by Sandell Wall
Chapter 9
REMUS HAD BEEN CHIPPING the fossilized exoskeleton out of the marble for two days. He was exhausted. His back and arms ached. His hands were bleeding and torn. He felt like he had sucked down enough dust to turn his insides to chalk. But the giant insect was free of the stone. As he watched, ropes were being secured around its carapace so that it could be lifted out of the hole.
Pitor never left the hole while Remus worked. For two days Remus had been forced to listen to the man drone on about his exploits as an archeologist. The extraction had become a “dig” and Pitor had elected himself “dig leader.” Pitor banished every other miner from the hole, on threat of informing Lord Burtick that they had impeded the extraction of a valuable artifact. Foreman Crast was furious, but too worried that the fossil might actually be worth something to intervene.
“I looked through some of my old notes,” Pitor said to Remus as they watched the miners winch the exoskeleton up and out. “While extremely rare, there are accounts of giant insect parts being found. But I can find no mention of an entire specimen being recovered.”
“I had no idea such a thing existed,” Remus said.
“Nor I. It must be thousands of years old.” Pitor turned to look at Remus. “Why, with a find like this I can go back to archeology! I’ll be able to leave this dreadful mine for good.”
An idea popped into Remus’s head, and with it hope. “Would you,” he began, but he faltered, unsure of himself.
“Yes, would I what?” Pitor said.
“Would you need an assistant? At least to help transport the fossil?”
Pitor thought it over, and then said, “Why yes, indeed I would. And who better than the man who excavated the find? I’ll talk to Crast about enlisting your help.” Excited, he turned to leave the hole. “Now come on, let’s follow that fossil.”
It took the better part of an hour for the two of them to make their way out of the quarry. The top of the hole the insect was being pulled from was several hundred paces away. Crast was overseeing the operation of the winch. Suspended over the hole by a tripod of wooden beams, the fossil spun lazily.
“Come on, you sots,” Crast shouted. “Grab ahold and pull it in!”
One of the miners grabbed a mandible as it spun past. With a shout of pain he released the petrified limb and dropped to the ground cradling a shredded hand.
“By all the—” Crast started, but instead of letting out another string of profanities he took a large loop of rope and lassoed it around the petrified bug. With a heave, he pulled the spinning statue to the edge of the hole.
“Very good, Mr. Crast!” Pitor said as he and Remus approached.
The foreman gave Pitor a hate-filled look. That look worried Remus.
Pitor is pushing Foreman Crast too far.
Oblivious to the foreman’s ire, Pitor ordered the miners around while Crast stood and watched.
“Let’s get it up on the cart,” Pitor said.
Careful not to touch it, the miners used long wooden poles to lift the insect onto a small wooden cart. The rigid mandibles offered perfect leverage for lifting.
As the men wrestled to load the cart, Pitor spoke to Crast. “I’ll need the boy to help me transport the fossil to Delgrath.”
“What?” Crast said. “You’re out of your head if you think you’re taking this thing anywhere! This is MY quarry, MY find, and MY man.”
Pitor puffed himself up. “You cannot expect to store the fossil in the quarry! It needs to be secure, and it needs to be preserved. Delgrath is hardly ideal, but it’s far better than a shed in a dusty pit. From Delgrath I’ll have it transported into Lord Burtick’s care.”
“Like hells you will.” Crast dropped his hand to his cudgel.
“Don’t you dare threaten me with violence, little man,” Pitor said. “Lord Burtick has paid for my services for the next year. Are you going to explain to him that I am unable to work because you struck me with your club?”
Remus was beginning to regret seeking an alliance with the pompous rune caster. He had no desire to be on the wrong side of Crast’s wrath.
When Crast did not respond, Pitor said, “Now, the boy and I are going to take the cart and travel to Delgrath. We will be on our way after fetching my things, and a mule, from the quarry.”
Crast smiled, but it was the smile of a killer, not a friend. “As you wish. I will await your return so that we can start extracting the marble.”
Pitor nodded. “Good man.” He paused, and then said, “We should be back within two days.”
“Come,” Pitor said, gesturing for Remus to follow him back down into the quarry. “Fetch a mule and meet me at my shack.”
While Remus walked along the floor of the quarry, he could feel the violent eyes of the other miners on him. By befriending Pitor he had sealed his fate. He would not be able to return. But then, he did not plan to.
Mule fetched, he stood outside Pitor’s shack waiting to leave.
What’s taking him so blasted long?
Remus poked his head into the shack. Pitor had all of his belongings scattered on the floor. The caster was sorting out what to take and what to leave.
“What’s this?” Remus said. “We’re only going to be gone for two days.”
Pitor jerked, a furtive hand raised to his lips. “Shhhh! I don’t intend to return.”
Remus moved into the room, closing the door behind him. In a harsh whisper he said, “Are you insane? Crast will kill you.” An instant later he added, “And me!”
“Not if we can get to Lord Burtick before Crast realizes we’re not coming back. That fossil is worth more than anything else that can be pulled out of this quarry. Even stygian marble.”
“Fine. Whatever. But you can’t walk out of here with everything you own.”
“You’re right. I hate to leave any of it. But with that fossil I can make a fresh start.” With one last regretful look at his belongings Pitor grabbed his travel satchel and followed Remus out the door.
Remus led the mule by a rope tether while Pitor walked in front. Lost in his own world, Pitor never noticed his surroundings unless it suited him. Remus, however, noted that the quarry was quiet. Too quiet for the middle of a workday. Gringe and his cronies were nowhere to be seen.
When they arrived back at the cart Crast was gone.
“You see, my boy,” Pitor said. “All one must do is show a little spine and these ruffians back down. You have to remind them of their place.”
Remus did not respond. Instead, he busied himself with hitching the mule to the cart. When he was done, they set out for Delgrath. Within a hundred paces Pitor was rambling.
“I intend to publish a great many papers!” Pitor said. “Of course, you’ll be the focus of one. You’ll need to recount the details of the dig and the methods you used.”
“I hacked it out with a pickaxe,” Remus said.
Pitor rolled his eyes. “Of course you did, but that’s not what we’ll write. I’m going to make you famous, boy. Show some gratitude!”
“Let’s just get to Delgrath.”
The last thing I need is this crackpot trying to make me famous.
They had started out after midday, so it was not long before their shadows stretched tall over the empty farmland.
“Is that a barn?” Pitor said, squinting at a battered structure about half a mile ahead.
“Looks like it.”
“It’ll be empty right now. We’ll spend the night there,” Pitor said. He looked at the cart. “I wish I had thought to grab a sheet to cover the fossil.”
The barn looked ancient, unfit for even wheat. But it would put a roof over their heads while they slept. Remus opened the front door and led the mule inside.
Out of the darkness a plank of wood smashed into his head. He dropped to the floor like a ragdoll, barely hanging onto consciousness. He could taste blood in his mouth.
What in the abyss hit me?
It took every ounce of his strength to roll over
and look back towards Pitor. The caster was surrounded by three men, his back to the cart. He got a look at his assailant as the man stepped over him. Short and fat with black, greasy hair.
Gringe!
It was Gringe and his thugs from the quarry. Pitor recognized the attackers in the same instant.
“Gringe!” Pitor said. “What is the meaning of this?” He spread his arms wide against the cart.
Gringe’s belly shook with a deep, menacing laugh. “You should’ve stayed,” he said. He pointed at the cart. “Crast wants what's his.”
“It does not belong to Crast!” Pitor stomped his foot. “If you interfere I shall tell Lord Burtick—”
“Lord Burtick will hear what the foreman tells him,” Gringe interrupted. His next words were high-pitched and mocking. “Sorry, m’lord, we tried to tell Pitor that the road was dangerous. But the only help he would take was a new boy. We went after him as soon as we could, but we were too late. We found their corpses on the road, stripped of valuables. The bandits didn’t know what to make of the fossil, so we were able to recover it. It’s a bleedin’ tragedy, m’lord, a tragedy.”
“You wouldn't,” Pitor said.
Gringe drew a rusted sword. “Maybe the next caster sent to the quarry will be a buxom lass,” he said with a wicked grin. “Wouldn't that be grand, boys?”
Pitor was rummaging through his travel satchel, frantic to find something.
“Got a weapon in there? I’ll be sporting.” Gringe flourished his sword indicating he was ready to duel. “Don’t let anyone say that ol’ Gringe ain’t fair!”
Pitor found what he was looking for and let the satchel drop. In his right hand was the orange runestone he used in the quarry, in his left he held the explosive spheres.
“What? No!” Gringe cried, realizing too late that this was a duel he would not win.
Pitor threw the spheres at the men standing in front of him, activating the runestone at the same time.
From where Remus was lying in the barn it looked like Pitor and his attackers were consumed by columns of flame. He screwed his eyes shut as grit pelted his face. The blasting heat was hotter than any forge. When the smoke cleared, the three men who had backed Pitor against the cart were charred husks. As Remus watched, their blackened bodies crumbled like burnt wood.
Pitor had survived by diving under the cart, but he looked terrible as he struggled to his feet. Skin red and blistering, he wheezed as his lungs tried to recover from breathing super-hot air. The cart behind him was smoldering. Remus was not surprised to see the fossil unharmed.
Remus tried to stand, but when he moved his head, the world lurched. All he could manage was a feeble crawl. From the corner of his vision he saw movement. Gringe was alive. The fat miner had dropped to the ground the instant he had seen the explosive spheres.
“You miserable,” Gringe said, “goat-licking…” He spoke as he struggled to his feet. “WHORESON!” The left side of his face was scorched black. Melted skin stuck to the ground where his face had touched.
Pitor tried to summon the strength to fight, but all he could do was watch Gringe advance. His scrawny legs trembled. He clung to the cart, trying to stay on his feet.
“Don’t. Please,” Pitor pleaded.
“You shoulda begged before you toasted my boys,” Gringe said.
Gringe bellowed, and with a vicious thrust of his sword impaled Pitor through the chest. The sword stuck fast in the cart. Pitor died pinned upright, slumping forward as the life left his body.
“You died for a bleedin’ bug,” Gringe said. The insect fossil loomed like a monument over Pitor’s corpse.
Helpless, Remus watched Pitor die. He knew he was next. He was regaining his strength, but not fast enough to resist. If only he had a weapon.
Maybe in the barn.
He used the barn door to haul himself to his feet. With a few tentative steps he was through the dark doorway.
“Where do you think you’re going, boy?” Gringe said from behind him. “I got business with you.”
Remus tried to swing the barn door shut. Gringe slammed into it, using his considerable bulk to send Remus flying. Dazed, Remus lay on his back in the middle of the barn.
“It’s too bad I’ve got to kill you. No one will get to see what I make of that pretty lil face of yours,” Gringe said. He recovered the plank of wood that he had brained Remus with. Standing over Remus, he used the plank to turn Remus’s face into the light. “So pretty.”
Remus closed his eyes. Tears of pain, fear, and frustration spilled onto the ground.
It’s not supposed to end like this.
He waited for the first blow to fall. Instead, he heard a hollow voice speak from behind Gringe, “Fat man should stop.” He snapped his eyes open as Gringe whirled around.
Backlit by the fading sun, in the doorway stood a skeletal figure. A figure with long, twitching fingers and a wide-brimmed hat.
“Pricker! What the hells are you doing here?” Gringe said. He held the plank of wood in front of his body like a shield.
Pricker did not speak, did not even acknowledge Gringe. The gaunt man walked into the barn. Calm and unconcerned, he looked around the room in curiosity.
“Get out of here. This don’t concern you.” Gringe shuffled away from Pricker as the thin man walked towards him.
“Fat man should stop,” Pricker repeated.
Pricker made eye contact with Remus. The complete lack of humanity in his gaze terrified Remus.
He’s insane.
Pricker flicked both wrists and two battered daggers appeared in his long-fingered hands.
“No!” Gringe raised the plank to defend himself. Pricker lunged at the fat miner so fast that Remus could only see a blur of motion. He could not see the strikes, but he could hear the wet squelch of metal punching into flesh. Gringe’s body shuddered with the impact of Pricker’s stabs, blood spraying in large arcs from the tips of the daggers. A warm splash of liquid struck Remus in the face.
Adrenaline surged through Remus, filling him with strength and snapping his focus back to reality. He staggered to his feet, retching as he fumbled his way outside. The fossil in the cart reared out of the twilight, alien and horrific. Panic threatened to overwhelm him. He forced his legs to cooperate and jogged into the darkness, following the dusty road. Once he was moving, fear sank its talons into him and he ran for his life. Every little sound or movement fed an irrational terror that the nightmarish insect was chasing him.
After two miles he had to either stop or collapse. He stopped to catch his breath and slow his hammering heart. Hands on his knees, he looked back towards the barn. Nothing. No fossils come to life or murderous miners following in his wake.
Crast will be too busy with that mess to come after me.
Confident he could disappear from the quarry and not be missed, Remus started jogging towards Delgrath. He might not be able to forget about the insanity of the past few days, but he could leave it behind.
——
Had Remus waited on the road he would have seen a lone figure following him. A thin figure with long, twitching fingers.
Chapter 10
THE EXPEDITION MARCHED INTO Delgrath like a conquering army. The warriors of Lome and Cinder were at the vanguard of the column, magnificent in their rune-worked armor. Rune casters walked behind, powering stones that ignited rune patterns carved into shining metal. Aventine had to admit that the effect was impressive. The troops of the noble houses looked like demigods. Siegebreakers hefted hammers the size of an ox as if they weighed nothing. Lancers carried pikes three times the height of a man, their weapons humming with deadly energy. The two praetors could rival the emperor’s splendor in their gaudy ceremonial armor. Dranzen’s mail sparkled like living water, each scale inscribed with a glowing rune.
Sir Lorent had been adamant that an impression must be made. “The might of the empire does not often visit a border province,” he had said. “We must remind them who they serve.”
> Aventine and Brax walked behind the garish warriors.
“He says ‘empire,’ but this is a show of Lome’s power,” Brax said. He made no effort to hide his disgust.
“This isn’t normal?” Aventine said.
“Not at all. I’ve never seen anything like this. Closer to the center of the empire, some might interpret this as an act of war.”
“That seems extreme.”
“Powering rune weapons is never done as an act of ceremony,” Brax said with a shake of his head. “They’re too dangerous. And to march so boldly into a province like this proclaims strength in a way that could easily be understood as a challenge.”
Aventine grew silent, viewing the scene playing out in front of her with new understanding.
From the stupefied looks on the faces of its citizens, she gathered that Delgrath did not often play host to the nobility. All activity had ceased, and the buildings in the town were emptying as the soldiers marched through. It took the better part of an hour for the column, over six hundred soldiers, to make it to the other side of the city.
Sir Lorent paused in the open fields near the academy, waiting for the officers of the Legion to catch up. Aventine and Brax followed the officers to where Sir Lorent and Sir Trent were holding an impromptu strategy meeting.
When they were gathered, Sir Lorent spoke. “I see no reason to commit the entire force to a scouting mission. One hundred men, Centurion Immers’s century, will proceed from here to make contact with the fort. The rest of us will make camp here and await his report.”
None of the Legion officers were going to question the praetor, but Brax had no such reservations. “I don’t like it,” he said. “Our objective is to provide assistance to the outpost, not make a fortified camp at Delgrath.”
Sir Lorent made a show of listening to Brax’s argument and then ignored it. “One hundred men should be more than enough to assist the garrison. And we will only be hours away should they need help.” With exaggerated horror, eyes wide, he said, “Do you truly expect to find the border overrun by barbarians?”