Ashes of the Sun

by Django Wexler

  It wasn’t getting chewed out by Tanax, either. She could think about that with surprising equanimity. Let him take his report to the Council. I’ll tell them what really happened. Nicomidi and the Dogmatics might side with his agathios, but she was certain Baselanthus and the Pragmatics would understand. Centarchs are supposed to be heroes. If the Order isn’t for rescuing children from dhakim, what in the Chosen’s name is it for?

  And that was the real sticking point, the thing that made her heart twist. It was the look Kaiura had given Tanax, the faces of the villagers as she’d made her way back with Beq. The fear. We’re here to help them. To serve them. They shouldn’t be afraid of us. It made the victory taste like ashes. And now Tanax is going to make it worse. Dhak.

  Beq gave a quiet whimper. Maya sat up, too abruptly, and her head swam. She swallowed and looked down in time to see the arcanist shift awkwardly, then moan, as though she were in pain. Her face was twisted, freckled skin sheathed in sweat. Hesitantly, Maya reached down and touched her shoulder.

  “Beq,” she said. “Hey. Are you okay?”

  Beq’s eyes snapped open, pupils very wide. Her breath came in quick gasps. Seriously worried now, Maya rolled out of bed and knelt beside her on the floor.

  “Hey.” She put her hand on Beq’s arm and tried to speak soothingly. “It’s all right. You’re all right. Just breathe.”

  Maya wasn’t sure if her words had any effect, but after a few moments Beq’s rapid breathing slowed. She blinked, and her eyes focused. Abruptly, she sat up, forcing Maya to shuffle backward.

  “Glasses…” Beq said, groping on the floor beside her. “Glasses, glasses—ah.” She flipped her spectacles open and put them on, some of the tension going out of her. One hand went to the dials, twisting new lenses into place. “Maya?”

  “Sorry,” Maya said. “I wasn’t sure if I should wake you. You sounded like you were in pain.”

  “Oh,” Beq said in a small voice. “That.”

  “Are you… okay?” Maya shifted awkwardly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

  “No, it’s something you should know if we’re going to be sleeping together.” It was good that it was dark, Maya thought, so that Beq couldn’t see her expression. Apparently oblivious, the arcanist went on. “It’s been a while, but I guess today… stirred things up.”

  “Nightmares?”

  “I think so. I never remember them when I’m awake, except for little pieces.” Beq looked at the floor, light gleaming on her spectacles. “When I was little, after I first came to the Forge, I had them all the time. They had to put me in a separate room. It got better, eventually, but… not entirely, I guess.” She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “You can ignore me. Or wake me up, if it bothers you. Either. I just… I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.” Maya didn’t want to leave it there, but Beq was so clearly uncomfortable she couldn’t press her. She got up and climbed back into the bed. “If you need anything…”

  “Thanks.” Beq stretched out on the bedroll again, setting her glasses beside her.

  There was a long silence.

  “Can I ask you something?” Beq said, very quietly.

  “Of course,” Maya said.

  “You’ve been… out, in the field.”

  “Most of my life.”

  “This is my first time. You know that, I told you before. Sorry. I just…” Beq took a deep breath. “Is it always like this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I shot that woman,” Beq said. “She was going to kill you, and I shot her. I spent a lot of time shooting blasters in the ranges under the Forge, I know what they can do to rock, but…”

  “She was a dhakim,” Maya said. “You did the right thing.”

  “I know that,” Beq said. “Obviously. It’s what I was supposed to do. My duty. But when I close my eyes I keep seeing her head coming apart.” Her voice was small. “I did that.”

  “Beq…”

  Maya rolled over. Beq looked up at her, eyes full of tears, and Maya impulsively grabbed her hand. The arcanist’s fingers were long and slender, as rough with calluses as Maya’s own.

  “We saved people today,” Maya said. “Try to remember that. It doesn’t erase the… other stuff, but it matters, too.”

  “Do you get used to it?” Beq said.

  “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  Beq’s eyes had closed, and her voice was fading. “I’m glad… I saved you.”

  Maya grinned. “Me too.”

  A moment later, the arcanist’s deep breaths told Maya she was asleep, though their fingers were still entwined. Maya shuffled the pillow under her cheek, closed her eyes, and drifted off as well.

  When she woke again, in the morning, Beq was already up and about. Maya yawned and rolled out of bed. Her limbs ached fiercely but under the bandages her cuts only itched. Quickheal is wonderful stuff. After making sure she was alone, she pulled up her shirt to examine the Thing. The crystalline arcana looked the same as ever, but the ring of flesh around it was puffy and red, painful to the touch. That had never happened before.

  I’ll tell Baselanthus when I get back to the Forge. Maya found her traveling clothes washed and neatly folded just inside the door. She dressed, with her panoply belt and haken in their accustomed places, and went downstairs. From the kitchen, she could hear an argument in progress, Tanax’s familiar arch tones mixing with the voice of a young woman she didn’t recognize.

  Before she could see what that was about, she ran into Kaiura in the hall. The older woman touched her shoulder and drew her aside.

  “I wanted to thank you,” she said. “On behalf of the village, and for myself. It could easily have been my girls down there.”

  “Oh.” Maya rubbed the back of her neck, vaguely embarrassed. “I was lucky to find the place. You should thank Streza for taking such good care of her brother.”

  “I will, believe me,” Kaiura said. “But I heard what your leader thought of your decision.” She smiled broadly. “I just thought you should know that not everyone thinks you made the wrong choice.”

  “I’m glad,” Maya said. “And I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, whatever he says. The Order won’t punish people for having their children held hostage.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Who’s he talking to now? Some of your people?”

  “Some of yours, I believe,” Kaiura said. “A messenger arrived not long ago.”

  A messenger? That was unusual. “I’d better go and see.”

  She nodded to Kaiura and pushed her way into the kitchen. Tanax, Varo, and Beq were already there, along with a young woman in the gray of a Forge servant. Tanax shot Maya a look as she came in, but his attention was on the newcomer.

  “Our work here is still incomplete,” he said. “The Council has to know that.”

  “I assume they do, Agathios,” the messenger said, returning his glare coolly. “But they did not give me any more details, only your instructions.”

  “But—”

  “What instructions?” Maya said. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve been reassigned,” Varo said. Maya thought she detected the tiniest hint of smugness in his tone.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Tanax said. “Why us?”

  “As I said, Agathios—” the messenger began.

  Tanax waved her away, thinking furiously. Maya caught her eye.

  “What are the new instructions?”

  “You’re to report to Deepfire immediately and deliver a message to Dux Raskos,” the messenger said. “Apparently, matters there are getting out of hand.”

  Chapter 8

  She could be mad,” Lynnia said.

  “It’s possible,” Gyre agreed. “But I’m willing to risk it.”

  “You’re risking a plaguing lot,” the alchemist said, stalking back and forth behind him with her mismatched gait. “Everyone else’s life on top of your own, for starters.”

  �
�Everyone heard what she had to say. Everyone agreed.”

  “They all look to Yora. And Yora looks to you, more fool her. Never trust a man just because he dampens your knickers.” The old woman made a noise like she wanted to spit but didn’t have the phlegm. “I don’t like it.”

  Gyre let out a long breath and tried to concentrate on his task.

  They were in the alchemist’s library, and he was copying maps. In addition to shelf after shelf of musings on alchemical studies by long-dead scholars, Lynnia had acquired a surprisingly broad collection of maps of tunnels under Deepfire over the years. More recently Gyre had added his share, purchased from the delvers by his agents.

  Kit had given them only a vague idea of where the tunnel they were looking for lay, although she swore that she would be able to find it when they got closer. Gyre had dug out every map from every scavenger who’d explored in that region, which made a substantial pile. Since Lynnia forbade any of her maps to leave the premises, he was using the alchemical paper sometimes called “lazy scribe” to copy them. Pressed against ink and paper, the stuff turned itself into a mirror-image copy; painting another reagent across it and pressing it on a virgin sheet would transfer the text or image back to it right way round.

  It was tedious work, and the pot of alchemical goo smelled like rank liquor and piss. But he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance if he could help it.

  “This Kit won’t explain to you how she knows where to look?” Lynnia said.

  “She’s entitled to her secrets,” Gyre said, carefully peeling the sticky paper away from some explorer’s hasty sketch.

  “Which only wiggles her hooks in deeper, as far as you’re concerned,” Lynnia said. “You want to believe she knows things nobody else does, because that means she’s who you hope she is.”

  “Lynnia…”

  She glared at him. “What?”

  “Get me another page of this, will you?”

  Grumbling, Lynnia retrieved more lazy scribe and handed it over. Gyre shuffled to the next map and started laying it down.

  “It’s not as dangerous as you’re making it out to be, anyway,” he said. “Plenty of scavenger crews go into the deep tunnels.”

  “Should I point out you’re not scavengers? You’re thieves with a gift for inspiring the tunnelborn.”

  “We’ll have Ibb with us. And Harrow.”

  “A mercenary fashion plate and a lovesick puppy. Wonderful. Rounds out the group.” She shook her head. “Don’t come crying to me when you end up lining some plaguespawn’s nest.”

  “I imagine that would be difficult, yes,” Gyre said. “Careful, Lynnia. Next you’ll have me thinking you actually care about my well-being.”

  “Don’t be a plaguefired fool,” she snapped. “I’m just hoping to hang on to a profitable client.”

  “Imagine the profit when we have fifty thousand thalers to spend.”

  “Fine.” Lynnia sighed and stumped to the door, muttering. “Tell Yora to watch out for herself. Obviously my advice is lost on you.”

  Kit looked in her element, dressed in battered scavengers’ leathers, her short, spiky blue hair ragged, a heavy pack slung nonchalantly over one shoulder. She had her blaster pistol holstered on one hip and a curved short sword on the other, both with worn grips that hinted of heavy use.

  Gyre himself felt somewhat less comfortable. His black working outfit wasn’t meant for tunnel crawling, and his overstuffed pack slowed him more than he liked. There was no way around that, though. As they moved away from the Pit, the temperature would fall quickly, and the fur overcoat he’d crammed in would be a necessity.

  “About time we got moving,” Kit said. “I don’t usually take this long between jobs. Makes me antsy.”

  “Oh?” Gyre said.

  He tugged the edges of his hood, making sure the shadows concealed the dull gleam of his mask. They were standing at an intersection in the tunnels, not far from the shelter where he’d taken Kit to meet the others. Habit made Gyre pause and look around carefully, searching for tails.

  “You know the scavenger’s routine.” Kit stretched, arching her back. “Get paid, get drunk, get fucked, go back out.”

  “With the money you’re spending on this project, I’d have thought you’d have enough to entertain yourself for a while.”

  “It’s my client’s money, not mine.” She grinned. “Besides, drinking and screwing don’t scratch the itch for long, you know?”

  “Not really.”

  Gyre finished his reconnaissance, having seen no indications that Auxie spies were onto them. He beckoned to Kit, who sauntered along in his wake. She was stronger than her skinny frame would indicate, and the heavy pack didn’t seem to burden her much.

  “Is that why you do this, then?” Gyre said as they walked. “Excitement?”

  Carts and riders passed in a steady stream in both directions, along with a small crowd of pedestrians, mostly manufactory hands.

  “At first, I suppose. I needed the money, but there’s other ways to make money.” Kit shrugged. “Later I found other reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  “Sorry.” Her smile was predatory. “A girl’s entitled to some secrets.”

  “Fair enough.” Gyre pointed at a side street. “Through here.”

  Close to the surface, the tunnels felt like a normal city under a stone roof. Now, though, as they pressed into increasingly narrow back alleys, the original form of the place became obvious. Long stretches of bare stone, smooth, ghoul-carved surface riven by cracks, were broken by clusters of shacks huddling at intersections. The regular lanterns and glowstones disappeared and a cool wind blew steadily, not yet unpleasantly chill but definitely with a suggestion of more to come.

  Eventually, they reached a long, straight tunnel that dead-ended in a kind of gate, a metal grating set into the rock that blocked the way completely. Beyond it, the corridor was in shadow and strewn with more debris and fallen stones. An iron-banded door stood in the center of the grate, secured with a heavy iron padlock.

  “The tunnelborn try to block off the deep tunnels,” Gyre said. “Past here is scavenger territory.”

  “Why bother locking the door?” Kit said. “Plaguespawn don’t exactly know how to work a latch.”

  “Because it’s not only plaguespawn they’re trying to keep out,” Ibb said, emerging from the shadows beside the grate. “Hello, Halfmask. Kit.” He touched his broad hat, a bit of mocking courtesy.

  “There are people who live in the deep tunnels,” Gyre said. “Bandits, mostly. Dhakim. Some just plain desperate.” He shrugged. “Personally, I always figured the locks were to keep idiots from leaving the gate open.”

  “If that’s the case, they should use better locks.” Ibb produced an iron key from a pouch with a flourish. “Or take better care of these.”

  “You’ve been out this way before?” Kit said.

  The mercenary nodded. “A few times. This is an old gate, and everything close by was stripped clean long ago, so it doesn’t get a lot of use. Which is perfect, for our purposes. At some of the busier crossings we’d be mobbed by beggars and thieves as soon as we went through.” He cocked his head. “You’re certain your information about the location of the destabilizer is accurate?”

  “It’s not precise, but it’s accurate,” Kit said. “If we move in the right direction, I’ll be able to tell you when we get close.”

  Ibb made a face that meant, We’ll see, but said nothing. Gyre turned at the sound of boots on stone and saw Yora approaching, Harrow’s hulking form looming just behind her. The big warrior’s face contorted into a scowl on seeing Gyre, as usual. I’m getting a little sick of his attitude.

  Yora carried her unmetal spear and wore the same light armor, her golden hair bound back in a tight braid. She had no pack, but Harrow carried enough for both of them, along with his big battle-axe.

  “Halfmask,” she said. “It’s good to see you made it.”

  Gyre raised his lone visible
eyebrow. “Why, were you worried?”

  Yora shook her head. “There’ve been some ugly rumors. Auxie activity is up.”

  “They won’t bother us down here,” Ibb said. “Are we all ready, then? It’s a couple of hours’ walk to Beggar’s Rest, and then at least another hour to the edge of the map. We’d better move.”

  “Suits me,” Kit said, and clapped her hands together excitedly. Everyone else jumped. “Let’s get on with it.”

  The first leg of the trip, out to Beggar’s Rest, was easy enough. After Ibb had let them through the gate, they’d all sparked glowstones and spent the next couple of hours walking amid blue-tinged shadows. The deep tunnels were considerably messier than the more civilized parts of the underground, littered with chunks of fallen stone from the initial collapse four hundred years previously, mixed with detritus and the occasional moldering skeleton of more recent visitors.

  As far as live inhabitants went, they saw only distant glimmers, torches or glowstones that vanished as soon as they came into sight. A single scuttling plaguespawn, not much bigger than a rat, skittered down a side corridor as they passed through an intersection. It threw itself at Yora, tiny bone-jaws clicking; disdaining her spear, she simply brought her boot down on the thing, crushing its fragile body to a sticky pulp.

  “Sometimes,” Ibb said, looking with distaste at the mashed remnants, “I think the only reason Deepfire hasn’t been overrun is because even the plaguespawn can’t get enough to eat.”

  “I thought the Legions cleaned these tunnels out,” Harrow said, frowning at the mess.

  “Nothing stays clean for four hundred years,” Kit said. “There’s hidden entrances all over the mountains. Plaguespawn can find their way into anything, given long enough.”

  “The Auxies are supposed to sweep down here periodically,” Yora said, scraping her boot against a rock. “Not that Raskos can be bothered.”

  Beggar’s Rest was visible long before they reached it, the flickering yellow-orange light of its fires gradually painting the walls of the tunnel as they approached and drowning out the fainter blue of the glowstones. A slight upslope led to a large, round chamber, with a dozen tunnels projecting in all directions like spokes from a wheel. There was a single large fire at the center of the room, with a crowd of hunched, shadowy shapes clustered around it, and a few other campfires and makeshift tents scattered about. A pair of big men with long staffs gave them a cursory look as they came in, and Ibb gave them a friendly nod.