Excerpt: The Book of Gold and Crimson

In the gray morning mist, the Knights came marching into town. The Cabal's men were waiting. They stood on the hilltops and rooftops and hid within buildings, guns trained, fingers on triggers, watching, ready.

The ground seemed to roar with their footfalls, thundering though there were only four of them, clad in their crimson, faces blank unseeing masks with glowing golden eyes. In the center, like a saint among demons, rode the Emperor's white-clad agent.

Caliborn turned his binoculars on the man, taking him in. Middle-aged, unsurprisingly Inner-Kingdom. Well-fed and well-kept even in white despite the long journey, riding on a neatly groomed blood bay who looked dull compared to the red of the Knights who flanked him. Around the agent's neck dangled his golden seal of office, marked with the winged sun of the Emperor's mon.

Cal signed a signal to the rest of his little team, directing everyone to their places. Looks human, compared to them. Suppose he is human, at that. Pity he has such bad allegiances.

“The agent last,” he whispered. “The Knights are the threat, here. We might even be able to capture him and get something useful.”

Das nodded, as did Nissa. Barro, not visible, just muttered something. There was a clink of metal and he stood up from beneath the Big Zap's generator chamber. “Good to go. Power her up.”

Below, the Imperials kept to their sedate but steady pace, at ease and unaware, focused ahead. Townsfolk leaned out of windows to look, then quickly ducked back in. The mayor stepped out of the town hall and adjusted his vest, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes flicked up toward the hills. A stupid move. One that could give the game away. Did the Imperials see it? Cal couldn't guess, didn't want to risk it.

“Careful,” he murmured. “We've got to be ready...”

Das pulled the main lever and the machine began to hum, a soft but building noise as the generator chamber within began to rotate, faster and faster. Nissa made adjustments at one of the side panels and Barro stepped back, watching nervously.

Cal climbed to his feet and slunk closer, trying to keep below the line of bushes that were their cover. “We good to go?”

Nissa rubbed her arms and glanced down toward the bright cluster of red below. “When they're on the mark we will be.”

“Das?”

The big man nodded and smoothly eased the weapon a few degrees to the side, locking it into place.

“I don't like this,” Barro whispered, pacing over to peer down into the town. “I don't like this humidity.”

“We've tested in worse,” Cal pointed out.

Barro shrugged.

Cal peered through the binoculars again. How much further, now? Five yards? Four? “Four yards,” he decided. “Pick your target now. We may only get one sure shot, better make it count.” His pulse was pounding in his chest and in his ears. He was too young to have a heart attack, wasn't he?

“Front left,” Das rumbled. “I have him.”

Three yards, almost there. “On your mark...”

Two. He could see the faint, smug smile on the agent's face, like a cat who'd gotten the entire cow.

One. “Now!”

The machine's hum kicked up an octave. The Knights' synchronized steps carried them into position.

“Now!” Cal repeated, glancing back at the team.

“It isn't firing!” Das said, pulling the trigger-lever over and over ineffectually. He looked up at Caliborn with a helpless expression Caliborn had never seen on the soldier's stoic face.

“Barro?” Cal asked, trying to keep himself calm.

“I checked it!” he protested, his voice breaking into a panicked whine.

“Check again! Quickly!”

It was Nissa who moved first, ducking beneath the barrel, her small, dark hands flying over the connections. Cal followed, moving to Das's side and checking everything he could get his hands on. He wished he knew the gun better. He wished they'd had the chance to do a test fire in final position. Were they still clear? There was space until they lost the shot, they'd planned for that, but could they do it?

“Oh no,” Barro moaned.

“Shut up and help!”Cal snapped. There. Something with the firing mechanism, a lock? “Nissa, here.”

She climbed out from beneath and knelt to examine what he pointed at. “How'd this get wedged in here? Just a sec, Das...” She pulled out her screwdriver and squeezed it beneath a tiny bar of metal, working it loose.

“No, no, no...”

“Barro!” Cal snapped, losing patience.

“Look!” The tech pointed down at the village square.

“Got it!” Nissa cried.

Caliborn snatched his binoculars and tried to find the targets again. Barro whimpered like a dying man.

Below, in Kingshill, the plan went to hell.

The Knights had spread out, taking up positions surrounding the agent, who slipped down off his horse and began to change.

“What the hell? Das, scratch it all. Can you get sight on the agent?”

“Let me see...”

The gun hummed as it was adjusted on its stand, Das guiding the machine with muscle and will.

Down below, the agent's traveling cloak slipped away, his white robes seeming to flicker and fade, flowing down against his skin, becoming... armor? Cal's heart stopped as the agent's face melted away into a smiling golden mask that he'd seen too many times in temples and homes of the nominally loyal. The Emperor's mask.

“Oh God,” Barro whispered. Caliborn agreed.

He was statuesque in every sense of the word, his golden armor fitting so close to his body that it seemed a second skin, outlining every muscle. His face was hidden in that beautiful, androgynous smirking mask which was attached to a helmet that curved down over his neck. The eye-holes of the mask seemed to glow brilliant white. At the joints, he seemed to be wearing some dark, form-fitting cloth, best seen when he lifted a gloved hand and gestured to the Knights.

“Fire! Cal snapped, reason struggling against the unreasonable. “Fire! Before he--”

The Big Zap fired, shattering the stillness with a clap of thunder and a rush of heat, turning the air sharp and ozone-edged. Cal was blinded by the flash, black flowers swimming before his eyes.

There was a cry of triumph—Nissa?--and a wordless whoop that could only be Das. When slowly his vision cleared, he again focused his binoculars and peered down. The Emperor lay on the ground between the Knights, a smoking ruin where his stomach had once been.

Cal laughed at the absurdity, mad joy rushing through him, bringing drunken relief. Jena. It was because they'd had Jena, and now it was done, easy as that. Easy as killing pigs, they'd done more than they had ever intended. Dead, dead. The Emperor. Dead! It felt like a dream. But it wasn't over.

“The Knights,” he said, but Das was already easing the gun into a new position. “While they're distracted.”

Das grunted and there was another boom. This time Cal was ready for it. He looked again, and saw the leftmost Knight clutching at the stump where his right arm had been. Caliborn grinned. “Got him! Got an arm. But looks like they're spreading out. Wait, the body...”

The body wasn't still. Slowly, as Caliborn watched, the Emperor twitched. Cal's stomach twisted, and he strained to see, his binoculars focusing in. Slowly, the golden figure stirred and sat up. The hole... Cal swallowed bile as pink skin surged over something red and wet and turned golden, then black-edged metal grew across it in a sheath. “Him. The... Him! It didn't get him! Fire again!”

Too late. The Emperor moved with inhuman speed, charging towards where the mayor stood slack-jawed. There was gunfire from down in the city, Cabal men realizing their cover was blown (had they ever had cover at all?. Another of the Knights staggered, but the golden god was unfazed.

There were short blades in the Emperor's hands, and suddenly the mayor was in pieces. Cal flinched away, and took a moment to find his sight again.

The Emperor turned, ignoring the rain of bullets which tore apart the building behind him. “I greet you, citizens of Kingshill Town. I see you have brought guests who wish to die,” spoke a rich and strangely musical voice far louder than any man's, clear to Caliborn's ears even many yards away up here in the hills. He had a sing-song cadence, like an actor reciting his lines. There was passion and poetry in his speech, but nothing at all like mercy. “I cannot allow this town to fall, my friends, but your deaths I will be honored to oblige.” The masked face inclined a few inches to miss a bullet that whizzed past where his ear must be.

Vaguely, Cal heard the others drawing weapons, telling him to take cover, but he could only watch until the Emperor strolled into the town hall, out of sight.

That hold that had been upon him seemed released. Cal drew his rifle and started tos cramble down the slope. The Knights were disorganized, trying to follow the Emperor but facing heavy fire, which Caliborn joined, firing and reloading even as he moved. One Knight went down. Another, taken by a throwing-axe from one of the men on a roof. The last, the armless one, fell, and Cal thought perhaps that the bullet that had taken that life had been his.

There was no time to rejoice, because as the gunfire trickled off, it made the screams from the town hall even clearer.

Where was Jena? Cal suddenly thought. She was in one of the houses; she'd wanted to see it all up close. Would he find her, next? His stomach turned and he made a last mad dash down the scrubby hill to take cover behind a shed beside one of the houses.

The Emperor emerged, his golden armor soaked in gore, and this time Caliborn was close enough to see him in detail with his own unaided eyes. Even spattered with blood, his mask still wore that impossible smile, just like the agent's expression had been. How hadn't he seen it? How hadn't they guessed? The communications... but of course, if it had all been a trap... That seemed now to be the only option. Gods, Cal thought, in sick realization, the Emperor knows more than we could have imagined. He sees far more than we could've known. He's toying with us.

As if sensing his realization, that mask slowly turned and seemed, for a moment, to look directly at him. The eyes glowed softly, blue-white that hid anything behind them. Their plans, Jena's plans, all had been made on the assumption that behind that mask, the Emperor was human. Now, as the blood of innocents dripped from his casually-held daggers, Cal realized that even if this had once been a man, now, it was anything but.

The Emperor turned away and sauntered across the square towards the hill... and the projector, not even sparing a glance for his fallen comrades. Perhaps he had intended them to die as well. Pressure surged behind Caliborn's eyes in that space where he had once imagined he'd felt the touch of the Weird, and Cal lifted his rifle one more time, aiming carefully for the notch in the Emperor's armor at the juncture of shoulder and arm. He fired... and saw, very clearly, that the Emperor wasn't anywhere near where his bullet traveled. His head swam with strange vertigo.

Then the building beside him burst open, and a familiar sword was drawn by a familiar white-clad girl. “Jena!” he called, trying to keep his voice low.

She paused and turned, meeting his eyes for just a moment. There was something in her expression, sad and resolved. “Cover me,” she said.

Then she charged.