by Tom Lloyd
Three hundred yards and closing. She paced the ground out in her mind, following the faint brightness of the road they were following. Well within icer range, but icers wouldn’t bring down a wall. As she watched, Toil sensed the mercenaries and soldiers get ready to fire, further down the wall on her left. Even those who couldn’t make anything out yet were ready for the signal.
Toil found her breath caught. The air stilled. The last birds of dusk quietened as fingers tightened on triggers. The Knights-Artificer were moving up the northern side of the road, two hundred yards now. Still not close enough, she judged. Toil had to admit they were being impressively quiet. No clink of metal, no voices or crack of twigs. For a while she wondered if she was imagining things, if her magic-touched vision was playing tricks on her, but as they crept closer she started to hear the faint sound of movement.
It was still good, better than she’d expected of regular troops, but enough to be detected by an alert sentry. The soldiers on the wall hunkered down with their mage-guns level, but they kept their cool. On the plain outside, the enemy had stopped, pausing as though fearing detection. There they stayed for twenty heartbeats, forty. Still no gunfire erupted from the way-station and finally they started off again.
Toil didn’t even see the grenade. That was what made the weapons so shocking, especially at night. A mage-cartridge streaked through the air – it gave little warning but there was something. When the spark-bomb blew up on the right-hand group of Knights-Artificer, even Toil flinched in surprise.
Jagged lines of light erupted through the darkness. It ripped back the night, white claws racing up and over the exposed soldiers. She saw bursts of lightning leap from one man to another, a staccato vision of pain that lit the whole stretch of ground for one terrible moment. There were screams, then a cartridge case exploded. White streaks of icers raced up into the sky as fire spilled across the land.
That was all the Brethren could stand and they fired into the darkness, aiming at silhouettes or the afterglow in their eyes, Toil couldn’t say. The screams were drowned out by twenty or more mage-guns firing and she watched the volley slam home. A second later there was a streak of orange light darting in from the left. It struck a man and flared bright in the dark, searing his shrieking image into the night.
Now the Cards fired, one great booming sound that spat their icers into the illuminated group. The light-bolt continued to burn and Toil knew the Knights-Artificer would be able to see nothing now. Men fell to the icer-fire, the Brethren troops quick enough in reloading that they got a volley in before the light-bolt faded.
The Cards continued to fire, Brethren too, but it was only by chance when their shots struck. More effective were the scouts who’d taken the risk to stay out. Kas had run after firing the light-bolt, but the effect of the onslaught had stunned their enemy. Toil saw several men fall abruptly, victims of arrows they never even saw, while the Brethren scouts launched a pair of sparkers into the left flank, followed by burners.
There was a response to that, panicked gunfire that fired mostly at random – seeking targets that had already moved position. It only fractured the remaining Knights-Artificer as they looked in two directions and died. A cut-off cry came from the walkway as a Brethren soldier was hit. He collapsed, clutching his neck.
Toil saw the man beside him glance down, Varain. The drink-scarred veteran didn’t move, he just took a quick look and turned away – hands continuing to go through the movements of killing. Another Brethren soldier grabbed his comrade and started to drag him towards the steps, yelling for a stretcher, but Darm stopped him. The man had already gone limp and with a word the rescuer was sent back to his position.
Out on the dark field, some of the Knights-Artificer had started running. A sparker crackled across the grass from their right flank, catching several of them as they fled. Another burner burst against a small tree where a knot of resistance had formed. There were more screams then, howling out through the night, and more gunfire met them. Toil couldn’t tell how many were dead, but the close-range ordnance had done terrible damage.
Less than a quarter of the enemy were firing back. The rest were dead, staggering blindly and shocked, or cowering on their knees as they waited for the end. Toil couldn’t make out any more than that and she found herself wavering for a moment. She grabbed the wall to steady herself and sank to one knee, but the world continued to swim. Touching her fingers to her shoulder Toil realised she’d split the stitches. She just had time to curse under her breath before shadows swarmed up to greet her and she fell flat onto the walkway, unconscious.
Chapter 9
The grisly view at dawn was a sight to start men drinking. The Cards hadn’t waited long enough to have that excuse, Lynx noticed, but they’d have known what horrors the morning light would reveal. He could hardly blame them after a few lean days of travel, but at the same time Lynx was glad he didn’t have to get them moving today.
He found himself on the walkway as the sun cut through the trees, looking at the shattered and blood-soaked ground beyond the walls. Lynx had seen his share of battlefields but somehow this one felt more their fault. Forces collided every day, lords fell out and bad choices got made. That was life. That was the world they lived in. And yet here these people had died just because it served Toil’s agenda.
My agenda, Lynx reminded himself sharply. Don’t put all this on her. You’re in this just as far as Toil. If you wanted to you could stop her, but you’re helping instead. That she had the idea first means shit-all at this point.
These men and women were dead because of what they’d stolen. Of some calculation about the price they’d need to buy their way into the Brethren’s good books. No one had been in any doubt they would be pursued. No one could have doubted what would happen to a poorly equipped force compelled by their faith to assault a fortress. And the answers lay out there for all the Riven Kingdom to see – described in rusty-red mud, torn flesh and viscera.
There were Brethren soldiers out there already. The long awakening of day in the north gave them plenty to see by before sunlight first pierced the treeline. Bodies were being counted, ammunition and mage-guns stripped away. Soon they would start work on a pit for the dead and then that would be that. Dumped in the quiet earth, forgotten and unlikely to merit a footnote in history.
‘Lynx.’
He turned to see Atieno watching him from the ground, Kas stretched out on a bench nearby. The ageing mage of Tempest squinted up at him in the light. The faintly pained look reminded Lynx that Atieno still limped, the bones in one foot turned to stone by the strange corrupting effect of his magic. Travelling was hard on the man, but he couldn’t stop yet. He was key to what they would do now.
‘We should get ready. Kas wants to leave as early as we can.’
‘You’re coming too?’ Lynx asked, looking at the reclining scout. Even muddied and exhausted, she contrived to look a vision of beauty. For that alone, he was momentarily surprised that Toil had chosen her to travel with them on this mission.
‘Better’n having you two wander blindly around the countryside,’ Kas said, eyes still closed.
‘We’ve both managed fine up to now.’
‘You’ve both wandered aimlessly all your lives,’ she corrected, raising a finger. ‘That ain’t quite the same thing.’
‘Toil – sorry, Talere – she’s good with this?’
‘I couldn’t honestly give a shit if she is. You know it makes sense.’
Lynx nodded. He did. She was the best they had and what was more, she was another Card marked by the Labyrinth. The fewer white tattoos on show around the Brethren’s senior figures, the better.
‘Shall I go give her the good news?’
Atieno nodded. ‘I’ll get food from the tavern. Deern is seeing to the horses now.’
‘Deern’s molesting the stablehands,’ Kas said. She swung herself off the bench. ‘I better go remind him what he went there for.’
Lynx took a last guilty look
at the dead Knights-Artificer and headed down again. The handful of survivors who’d made it to dawn had been taken under guard to the doctor’s surgery. The major wanted someone to interrogate and confirm Toil’s story, but Lynx suspected that Sitain and Himbel might contrive to interfere. He headed to the officers’ mess and went inside. Toil was there, asleep in a chair with her arm freshly bound up.
The doctor had insisted on seeing to her wound last. At any other time Lynx might have wondered why, but the man had spent an hour or so in a room with an injured Toil the previous day. No doubt her sunny disposition had won him over. As he sat on a dining chair Toil stirred – moving from rest to panic to reaching for a gun all in one heartbeat.
‘Lynx?’ she said, peering blearily up at him. ‘What bell is it?’
‘Sixth. How’s the shoulder?’
‘Bloody hurts, doesn’t it?’ she snapped. ‘You get any rest?’
‘Caught an hour or so. I’ll manage.’
‘Good.’ Toil looked around the mess, wincing as she did so. ‘Help me up. I need some fresh air.’
Lynx did so, knowing inside they risked being overheard. The mission he was being sent on with Atieno was definitely not one they wanted the Brethren knowing about. If they did, the major might just think these crazed mercenaries weren’t bringing her a fortune out of the goodness of their hearts.
Several of the Cards were breaking their fast with a fourth beer, but one look from Toil was enough to shift a few from the most isolated table outside the tavern. With Lynx’s help she eased onto a seat and indicated for the serving boy to fetch her a drink.
‘You good with this next job?’ she asked.
Lynx shook his head. ‘But I’ll do it anyway. It’s got a familiar smell o’ madness about it – the sort that’s kept this company going so far. Why stop now?’
‘The Sons of the Wind really are mad,’ Toil warned him. ‘Even the ones that don’t look that way. Especially those ones.’
‘I’ve run into them before,’ Lynx said. ‘I know what they’re like. But we need madmen, right? No sane folk are likely to agree to what we’re suggesting – especially when we give what proof we have.’
Toil nodded. ‘Just bear it in mind, all the same.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I don’t know what the other Orders think of them these days. Last I heard of the Sons of the Wind was them ambushing a Charneler goods convoy and I doubt they’ll discriminate in their targets.’
‘How sure are we about the Sons?’ Lynx wasn’t certain he wanted an answer to that, but he couldn’t help asking. They were one of the handful of disparate Militant Orders dedicated to Banesh – God of Chance and Change. Given Banesh had been the one to kill, or at least shatter, the other gods, there was clearly some theological gymnastics involved.
‘How sure can anyone be?’ Toil said with a scowl. ‘Most of our intelligence on them is contradictory or nonsensical, but our theory fits. All I know for sure is that they like mages of tempest so Atieno’s presence should protect you three. That’s all I’m sure about so make certain you don’t tell them too much. As little as you need to sell the idea.’
‘Great.’ Lynx looked around, but none of his intended companions were in sight. ‘About that though …’
‘About what?’
‘There being three of us.’
Toil paused. ‘Ah. Kas has said she’s coming?’
‘She’s our best chance to find them. The message you got wasn’t exactly clear.’
She nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re right – she’s right. And it’s probably all for the best, if she means to be involved. Some of the Cards just follow orders and half the rest are too dumb to think for themselves. They’ll see what Kas reckons before they decide. Just don’t you two find yourselves a farm to settle down on, okay?’
‘I can manage that,’ he said with a weak smile.
‘Good, now get going. I need to rest before we make the journey on from here. You’ve still got one fragment?’
Lynx nodded. ‘And Atieno. Can’t say I’ve enjoyed sleep with so many around. You get some weird dreams when you lay your head on one.’
‘Yeah, Jang-Her doesn’t seem so much of a myth these days. I swear I saw a Duegar last night – and I’ve never seen a picture of one in all my travels.’
Toil reached out and took his hand. The action was so unexpected Lynx flinched then felt ashamed of himself, but Toil only smiled. ‘Still twitchy, puss,’ she said softly. ‘Come back safe, you hear?’
Lynx squeezed her hand and went to get ready. He had madmen to find.
Out on the road as afternoon started to turn a lazy eye to dusk, Lynx found his thoughts wandering. Atieno was a companionable silence beside him and, for a short while at least, Deern had no gems of insight to add. It reminded him of another time, more than half a year past, when he’d stood in silence alongside the dark-skinned mage – both of them less at ease with the world then.
The Palace of the Elect was the jewel that crowned Su Dregir, Toil’s home city. An old building of grey and weathered stone in a city of many past glories, its upper floors were magnificent but sharply cold. A great bank of windows ringed three-quarters of the huge domed room, offering an unparalleled view of both the harbourside and dayside halves of the city. Behind Lynx was the harbour, the great arch through which all ships passed, and the inland sea of Parthain beyond.
Closer to hand was the ring of enormous green-glass lanterns that rose like a crown’s tines from the palace’s massive defensive wall. Dull in the daylight, they would blaze at night – with fire only, the days of charging them with magic were long gone. Su Dregir had few enough mages to charge such things and reserved its power for the lighthouse on the cliffside, but Lynx had heard suggestions that might change.
He could imagine a gaggle of academics fluttering around the haul of God Fragments that remained in Su Dregir, excitedly speculating the uses they could be turned to. If the fragile Parthain League was to remain – assuming Toil was wrong and it was still needed – a blazing symbol of defiance might stiffen the resolve, even if it was a vast bloody waste of power.
‘Gentlemen,’ a man called, breaking the hush. ‘I apologise for delaying you, but I prefer my employees to yell at me in private.’
A small, greying man with golden tanned skin entered at the head of a small delegation. Despite his size, the Archelect of Su Dregir was a man assured in his own power and commanded the attention of the room. Lynx hadn’t met the Archelect before, but the torc of office around his neck – twisted strands of gold set with emeralds – was enough to make it obvious that was who he was. A harassed look on his face did little to detract from that presence, but did show Toil had been making her case, at least.
The Archelect’s green fleece-lined coat picked out in gold thread belonged more to a rich mercenary than the ruler of an old and decadent city, but it was cold in his high chamber. Toil had mentioned to Lynx once that he came from near the Mage Islands originally and had never embraced the climate of his adopted home. Secrecy ruled over comfort, though. Infiltrators from half a dozen parties walked the street of every city in the Parthain League, but this chamber was isolated and easily secured.
‘Archelect,’ Atieno said, bowing stiffly. ‘A little quiet reflection is always welcome when one spends much time around the Mercenary Deck.’
The Archelect nodded in a distracted fashion. He waved the two mercenaries towards a circle of benches at the back of the chamber. ‘So I have heard,’ he said as he settled onto the only chair, rubbing his hands against the chill. ‘Toil here seems to fret when they’re quiet, though.’
There were four people who’d followed him in, all of whom Lynx had met before. At the Archelect’s side was his bodyguard, a gold-masked man with two pairs of mage-pistols strapped to his chest. Behind him came an angry-looking Toil with her two long-time associates Aben and Paranil.
One an’ a half henchmen, Lynx recalled, isn’t that what Anatin calls them? It was certainly true that the academic, Par
anil, was half the size of Toil’s trusted lieutenant.
‘The Cards can be pushed only so far,’ Atieno continued, unconcerned that he was talking to the ruler of the city. ‘They are simple mercenaries, after all.’
The Archelect sniffed. ‘Yet you and Toil would ask more of them still?’
‘They’re bound to each other,’ Lynx broke in, feeling a strange need to speak for his comrades, even if half of them didn’t like him much. ‘Some of us are in this to the end. The others know that.’
The Archelect regarded him. ‘Ah yes, the man of one name. Toil here tells me you are unusual among the Cards – in that payment is not your chief motivation.’
Lynx shifted uncomfortably. ‘Money’s useful,’ he conceded, ‘but there’s more important things in this life.’
‘An odd view for a mercenary, I would venture. And your comrades may not agree, when the blood meets the blade.’
‘They’re my problem,’ Toil declared. ‘I can deal with the Cards.’
The Archelect inclined his head. ‘As you wish. We have been discussing Toil’s idea and none of us’ – here he cast a glance at his gold-masked bodyguard – ‘are entirely impressed.’
Paranil coughed. ‘If I might—?’ he said in a querulous voice.
The Archelect gestured for him to take the floor. Paranil produced a small leather satchel and began to rummage inside it.
‘The mages in your employ,’ Paranil said, ‘the few you can trust at any rate, have been cataloguing the cache of God Fragments sent here from Jarrazir.’
Lynx watched as Paranil pulled out a thin object wrapped in cloth. It was about the length of his hand. The satchel had sub-divisions, Lynx saw, and there appeared to be more in there. Paranil unwrapped the cloth to reveal a shard of God Fragment roughly the shape of a dagger. It glowed with a faint pink light, showing them all it was a piece of Cartrac – God of Passion and Endeavour.
‘Happy as pigs in shit they are,’ Aben added helpfully.
Paranil looked at him over his spectacles. ‘Quite. In any case they were observing the pieces we received well before the Cards reached Caldaire.’