A Manifold of Bindings (The Scrolls of Azbel Book 2)

by John Mangold

  “And you saw this yourself, did you?” Maluem replied after a long pause.

  “Of course not,” Thayne answered. “But it is common knowledge. There isn’t a person alive who hasn’t seen the broadcasts. Where are you from anyway?”

  “We are going to free her,” Maluem stated, ignoring his question.

  “We’re what?” the Entwhistles and Thayne exclaimed in near unison.

  “You heard me quite well,” Maluem replied to the group. “We are going to get Cruentus out of this death pit and take her with us.”

  “You are insane!” Thayne nearly yelled.

  “Maluem, I know you got a bit wrapped up in the whole fight,” Torrez said. “But Thayne is right. It is common knowledge that Cruentus is a traitorous murderer. She deserves what she gets. Why would we want to free someone like that?”

  “Maluem, I have to agree with Torrez,” Shelia chimed in. “I don’t like these barbaric displays any more than you do…I think. But she is an extremely dangerous woman. Why would we want to risk so much for someone like that?”

  “We will free her because she is…connected to me…somehow,” Maluem replied.

  “Didn’t you hear a word I just said,” Thayne asked, speaking slowly as though addressing a small child. “I told you, she slaughtered her entire-”

  “Thank you, Thayne. I am quite aware of every word you spoke, even if I am uncertain you understood their proper usage. It seems to me you are parroting what you heard another say, not speaking from personal experience. I am telling you Cruentus could not possibly have murdered her entire family because she and I are of the same blood, and I still live.”

  “Maluem,” Torrez spoke up. “You just laid eyes on her for the first time tonight. How could you possibly know that? Just because she looks a bit like you-”

  “You spotted that from here, did you, Torrez?” Maluem cut in. “Well, I had a better view, and yet that alone would not have convinced me. Let me ask my two Acolytes if they ever witnessed me act in the fashion that I just did tonight.”

  “Do you mean the raving part or the vomiting part?” Torrez replied, more than a bit puzzled.

  “Let’s start with the raving portion and move on from there,” Maluem suggested.

  “Well, we have seen you rant before,” Shelia offered. “But nothing quite like that.”

  “No, I would suppose not,” Maluem agreed. “Nor have you seen me so entranced by a brawl, I would think. That is because that woman and I share a bond, something I cannot explain. I just witnessed that fight as though I was in her mind. I felt every blow, every swing, as though I was down there with her. It was as though we shared a single body. I can feel her in my mind even now, although very faint.”

  “Maluem, you can’t stand it if someone touches your hand,” Torrez replied after restraining a chuckle. “Contact that intimate would surely make you extremely…sick.”

  “Indeed,” Maluem replied with a tight smile. “So, we arrive at your second observation, I believe. When was the last time I presented such a vulgar display?”

  “The last time I can think of was when you were healing Nia, but not nearly so violently,” Torrez replied.

  “Thank you for the added detail Torrez, I had no idea you were watching so closely,” Maluem said.

  “I still don’t get it,” Thayne interjected, frustrated by the whole conversation. “How does any of that explain how you know Cruentus is your sister? How could you possibly be sure?”

  “If what she felt is anything like being healed,” Shelia replied for Maluem. “She would know. She would have experienced that woman’s mind in an extremely familiar way. But, still Maluem, how could you possibly be her sister? Wouldn’t you have some memories of her during your childhood? What of that father you said you had in Camilos?”

  “I never said she was my sister,” Maluem corrected. “Only that she and I must share the same blood. Until tonight I believed my entire living family was my father, Aldis Wurncaster. Right now, I am not certain anything he told me was true. I have just as many questions as you do, and the only person who has any hope of answering them is locked in a cell somewhere in this building. Now, will you help me free Cruentus, or do I need to do this myself?”

  “Wait, your father’s name is Aldis Wurncaster? So that would make your full name-” Shelia began.

  “I said, will you assist me or not?’ Maluem interrupted, repeating her question with more force than before.

  All eyes turned to Thayne, who looked back as though he had found himself in an insane asylum.

  “You’re all mad, do you know that?” Thayne asked. “Why in Azbel would you think I would help you do something so slate headed?”

  “Come on, Thayne,” Shelia replied. “You heard Maluem. If she says that Cruentus is her blood, she would know better than anyone. Besides, maybe if she has a closer look at Cruentus, she could settle her suspicions, one way or the other.”

  “Those pens are one of the best-guarded facilities in this whole kulking city,” Thayne shouted. “How are we supposed to sneak in there? Just for a peek at a psycho? Do you have any idea what you are asking?”

  “Thayne, I thought you said there wasn’t a room in this colosseum you hadn’t broken into,” Torrez replied. “I seem to remember you bragging that you practically ran this whole operation. If anyone could get in and out of the holding pens undetected, it would be you.”

  “Me and my big mouth,” Thayne replied, looking at his old friend in disgust. “Alright, fine, if you want to end up as permanent tenants here, I might as well see you get in the right way. But we will not be doing it tonight. Security is going to be through the roof until they get this crowd moved out. I suggest we hole up at my place, it is only a few blocks away. That will give us time to plan and have a crack at it in a day or two. With all the repairs they will be doing to the colosseum floor, there should be no rush. Cruentus isn’t going anywhere until the next event, anyways.”

  Turning to Maluem, he added.

  “I hope you are right about this Dove because, if we get caught, you and your ‘sister’ will be meeting your fates, side by side.”

  29.

  Macabre Ambassador

  A warm breeze flowed down the Aragina River and across the landing pad on the House Ravi Command Outpost roof. Commodore Mundi scanned the horizon with a skeptical eye. The citadel was usually relatively quiet, being some three hundred miles southwest of the Santilis northern border. Still, one could never be confident where an attack might come from or who the attackers might be. House Ravi did not currently pose an immediate threat to the ruling Captus House, but that fact had not protected them from attacks in the past. Besides, if the other houses caught word of what resided in his brig, things would become very lively too quickly.

  A sharp beep from the communicator implanted in his right ear brought his attention back to the sky around him. As he looked towards the eastern horizon, his clockwork eye highlighted a distant speck, surrounding it with an orange triangle to highlight the anomaly. According to the text that his augments superimposed under the object, it was a Royal Transport of House Ravi. But the Automated Friend or Foe Identifiers had failed in the past. Mundi had no intention of sharing the fate of his predecessor.

  A prewritten order was transmitted from his cerebral coprocessor to the myriad of gun emplacements built into the Citadel’s fifty story structure with a blink. All anti-aircraft batteries silently trained their crosshairs on the approaching ship, awaiting the Commodore’s word to turn the approaching Gorgon into a flaming pile of scrap.

  With a confident stride, Mundi advanced out onto the center of the landing platform, making himself as conspicuous as possible. He would either provide them an obvious target or a liaison to contact. Either way, he would be the first to know the true intentions of their visitors. Watching the approaching craft for any unusual movements, Mundi kept a careful tally of its current distance.

  As the craft approached the three hundred-meter mark,
he ordered the Phalanx Cannons to bring their weapon barrels up to firing RPM. The tower shuddered under his feet as the cannon emplacements complied with his command. If this advancing Gorgon did not give the proper approach code within forty meters, he would have no choice but to provide an answer for them.

  “Hail Fortress Pertho. Royal Gorgon Hagalaz is inbound. Approach code ‘Isa’ is given.” A voice crackled through his ear receptor, the decoding programs struggling to decipher the pilot’s brisk speech pattern. A chime echoed in his ear as the projected triangle turned from orange to green.

  “Hail Hagalaz, Fortress Pertho responding. Approach code ‘Isa’ is recognized,” Mundi replied. “Counter code ‘Algiz’ is offered. Be advised, a cross breeze from the North West is in effect. Proceed and approach at best vector available, Fortress Pertho out.”

  A second blink issued the stand-down order to all weapon platforms, releasing them to return to standard sentry mode. Mundi knew he should feel relieved by the code verification. However, for him, this only eliminated the first layer of his concerns. Soon he would be face to face with his Khan. Then the actual test would begin.

  The occupant his brig held was, to say the least, shocking. It was impossible to predict how such revelations would be received. The closest of allies could become the deadliest of foes given the right inclination, and what the citadel held at that moment was more than enough inclination for most. Commodore Mundi could only hope that the House Ravi Khan was in a listening mood and not predisposed to the shooting of messengers.

  Mundi was still lost in his meditations when the blast of the Gorgon’s engines blew back his graying hair. Looking up, he was momentarily blinded by the downward exhausts of the landing craft. He had just enough time to shield his eyes for a micro or two before he heard the Khan’s bodyguards step down onto the landing pad’s steel plates. Lowering his arm, he could make out the Royal Vanguard approaching, five exquisitely sculpted guards, each of their bodies a masterwork in synthetic muscle and platinum fiber armor. Each moved with perfect synchronization with their siblings, and, though their heads betrayed no motion, he knew their senses were scouring every possible direction for any incoming attack.

  Yet, of the Khan, there was no sign. To an onlooker, it would appear the vanguard approached alone, possibly to scout out the security of the structure. But the Commodore knew better. Mundi had been informed long ago of their tactics and made sure not to make any motions that might shatter the illusion. As the Royal Guards marched past, Mundi came to attention and bowed his salute. Then, as they passed, he turned to follow, remaining a respectful twenty feet behind. As they entered the facilities control tower, the doors swung shut behind him with a clang. With twenty-four inches of mystically hardened armor between them and the outside world, the Ravi Khan Lothair made his presence known, directly behind the unsuspecting Commodore Mundi.

  With an audible whoosh, the cloaking shield fell off his form like a wave of water, flowing downward with such force that it caused Mundi to take a step backward out of sheer reflex. At the center of the electronic deluge, there stood a sculpture of metal and synthetics worked by the finest Auspex of their house, forming a humanoid body of pure malevolence. Though Commodore Mundi had served in the Ravi Military for all forty-three of his mortal years, this was the first time he had ever laid eyes on his Khan. The effect was so mesmerizing that he nearly missed his monarch’s first, critical words.

  “You will make plain to me what was so vital that I needed to travel to this forsaken heap of scrap just to receive your report. Before you begin, know that if your case is not made within the first five sentences, you will be terminated on the spot. Begin now.”

  Commodore Mundi eyed the Royal Vanguard for a moment. He could not be sure if what he was about to impart was for their ears, but with the warning he had just received, that hardly seemed important anymore. With a deep breath and a silent prayer, Mundi dove into his prepared speech.

  “Seven weeks ago, one of our top scouts disappeared while completing a routine observation mission of the Tear of Azeza. His final transmission was garbled and spoke of an odd trio led by a man in rags. This did not immediately raise alarms until said scout’s mutilated body turned up two days ago on the northwestern shore, near a small fishing town called Mannaz. All his enhancements had been torn from his body, and what skin remained had been covered in indecipherable runes. Amazingly, the scout was alive, but he would only speak one phrase before losing consciousness. Inform Khan Lothair that Lord Izzagu is willing to provide an escape from the shackles of Lord Daimos.”

  As Mundi finished, the Vanguard raised their weapons in unison, training the gaping depths of their muzzles directly at his head. His skin bristled as he could almost feel the invisible range finding lasers caressing his skin. It would only take a thought to order his death, and there was no telling when such a notion might cross the Khan’s mind.

  “Some might define that as six sentences,” The Khan stated simply.

  For a moment, Mundi could almost detect a twitching of the Khan’s lips that might be, very liberally, defined as a smile. But it was there and gone so quickly that he could not be confident it was not just wishful thinking on his part.

  “Tell me, does this Scout of yours yet live?”

  “Y... yes, your grace,” Mundi stammered, having fully expected the blast of rifle fire to be the last thing he would hear. “What’s left of him, at any rate. He is in our most secure cell block.”

  For several micros, but what felt to Mundi to be several hours, Khan Lothair considered Mundi as though he were a bothersome insect. As the Khan opened his mouth, Mundi drew in what he felt sure was his final breath. But to his surprise, the Vanguard lowered their weapons in unison as the Khan made one more simple statement. Four simple words that meant Mundi had received an extension on his still probable death sentence.

  “Take me to him.”

  Though the ride down to the lower cells on the Command Lift was a short one and space was more than adequate for the party, it seemed to Mundi that the cramped coffin took several years to reach the bottom. He made a mental note to discuss the current lift speed with the Chief Mechanic’s Neophyte Tech if he survived this. But, just as he was imagining how hard he was going to hit the little worm, the doors slid open to reveal Cell Block Verja’s command post.

  From there, it was a short walk through three barred, and one vaulted door to the prison level’s holding pen. Though this level was the most secure of any in the citadel, the holding pen was the most open and the easiest to maintain. Its bars spread an extra hand width apart to allow the easy passage of a food tray or to insert a high-pressure spray nozzle. Considering its sole occupant's condition, the guards were more concerned with keeping him in one place than blocking his escape. Not to mention the fact that the poor sod had not moved nor eaten since he had been dropped in the cell.

  As Commodore Mundi looked once more on his scout’s brutalized form, he feared that the soldier might have expired. Gaping wounds pocked the young man’s body from head to foot, everywhere his augments once nested. Even his arms had been torn from their sockets, leaving only bloody crevices at the shoulders. If it were not for the obscene runic tattoos covering every inch of his tortured flesh, the man would be the perfect parody of a Lord’s Eye. It seemed impossible that a mortal could survive such savagery, yet as they stepped closer, the cell echoed with the scout’s ragged breathing.

  “Stand and address your Khan,” Lothair commanded his words echoing off the smooth steel walls.

  Without hesitation, the scout stood bolt upright, leaving a bloody smear on the wall as he used it for leverage to gain his feet. Everything about the man seemed unnatural, with no fluidity between his actions. Every motion had a jerky hesitation about it, relentlessly emanating the sounds of broken bones grinding against one another. As he turned to face them, it became clear his eyes had been pulled out, the empty sockets adorned with rings of runes, slithering across his skin with unnatural
life. As the breathing corpse stood before them in a mockery of military attention, a whispering voice seeped from its unwilling lips.

  “Khan Lothair, I am an emissary of Lord Izzagu, dispatched to offer you freedom from the shackles of Lord Daimos.”

  “I know neither of this Izzagu, nor of any Lord Daimos. Tell me, Scout, how did you come by these names?” Khan Lothair inquired almost conversationally. For all appearances, the grisly spectacle had no impact on him whatsoever. Mundi, on the other hand, was finding it quite challenging to keep his previous meal in his stomach.

  The animated corpse twisted its mouth in the vilest manner as a pale shadow of laughter wheezed from its ragged lips.

  “This frame has supported me far too long already, Lothair. Do not waste the fleeting pulses with foolish banter. Yours is the weakest house in Santilis. This is well known. Do you enjoy this status? Is it your wish that your heirs should forever suffer under the heels of their betters? Well, perhaps the role of lackey suits you well enough-”

  “Watch your tongue, soldier,” Commodore Mundi barked reflexively. “Remember your place in the eyes of your Khan!” Only after the words escaped him did he realize how foolish they were, considering his target.

  “Your Lord could provide me with the throne?” Lothair inquired, unfazed by the commodore’s outburst. “What would such a prize cost me and mine? Lord Daimos has already extracted a heavy price from us for our perceived infractions. What have we left that your Lord would bargain for?”

  “My Lord asks only your assistance in retrieving a prize he holds dear. At this moment, Lord Izzagu holds in his thrall an Assassin squad from your rival neighbors, Furaxis. You will escort these three into your lands and deliver them to the whereabouts of one Sorcerer named Maluem. Once they have secured her safety, you will escort Maluem to the Northern border.”

  “How could we achieve such a thing?” Lothair scoffed. “We look for this woman even now, but she has evaded all of the houses. Lord Daimos has already chastised us for not providing him with this precise information. How can we possibly provide it to you?”