The Diamond Isle d-3

  The Diamond Isle

  ( Dreamtime - 3 )

  Stan Nicholls

  Stan Nicholls

  The Diamond Isle

  Book Three of The Dreamtime

  The story so far…

  The known world’s magical system was created long ago by extinct race the Founders, though the quality of their sorcery was infinitely more powerful.

  Magic serves as technology, an instrument of repression and even legal tender. It defines social status. Its many manifestations, commonly referred to as glamours, include fake lifeforms.

  Opposing empires Gath Tampoor and Rintarah are the dominant civilisations, each jealously nurturing their far-flung protectorates. Bhealfa, an island state, has been a colony of both empires at various times, and is currently under Gath Tampoor. Its ruler in name only, Prince Melyobar, believes death to be an animate being, and his sworn enemy. The Prince has created a magic-fuelled floating palace that is literally never still in its attempt to elude the Reaper. It falls to Gath Tampoorian Imperial Envoy Andar Talgorian to struggle with Melyobar’s delusions and ensure that the colonialists’ wishes are imposed.

  But the empires are not unopposed. A resistance movement has grown in response to their brutality and injustice. This insurgency is countered principally by the secretive paladin clans, an immensely powerful militaristic network bound by blood membership. Noted for their cynicism, the clans see no contradiction in contracting their services to both Gath Tampoor and Rintarah. The clans’ High Chief, Ivak Bastorran, is adept at viciousness. Though his efforts pale beside the cruelty of Devlor Bastorran, his nephew and rival for the leadership.

  Reeth Caldason is a thorn in their side. He is a member of the shrinking Qalochian diaspora, his people having suffered bigotry and pogroms. One of the few to survive the massacre of his tribe, Caldason seeks revenge. For decades he has also searched for a cure to a mysterious ailment that pitches him into berserk rages and subjects him to vivid, bizarre visions.

  Caldason befriends orphan Kutch Pirathon, a young sorcerer’s apprentice shocked by Reeth’s antipathy towards the magic his culture sees as perfectly normal. The pair encounter radical politician Dulian Karr, who proves to be one of the leading lights in the Resistance. Karr suggests that Covenant, an outlaw order of unlicensed magicians, might have the knowledge to lift the ills plaguing Caldason. His offer to put him in touch with Covenant leads to Reeth and Kutch ultimately joining with the insurgents.

  Serrah Ardacris, employed by the notorious Council for Internal Security, captains what is essentially a government death squad targeting bandit gangs in Gath Tampoor’s capital. When the reckless son of an important official dies on her watch, Serrah is blamed and pressured to confess. And her superiors are not above using the pain of the loss of Serrah’s daughter, Eithne, to get what they want. Eithne died at just fifteen from an overdose of ramp, a powerful, illegal narcotic. On the point of breaking, Serrah is rescued by a Resistance cell, and manages to escape to Bhealfa.

  For all their might, the empires do not rule quite everywhere. The barbarous northern wastes are largely untouched by them. A dominion of savagery and tribal leaders, the wastes have recently thrown up a particularly powerful warlord. Zerreiss, known to his followers as the Man Who Fell From the Sun, possesses a strange power that aids his conquest of increasing tracts of land.

  Qalochian Tanalvah Lahn, a state-certified prostitute, has worked in the brothels of Rintarah all her life. But when defending herself against a client who murdered her best friend, Tanalvah unwittingly kills the man. Fearing retribution, she gathers her friend’s two young children and flees to Bhealfa. Once there, they are aided by pacifist Kinsel Rukanis, a celebrated classical singer who supports the Resistance. They in turn meet Serrah, who defends them against government agents, killing several in the process. Kinsel introduces Tanalvah and Serrah to the Resistance.

  Reeth Caldason, Kutch Pirathon and Dulian Karr make contact with Phoenix, the head of Covenant, who uses a fragment of Founder knowledge to change his appearance at will. They also meet Quinn Disgleirio, of the Fellowship of the Righteous Blade, a long-moribund martial order that has been revived to fight for Bhealfa’s independence.

  The Resistance, Covenant and the Blade Fellowship form the United Revolutionary Council. Karr reveals that the Council’s aim is the establishment of a free state.

  Caldason is found to be partially immortal, and his ageing process has been greatly slowed down. He has no idea why he should be in this condition. Covenant believes that the Founders left a hoard of knowledge called the Source. No one knows what form the Source takes, but it’s traditionally associated with the legend of the Clepsydra, said to be a device for marking off the eons to the Day of Destruction.

  The Source could provide the Resistance with a powerful weapon against the empires, and Caldason with a cure. He determines to find it, but is constantly frustrated by events.

  Kutch also has a strange, unsuspected attribute. He possesses the incredibly rare spotter talent. Spotters can look beyond the falsity of magic and distinguish illusion from reality. Phoenix offers to coach the boy in the proper use of the skill. But Kutch soon finds himself sharing Caldason’s terrifying visions.

  Kinsel and Tanalvah become lovers, and set up house with the children. But Tanalvah worries that Kinsel runs too many risks through his Resistance work. A concern that proves all too real when Devlor Bastorran identifies them as Resistance fellow travellers.

  Prince Melyobar plots to massacre the entire population of Bhealfa. His plan is to isolate death, and deprive the entity of the masses to hide in.

  Battling her unresolved feelings about the death of her daughter, and taken aback by a temple prophecy, Serrah attempts suicide.

  Resistance activity brings down ever greater repression. The paladins are given their head and exploit the leeway with brutal excess.

  The location of the planned rebel state is chosen, and at first seems bizarre to many. Batariss, universally known as the Diamond Isle, is a run-down pleasure island. Its owner is one-time pirate Zahgadiah Darrok, who travels on a magically impelled flying dish, having lost his legs to a piratical rival. Darrok agrees to sell the island for a large quantity of government gold, which the Resistance has to steal.

  Tanalvah persuades Kinsel to stage a free concert for the poor. But during the event Devlor Bastorran, accompanied by newly recruited aide Lahon Meakin, arrests the singer. Accused of treason, Kinsel will face trial.

  As part of his personal campaign against Caldason, Devlor employs assassin Aphri Kordenza to kill him. The female symbiote, also known as a meld, carries her own male twin, a glamour called Aphrim, inside herself. But Aphrim is capable of emerging and having an independent existence.

  The waters around the Diamond Isle are infested with pirates, including the infamous Kingdom Vance, the man who deprived Darrok of his legs. It falls to the Resistance to combat this new menace.

  As Kinsel goes on trial, Tanalvah discovers she’s pregnant. And Serrah is horrified to learn that Commissioner Laffon, head of the Council for Internal Security, and the man who tortured her, has come to Bhealfa to attend the hearing. The trial is a propaganda circus, and Kinsel is inevitably found guilty. He’s consigned to the galleys, as a slave rower. In effect, it’s a sentence of death.

  As the warlord Zerreiss increases his sphere of influence, both empires begin to pay serious attention to him. A concern they share is that he could unite with the Resistance against them, bringing into play his still mysterious power.

  Having failed in his plot to have the meld Aphri Kordenza kill Caldason, Devlor Bastorran comes up with another scheme. Under his direction, Kordenza murders his uncle Ivak. Devlor inherits the Clan leadership and C
aldason is blamed for the assassination, making him even more of a wanted man. And under Devlor’s rule, the paladins are set to become more draconian.

  Caldason sets out for the Diamond Isle to deliver the gold Darrok has demanded. En route to the island his visions take on a new character. They now feature Zerreiss. The warlord, in turn, finds himself dreaming of Caldason.

  Serrah, her feelings for Reeth growing, decides to travel to the Diamond Isle to join him, along with Kutch. In any event, the secret exodus of Resistance members is due to take place in a matter of weeks.

  At the height of his suffering, Kinsel’s galley is attacked by pirates and he falls into the hands of Kingdom Vance. Kinsel is only spared because Vance recognises him. The pirate requires Kinsel to entertain him with his singing.

  Bastorran has a highly placed spy who feeds him information about the Resistance. On the basis of this, the authorities stage large-scale raids on their hideouts and personnel. Bloodshed and chaos reign in the streets. Serrah and Kutch barely manage to escape on a ship and The Resistance suffers a blow that could prove fatal.

  Unknown to all concerned, the traitor is Tanalvah Lahn.

  Dulian Karr, Quinn Disgleirio, Phoenix, and Tanalvah and the children are left behind in Bhealfa. Scattered, shell-shocked, demoralised, they go on the run. This takes its toll on Karr. He collapses, seriously ill, perhaps dying.

  Caldason, Serrah and Kutch, along with Zahgadiah Darrok, are stranded on the Diamond Isle. Only a few thousand rebels reach its shores. What should have been a populous, self-sustaining state, able to defend itself, has proved a shambles.

  Serrah vows revenge on the traitor, whoever they may be. Despite the chaos, Caldason is still intent on finding the Source.

  As autumn shades into winter, the dream looks dead…

  1

  The Sun was rising. Icy winds gusted, and a thick mist clinging to the ocean began to disperse. Spectral seagulls wheeled above an island shoreline, its contours emerging from the haze.

  The prow of a ship cut through the fog. It was triple-masted and armour-clad, and bore no insignia. Two companion vessels ploughed in its wake, smaller but equally well armed. The decks of all three were crammed with men, pressed to the rails.

  A paltry flotilla moved out from the island to engage them; a couple of two-masters accompanied by a handful of smaller craft, flying green ensigns that showed a scorpion. They looked a poor match for the trio of pirate galleons bearing down.

  Stealth dissolved with the mist. The three men o’ war and the ramshackle convoy put on knots, breasting white foam, heading for each other.

  At hailing distance the two groups slowed and came about. Clusters of arrows winged between the ships, hammering timber, canvas, shields, and the flesh of the unlucky or sluggish. The exchange went on until the arrows were spent and every craft was peppered. Hundreds of wooden bolts floated in the choppy sea.

  So it came to magical munitions.

  Rows of hatchways were thrown open along the sides of the raiders’ ships, revealing stout iron cylinders. Spell-driven, the tubes belched glamoured volleys. Fusillades of shrieker-needles and concussion beams. Salvos of dazzler bombshells and ruse-igniters. Befanged and clawed phantasmal beasts, short-lived but deadly, appeared amongst the defenders and laid about them. Masses of venomous snakes materialised. Thunderbolts shattered flagstaffs. Jets of vitriol blistered the rigging.

  The islanders attacked the glamours with nullifying wands and charmed blades. Using deck-mounted catapults, they flung back their own ordnance. Sky-bursting hex packets birthed flocks of carnivorous birds that strafed the enemy ships. Stun cubes went off with ear-piercing reports. Leathery-winged gargoyles spat down sheets of flame on enemy heads.

  Sorcerers on both sides feverishly conjured protective energy fields; shimmering, near transparent bubbles shot through with rippling colours. Enchantments glanced off them. Incoming spells were dampened.

  Shortly, the numinous barrage died down, which came as no surprise. Everybody knew matters would only be settled at close-quarters.

  Drums pounded. The ships manoeuvred and closed the space separating them, their scowling crews tensed. Then hulls collided sidelong, timbers grinding. Seamen roared. Forests of boarding ladders rose. Scores of tethered grappling hooks were circled like lassos, and tossed. Waves of fighters, brandishing pikes, cutlasses, swords and axes, clashed at the guardrails and the slaughter began in earnest.

  Nowhere was the conflict more furious than on the largest of the raiders’ ships. Braver than their opponents, or simply more desperate, a pack of islanders had fought their way aboard. They were paying for it. The bloody, frantic, trampling melee rapidly thinned their ranks. Outnumbered, forced back, the islanders compressed to a knot. A many-limbed, quilled beast, bristling steel, they stood fast for the final onslaught. Hard-eyed buccaneers started to close in on them.

  Men shouted. Not war cries or screams of pain but incredulous yells. Some pointed upwards.

  A figure fell from the sky.

  He was dressed in black, a billowing cloak giving him the look of a gigantic bat. His hair, long and free, was a raven nimbus. His eyes could have been coals.

  As he landed on the deck, sure-footed as a cat, many thought he must be a glamour, or a demon. They were wrong. Only a man could fight with such maniacal fury.

  He bore two swords, and employed them instantly. The nearest pair of freebooters went down, gizzards slit, chests ribboned. He was engaging a third before the mob gathered their wits and turned on him. Their quarry didn’t flinch. He roared into them. But he seemed careless in telling friend from foe. Only nimble footwork kept allies clear of his lethal blades.

  His savagery gave the surrounded group of islanders renewed heart, though many who didn’t recognise him weren’t entirely convinced he was on their side. Or any side, barring his own. He had the look of someone possessed by furies.

  The pirates took to lobbing hatchets at him. He moved lithely, dodging them with an almost contemptuous ease. Twice he deflected hatchets in flight, using the flat of his blades. One embedded itself in the deck, the other ricocheted and struck a pirate’s thigh, cleaving bone.

  Wrath increased, the black-clad warrior renewed his attack. Bellowing, swinging wildly, he charged into the fray, scattering raiders. But a bolder trio stood their ground. He met them headlong. The first to die wore a grubby white bandanna, now stained with crimson. A thrust to the heart stopped the next. The third succumbed to a slashed windpipe.

  As the fiend looked about for fresh prey the encircled islanders seized their chance to break out. Accompanied by the spiky natter of swords, the fight turned more brutal still.

  Across a stretch of reddening ocean, another pirate craft was having a visitation of its own. This, too, came from above. But its nature, though equally startling, was quite different.

  The crew was embroiled in a chaotic two-fold struggle. Half were trying to board an adjacent island vessel. The rest were battling to stop the islanders doing the same to them. Where the sides met, there was carnage.

  A thunderous explosion rang out and a plume of indigo flame erupted against the opposite side of the ship. Splinters flew. Ropes snapped and whip-lashed, poleaxing crewmen. A fine shower of briny water pattered the deck. Aloft, where the fire had licked it, a sail smouldered.

  An object soared overhead, describing a tight curve beneath the pallid clouds. It was disc-shaped, and it glinted in the rays of frail morning sunlight. Blades quietened, the fighters below watched as the saucer headed back their way. And they could see, as they scrambled for cover, that someone sat astride it.

  The dish levelled sharply just above mast height, traversing the length of the ship. It moved at the speed of a javelin, bow to stern. As it passed over the stern, where the wheel stood on a raised deck, with the Captain’s cabin behind it, the disc-rider dropped something. There was another deafening report and an intense flash of light. Debris shot in all directions. When the dust cleared, the bridge was in r
uins.

  Banking hard and low, the saucer turned, preparatory to another attack. By now, some on board had collected themselves. They loosed arrows and lobbed spears. One or two arrows struck, but were deflected by the disc’s metallic hide. A ship’s wizard managed to get off an energy burst, an incandescent lance of malevolent particles that hurt the eyes. The beam clipped the saucer’s edge, gashing blue sparks, rocking it like a storm-tossed boat, but the rider quickly recovered and completed his turn.

  At the galleon’s prow was a glamoured figurehead. Twice the height of a man, it comprised a voluptuous woman’s body melded with a hydra. Half a dozen writhing, spitting serpent’s heads projected from her sinuous neck.

  On his next pass, the disc-rider targeted the effigy. Again, there was the glimpse of a dropped object; something that could have been a small hessian sack. The ensuing detonation left the figure a smoking charcoal stump. One dangling head remained, forked tongue wriggling weakly, the magic draining away.

  The destruction of the freebooters’ beloved icon enraged them even more. But they had no time to dwell on it; the boarders they’d neglected were swarming onto the ship.

  The explosions could be heard from the main pirate vessel, though few paid attention. They were too concerned with mayhem. Groups were fighting each other all over the ship. Corpses and wounded men covered the deck.

  No one had bettered the warrior in black. His ferocity and stamina were unabated. He’d battled to the nub of the pirate horde and reached their officer corps. This assembly was dandified in their dress, except for the face charms they wore. The glamoured masks were grotesque, fearsome, demonic, and constantly undulating, taking on ever more hideous aspects. They were meant to intimidate. The warrior wasn’t deterred, however, and made no exceptions. To him, flesh was flesh.

  He gave no let in cracking skulls and hewing ribs. Where swords were raised against him, he answered with savagery. And even where they weren’t. None who stood in his path were spared, whether challenger or capitulator. He scythed through them like a frenzied spirit, mingling a kind of insanity with consummate swordplay.