by Tom Lloyd
‘Seemed too much of a coincidence otherwise.’ Toil paused. ‘It’s appreciated by the way, you not screaming that in my face as soon as you walked in here.’
Lynx felt a nudge from Kas as the company scout whispered breathily in his ear. ‘Your girl’s learning diplomacy at last. Turns out she does listen to you after all.’
‘Cold hells, how about that, eh?’ he muttered back. ‘Does that mean I win a prize or something?’
The Shard cleared her throat, glancing back at Lastani for the first time since walking into the courtyard. ‘The mechanism drives fresh air through the great tunnel to ensure it is breathable for the tunnel’s entire length. My records suggest the tunnel is not the only Duegar construction, however – their work is woven into the entire cliff for at least twenty miles and below the lagoon itself for an unknown distance. A trading hub of their own, likely equivalent to Caldaire in terms of importance.’
‘Shit,’ Toil breathed. ‘A sealed system because of all the water, and Duegar cities were so much bigger than ours …’
‘So big, in fact, that while previous attempts have stirred up the tysarn that live inside – something our histories call “the razing” – they have likely never had the power to reach the deepest parts.’
The Shard looked at Lastani again. ‘With your new-found strength, you may have sparked a cascade of those remaining parts of the system. We do not know if the mechanism will sustain itself as the Labyrinth of Jarrazir does, but the jolt has been enough to agitate the tens of thousands of tysarn that use those tunnels for breeding.’
‘And they’re attracted to magic?’
‘They appear to enjoy the residual effects of it,’ she said with a slight shrug. ‘We do not entirely understand why. It is not a source of nourishment, but they are drawn to it – experiments suggest a narcotic effect. Some of those we saw last night will have rarely flown in recent years, having grown too large, but during the razing they are stirred to greater effort.’
‘Is that what you want us to do tonight?’
The Shard inclined her head. ‘If the razing comes upon us tonight, I expect your mages to expend your power, high into the sky. It may draw the tysarn away from the rest of the city, it may not, but you will make the effort.’
Her voice didn’t brook any argument, nor did it bother with mentioning possible consequences of that action, but Toil nodded all the same. If the Cards knew what sort of threat they might be facing, they could at least prepare for it. The Shard getting them out of the city without more violence was worth that.
‘Did Lastani tell you my price for Tanimbor?’ Toil asked.
‘She did not.’
‘I asked for a name, having heard a rumour that there was a mage guild skilled at cartridge-making in the city. It might not be I get to pay that guild a visit, but I was sent to try and hire their services. If they chose to take their expertise to the city-states of Parthain, starting at Jarrazir perhaps, then they would be handsomely rewarded.’ Toil hesitated. ‘Perhaps a generous commission could also be paid to the appropriate kabat of Auferno, by way of some form of recompense?’
The Shard stared at Toil a long while. Lynx wasn’t sure if she was enraged by the woman’s audacity or genuinely considering the implications. Eventually she nodded. ‘A message could be passed on,’ the Shard conceded. ‘Now – I will leave nine mages here for you, Mistress Ufre, to perform some linking spell with, while I go and ensure your safe passage.’
‘Nine?’ Toil queried.
‘Yes. Do you have a problem with that?’
She paused. ‘Nope, it’s your business so long as Lastani is happy.’
The young mage nodded her head. ‘A simple linking may be all that’s required, we will have to test and adapt.’
‘Can you guarantee it’ll work?’ Toil asked, clearly imagining how the Shard would react to a surprise like that.
‘No. I … I believe it will, but we are working from limited knowledge.’
The Shard raised a hand. ‘If the linking does not work, you will attempt a spell. There is, in our archives, a Duegar mechanism that can be used if you need to operate something to drive the magic. Some of my finest mages will be part of it, I am confident they will be able to attest to your efforts.’
‘You want to start now?’ Toil asked.
‘Unless there’s a reason not to?’
A small smile crept on to Toil’s face. ‘No, no, that’s fine. I just, ah … wanted to check.’ She spun around and sought Lynx out from among the onlookers. ‘Lynx – our bedroom, now! Sitain, fair warning. If you want to knock Deern out first, now’s your chance.’
All around them, the marked Cards scrambled towards their vacant rooms, several dragging comrades along too. Lynx had his shirt off before he even reached the stair and Toil was close on his heels.
Chapter 31
Despite everything, after the ritual Lynx and Toil both fell asleep. Lynx woke first, but was slow to stir in the heavy afterglow. A night of no sleep had left him weary and sluggish even before Lastani’s latest ritual had sent a lightning bolt through his body. He couldn’t tell how long it had gone on for, but neither he nor Toil had been for stopping when the crackle of sensation and connection had started to fade from their minds.
Unlike last time, the other Cards were only distant presences as Lastani drew them all together and began to churn magic through their minds. The new mages were only pinpricks of light in the darkness, Tanimbor’s group a cluster of stars in another part of the sky. Each was discernible if he focused on them, but Lynx’s interest had been elsewhere. It was the marked Cards he could sense more strongly, while Lastani, Atieno and Sitain were the trinity of suns eclipsing them all.
The sweat lay thick and greasy on his skin. With a flicker of surprise Lynx realised it was likely afternoon, the air laden with heat once again. He shifted on the bed. Toil grunted but didn’t wake. With difficultly he eased his large frame off the bed and pulled on a pair of loose trousers before finding a shirt. Heading barefoot to the door, his hand touched the latch as a sleepy voice spoke from the bed.
‘Sneaking out on me? Not very gentlemanly of you.’
He smiled and turned. ‘And there’s you looking all prim and ladylike.’
Toil swept her hair back out of her face and tugged the sheet up a little. ‘That’s just rude.’
‘If I liked prim, earlier would’ve been a whole lot less fun. But you looked like you might catch an hour more sleep if I left.’
She sighed. ‘There’ll be lots to do. What bell is it?’
‘Dunno, but someone else can do it. You’re not the company quartermaster. Let Foren do his job for once.’
‘It must be past noon, I can’t lie here all day.’
Lynx leaned back against the door jamb. ‘Oh I dunno, I like the idea o’ that.’
‘You can get those thoughts out of your head, I’m sore and tired so I ain’t going to wait for you.’
‘Worth a shot.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m after coffee and food, want me to bring some up?’
Toil shook her head. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
Lynx gave her a mock salute and headed outside. Llaith was passing at that moment and glimpsed inside, his eyes widening to saucers. The ageing Card had a reputation for surprising smoothness and sophistication around high-born ladies and expensive courtesans. Yet here he was taken by surprise and made a choking sound as he tripped over his own feet. Llaith was half-heading over the guardrail before Lynx grabbed him.
‘Shattered gods, take a breath,’ Lynx said as he pulled the door shut behind him.
‘Sad to say I did, my friend,’ Llaith replied. ‘That’s quite a stink o’ sweat and sex coming out o’ there.’
‘And the rest of the company’s smelling like roses in this heat?’
‘Some of us better than others,’ Llaith protested. ‘So you finally dragged yourself away? The others are about the same. Teshen’s the only one been up and out this last hour.’
‘Any news?�
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Llaith gestured to the courtyard behind. ‘See for yourself!’
Lynx looked past him and saw four of the Shard’s mages talking there. Two were shirtless and the willow-pattern tattoos were plain to see against their brown skin. ‘Well I guess that’s good.’
‘You don’t sound so happy, my friend.’
‘Aye well, I know how her indoors thinks,’ Lynx said, prompting a smile from Llaith. ‘If we can create a dozen super-mages, why not a hundred? Why not an army who can advance under shields and tear through anything the Militant Orders can throw at them?’
‘There are worse ideas,’ the older man said, though he didn’t look exactly eager. ‘Lastani’s been flat out since the ritual, though. I doubt she’ll be so keen to do this many more times.’
Lynx nodded. ‘What’s the food situation?’
‘Supplies? Foren’s still out getting it sorted. Ah, right. That’s not what you meant.’ Llaith laughed. ‘There’s something cooking away down there, no damn clue what it is except it smells like old fish. I doubt you’ll care much, just watch your step around those old biddies. A bad night’s sleep has made ’em nastier than the prince o’ hangovers.’
‘Fish?’ Lynx thought for a moment. ‘It’s always pissing fish round here. Guess it’ll have to do.’
Together they headed down. After a short while of being polite and looking suitably chastened, Lynx was offered a bowl of something even he was suspicious of, while Llaith secured a large pot of coffee. Only as he was sniffing the food, trying to work out what was in it, did he notice that the enormous tysarn was missing from the centre of the courtyard.
‘Don’t worry,’ Llaith said, heading for a shady spot at the far end. ‘We chopped it up and dragged the pieces away once Lastani was done. Didn’t want it stinking up the place – nor give those old girls ideas about what to feed us.’
Half of the courtyard was bathed in sunshine now, the complex array of awnings strung between the towers tangled and ripped. Several had been torn away completely in the fight and most of the rest would need to be replaced. The sky beyond had long wisps of cloud running from the horizon against the deep blue.
To a paranoid eye, Lynx thought, those could look like they were all running towards this city. Not sure I like where that thought leads, though.
He sat next to Llaith and gingerly tasted the bowl. It was a soggy pile of yellow-green rice with what looked like fat knobbly grass and lumps of fish – far from enticing, but the flavour was hot and sour with the sharp salty tang of the sea.
‘Good hey?’ Llaith said approvingly. ‘We all were surprised, but it turns out as mean as they are, they’re proud too. And o’ course, they don’t know how much of last night was actually our fault. We’ve decided to keep it that way.’
Lynx nodded his agreement, too busy to speak. They continued in silence until the bowl was empty and Lynx could start allowing the coffee to ease the dullness in his head. Just as Toil emerged from their room, a dull thump echoed out through the courtyard. Everyone turned as the sound came again, clearly not a gunshot, but it took Lynx a while to realise it was someone thumping on the heavy door to the entrance hall. Presently a bemused-looking Varain wandered out of the entrance hall ahead of a line of elderly mages, five in all and the youngest of whom was certainly not a day under sixty.
‘Toil,’ Varain called, ‘you got visitors.’
The Princess of Blood peered at the group for a few moments then realisation struck. ‘The Waterdancer Guild?’
The elderly white man leading the mages, three shades of blue stripes running down his white sleeve, bowed. As they spread out behind him, Lynx saw the others had the same stripes, though most wore flowing blue robes.
‘The Shard,’ their leader said in broken Parthish. ‘She send message.’
‘Most obliging of you to come,’ Toil said as she hurried down the steps to the ground floor. ‘I thought you’d want me to come to you?’
The leader glanced back at one of his mages, a tall woman with rusty-red skin and neat black curls of hair spilling over her shawl. She in turn glanced at another wearing the red headscarf of a Casteril Mastrunner, though he was as old as any of them.
‘We do not invite outsiders,’ the woman said. ‘For our safety, you understand?’
‘I do. Did the Shard tell you what I wanted?’
She inclined her head. ‘We are here to negotiate.’
‘That takes five of you?’ Toil scratched her cheek. ‘Ulfer’s broken horn – something tells me this is going to be a long afternoon. Lynx, fetch me coffee.’
The five figures halt well short of the yawning tunnel entrance. Up ahead the light of day is oppressive to behold, far more intimidating than the restless shift and dart of tysarn in the black waters nearby. Three of the Wisp delegation are old and stooped, comprised as all reason and custom dictates of one of each sex in their species, xeale, female, and male. Their age makes them no less adept mages than the pair of tall warriors who bring up the rear, but the journey has been long. The halt is born of need as much as apprehension.
The leader wears a plain white robe that glows faintly in the darkness, while the others are dressed in the more usual wrap cloths covered in detailed geometric patterns. With a gesture of one crooked hand, the stout xeale who is the appointed representative of their clans breaks the wary regard they have fallen into. Xe orders xir companions to make ready, all too aware of how fearfully the sunlight is regarded. It was used as a most terrible punishment, back in less civilised times, and their oldest myths considered the sun some world-ending demon.
The xeale is the oldest of the group. Xir upper arm joints are near-fused by age and make a mockery of the name xe was given at birth – Turran, the whisper of smooth water flowing. The slender male at the rear hurries to attend xer. He fixes a long, hooded cloak around the small xeale’s shoulder until Turran is almost hidden from view and fastens it securely. All the others do the same and are soon waiting for the male to put on his own.
One of the elderly trio moves to the edge of the canal while they wait. They have travelled a mile or more along the wide towpath that runs the canal’s entire length, studded with obstructions after so many centuries of disuse. She peers down at the water, head drifting slightly from side to side to employ all four eyes. The surface of the water trembles under the movement beneath, only just visible to her night-adapted eyes, but when a shape explodes up from the surface she is prepared for it.
A fat coil of water surges up to intercept the leaping tysarn, slapping into the side of its head with the force of a hammer. It is a battle-scarred beast, no more than three yards long but with tattered rear wings that have left it unable to fly. Before its jaws can reach her the tysarn is hurled sideways and crashes into the side wall of the canal. The Wisp mage bobs her head, speaking-finger darting forward and back twice before she turns away.
Satisfied? signs Turran, the light of xir speaking-fingers hard to make out against the glare of daylight.
Yes, she replies. That one was dangerous. It has followed us overlong.
Still you tire yourself, playing with wildlife.
She makes a gesture and covers one speaking-finger, prompting xer to turn away in feigned outrage. She knows xir humour well enough and signs gentle laughter.
Come, Turran signs to xir companions. We should not wait.
Is it safe? asks the taller of the attendant warriors.
There will be discomfort, xe acknowledges, but we cannot know if there is time to wait.
Do we really owe them this?
The comment brings a sharp rebuke from the female elder. It is not owed, she signs sharply, yet we would be the lesser without acting.
Chastened, he steps back until she folds her speaking-finger into the palm of her hand. Then, with a bob of the head, he advances past the rest – long, fluid strides taking him swiftly towards the mouth of the canal tunnel. His agitation is clear, the loose stones on the ground swirling and skittering as he passe
s.
The others follow, each of them faltering as they reach the edge of the sun. There are more tysarn in the water there – large, restless and irritable though none try to attack the Wisps as the smaller rogue had. Soon the delegation stands at the canal mouth where the ancient channels for Duegar traffic remain only as broken-off chunks of stone. Beyond it are the crude dwellings of the humans, stone boxes with their odd, tilted ceilings. Smoke rises from many, the clatter and noise of the city causing each Wisp to tighten the skin around their ears and dull the oppressive sensation.
Behind those small streets of dwellings are large, more impressive ones. Great blocks that rise up like cliffs, decorated in colours that lack anything pleasing to a Wisp eye. Markings of danger and threat where there seem to be none, stone that reflects the cruel heat of the sun. It is a daunting prospect to enter, for all that they have each prepared themselves.
They do not speak. Each of them have their eyes almost entirely closed against the harsh daylight. There is no way they would be able to see the light of a speaking-finger and follow its movements. Fortunately they agreed much earlier what they would do, all that they could do under such circumstances. The water mage reaches out to the lapping waves below and gathers a column of glittering water, so intense it pains her to bring it closer.
Once settled, she inspects the narrow, silver-sliver fish caught within it and ushers them away before she tightens her grip on the water. That done she steps forward on to the column and her companions follow. Once they are settled she carries them all across the narrow strip of water there. One large tysarn follows their path, drawn by the movement, but she bumps at its snout with a twitch of her magic and the creature drifts clear again.
There is one long channel cut through the rock shelf where the humans have established themselves. She drives towards that until she finds a section where a stony beach leads directly to a street. There a cluster of humans stare in astonishment, huge mouths hanging open then flapping madly. Most are young, smaller even than Turran. They dart back and forth with crazed gestures as the group approaches. When the delegation reaches the shore, the humans scatter. The Wisps step on to deserted dry land, though the two warrior mages are careful to advance not too far in case panic prompts violence.