by Sandell Wall
“Do we want you train you as an assassin?” Brax said, repeating Aventine’s question. He grunted. “Don’t be absurd. We would never single out an unproven recruit for such specialized training.”
She frowned. “Then why tell me all of this?”
“Because you’re an idealist,” Brax said, standing to pace as he talked. “There’s nothing wrong with being an idealist. But idealism can blind a person from the harsh necessities of reality. Back there with Dranzen, you chose confrontation. Instead of considering the big picture, and the potential consequences of your actions, you acted without hesitation because your ideals demanded you do so.”
The frown on Aventine’s face turned into a grimace.
“By joining the Guard you have elevated yourself above the station of a mere soldier. A soldier follows orders and lets the officers do the thinking. We don’t have that luxury. We have to anticipate and react, oftentimes before anyone else realizes action is needed. The problem with ideals is that you’ve decided how you will respond to any given situation before you actually encounter it. That makes you rigid. Predictable. Vulnerable.”
Aventine said nothing.
“This is why I was chosen as your mentor. You’re the best recruit we’ve had in years. And you’re the daughter of a respected Guard captain who gave her life for our cause. But your instructors were concerned that you’re too idealistic to adapt to life in the Guard.”
Her heart felt heavy. She had expected to be challenged right away, but not like this. She needed time think.
“I’m sorry,” Aventine said. “I’m exhausted and don’t know how to respond. I need rest and time to process all of this.”
Brax frowned. “It’s unfortunate you had to be told this way, but I fear we may not have much time. I must do my best to prepare you while I still can.”
Weary, she dragged herself to her feet and tried to smile. “I know you serve the emperor. I don’t doubt that truth. I’ll do my best to think on what you’ve said.” She made a move for the door and then stopped. “Do think it’s safe to sleep in my tent tonight?”
“I would be surprised if Lorent is so desperate that he would arrest you while you sleep,” Brax said. “But if he is, we should force his hand. So spend the night in your tent and let’s see what happens. I’ll intervene if I must. The next time we camp I’ll make sure your tent is next to mine.”
She said good night to Brax and left the tent.
I’m so tired I don’t care if they arrest me. Just let me sleep.
The camp stretched out before her, orderly rows of white tents marching off into the darkness. Only the soldiers on watch were still awake at this hour. While she walked between the quiet tents her tired mind tried to grapple with what Brax had told her. She could see that Brax was sincere, that he believed every word of what he said. But she could not shake the feeling that his convictions were wrong.
If ideals and principles don’t govern us, what does? Shouldn’t we always strive to be just, merciful, and honorable? What circumstances would justify setting these things aside?
An icy fear lanced through her heart as insight flashed into her mind. She saw a vision of Brax operating in the shadows, justifying murder by pointing out the conflict he prevented. Did the emperor choose who paid the blood price for the safety of the realm? Or did he turn a blind eye to the actions of men like Brax? She did not think Brax was evil, but the reality he presented to her was terrifying. It was not the reality she had anticipated finding in the Rune Guard. She refused to believe that her mother would have accepted Brax’s methods.
Finally reaching her tent, she paused only to remove the largest pieces of her armor. She crawled inside and collapsed, too exhausted to care that she was still almost fully dressed. Before sleep dragged her into oblivion, she made a promise to herself.
I will learn. But I will not compromise on who I am.
——
The following morning Brax rousted her from sleep well before the sun rose. He stood and waited as she struggled out of her tent into the predawn stillness. She could have slept for another five hours. Eerily quiet, the camp was suspended in the hour somewhere between midnight and sunrise when nothing stirs. And it was wet. She hated the dampness that came with the dawn.
“Why are we up so early?” she said as she disgustedly wiped the dew off of her armor before putting it back on.
“I want to travel ahead of the main force today. We’re close to Ralmaddan and I want to get there before Lorent does. At marching pace he should catch up to us by midday,” Brax said as he helped her disassemble and fold her tent.
They worked in silence as they finished packing Aventine’s gear. She was about to hoist her tent onto her back when Brax stopped her. “No, leave it with my things. The Legion will see to it that it follows us. Bring only your weapons and travel pack.”
After stowing her gear with Brax’s equipment they made to leave the camp. A sentry materialized out of the darkness as they approached the border of the encampment. “Who goes there?” the guard said.
“Rune Guard, on official duty,” Brax said.
The sentry realized who was standing before him and grimaced. “Sir Brax! I was told…” His voice trailed off as he made eye contact with Brax.
“Told what?”
“Sir Lorent told me not to let you leave.”
“Do you intend to try and stop me?” Brax quirked an eyebrow, his sense of humor returning for the first time since finding Sir Lorent standing outside of his tent last night.
After weighing his options the sentry decided to step aside. “No, sir, but he’ll have my head if he finds out I let the two of you go.”
“We won’t tell if you don’t,” Brax said. “And I won’t forget this. What’s your name, soldier? I’ll make sure the Guard knows it still has friends in the Legion.”
The sentry beamed. “The name’s Markus. Second sergeant of the Gladstone Century, Stonebringers Cohort.”
Brax nodded. “Commanded by Centurion Durost. I won’t forget.”
A few steps out of the camp Brax and Aventine vanished into darkness. She had no idea where they were going, or how Brax could even see anything. “What’s Ralmaddan and why do you want to get there first?” she asked.
“Ralmaddan is one of the last great runestone excavations in the empire. A city has sprung up around the buried ruins of what was either an ancient metropolis or academy. What the ruins were depends on which historian you ask. But runestones have been found there for over a hundred years, and the ruins are still not fully explored.” Brax laughed to himself. “Ralmaddan is the name of whatever the ruins were. The name was found written in an unknown language. But most people refer to the city as ‘The Hole.’”
He picked up the pace to a light jog. “There is a Guard outpost in the city and I want to send a report back to Narin before Lorent knows what’s going on. Otherwise I fear he might try to intercept it, or declare martial law in the city to prevent anyone from leaving.”
“You think he would go that far?” Aventine had a hard time believing Sir Lorent would do something so heavy-handed.
“I don’t know. But there are forces at play here that I don’t understand, some critical piece of the puzzle that I don’t have. I think Dranzen’s instigation of you was calculated, as was the attempted arrest. Sir Lorent and Sir Trent handpicked the Legion soldiers marching with us. That in itself is highly unusual and makes me worried. Until I know more, I have to suspect the worst.” As if spurred by his words, Brax increased the pace again. “No more talking, let’s put some distance between us and the camp.”
Aventine had more questions, but there was tension between them after last night’s discussion. No resolution had been reached, and she knew Brax was not ignorant of the fact that she had dodged his questions by pleading weariness.
Talk became impossible anyway as she soon discovered that it took all of her focus to keep up with Brax. He glided across the landscape with the effortless grace o
f a galloping stag. The pace he set was crushing. He showed no intentions of slowing down if she was unable to keep up, and she was not about to be left behind. Her reality shrank down to three primary concerns: breathe steady, maintain pace, and don’t trip.
She was so focused on not falling over her own feet that she was surprised when Brax eased into a fast walk. Judging by the position of the newly risen sun, they had been traveling hard for at least three hours. They had descended from the hills of the central empire, and now before them stretched arid plains as far as the eye could see. In the distance she could see a cloud of dust ascending hundreds of feet into the sky in an almost perfect column.
How’s that even possible?
The pillar of dust was obviously their destination. As the road became more defined, Brax slowed down to an easy walk.
“That’s Ralmaddan?” Aventine said.
“Yep,” Brax said, offering no further information.
Aventine was not used to the unchanging flatness of the plains. If she turned and looked behind her, she could see tree-covered hillsides, but in every other direction was flat nothingness. The sunlight was no longer pleasant. Rather than the warm, friendly sunshine of the central empire, here it beat down on them with a hostile glare. She saw no green, only dead or dying grass and dust—dust was everywhere.
The city they were approaching, if it could be called that, was a collection of sun-bleached stucco buildings surrounding a massive stone spire. Clustered around the base of the spire, the faded structures looked like a swarm of parasitic bugs feeding off its grandeur. It was unlike any city Aventine had ever seen. The placement of the buildings looked haphazard, even random, and instead of streets, the city had winding alleys only big enough for two people to walk side by side. Behind the city the dust column appeared to be pouring upwards out of a huge chasm.
The spire dominated the landscape. Its long shadow seemed to stretch all the way to the horizon. Ancient and magnificent, towering hundreds of feet into the air, it trivialized the small city at its base. Even in the glaring sun it looked sinister and cold—a thing of darkness that defied the warmth of day. Sharp angles and odd undulations gave the spire an asymmetry that made it look disturbingly organic, like the arm of some titanic monstrosity clawing itself from the grave. She could not see the top of the spire clearly, but it looked like a skeletal fist clenched around a giant sphere. A small platform near the top encircled the spire. She could see movement on the ledge.
There are people up there!
About a mile from the city they walked through a line of wooden stakes that were dyed purple. Spaced evenly apart, separated by about thirty paces, the pickets marched off into the distance on both sides of the road. The line of poles curved gently away from the city, and it seemed like a good guess that they made a huge circle around Ralmaddan. “What are these for?” Aventine said.
“You’ll see.” Was all Brax would say. She was growing frustrated with his taciturn attitude.
Is he punishing me because I disagreed with him?
The road veered away from the city, needing to make a detour around whatever the source of the column of dust was. Inns and shops were set up to catch the eye of the weary traveler; they walked past these establishments as they made their way towards the spire. She had not been looking closely at the shops at first, but when an odd pattern emerged, she gave the next one they passed a thorough inspection. Everything was tethered, tied down with ropes and twine. Even the smaller goods were secured, or displayed in small cages.
“Why is everything tied down?” Aventine said, frowning.
At that exact instant two things happened: the sun emerged from behind a cloud and bathed the top of the spire with its light, and a deafening horn sounded. She gasped as the rays of the sun struck the biggest runestone she had ever seen. Embedded in the top of the spire, the massive runestone was a beautiful violet orb. Sunlight hit the multifaceted gem in a dazzling display that painted the stucco buildings a watery purple. It reminded her of a lighthouse, except this was no sea.
Hidden from her view, the horn sounded from somewhere in the direction of the spire, shattering the stillness of the plains. It repeated its solitary note three times. When it went silent her ears were ringing. She would not be surprised if the expedition miles behind them had heard the blasts. Immediately after the horn stopped, the runestone at the top of the spire exploded with light. It lit the sky like a purple star. Overwhelmed by the sight, it took Aventine a few breaths before she realized the stone was being powered by rune casters.
Strange sensations followed the hazy purple light as it crept over her skin. At first she tingled. Next she felt like she was floating in water. She slowed her breathing, trying to understand what she was feeling. And then she couldn't feel the weight of her pack. An instant later, her armor floated free of her body.
“What!” she yelped, spinning to look for Brax. Her quick movement caused her feet to leave the ground—and she could not get back down! Helpless, she hung a hand’s breadth above the earth.
This can’t be happening!
Aventine struggled, straining every muscle in her body to just touch a single toe to the dirt. But no matter how hard she flailed, she only floated slowly upwards.
She finally set eyes on Brax, who had stopped walking when the horn sounded and had anchored himself with one of the readily available pieces of rope. She could see now that there were convenient anchors scattered about for this exact purpose. He was laughing so hard he could barely speak. “You should see your face!” he managed to get out.
“So it’s a joke then? You could have warned me.” She was too amazed to be angry. “What in the empire is it?”
Nodding at the spire he said, “The runestone in the spire negates the natural pull of the earth. They use it when changing shifts in the hole. It will make sense when you see it.”
A joke and a laugh and he’s loosened up and ready to talk.
“I’ve never heard of such a stone!” she said. She was out of breath from fighting to set her feet back on solid ground.
“Don’t waste your energy, you can’t get down. The stone is powered for every shift change. All we can do is wait. It was found in the spire and no one has any idea how to get it out of there. No one’s ever managed to even chip that dark stone.” He stopped laughing and settled in to wait.
Aventine gave up her struggle and watched with wonder as her long braid floated lazily around her head into her face. Now that she had recovered from the surprise, she noticed movement in the city. People were flitting easily between buildings, leaping in the direction they wanted to travel, and then catching themselves on handholds when they had reached their destination. It was disconcerting to watch someone leap straight up into the air and just keep going. She also noticed crates and huge chunks of stone being moved about. With the spire’s runestone active it only took one or two people to move items that would normally take a team of oxen to budge.
“The city’s primary export is runestones,” Brax said. “Those crates you see will be moved to the outskirts of the city where caravans of wagons will pick them up and take them into the empire.” He had noticed her studying the activity. “And they transport a lot more than runestones. Everything that is found in the hole gets taken out. The largest academies compete for the right to study the relics found here.”
By the time the spire went dark Aventine had gotten used to being weightless. When she thumped back to the earth, the renewed sensation of weight was intolerable.
How have I been able to draw a breath all my life with this horrible weight pressing down on me?
As she staggered through her first few steps she saw Brax watching her with a keen eye.
“The weightlessness can be addicting,” he said. “There are members of the nobility who never leave this place. If it were up to them, the spire’s stone would always be active so that they could float around like butterflies for the rest of their lives.” He shook his head at the absurd
ity of such an existence. “We can wait if you need to vomit.”
“I’m fine,” Aventine said. “Lead on.” She took Brax’s warning seriously and clamped down hard on the little voice in her head that was demanding she do whatever it took to float free of her earthly prison again.
Brax walked down the street, staying close to the side of a large building. He went to turn the corner but then jerked back and flattened himself against the wall. His sudden movement triggered Aventine’s combat reflexes—an instant later she was behind him pressed against the warm stucco, short sword drawn and runestone in hand.
“Dranzen!” Brax hissed. He put a palm up to keep Aventine still as he peeked around the corner. “He’s trying to disguise himself, but he sticks out like a sore thumb. What the blazes is he doing here? He must have left camp yesterday to get here before us.”
Aventine counted fifteen heartbeats in the tense silence, and then Brax motioned for her to follow him around the corner.
“Come on, he’s moving,” Brax said. “Follow my lead and don’t let him see you.” They turned onto a narrow street leading into the heart of the city; at the far end she caught a glimpse of a cloaked figure ducking out of sight into an alleyway. Brax loped down the street with huge strides, somehow almost completely silent despite his armored bulk. He had already taken up position at the next corner by the time Aventine caught up. The street was empty, but they were getting looks of suspicion from a few people watching from a nearby roof.
Ignoring the watchers, they leapfrogged through the warren of alleyways, Aventine following Brax, as they tracked Dranzen through the maze-like city.
“He’s making his way to the hole,” Brax said when Aventine caught up to him at the next vantage point. They had moved through the center of the city and were now looking out the other side at an immense hole in the ground. Here was the source of the dust belching skyward. Aventine understood now the strange column of dirt ascending into the sky: the spire’s runestone kept the dust suspended in the air.