by Aaron Hodges
That only left one choice: Learn to fight.
“Okay, Romaine,” he said, dragging his spirits from the chasm of despair. “I’ll do my best.”
The warrior grinned. “Don’t look so glum, lad. This is going to be fun. Now, why don’t you take a lap around the walls while I get a few things ready?”
“You want me to walk around the city?”
“I want you to run,” Romaine corrected. “First rule of combat—be fitter than the other man.”
“But the Tangata aren’t…”
Lukys trailed off as he caught Romaine’s blue eyes glaring at him. He hesitated, mouth still half-open, until Romaine reached down and plucked his axe from the mud.
Hefting his spear, Lukys ran.
11
The Archivist
Striding through the scarlet halls of the royal citadel, Erika struggled to keep the apprehension from her face. The queen’s steward walked ahead, while two of the royal guards trailed her on either side, as though they feared she would flee. Their presence made her nervous, with their shining swords and impenetrable helms, and it was with an effort of will that she forced herself to concentrate on her surroundings.
Like the rest of the city, the citadel had a certain practicality to its construction. The plain sandstone blocks did little to assuage the eye and the few windows were squat and high in the walls, allowing sunlight to enter while still keeping out the undesirable. Such designs stemmed from earlier ages, when Flumeer had been a collection of warring tribes rather than a united kingdom.
Even the layout of the corridors had been designed with defence in mind, winding inwards and upwards in a spiral pattern. An assailant would have to circumnavigate the building several times to reach the queen’s quarters at the centre. In places, windows in the inner loops of the spiral looked down on the outer corridors, allowing defenders to fire down upon their attackers from a sheltered position.
They passed through several gates, each defended by another squadron of the royal guard, before sandstone walls gave way to marble. From there, they moved quickly through a series of courtyards, most empty on this cold winter afternoon, until finally they entered the inner palace.
Erika’s heart began to race as she suddenly found herself before the golden doors of the royal court. They stood closed, their precious surface studded with gems and platinum decorations. Of all the passages they had passed, here alone had no thought been given to defence. Grand windows of stained glass turned the light in the corridor to red and green and blue, and not one guard had been left at the entrance to the court.
The queen’s steward turned towards her. His face remained carefully schooled, though Erika could read the disdain in his eyes. He thought her a liar, that she had failed once again to claim the powers of the Gods and came now to beg for further clemency. A tingling came from her fingers, as though the gauntlet yearned to be used. She fought the temptation.
“I am ready, steward,” she said to his unspoken question.
He spoke no further, only turned and pushed open the golden doors.
The buzz of voices ensued as she followed him into the chamber, though they died away as the queen’s steward marched towards the throne. Row upon row of chairs stretched upward in tiers from the chamber floor, packed with the Flumeeren elite. Erika’s legs turned to lead as she sensed their eyes upon her, but it was too late to turn back. She heard her name called through the ringing in her ears. Turning, she saw the steward raising his arm.
“…Archivist to the queen, here with urgent news for the war,” he finished, meeting her eyes from across the room. Erika could have sworn his neutral expression broke for half a second, revealing a mocking smile.
A hundred voices erupted from all around, echoing from the domed ceiling high above and ringing across the chamber, almost deafening. Erika felt her legs retreat a step and had to force herself to stand still, to endure. Behind her, the guards who had escorted her this far stood at attention beside the doors, barring her escape.
Steeling herself, Erika ignored the councillors and nobles that surrounded her and stepped up beside the steward. Across the floor of the chamber was a small dais. There were none of the decorations and grandeur of the palace here. The queen sat upon a simple wooden chair, legs crossed and fingers steepled, her emerald eyes on the crowd of nobles above.
Stranger, though, than the woman’s plain surroundings, was the full suit of armour Queen Amina had donned. Plain steel covered the woman from her boots to her chest. Only the helm was missing, revealing shining auburn hair and a copper circlet upon her brow. The queen was only thirty-five, barely ten years her senior, but she carried herself with a poise Erika could only imagine. She wore a longsword at her side, and the crimson scar on her left cheek proved she knew how to use it. Indeed, she was not hailed as a warrior queen for nothing.
The sight of the queen in steel gave Erika pause. Amina only wore her armour during times of war. Had something changed on the frontier while she’d been away? Erika’s heart quickened. If the Tangata had firmed their hold on northern Calafe, her plans to visit the ancient site were already doomed. But it was too late to change tactics now.
“Your Majesty,” she said over the cacophony of voices in the chamber. “I bring a message of hope.”
“My Archivist,” the queen murmured. Eyes as hard as gemstones regarded Erika from across the room. “Pray, tell me you have brought more than just hopeful words.”
“Of course!” Erika exclaimed, her voice rising to an undignified tone. She swallowed, regaining control of herself before going on. “I would not have returned so quickly had my quest not found success.”
The queen seemed to consider her words. Then her eyes flickered, as though searching for someone else on the chamber floor. Her lips tightened to a frown. “Then where are the good assistants I sent with you?”
Erika hesitated. “I…” She bowed her head. “Alas, the noble Ibran fell,” she replied. “And Sythe…was a traitor.”
The room erupted at her words, the entire court of two hundred nobles leaping to their feet and shouting their disdain. Erika flinched at the discordance, but did not look away from the queen. The woman had not reacted to the news, though now she slowly came to her feet and raised a hand. Silence fell. Not even the nobles of Flumeer wanted to risk the queen’s displeasure.
“A traitor?” she murmured.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Erika replied, bowing her head. “He killed Ibran, and tried to claim the treasure we discovered beneath the earth. For the King of Gemaho.”
This time not one of the nobles said a word, though the revelation was even more scandalous than her earlier news. The queen was still on her feet.
“I see,” the woman murmured, eyes fixed on Erika. “Yet you escaped?”
Erika swallowed, hearing the accusation in her voice, and drew herself up. “I did,” she said. “I was determined to keep our discovery from the hands of the Gemahan.”
“And what did you discover down there in the dark, Archivist?”
“A map, Your Majesty!” Erika replied, drawing the scroll from her pocket. The queen’s brows lifted into her auburn locks. Swallowing, Erika quickly went on: “It compiles the ancient sites of the Gods, many yet undiscovered, untouched since the time before The Fall. It was discovered in a sealed room. I believe these other sites might be the same. If so, the treasures within, the magics…this is what the King of Gemaho wanted!” She finished in a rush, cheeks warm, heart racing in her excitement.
The queen did not move from where she stood. She regarded Erika in silence, one eyebrow still raised, iron arms folded across her chest.
“A map?” she said at last. Her voice did not share Erika’s excitement. She lowered herself down into the wooden chair. “And where are these sites with their precious treasures?”
“Calafe!” Erika gasped. “In the northern region, there is a site just a few days south of the Illmoor. If we move quickly, I could recover its secrets with a si
ngle regiment. Just think, Your Majesty, the power that waits, enough to conquer nations, to destroy the Tangata for good!”
“I see,” the queen murmured, tapping idly at the wooden arms of her chair. “Was that not what you promised before this latest venture?”
“I…” Erika trailed off, the words lodging in her throat.
“A venture which cost two persons of some prestige,” the queen went on, her voice cold enough to send shivers down Erika’s spine. “And now…now you ask for an entire regiment? Do you not realise, child, that the Tangata sit on our very doorstep?”
Murmurs spread around the hall, though this time the nobles did not seem angry. They could sense the blood in the water, the rage lurking beneath the queen’s measured voice. So instead they watched, waiting for the kill.
“The map was not all I found!” Erika shrieked.
Why had she not mentioned the gauntlet first? Because…because it was hers. Her secret, her weapon, the only thing that had kept her alive down there in the darkness. She didn’t want to share this discovery with the queen. Yet neither could she allow the murmuring around the chamber to continue, to allow herself to be condemned.
“Oh?” the queen asked. She made no effort to conceal the scepticism in her voice.
“Does Your Majesty still keep any of the Tangata captive here in the citadel?” Erika asked, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice.
Images flashed through her mind, of bronzed faces behind bars, of awful screams, of eyes dripping with hatred and rage.
“There is one that survives,” Queen Amina replied.
“Bring it,” Erika ordered, attempting to project confidence, before adding: “Should it please Your Majesty.”
The queen regarded her for a long moment. Then the hint of a smile touched the queen’s lips and she nodded. The two guards stationed at the doors turned and vanished into the corridor, presumably to retrieve the captive Tangata.
Sweat dripped down Erika’s brow as she stood watching those golden doors, feeling the eyes of the entire court upon her. A lump lodged in her throat and she squeezed her fist tight.
What was she doing? Would the gauntlet even work on one of the Tangata? Could she even make it work? She still had not practiced with that ability…
Hinges squeaked as the doors swung open again, admitting the guards back onto the chamber floor. But they were no longer alone. A third figure stood between them, arms and legs chained, face streaked with filth, clothes in tatters.
Grey eyes staring.
Erika shivered as she looked into those eyes and saw…nothing. A frown touched her forehead. When she’d last been in the capital, the queen had paraded the creatures regularly before the court. Then, the rage that lurked within these creatures had been obvious, their hatred a raw, animalistic thing. But with this creature…its eyes showed only emptiness, only defeat.
“Well, Archivist?”
Erika swallowed, glancing back at the queen. Drawing in a lungful of air, she raised her gauntleted fist. “I found this in the ruins of the Gods,” she said softly.
“A glove?” the queen murmured archly.
“No,” Erika said shortly. She turned her back on the queen and faced the wretched Tangata. “My Queen, let me show you the power of the Gods.”
She didn’t wait for permission. Stepping up before the beast, she lifted the gauntlet. The Tangata’s head bobbed at the movement, its eyes slowly coming into focus, fixing on her. It made no move to attack, though the guards held its chains tight all the same. Erika hesitated, sensing the beast’s despair.
Whispers spread around the room as the moment stretched out. Erika could sense her audience’s impatience. She had promised them magic; if she failed now…
Erika opened her fist and pointed her palm at the Tangata.
The screams began.
The beast took long minutes to die. By the time it fell silent, not a soul in the throne room moved. A terrible silence hung over the chamber as Erika stood over the Tangata, looking down at its tormented face. Blood stained its cheeks and turned its eyes red. It had died in agony.
It was a monster. It would have killed you if it could have.
Releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, she turned to face the queen. Steel rattled as the royal guards moved between them. They were wary of her now, frightened by the power she had revealed, but the queen waved them back. Rising, she stepped from the dais and moved to stand before Erika.
“You have done well, Archivist,” the queen said. Then she held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
Erika swallowed, but met the woman’s eyes. “Alas, My Queen, I cannot. The gauntlet has fused to my flesh. Its power is a part of me now. But…grant me my request, and I will find you more objects of power, perhaps even greater than this one.”
The queen stared at her for a long while, but finally she nodded, and a smile touched her lips. “Very well,” she murmured. “You have done well, Archivist. You will have your regiment.”
Erika’s heart was thundering in her ears and she hardly heard the queen’s words. She felt suddenly drained, as though she had just sprinted the length of the city. Was that the gauntlet, or simply the rush of the moment? Hardly knowing how to react, she bowed her head in acceptance.
“You will leave with the dawn,” the queen continued. With that she turned and returned to the dais. Only when she reached her throne did she hesitate. Slowly, the woman turned to face Erika once more. “And Archivist?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?” Erika asked, her head jerking up.
“This will be your last expedition,” the queen said. Her eyes narrowed. “Do not fail me, or one way or another, I will have that magic.”
The ice in her words left Erika in no doubt as to how she would claim it.
12
The Warrior
Romaine’s breath puffed in the cold morning air as he jogged along the earthen rampart, chainmail jingling with each tread of his heavy boots. An ache had taken hold in the small of his back, and at times it seemed his knees were one bad day away from giving in. He didn’t know exactly what day his age had caught him. It was like an assassin, creeping up slowly, until suddenly it stood before him with knife in hand.
Gritting his teeth, Romaine pressed on. Weakness meant death out here, and he refused to surrender to its call. Finally he found himself back where he had started and drew to a stop, panting softly in the dawn light.
“Why do you run?”
He spun at the voice and cursed. Cara sat on a nearby water barrel, those strange amber eyes watching him through the morning mists. The general had provided her with lodging on Romaine’s request. He’d seen enough of his people homeless without adding another to their number. But what was she doing atop the palisade?
“Sorry?” he asked, straightening and forcing to his breathing to slow.
A smile touched the woman’s lips as she came smoothly to her feet. Her broken arm hung from a sling, but otherwise she seemed fully recovered from the trauma of a few days past. Hugging the heavy furs tight around herself, she wandered over to where he stood.
“The running,” she said. “It hurts you.”
Romaine stared at the woman for a long moment, then shrugged. “The Tangata do not care about my pain. I cannot afford to be slow. So I run.”
Cara nodded as though he had confirmed some secret suspicion of hers. Her eyes flickered out over the rooftops of the city. The streets remained silent, though soon soldiers would rise to begin their days.
The thump of jogging boots approached and Romaine turned to watch Lukys stagger to a stop beside the water barrel. Gasping, he bent in two, and Romaine chuckled. Truthfully, he was impressed the young man had managed to keep pace as long as he had. The overland march from Mildeth had at least put a little muscle on the Perfugian recruit.
“Cara!” Lukys suddenly burst out, finally noticing the woman. He straightened immediately. “What are you doing here?”
“What, afra
id of practicing the spear with an audience, lad?”
“An audience…” Lukys murmured, thick eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “Wait, we’re going to practice the spear today?”
The day before Romaine had only taken Lukys through exercises to help build his strength and stamina. But such exercises did little to dislodge the despair in Lukys’s eyes. He needed something to restore his confidence, or training the man was a lost cause.
Grinning, Romaine nodded to where two practice staves leaned against the stockade crenulations. “The spear is not my weapon of choice, but it’s better than most when facing the Tangata.”
“It’s…awkward,” Lukys said, picking up one of the staves and holding it before him. “Like it’s too long for my arms.”
“You’ll be thankful for that reach when next you encounter the Tangata,” Romaine replied, claiming the second stave.
He faced Lukys across the earthen rampart and adopted the basic fighting stance for the spear. Meanwhile, Cara sat herself on the water barrel and pulled her knees up to her chest to watch. A brilliant orange light shone from the horizon and the mist was beginning to lift. They were alone atop the wall but for a few guards, and they mostly kept to their own sections. Voices carried up from the streets of Fogmore as the first citizens rose to greet the day. The faint scent of burning wood carried on the air.
“So,” Romaine said, “show me your best strike, lad.”
Raising his stave, Lukys bit his lip. His eyes looked Romaine up and down and the warrior smiled. The lad was right to be cautious, but hesitation could prove costly against the Tangata. So with a roar, Romaine took the initiative, his practice spear thrusting out for the recruit’s chest. Lukys’s eyes widened and he stumbled on the slick mud, unable to move fast enough to avoid the blow. A soft thump followed as the wooden stave struck him in the chest, followed by a crash as Lukys tumbled to the ground.