by Tom Lloyd
At the fringes of the hall, Bade could see the glinting shapes of night elementals, an increasingly common sight down here. The occasional faint breeze betrayed the passage of wind elementals too. While the hall was warded against the passage of leviathans and trolls, some elementals were insubstantial enough to pass unnoticed through any defence.
‘Where did the touched go?’ Bade asked.
The captain pointed towards the largest tunnel, one that led to a huge open shaft common to regular Duegar city-ruins. Five levels of chambers, dwellings and passageways ran around each side of that great vertical space. A broad street followed around the inner edge of each. Lower down were long Duegar-made lakes on two of those levels, but any Wisps community that might have farmed them were long gone, while a multitude of stairways and slopes ran between each. Fortunately, the great tunnel leading away from that shaft was still blocked with rubble.
On the main inner street, Bade couldn’t help but look down into the great silent expanse beyond. It wasn’t enormous by Duegar standards, less than half a mile deep, but at its base was Banesh’s Stair. If he could see in pitch black he’d be able to look right down into it – a square opening similar to the one at ground level only twice as wide. If he fired a light-bolt, however, it was unlikely to reveal much he wanted to see.
‘How bad is it down there?’
Bade gave a bitter laugh. ‘We’ve bombed every stair we can, brought down any ceiling that could be used as an obstacle. At best we’ve trimmed their options a little. But to stop ’em? I don’t know if anything would work. I’ve only got one idea left and you’re not going to like it.’ As he spoke, he nodded to the quartet of dragoons and they set the ammunition crate down.
‘What is that?’
‘Like I said, we’ve bombed the stairs that ain’t likely to cause a collapse but there’s too many paths they can use. This won’t fix everything, but mebbe it’ll close the biggest way in.’
‘Close it how?’ Utrik demanded before his eyes widened. ‘Are you mad?’
‘It’s been suggested,’ Bade agreed. ‘Most recently by Exalted Olebeis.’
‘And yet you present me, here in this place, with a bomb?’
He gave Utrik a level look. ‘I didn’t say she disagreed with me.’
‘This is true, Olebeis?’
She nodded. ‘The vault of Banesh is lost to us, the others in desperate states of repair. There are creatures stalking these halls that have no name, that I see no description of in any record we possess.’
‘And some beasties I’ve only heard whispered about in all my years relic hunting. Those things will break into a vault sooner or later. Crack it wide open and feed off the magic inside. Then our problems down here only get worse.’
‘You are serious about this?’
‘Deadly.’
The Lord-Exalted was quiet a long while.
They continued in silence, following the road around to where a zig-zag stair led to the lower floor. There another patrol stood watch, their light painfully small against the huge scale of the Duegar engineering. The shaft was dimly lit by hanging fronds that emitted a faint blue glow, its trails describing much of the shaft’s depth.
‘How much further is safe?’ the Lord-Exalted asked after a while of staring down into the void.
‘Safe? It ain’t safe.’ Bade shook his head. ‘Where we’re standing ain’t safe.’
‘Do you patrol the lower levels?’
‘There’s some down there now.’ Bade went to the edge then paused. As stupid as it was, he couldn’t whistle loudly any more. The burns to his cheek had tightened the skin on one side in such a way it didn’t work right.
‘Someone whistle ’em up,’ he growled.
Olebeis stepped forward and put two fingers to her mouth. A piercing whistle cut through the inky stillness. It wasn’t long before a distant reply came back up that great shaft, but twenty minutes passed before the picket on the stairs announced the patrol was clear. Bade spent the whole time with a grenade in his hands, aware the whistle might well attract a variety of predators. The maspid packs had learned to be cautious. Once Bade had ordered grenadiers to accompany every patrol, at least.
A breath of wind, imagined or not, rose up from below. Bade heard the faintest of whispers accompany it. He smiled at the darkness and turned to Utrik.
‘Time to decide, my Lord.’
The man remained perfectly still. One hand rested on the lip of the low wall that separated him and emptiness.
‘You are quite serious about this?’ he asked, not looking at Bade. ‘We do not know the damage it could do. We do not even know what is down there.’
‘Banesh’s Stair is down there,’ Bade said. ‘If you want to see what else is …’
He replaced the grenade in his pocket and pulled out another, this one painted white. Without a pause Bade tossed the thing over the edge and it vanished. Utrik stared at him, astonished, then they all bent to look over at the invisible ground below.
There was a long pause, that strange hush that always accompanied a grenade falling. Then a muted crack sounded, far below. A sudden flare of light spread across much of the ground. Bade glimpsed movement as tiny figures scurried to escape the brightness – sensed as much as saw the flow. As he watched, something else happened. The light seemed to hit a wall of darkness and break upon it – huge limbs outlined in shadow then traced by a burst of flickering light that ran out from a thick body and four enormous legs.
‘Deepest fucking black,’ Bade breathed. ‘A golantha.’
‘A what?’
He shook his head and rounded on the sergeant with the bombardment sphere. ‘Get it out – now!’
The man rushed to obey, levering open the crate with another dragoon while Lord-Exalted Utrik spluttered in the background.
‘I’ve given no such order!’
‘An’ I don’t give two shits,’ Bade snapped back. He jerked around to look at Utrik and distantly noted the fear that appeared on Utrik’s face. In that place, amid the living darkness of a Duegar ruin, he felt its power rise up through him. The even light from his lamp trembled.
‘Get it out!’
The dragoons revealed a large grey sphere the size of a man’s head. Coated in iron, it had a rope net around it and they clipped a further piece to each side so they could easily lift it together. Soon they had it hanging between them. Bade directed the pair to a stretch of the wall that had been broken, to afford them an easier swing.
He looked out over the edge, to double check, and fired a light-bolt from his pistol almost directly downwards. Even with a huge swing, they wouldn’t get the sphere far from the edge so he wanted to make sure there was nothing protruding lower down. The flare of light streaked downwards but burst over nothing before it was swallowed by the deepest black.
Reassured, Bade stepped back. ‘Release it on three,’ he ordered.
The dragoon sergeant nodded but took the other rope from his fellow. ‘Best if it’s just me,’ he said, not meeting the Lord-Exalted’s eye as he spoke.
He was a massive man so Bade didn’t argue, just stepped back to give him room. The dragoon hefted the sphere, swung it gently forward and back twice to get a feel for it, then heaved the thing off into the darkness beyond.
Bade couldn’t help but watch as it went, though the rest of the soldiers retreated. ‘Here’s hoping that was a good idea!’ he called back over his shoulder – suddenly light-headed at what was to come. ‘Still, when in doubt blow the fuckers up, eh?’
No one replied. There was a moment of absolute quiet before it was broken by a roar. Not an explosion but a bestial sound of unimaginable power as though the golantha below sensed what was coming. Then that too was broken. Bade hardly saw the impact. It was an earth-bomb after all, which produced little light, but even at this distance he felt the explosion like a punch. The darkness below shuddered, bursting outwards under the pressure of the bomb. The boom hammered Bade back and his feet went from under him.
The ground heaved like an earthquake. It shook and threw him up, falling back down to the trembling rock. Distantly he heard the crack of stone and further crashes, ancient halls falling and bridges crumbling to dust. The reverberations went on a long while and Bade lay there through it all, feeling the wounded cries of the dark rumble up into his bones.
And something else too. A stirring at the back of his mind that prompted shrieks from a passageway away to his left. One of the gods-touched also felt it.
‘Power enough to rouse the gods themselves,’ Bade whispered to the darkness. Then he began to laugh.
Chapter 22
‘To the Cards!’
Lynx froze. Through the haze of wine, something about Darm’s toast sounded wrong. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it until Kas shouted her own.
‘To the Scarves!’
Others took up her call – words garbled by drink, enthusiasm or design, Lynx wasn’t entirely sure. Night had fallen thick and fast. Heavy clouds blanketed the sky to hide any trace of the skyriver above. In the strange little village square at the heart of the fort, the mercenaries had built themselves a bonfire against the evening chill. With lamps hung from every building around the square and a makeshift bar manned by Reft, it was almost merry there. Almost.
‘What did he say?’ demanded a gruff voice behind Lynx. He turned and caught sight of a red collar on the stranger’s uniform. One of the handful of Torquen in this Charneler army. Not an officer but worse, a sergeant.
‘It’s called a bread!’ replied someone before dissolving into laughter. ‘No, wait – toast, thassit!’
‘Who’d he toast?’ The Torquen had been drinking too, so he was more confused than suspicious of anything. Yet.
‘Us, ya dumbshit!’ Anatin roared. ‘Who else could’ve delivered you the greatest haul o’ God Fragments the continent’s ever seen without a shot fired?’
‘No shots fired?’ Kas interrupted. ‘Did I fucking dream that bit?’
Anatin waved his hand dismissively. ‘Iss wassaname, poetic licence.’
‘Bullshit more like!’
‘I’ll give you bullshit, Kas. Don’t think I won’t kick you inna fork just cos you’re a woman.’
Kas gave a roar. ‘That ain’t the reason you don’t dare, old man!’
The Torquen stood up and pointed at Darm. ‘That one didn’t say Scarves?’
‘Course he did!’ Aben grabbed the man and hauled him back down again. ‘That’s us that is.’
Toil’s lieutenant had been keeping a close eye on the man since he’d joined them drinking. He wasn’t the only one: there were pockets of Charnelers who’d been drawn to the celebration. Greater licence was given to grenadiers and scouts, Lynx had noticed, but this dragoon seemed to be free to indulge too.
The regular troops had steered clear, but Payl and Suth had made friends with some of the irregulars. Led by one Sergeant Cadil they had been more than willing to take advantage of the fort’s supplies and a few Torquen loitered at the fringes like jackals.
‘Didn’t sound like Scarves,’ the sergeant insisted. He was a tall man, rangy with an aristocratic nose and pale blond hair. ‘More like Cards.’
‘Carts?’ Aben exclaimed. ‘What sort o’ bloody name is that?’
‘Not carts,’ the man replied, but before he could go on Anatin was talking over him.
‘Don’t be stupid – carts?’ the commander cackled. ‘Sounded like he said arse to me!’
‘Yeah,’ Kas said. ‘Darm don’t give two shits about carts, but show the dirty sod a nice round arse an’ his face lights up all happy.’
‘It was cards,’ the sergeant muttered, his resolve wavering.
Anatin lurched forward, one remaining hand stuffed into his jacket. ‘Cards you say?’ he said with a wicked smile on his face. With a flourish he produced a mercenary deck. ‘Is it that time o’ the evening already, lads?’
A ragged cheer went round the assembled mercenaries. Anatin held up the deck triumphantly, as though the leather case contained some ancient symbol of kingship. ‘Get ready ta lose ya shirt, Sergeant.’
‘I don’t play,’ the man insisted stiffly.
‘No?’ The suggestion seemed to flummox Anatin for a few moments but then he rallied. ‘Fuck off then. Come on, lads, set a table down here. As fer you, Sergeant, if ya won’t lose yer shirt, I’d tip a wink at Braqe there. See if you can’t lose ya trousers instead. Aye, Braqe, I saw ya givin’ him the eye!’
The Jester of Tempest looked up, eyes wide and bright in the gloom. She caught Anatin’s look then allowed a soft smile to cross her face. The sight almost made Lynx fall over in surprise. As the sergeant turned to her, Lynx realised her eyes were unnaturally wide. Her drug of choice was Wisp dust, she’d be seeing ribbons of colour streaming from every lamp and fire right now.
Unprompted, Aben rose and crossed around behind Braqe, heading for the dark narrow streets around the workshops. Those were mostly deserted now. The remaining garrison and mages were confined to the sanctuary compound while the civilian workers and servants were in their living quarters. The majority of the Charneler army had camped outside the walls, while a few hundred kept watch from the guard towers. That left the centre ground largely deserted and dark. The Torquen sergeant took Braqe’s proffered hand and allowed himself to be led away to cheers from the remaining company.
A table and stools were soon found. Anatin settled at the centre like a king taking his throne and the company contracted around him. In the press, Lynx caught Toil’s arm and she swung around to face him with a dancer’s grace.
‘Enjoying our last night of civilisation, puss?’ she asked.
‘I was,’ Lynx said, nodding towards the warehouses where the Torquen sergeant and Braqe had gone, preceded by Aben.
‘That?’ she laughed and pulled Lynx in close for a kiss. ‘Just clearing up after Darm’s mistake. We can’t afford to let that go now and, anyways, Torquen are more vermin than people. Your morals can’t ache too much over them.’
‘They don’t,’ Lynx said, kissing her hard. He could taste the wine on her breath and smell the faint whiff of night jasmine, her antidote to the stink of travelling. Toil pulled Lynx’s large frame tight against her. Despite everything, Lynx felt his cock stiffen. The wine and press of her muscular body proved more than enough to eclipse all other thoughts. There’d been little chance for a private moment between them even since her shoulder had mostly healed.
‘What, then?’
‘There’s a whole damn army of them, it could go wrong and blow everything up.’
‘No choice,’ she replied. ‘Better not to leave him wondering where he’s heard the words “mercenaries” and “Cards” before. Besides, Aben knows what he’s about. The man may look all cuddly and easy-going, but that bear’s got claws and doesn’t hesitate to use ’em. With Braqe on hand, it’ll be done quick and quiet.’
Lynx’s hands slipped around her waist without any need for his brain to issue orders. One hand held his cup still, the other settled around Toil’s buttock and tightened.
‘Easy, puss, you’ll be keeping it in your britches tonight,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘Or if you don’t, I’ll want to know why.’
Her fingers dug a little into the nape of his neck as Toil kissed him again, pressing herself right into his crotch for a moment then biting him on the lip. ‘Come on, we need to get good and drunk tonight.’
Lynx gave a small moan as she broke away from him. ‘And that’ll help matters?’ he asked, glancing down. Toil wore her usual leathers, but they were made by the finest tailors of Su Dregir and far more flattering than those worn by the others.
‘We’ll just have to push through until we forget about it. Either that or we start a game of punch-drunk.’
‘I don’t know that one.’
‘Me neither, but a few dozen drinks in this lot and I’m sure the rules will sort themselves out.’
‘Tomorrow’s going to hurt,’ Lynx commented, draining
his cup in the next moment. ‘But never let it be said we didn’t keep scrupulously to the plan.’
That provoked a bark of laughter from Toil as she followed suit. Lynx had agreed with the Sons colonel, Kalozhin, that the Red Scarves would be at the rear of the Knights-Charnel column when they encountered them. The easiest way to establish a marching order was to be useless and hungover come morning. The Charnelers wouldn’t care if their allies barely kept up. They had their prize and weren’t waiting around.
At the table, after a certain amount of shoving and arguing, the players took their seats. Before a card was dealt, however, Anatin ordered the cups filled. Several jugs were passed around as the volume abated a little. Lynx and Toil moved close as Anatin’s expression turned grave.
‘Red Scarves,’ he said, raising his cup. ‘To the friends we’ve left behind.’
Lynx nodded and raised his own. Memories of the dead loomed large in his mind, but at his side he was aware of Toil looking round at the faces assembled. She gave what sounded like a grunt of approval just as he nudged her.
‘Always thinking?’ Lynx muttered in her ear as Anatin replaced his cup with a fat deck of cards.
‘Always.’
‘What this time?’
‘About the company. They’re a tight group, the losses have hurt them.’
‘And?’
She shrugged. ‘And it’s not broken them. I don’t know what we’re going to find in the holy mountain, but it’s not going to be fun.’
‘But you think they’re up to it?’
‘Don’t you?’
Lynx scowled. ‘Mebbe. Who knows what we’ll find there?’
‘Only one way to find out.’
‘You could say that about a lot of probably fatal things.’
‘True.’
Lynx awoke to a boot in the knee. He groaned and rolled over as someone spoke to him, the words garbled and distant. By the time he’d found his mage-pistol the attacker had moved on. He could hear thumps and curses as the rest of the company were welcomed to the morning, or whatever it was behind the blare of a hangover.
He fought his way upright and squinted at his surroundings. His limbs were stiff and aching, toes like icicles in his boots. A veil of white overlaid everything, as though the few buildings nearby were surrounded by ghosts.