by Tom Lloyd
The continent’s mage cartridges mostly came from the north, from Militant Order heartlands, so prices were very high in Caldaire. The western silk lands past the Hanese Mountains paid a premium to supplement a small local supply, importing through Caldaire because the mountains were largely impassable to trade. Warfare took a different form both there and south across the Callais Sea. That region was a storm-ravaged wasteland few bothered to venture into, with just the savage ocean beyond. No great market for the Militant Orders’ wares despite the small kingdoms and pirate states that dotted the coastline.
As they passed the toll-fort, Lynx wasn’t the only one to stare down the small, empty stretch of water that led in the other direction. He felt Sitain appear beside him too. The half-Hanese woman said nothing as he very gently edged to one side to lean against Sitain’s shoulder. She had never visited the country of her mother’s birth, Lynx knew that. But while it contained the horrors of Lynx’s memory, for Sitain it was the place of monsters her mother had fled long ago.
‘One day, puss,’ Toil said behind him. ‘One day.’
Lynx gave a cough of surprise. ‘One day what? I ain’t going back there!’
She tilted her head and gave him a sly look. ‘Oh I don’t know about that, there’s probably one thing that could tempt you there.’
‘If my dad’s still alive, I’d only bring him trouble.’
‘Not what I meant.’ She sighed and lowered her voice a touch. ‘There’s a war brewing. I’d put money on someone like me being sent that way, looking for experienced troops to hire.’
‘You’re fucking mad if you think I’ll play recruiter,’ Lynx said. ‘Drag a whole new generation of stupid kids to die or end up like me? No chance.’
‘We don’t need kids, we need veterans – something So Han’s still got a lot of. Mebbe scratchy and bad-tempered some of them, gone to seed round the middle even, but with skills you can’t teach youngsters so fast.’
‘Veterans who’d never leave or come to any sort of agreement while the Shonrin is still … oh. Oh. Shit.’
She gave a nod. ‘There he goes.’
The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut. ‘Fuck,’ Lynx breathed. ‘Fuck!’
‘Quite the challenge, eh?’
He gasped. ‘It’s an impregnable mountain-top fortress filled with elite fanatics. That’s a suicide mission unless you’ve got someone on the inside.’
She shrugged. ‘Or you could get someone inside.’
‘Inside the fortress up a mountain? Um …’
‘I always wondered about that bit. You Hanese aren’t really famed for your construction skills. I mean, you’re plodding and determined in your own way, but bloody-mindedness doesn’t get stone halfway up a mountain.’
‘They say the Duegar built it, or at least some of it. So what?’
‘So, my little painted cat, the Duegar never once built on top of things.’ She turned away, patting him on the shoulder as she went. ‘They always started much lower down. If you recall, low down and dirty is something of a speciality of mine.’
‘Oh.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t worry – that’s a mission for another day, assuming we even get that far. It’s not the job we’ve been given, so let’s keep our eyes on this one.’
‘Sure, let’s make sure a bank gets its money back so it can finance a nice big war.’
‘Can you think of an alternative?’
‘No.’
‘Let me know when you do.’
Long before the barges reached the canal’s end, Lynx could smell salt on the wind and see the great hump of rock known as the Etrel Cliffs. From this direction the cliff seemed nothing special, a steady rise in the ground over tens of miles that steepened abruptly. The canal walls now rose above them on both sides, sheer blank stone marked by the centuries. The long, uneven slope above the cliffs continued west for more than a hundred miles, while Caldaire and the canal stood at its eastern end. The coast in the other direction was lower, a frayed edge of channels and peninsulas blurred by a huge mangrove forest too dense for large settlements.
Up on the cliff’s back, long stretches of bare rock and earth were marked by abrupt gullies and pale clumps of bone-grass. It looked desolate and empty for miles. The distance was too far to hear the mournful clatter of the bone-grass, but Lynx knew the sound all too well anyway. The stuff made anywhere seem more desolate, not least because it was poisonous. The rattling seed pods gave off some sickly sweet vapour that lured creatures closer, but would kill them if they lingered.
The far side of the Etrel Cliffs was more impressive, so every tale claimed. Deep inside the caverns, far from daylight, had once been Wisp settlements. History told of occasional trade between the species, who interacted only very rarely, but for unknown reasons it had tailed off and ended in recent generations. Nowadays the entire cliff face and nearer caverns were occupied by the largest of the flying tysarn. Lower down, at the water line, the caves housed great beasts that had grown too big to fly and employed their four wings in the sea instead.
A large defensive fort blocked the way to the very mouth of the canal. Iron gates spanned the water itself between a squat pair of rounded towers topped by grenade throwers. Lynx saw dark shapes circling against an overcast sky as they reached the fort. Not as large as the creatures that had attacked the barges, but there were several dozen on view and doubtless many more above the islands themselves.
As one wheeled and came closer, gliding along the canal towards them in search of fish or eels, Lynx could see four wings, the fore pair slightly bigger than the rear and all frilled with claws. They moved in a strange rippling motion that ran through its whole yard-long body when the tysarn beat them, dagger-like head turned down to scan the water below. Pale green in colour, its wings bore clear markings of yellow and as it closed he realised there was a strange noise in the air. Deep croaking calls, almost like the sound frogs made, but each sound was elongated and proportionately louder.
Lynx walked a few paces across the deck and waved a hand to attract the attention of the Knight of Stars. ‘Hey, Teshen, can we eat those ones?’
There was a smattering of laughter from the Cards on the deck, followed by a few catcalls in reply that Lynx chose not to listen to. The burly Mage Islands native paused in the process of shaving his scalp and shook his head.
‘Too old, it’d be like chewing leather.’
Teshen had let his beard grow since hearing their destination and had now sculpted that into a strange design that left his chin and neck bare. For some reason he was now dressed like Anatin’s piratical younger brother in a shirt open to his navel and red silk pantaloons. Many of the Cards went shirtless in the warm weather, but Teshen had decided to become something of a dandy instead, sporting voluminous sleeves turned back at the cuff with gold-headed pins.
‘Is this all necessary?’ Lynx asked in a more serious voice.
‘Probably not,’ Teshen said, though the tightness of his lips said otherwise.
‘Someone might really be holding a grudge all this time?’
‘Like I said, probably not. But we’re here to do a job, makes sense to take some precautions while I’ve got nothing better to do.’
‘Your face was well known in the city?’
‘Some districts, aye. Adventurers in the silk lands wear their beards like this. Being outsiders they have to have their heads shaved ’cos hair length is a status thing out there. Lots o’ Mastrunners head out that way to make their fortune. Warriors in those parts are big an’ thick-limbed so we make good scouts. Those that survive to return tend to be tough as nails, so the crews give ’em a wide berth.’
Lynx scratched his cheek. ‘I’m starting to think this’ll be a nice change of pace.’
Teshen eyed him darkly. ‘Why?’
‘Anatin being pissed off at someone else ’cos it’s all gone to shit.’ Lynx grinned. ‘I’m not saying it definitely will, o’course, but I’ve been around you lot for a while now. So
it will. Probably five minutes after we step on to the dock.’
‘Unless the city’s changed in weird ways, it shouldn’t be a problem, but… remember Toil’s reaction when she saw Sotorian Bade, back in the great hall of Jarrazir?’
‘That bad?’
Teshen gave a wry laugh. ‘Not so much wrath o’ the gods, mebbe, but there’s a few people might not care for the sight of me. If it starts a fight in the street, we’ve all got a problem on our hands and we burned our Steel Crows insignias after Grasiel. Until we get a new set to masquerade as, best we don’t have the name Anatin’s Mercenary Deck on everyone’s lips. Which will happen if we start firing mage cartridges out here.’
Lynx nodded as the barges were waved forward, the barge-master having apparently satisfied the fort’s commander of their peaceful intent. He paused and glanced back at Teshen.
‘Have you trimmed your eyebrows too?’
Teshen laughed. ‘That’s not part of the disguise, I just look really pretty this way.’
‘Pretty creepy more like.’
‘Do I look like me?’
‘No.’
Teshen nodded, satisfied. ‘Good enough. Now fuck off and go stare in awe at the Mage Islands like a good little landsman.’
‘Feeling pride in your home at last?’ Lynx said as he turned to face the way they were heading. A stretch of two hundred yards and three barge trains was all that stood between them and the huge building of yellow stone standing on the eastern bank of the canal.
Beneath it was a wide harbour that sported several docks and a long beach running up to the huge pillared space underneath. The clothes and faces of a dozen different nationalities went about their business there, a zig-zagged stair cut into the rock leading up the side of what Lynx knew had to be the Casteril Trading Hall.
The docks could handle three dozen barges he guessed and one corner was given over to boatyards, while small houses perched on shelves of rock on the hillside and a tavern led on to the main dock. The main activity was the swarm of labourers and merchants around the Trading Hall. Six storeys high and mage-cut from the rock of the hillside, goods were bartered, sold, inspected and stored there. On the ground floor of that, the open space behind the pillars, Lynx glimpsed massive furred creatures hauling goods-wagons on a track towards the other side.
A covered bridge ran across the canal from two-thirds up the side of the hall to a sheer outcrop of rock on the far side. From that, two dozen different flags hung almost to the top of the gates – obscuring their view of the city beyond. The curve of the bridge meant that those in the centre were the largest. Lynx guessed it was some sort of ranking for the kabats of the city – which according to Teshen’s description were a curious mix of pirate captain, merchant prince and local lord.
‘Pride?’ Teshen said thoughtfully. ‘Nope, not especially.’ He glanced up at the sun that peeked through a tattered cloud and nodded to himself after a moment’s thought. ‘The sound o’ tysarn on the wind now, that brings back a few memories.’
‘What then?’
‘Ah, just a guess. Some folk say the city’s quite a sight, first time you come here. But you’re a grizzled veteran and a seasoned traveller, I’m sure you’ll take it all in your stride.’
Chapter 5
‘By all the broken shitbastard gods, look at it!’
Lynx’s mouth hung open. He could only nod in dumb agreement with Deern while Teshen chuckled away in the background. They had swept through the water gate with practised ease, two more boats ferrying the remaining Cards into the softly shining green-blue waters of the lagoon at the heart of the Mage Islands.
‘Told you it’s a sight,’ the now-bald Knight of Stars said.
‘That’s all you got to say?’ Deern continued. ‘Jog on with the ice-cool act, we ain’t biting. Trying to tell me that’s not a fucking amazing view?’
‘Must be amazing if it’s got you acting like a ray of sunshine.’
‘Get fucked, ya toad-sucking eunuch.’
‘Ah – that’s better. The majesty’s worn off.’
Lynx still said nothing. Lynx had read the city – or rather collection of districts that comprised Caldaire – resembled a huge wheel, but the sight was rather more than that. It was a vast circle of rocky ground, a broken ring of islands that had been entirely mage-carved to suit its inhabitants. They created an undulating wall of pale yellowed rock punctuated by greenery and skirted by island-gardens.
Some of the islands rose like mountains, windows and hearth-smoke showing that they were inhabited right to their peaks. Even the lower islands were on multiple levels, the local mages having used the sloped ground as a guide for their work, but not a constraint. Most dramatically, however, at the heart of the lagoon were dozens of small islands, ranging in colour from dark, dead brown to startlingly green, all around three huge chimney-like rock columns.
‘The hellmouths!’ Teshen called, pointing at the peaks. ‘One o’ the seven entrances to the underworld – so legend says anyway.’
‘And the truth?’ someone asked.
He gave a callous laugh. ‘Climb up there you’ll find your way into the afterlife, sure enough, an’ it won’t be pretty.’
They had disembarked at the docks, their kit transferred to boats with teams of rowers to take them into the city while the barges were unloaded. Their crew seemed a typical mix of locals as the order was given to pull away. Many looked like Teshen, tanned skin, fair hair and cold grey eyes, but they ranged all the way to the slim, dark-skinned and green-eyed rower nearest to Lynx.
The men all wore loose pantaloons and sleeveless shirts with a headscarf of thin cloth as protection from the sun, most with a variety of metal and bone necklaces and earrings on show. The women were similarly dressed, but wore their hair long and mostly uncovered, with a light shawl around their neck and shoulders. Lynx glanced at Teshen with his newly shaved head. Without displaying his own crew tattoos, he wouldn’t be able to dress like the local he was. Instead he was forced to highlight that he didn’t belong here now.
The boats steered away from one of a pair of rocky pillars that rose twelve feet out of the water ahead of them. By the colour of the water Lynx guessed they marked the deeper water used by seagoing ships. He couldn’t tell how shallow the rest of the lagoon was, but some people were standing waist-deep off the shore to his left.
The pillars marking the channel had some sort of metal and glass contraption at their top, perhaps to light the way at night so trade never had to sleep. They followed a regular arc between the outer ring of city streets and the strange central islands which ranged from several hundred yards across to a few dozen.
The spice islands, Lynx remembered they were called just as Deern recognised them too.
‘Can we go there?’ Deern called to Teshen, rat-face shining with excitement. ‘That’s where the drugs come from, right?’
‘Yup,’ Teshen said with a curt nod. ‘But if you cross the inner markers you’ll get a warning shot in the head.’
‘Just for looking?’
‘They don’t mess around with their drugs. Some can only grow here. Every damn spare inch of ground there is used, intensively farmed with help of mages – it’s the only way.’ Teshen pointed. ‘See that reddish one? Looks like it’s a whole island of dead bracken or something? That’s rust-eye. You set foot on that island you’re likely to stir up the spores and overdose before you get ten steps. O’ course they don’t care about that bit, only that you’ll mess with their profits.’
The hellmouths protruded from the heart of that central cluster. A mile or so away, Lynx could only see they were unevenly yellowy-grey stone, streaked with black and smears of green creeper somehow clinging to their almost sheer sides. Right now they were imposing, about two hundred yards above the bushes and trees of the islands around them, but Teshen had hinted they would only get interesting at dusk.
The outer ring was where the people lived and worked. It was skirted by small island-gardens dotted a
round the inner shore, all covered in vegetation. The rest of the city was a haphazard sprawl the likes of which Lynx had never seen – sloped cliffs and hills that had been so extensively mage-carved it was hard to tell what the original line of rock had been.
There were a few open plazas and markets near the shore, but much of the district he could see – Casteril, the largest of the city’s five districts – was like the Trading Hall but on a far bigger scale. One main section was a good mile in length and sported so many balconies, walkways, staircases and windows it was impossible to even count how many levels were inside it.
Where there was open space, there were plants and small trees, while odd alcoves had been colonised and creepers threaded an eccentric path down the rock. Most of the city was the same pale yellow-grey rock as the rest – with painted shutters, awnings and the clothing of its inhabitants a stark counter-point to the uniform stone.
On the near shore Lynx finally caught sight of the furred beasts of burden he’d glimpsed in the shadows beneath the Trading Hall. They were not quite so broad or powerful as the flathorns that pulled the barges, but taller, with longer limbs and loose hanging hair – looking more like twelve-foot-high sloths than anything else Lynx had ever seen. As he watched, one pulled itself up a wide stairway with long, ponderous movements, untroubled by the baskets affixed to its back and following the fluttering flag of its handler with placid acceptance.
He looked over the edge of the boat. The lagoon was so shallow here he could see the yellowy-green bed through the clear water, a multitude of small creatures swimming and scudding beneath the water’s surface. A small octopus darted from its lair to snatch up something, fish scooting away from the movement. A blurred cloud of what might have been prawns parted briefly as an eel wriggled through while insects skimmed the surface above.
A shove jolted him forward. He flailed as he started to tip towards the water and had to grab the edge of the boat.