City of Wonders

by James A. Moore

  The second sword stroke succeeded where the first failed and Tinner died quickly.

  The face of Truska-Pren looked up from the death of a good man and an adequate warrior and scowled at the masses of the Fellein who watched on, their faces pale, their bodies sagging in defeat.

  Tarag Paedori was disappointed. He had hoped more might come forward to fight for their people.

  “Kill them! All of them!”

  To emphasize his point the King in Iron drove the tip of his sword through the closest guard’s face and pushed onward.

  Fifty thousand of his followers moved at his command, ready to seize the city.

  * * *

  Nachia Krous stepped back and shook her head.

  “The Western Gate is open.” Her voice was broken and her spirit wasn’t far behind. The gates should have held for days and as soon as the Sa’ba Taalor attacked they were opened and the enemy came through.

  “What?” Merros and Desh both moved to the window and saw that she was right. The movement of the Sa’ba Taalor from this range made them tiny, but they swarmed quickly through the opening in the gate and spilled across the cleared area around the first defense, attacking anything foolish enough to stand in their way.

  Desh stared hard, his face tight with tension and she could see him calculating the odds that he could do something about the problem.

  “No, Desh. Not yet.”

  “If I don’t do something now it will be too late.”

  She remembered the blistering arcs of light and the thunder that shattered the peace for as far as she could see. She could look even now and see the vast wasteland where he had done as she asked and leveled a portion of their enemies’ forces.

  “And if you miss? How much of Canhoon could you destroy?”

  He withered. From the lines on his face to the posture he offered, he looked closer to his actual age than she had ever seen before.

  Merros looked down toward the wave of enemies filling the area. “We’ve got to seal the Mid Gate. Now.”

  “There are still people–”

  Merros shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Save some or lose all.”

  Nachia moved closer, shaking her head, prepared to argue though she knew he was in the right.

  “There has to be something!” How many people? How many hundreds and thousands would die if they acted now? How many would survive if they waited? Trecharch had already taught a lesson, to be sure.

  * * *

  The cell where Cullen waited was comfortable. It had been dressed with fine silks, there were pillows aplenty and a thick, luxurious fur to keep her warm. But it was still a cell.

  She stared at the bars. They were not well decorated.

  There was a crisis. She knew without being told what it was. The grayskins had made it to Canhoon and surely were attacking like the animals they were.

  Deltrea sat next to her, shaking her head. “Hardly seems the way he should greet you.”

  “I’m nothing to him. It’s the thing in me he wants.”

  “What is it, anyway?” Her friend leaned down and placed a spectral hand on her stomach. There was no pressure to feel. “What does it do?”

  “Mostly it burns in me. I know it does something, but maybe it’s not time to know yet.”

  “They’re coming. If they find you here, with that thing inside you, they’ll cut you open to get to it.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I can’t see them just ignoring it.” Deltrea shrugged. “Least they don’t seem interested in having their way with anyone. They just flat out killed me. Not a one of them tried to put any man parts inside my body.”

  “Well, you were dead.”

  “Be wiser than that. Wouldn’t have stopped a few I knew.”

  Cullen’s look of disgust changed into a mask of agony, as the thing inside her uncoiled and its power flared.

  “Ahhhh!”

  “Come now, I’ve said worse before about Tremm.”

  “Ah. No. Not.”

  She stopped speaking and fell to her side, the pain too big to contain. Whatever was in her was moving, and though she didn’t think it wanted out just yet, she expected it would not be long. Sure as the dead screamed, it was changing its position inside of her and getting ready for something.

  * * *

  There were no corpses to use as a foothill on Tuskandru’s side.

  There were, however, trees. The trees were good enough to fall when they were hit with enough axes.

  After that it was just a matter of strength to see them put in the right position and the followers of Durhallem were strong, let no one say otherwise. Because they needed to earn the right to fight for their god he had the children move the trees into place.

  After the first volley of arrows killed those foolish enough to get too close they listened to his words and raised the trees by hastily cut tips that held the earth and by use of ropes that pulled the vast trunks higher. When the trees fell the second time – the first when they were cut down, the second when they were aimed at the wall – their weight was enough to break the wall’s edge. It was a matter of moments for the mounts to climb their new entry points. It was only minutes later that Stastha and Loarhun tore the last of the guards down to the ground and then her mount pulled the gears and chains of the door until they finally opened.

  Durhallem surely smiled down as Tusk rode through the opened gates and gestured for the children who had earned the right to make their first kills. Some of them were surely his seed and others were not, but they were all children of Durhallem and they were killers. He smiled as grown men fled from his young followers or tried to fight back and died.

  A gesture to Stastha had the horn sounding and the armies of Durhallem followed again, driving back the foolish and the brave alike.

  Mendt, all of nine and still pink in the skin, drove her spear though a pregnant woman’s belly and then turned and rammed the same point through the neck of a man screaming his grief even as he tried to kill her.

  She did not waste her time smiling. There were more people to kill.

  Tusk adjusted his helmet and pulled sword and axe alike. He allowed them the first kills. He would not allow them the last.

  Durhallem was generous and Tusk could be no less.

  * * *

  In a chamber far beneath the main palace, a place known to fewer than five living souls, Goriah’s body writhed; her hands clutched at the shroud that had covered her and pulled it away.

  Tataya looked on, her face nearly expressionless, but her heart hammering wildly in her chest. What they did here was forbidden for a reason.

  Pella stood on the other side of the marble table where Goriah’s form shuddered and moaned.

  At the head of that table Darsken Murdro slipped his fingers into the fine blonde hair of the dead Sister’s head and looked down at her, his face surprisingly calm when one considered the powers he wielded.

  Goriah’s eyes opened. There should have been a caul of pale, milky white over her eyes and it was there for a moment, but as they watched on her Sisters saw that film fade away, saw her eyes stare first at the ceiling above and then roll into the back of her head as she screamed.

  Both Tataya and Pella flinched.

  Darsken looked to Tataya and shook his head. “Now is not the time for you to feel fear. Now is the time for you to ask your questions.”

  Tataya thought carefully before she spoke.

  * * *

  Too far away for anyone in Canhoon to notice, Lored, Chosen of the Forge of Ordna and King in Bronze, roared his approval as the siege engines finally shattered the massive wall around the center of Elda.

  His people roared too, and then smiled.

  Elda would have fallen either way, but he wanted them to understand the power of Ordna’s ways. They believed as he did, yes, but to see their beliefs made real, that was what all of the faithful desired.

  The people of Elda spent three days doing their very best to defend
against Lored and his people. The walls were heavy and the soldiers well trained, but they also preened and strutted and talked to each other until he tired of waiting and started the siege before they had been ready.

  War was never meant to be discussed to the point of futility. War was meant to be handled quickly and with much bloodshed. Lored showed them the error of their ways.

  After the walls fell, he and his people moved into the city quickly.

  What the King in Iron lamented was not found by Lored. The people of Elda were trained in war, and they fought well, even if they lacked discipline and cohesive leadership.

  Lored wanted to strike himself, but the patience of his followers must first be rewarded. They were allowed to fight and to kill as they saw fit.

  For two days Elda burned and streets stank of blood and death.

  On the third day, Lored and his people left the city, riding north and west, heading to join the rest of the Sa’ba Taalor, but only after they had killed as many Fellein as they could stomach with their endless appetites.

  On the fourth day Lored woke early and stretched and praised Ordna for his many spectacular gifts.

  “As you have asked, Great Ordna, I have done. All that I have and all that I am is yours.”

  He raised the bronze spear he had crafted for his god and hurled it into the air, aiming for Elda.

  His god took it from there. The spear rose higher than should have been possible and arced toward the very center of the city. When it reached its destination the tip of the spear drove down into the ground and immediately shattered.

  Seconds later, the ground exploded. From a full day’s ride away, Lored felt the ground shake and his blood boil. The Daxar Taalor offered miracles every day to the faithful but few of them were so very direct.

  Ordna’s people roared their approval and called to their god as the mountain rose in the distance. Fire clawed at the sky. Lightning ripped down the heavens in celebration of the god’s rebirth.

  Ordna rejoiced and his people rejoiced with him.

  * * *

  Somewhere in Canhoon, Glo’Hosht walked unseen. Many were the people chosen by the gods to die. Glo’Hosht and his chosen worked to kill a select few. Some tides are stopped by mountains. Others are freed by the removal of a single obstacle. The Great Tide was upon Canhoon.

  The time to open the gates was here.

  At the Southern Gate Swech and Jost carefully aimed and struck again and again, the fine, poisoned darts working to kill before those they stabbed could even feel the sting of death.

  The gate opened quietly to the waiting forces.

  The army that spilled through the gate was not quiet. They did not need to be. The reason for silence had already been killed by the time they could enter.

  They came prepared for war and found dead guards waiting for them. Not the sort to let a delay in the celebrations slow them down, the Sa’ba Taalor rode into Canhoon anyway and sought new enemies to kill.

  * * *

  The forces at the Eastern Gate were not yet inside when Canhoon struck back.

  There are those who have never quite understood why Canhoon is called the City of Wonders.

  There are tales, to be sure, but stories for a dozen lifetimes back or more seldom hold much sway with the living. They are fables and notions and tales to scare children into behaving and seldom much more.

  Canhoon had rested well, it was time to awaken.

  The Silent Army stood facing the outer wall of the city and watched, expressionless, as the Sa’ba Taalor broke through and threatened all that they had died to protect.

  As one, the vast army of statues shifted, placing their sword tips against the wall beneath them. It was a small thing, but this time people noticed.

  If they were concerned about the odd action, they did not have time to respond. As soon as the blades touched down energies unseen spilled from the sentinels and lashed out across the land.

  Roughly one thousand yards in from the edge of the outer wall the ground shook across all of Canhoon.

  The Sa’ba Taalor were in motion, but they were not foolish. Training sometimes pays off where common sense might not prevail. The warriors stopped their forward motion almost as one and looked carefully at their surroundings.

  At the Northern Gate Tusk shook his head, spat and for the first time in his life demanded that his followers retreat. He was not amused, but he was also not foolish enough to argue when Durhallem told him what must be done.

  At the Western Gate Tarag Paedori did the same, immediately wheeling around and reversing the charge.

  At the Eastern Gate the attacking forces stopped their advance and left the unbroken gate in peace.

  At the Southern Gate those who had already gained entrance continued on and those who had not retreated.

  The timing was important. Those who failed to listen died quickly.

  The ground shook a second time and then the whole of the city shook.

  The permanent structures in the city were almost unaffected. They had been built to withstand amazing trauma, and the sorcerers who had rebuilt the city had been in their prime and eager to prove themselves.

  The walls of the palace did not shift, though a great deal of furniture moved and shuddered and danced. Merros Dulver managed to pull Nachia from the window where she was still staring before an errant marble bench could crush her against it.

  Throughout the area called Old Canhoon and a distance beyond it as well, the buildings stood and the possessions within them shuddered and the people screamed as if the world were ending.

  Maybe they were right.

  The ground shook again and the city groaned. The bridges over the river that ran between the First Wall and the Mid Wall bucked and roared and screamed as they were torn asunder. The stones had rested there for centuries and been tended as necessary, but they could not withstand the force of the ground itself rising.

  All of the ground. There was a line, surprisingly even, that ran around the entire circumference of Old Canhoon, and along that line everything toward the center lifted at once. The ground shivered and moaned but did not collapse. The great stone roads were not destroyed. The very buildings that had once rebuilt themselves from the ruins of first a great earthquake and then an invading army did not falter or fall.

  The Sa’ba Taalor who had retreated, even Tusk, all nodded with understanding even as they backed away in dread. This was not the work of their gods. This was something different and unknown.

  They had been saved from the madness by their gods and they rejoiced in their hearts, but to see the city begin to rise was unsettling just the same.

  Old Canhoon groaned as it continued to rise, the whole of the city and a deep wedge of stone and dirt and the heart of the earth came with it, lifting higher and higher into the air as every last soul who could prayed to gods or contemplated the end of their lives.

  In the highest tower of the palace a spot from which numerous rulers had looked down over generations on all that they had sworn to protect, the Empress and her closest advisors stood and held tightly to the edges of the walls as they looked out and watched the city rise.

  There was a very strong possibility that Merros Dulver screamed. It was equally likely that Nachia Krous made sounds that did not normally come from the most powerful ruler in the known world.

  Desh Krohan did not scream. Desh Krohan first gasped and then started laughing with joy. He clapped his hands and jumped up and down with the enthusiasm of a very happy toddler, he bellowed his excitement. “By all the gods I never thought I’d see the like again!”

  Merros managed to swallow his fear and looked at the madman laughing as the world floated away below them.

  “See what? This? What in all the world is happening?”

  “This!” he gestured madly. “I forgot that Old Canhoon can do this!”

  “What is it doing?” Nachia jabbed a finger in his direction. “What did you do to my city?”

  “I didn’
t do this, my dear! Old Canhoon did this! This is why she is called the City of Wonders! She’s escaping!”

  Nachia tried hard to look through all of the windows at once and failed and finally focused on her First Advisor again. “Well? Where is it going?”

  Desh stopped laughing and looked at her, his face suddenly worried all over again.

  “Do you know, I have absolutely no idea. I just know that it is going and we have a chance to regroup and prepare all over again.”

  “What’s different this time, Desh Krohan?” Merros looked at him and shook his head. “What could possibly make a difference? No matter where we go, I can promise you the Sa’ba Taalor will follow.”

  Desh smiled again. “This time we have them.”

  The wizard pointed to the window. They had continued to rise and currently a substantial flock of birds was moving around the palace wall, exploring their new, unexpected neighbor in the sky.

  “Who? The birds? What will they do, shit on their armor?” Merros was close to hysteria. He had never much liked sorcery and even using it a little made him uncomfortable. Moving cities was well beyond his usual horizon for calm.

  “No, Merros!” Desh walked over and gripped the general’s shoulder. He spun him toward the window and pointed toward the Mid Wall. “Them! The Silent Army! They’re here to protect us. It’s the only possible reason for the city moving, because I promise you, I had nothing to do with it this time around. Not the city and not the army.”

  Merros and Desh and Nachia were all looking out the window when the next miracle occurred.

  As one the Silent Army raised their swords and dissolved into the wall they stood on. Only seconds later they walked out of the wall as if passing through a curtain and stood around the wall, now facing outward, toward the edge of a city that continued to rise higher into the air.

  Merros frowned for several seconds and then did something he had never truly done before in his life.

  He thanked the gods.