave of pulp sword and sorcery, taking the classic model as our platform to present new exciting adventure-led fantasy.
Mike Wild got what I wanted to do straight away. When he pitched the first Kali Hooper adventure, The Clockwork King of Orl, he had fun and cool stuff happening from the start. And, what is more, he had a terrific character. Okay, there is perhaps a touch of Lara Croft about our tomb-exploring, kick-ass heroine but Kali quickly breaks that mould and becomes a living, breathing character that grows with each book. By the epic conclusion to the series, Children of the Pantheon, which will be available in the final omnibus edition, you’ll come to think of Kali as a friend. A hard-drinking, sweary, belligerent mistress of the sword who is up there with Fafhrd, Conan and Solomon Kane as a great pulp hero; although, you know what, she’s a little more sociable than any of those three.
So, turn the page and leap right on in. Fun is what I promised and fun is what you’re going to get.
Jonathan Oliver (Editor)
December 2013
For Doreen – My Wife and Life
CHAPTER ONE
THE BEAST CRAVED flesh.
There, within the dark depths of the Sardenne Forest, that primal place curving like a great black bow beneath the frozen and fiery peaks of the World’s Ridge Mountains, at the eastern edge of the peninsula, where civilisation stopped, the beast rolled insane and bulbous eyes, ground together huge and slavering jaws, and with a ravenous snort slowly advanced on the human it knew to be helpless before it.
The dark-maned young woman stood with her hands on the waist of her billowing squallcoat, head cocked to the side, weighing up the heavy creature as it came. She stood her ground, boots planted firmly against the foetid night winds of the forest, feeling her soles tremble as the ponderous beast thudded closer, unflinching despite the fact she was unarmed and facing it alone. There was no one nearby to help her. No one, in fact, anywhere within leagues of her, for this was a place humans rarely trod, and where the ones who had come before the humans had not trodden for countless aeons, since their civilisations had gone. She had long ago left behind what settlements dotted the edge of this dark expanse, long ago passed the silent stares and downed tools of their inhabitants as she moved between their homes and on into the darkness. Even those hardened woodcutters only ventured into the forest’s outlying regions, and only then under the guard of their best fighting men, men who kept watchful eyes – and readied weapons – trained on the shadows that gathered about them. Beyond, the forest was considered impenetrable, and those who sought to prove otherwise – those who invariably never returned – to be foolhardy in the extreme. So it was the Sardenne had remained all but unexplored. The oldest of evils were said to lurk within its dark depths, and tales were told – in hushed tones, behind bolted doors – of creatures fantastic and terrifying that wandered there, waiting to corrupt or devour any intruder who entered their lair.
The young woman was not foolhardy but she was determined. By now, she had been travelling for three days, ever inwards, and so by all measures of the forest’s dangers should be dead – or worse. With stealth, forestcraft and some alchemical guile, however, she had managed to evade the attentions of its darker denizens, though she had lost count of the times roars, rattles, whispers or blood-curdling screeches had alerted her to their presence, close by, in the darkness around her.
The darkness. What passed for night on the rest of Twilight – the haunting, azure halflight filtered through the gas giant Kerberos – was
here more akin to Long Night, the greater darkness that only occurred when, four times a year, the world’s distant sun passed behind Kerberos and the eclipses came. It was worse than Long Night, in truth, because while then the grey and silver-streaked surface of the looming giant could still be discerned above her, here the forest’s canopy was almost total, as smothering and as dark as an oubliette.
Dark, that was, apart from the moist whiteness of the eyes of the beast, glittering, demanding saucers that had grown ever closer and loomed before her now. Yes, she might have made it this far but this was a confrontation she could not avoid. This particular beast would not allow her to progress until it had taken everything she had, its unnatural hunger sated.
She let it come, one hand slipping into a pocket of her squallcoat and wrapping itself in readiness around a small round object hidden within. Seeing her movement, and perhaps suspecting something, the beast reared its head and snorted steam from dark and expansive nostrils, and on the end of a thick, anvilled snout a pair of huge and fleshy lips curled back to reveal an array of tombstone teeth that, exposed in this way, appeared to grin as insanely as the bulbous eyes had rolled. The young woman steeled herself, her hand ready, but then without warning the beast lurched forwards and a slimy tongue the size of a rowing boat paddle slapped across her face. She batted it away, gagging and recoiling from a blast of foetid breath, took a step back and, with a groan of disgust, wiped a sliding patch of viscous slobber from her cheek and the lapel of her squallcoat. She flicked it to the ground with a grimace, shaking her hand until all of it was gone. Gods, that was disgusting!
Kali Hooper sighed.
“I taught you to wait,” she said, exasperated. “All right, fine, okay. But this is the last, you hear me?”
The beast whinnied, nodding its head rapidly, and Kali produced the round object from her pocket, a lardon of bacon she tossed towards it. The meat hit the beast’s snout, from where, its party trick, it was deliberately bounced back into the air before being caught in the huge mouth then manoeuvred beneath it. The beast rolled its insane eyes again and chomped down gratefully, drooling copiously as it ate.
“Those things will make you fat, Horse, you know that?” Kali said. “Eff – ay – tee.” She punctuated the letters with hearty slaps to the shire’s thick neck, prompting a head-butting that almost pushed her over. “What use will you be then, you obese lump? Going to be you riding me to the Spiral, is it?”
The Spiral, Kali thought, and sighed again. The truth was, she’d be happy lugging Horse there if only she could find the damned thing. She slapped his neck a final time and slumped herself down at the base of a tree, once again unfolding the map she’d paid fifty full silver for from a contact in Turnitia some weeks before. Focusing on it in the dimness, she made a tired brubbing sound with her lips. Acquired from a collection whose legal ownership she wasn’t privy to, the old and hand-drawn map purported to show the whereabouts of an Old Race site whose name she’d translated as the Spiral of Kos. She’d had her doubts about the map’s provenance at the time but had handed over her money not because of what the Spiral of Kos was – frankly, she hadn’t a clue – but rather its location here in the deeps of the Sardenne. Its very inaccessibility meant the site was likely untouched, and potentially that made it – and what it might contain – her most interesting find yet. Trouble was, authentic or not, the map was not to scale, and having found nothing so far she now had to decide whether to venture deeper into the forest, knowing that there lay Bellagon’s Rip, reputed to be the stomping ground of the Pale Lord himself. While she didn’t have any problem with that wayward necromancer – as long as he left her alone – she had to admit the vast army of undead under his command gave her pause for thought. If she wanted to spend the rest of her existence staggering around gibbering, she’d rather just be permanently betwattled, thank you very much.
Kali wished she could have a drink right there. Her chosen lifestyle – what she liked to think of as athletic archaeology – was one hells of a way to make a living.
She started. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts she had almost missed the fact that something had moved in the nearby undergrowth just then, something that alerted her with a crack of wood and a flash of something... chitinous at the edge of her vision. She instantly tensed, hunched to make herself small, and her eyes darted from left to right in her otherwise frozen form. Dammit, she thought – she’d broken her own golden rule, grown too complacent, stayed in one place too long. What was worse, she’d only just noticed that in wiping off some of Horse’s drool she’d also smeared away some of the floprat render with which she’d been coating her squallcoat to deceive curious noses, and in doing so had released a whiff of her own human scent.
Humans were a delicacy here, and a whiff was enough. Whatever was in the bushes had found her because of it. And whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly.
Kali didn’t hang around, springing gymnastically onto Horse’s back. Behind her, heralded by a sudden flight of panicked shrikes, she saw not one but maybe three predators – it was difficult to tell – glistening, angular carapaced things that reared out of the undergrowth on stickwood legs, and then in total silence, bar a sound like baby bones snapping, folded themselves around the trees towards her. Kali had no idea what the things were, and didn’t want to know – and neither did Horse.
Her entreaty of “Go, go, go!” was entirely redundant as the great beast had also spotted the monstrosities and, with a panicked bray, was off, not at anything that could be described as a gallop but building his own hulking momentum, designed to get him and Kali the hells out of there, whether there were trees in the way or not. The pair ploughed ahead, gaining a few seconds as their predators sniffed at what Horse had involuntarily left behind, but then they could be heard behind them once more, folding and snapping themselves through the forest in a determined and slowly accelerating pursuit.
Accelerating some himself now, Horse thudded blindly on, neither he nor Kali caring where they headed. But then the pair of them broke through, suddenly, into an unexpectedly treeless area of the forest, a large glade where the canopy opened to the sky. Despite the openness the place was almost unnaturally still, thick with lazily hovering insects and bestrewn with strange vines that covered the ground and crawled in a tangle over a central, low but sweeping hill. Kali urged Horse on towards the rise, reasoning that if they could make it to the top she might be able to make a stand against their pursuers. But just before they began to climb, she threw a glance backwards and saw that though they had emerged into the glade they had ceased their chase, having come to a sudden stop at the edge of the trees. A nervous twisting and cracking of their chitinous forms suggested that for some reason they were wary of going on, and then they actually skulked away, back into the forest. Kali was so distracted by the development that it took her a moment to realise that Horse had stopped just as suddenly as they had.
Horse? she thought, but that was all, as the direct consequence of him halting so abruptly was that she was thrown out of her saddle and over his head. Kali’s world turned upside down, and for a moment all she could see was the dizzyingly swooping sky, and then she landed hard on the slope of the hill, flat on her back, with an ooff and a crack that sounded like her spine had snapped in two. She lay where she was, stunned, while her brain tried to reorientate itself inside her skull. Rather ominously, she was dimly aware that Horse had begun to bray and snort and back away behind her.
Surprisingly, she found she could move – but when she did, stopped doing so immediately. There had been another crack beneath her, sounding this time not like her spine but the fracturing of ice on a frozen lake. It happened again – kuuchruuck! – and Kali hissed in a sharp breath as the slope shifted beneath her, a drop of perhaps only half an inch but one that felt so vertiginous it made her heart lurch. She didn’t think twice, somersaulting from where she crouched, feeling the ground give again as she rolled to where Horse circled nervously below her.
What in all the pits of Kerberos – ?
Panting, Kali picked herself up and turned to look where she had fallen. The hill before her had looked solid enough but evidently wasn’t, and had to be why both Horse and their chitinous friends had refused to go on. That, or they sensed something else. She had to admit the glade had a strange feel to it, a sense of something dormant and waiting, undisturbed for lifetimes. Something old.
Something old!
Kali felt a buzz of excitement – maybe, at last, she’d found something. Maybe. She calmed Horse then took off her squallcoat and tossed it over his saddle, revealing beneath the shnarl-hide working gear she’d had made in Freiport a couple of years earlier. The figure-hugging outfit, bespoke-tailored with artefact pockets on its arms and legs, was showing its age as well as some of her it shouldn’t, but Kali didn’t care, the kinds of places she wore it being well away from public gaze. She was rather fond of it, actually, as every tear or gash and every blood-stained hole brought its own memory. Around its waist she strapped a leather toolbelt she took from a saddlebag, and then to that a rope she took from another, securing the opposite end to the nub of the saddle itself. In the absence of trees in the glade, Horse would serve as an anchor for her safety rope. It wasn’t the first time she had used his bulk in such a way.
Kali returned near to the spot where she’d been thrown, then knelt and swept her hand back and forth to brush away tiny plants and topsoil, creating an arc of investigation. The surface was thin and came away with surprising ease, and she realised this was because there was nowhere for roots to take hold. There was metal beneath. Riveted metal. By the look of it, some kind of supporting rib.