by C. M. Hayden
Vexis shook her head and took one cautious step forward. “No, it’s not a dream.”
“He…he said you wouldn’t come back. That you left me,” Kadia whimpered. She was far more articulate than when Taro had met her nearly a year ago, and he noticed that around her wrists were magistry cuffs identical to the ones Vexis was wearing. How Halric had gotten hold of them was anyone’s guess; but it did explain how the Helians managed to keep her locked up, considering what she was capable of.
Vexis pulled her close and squeezed her. Tears trickled down her face, and it was the first time Taro had ever seen her show genuine tenderness. She brushed what was left of Kadia’s hair away from her eyes. “I’m not going to leave you again. I promise.”
Tears trickled down Kadia’s cheeks. “Father’s going to be so mad at me.”
“No,” Vexis said, rubbing them away. “You made him proud. Don’t worry, we’re going to get you out of here.” She moved to help Kadia down from the elevated grate, but Thaedos stopped her.
“What makes you think I’m going to let either of you go?” Thaedos said, hanging his lantern on the edge of the culvert base.
Vexis flashed a sinister smile. “Because if you don’t, I’ll flay you alive.” The way she said this made it sound like a joke at first; but Taro could hear the truth of it in her voice.
Thaedos wagged his finger. “Threats don’t work down here.” He made an expansive gesture. “We’re in my world now and a long way away from any guards or Inquisitors. Now, I’m not opposed to letting you go, but I want certain assurances.”
While Vexis’ expression didn’t change, beneath the surface was a churning rage that Taro had experienced before. The hair on his arms stood on end, and there was a charge in the air that shook through his body. Hardly noticeable to the naked eye, a thin line of black energy crackled on Vexis’ fingertips. The runes on her magistry cuffs glowed bright. The metal became hot and sizzled against her bare skin like a frying pan. Vexis had somehow managed to channel so much templar into them that the cuffs couldn’t diffuse the energy quickly enough.
She didn’t flinch at the pain.
Taro took a full step back. As far as he knew, the enchantments on the cuffs were unbreakable; but the anger that rose from Vexis felt like it could’ve swallowed the world.
Her words came out thick. “You leave my sister in piss and shit and have the nerve to ask for assurances? I’ll give you some. You will move aside or when I come back for her—and I will come back—the gods will weep when they learn what I’ve done to you and your family.” She spoke these last three words slowly and deliberately.
Thaedos seemed to realize that he’d horribly misjudged the situation, and he held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Please,” he said. “I just want to know the Shahl won’t find out. I have an operation down here that I need to keep under wraps.”
“I couldn’t care less about your little gambling club,” Vexis said.
The smell of burning flesh subsided, and the magistry cuffs stopped glowing. Thaedos seemed to accept this answer, though he didn’t have much choice.
They marched back with Kadia in tow, Taro helping her up with one arm and Vexis helping her up with the other. Sikes was waiting for them in the card room, alone, sipping at a gin concoction he’d fixed up at the bar.
“We need to get her back to the aculam,” Vexis said, wiping the sweat and grime from Kadia’s forehead with a cloth from the bar. There’s no safer place for her than at my father’s side. He may be a king-high bastard, but he’s protective of his children. Especially her.”
“When she’s safe and sound, will you help me find Nima?” Taro said hopefully.
Vexis nodded. “I will. Just help me get her to the aculam.”
Taro, Vexis, Kadia, and Sikes moved to leave, but Thaedos stopped Sikes just short. “You, my boy, have a few things to answer for.” He gestured toward the chips on the table.
“You can’t keep me here,” Sikes said, his fists tightening.
“Quite right,” Thaedos said with a nod. “But, it wouldn’t be too hard to charge you with heresy. The Inquisitors would love to meet you.” He held up one hand before Sikes could respond. “I’m not threatening you. Well, maybe a little. But I hope you’d view this as a business venture.”
Sikes raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
Thaedos pointed out the door where the fighting pits were raging. Shouting and cursing filled the underground. “There’s money to be made, boy. And an open templar is a rare thing in these parts. In any parts, actually. You could wipe the floor with these sods.”
Sikes shook his head. “If I was found out—”
“There are always risks. A card shark such as yourself should realize that. Still, the rewards are great. You can square your debt with me in just one or two fights and, from there, get fifty percent of profits. I could make you a rich man.”
Taro tried to head the conversation off before it could sink too deeply into Sikes’ mind. He grabbed him by the arm. “You can’t seriously be considering this,” he said.
Sikes stood for a long moment, staring at the floor. Finally, he looked up and gave a wry smile. “You go on ahead.”
Taro rubbed his forehead, the beginnings of a headache starting to take hold. “This isn’t the way.”
“This isn’t your way,” Sikes countered. “Opportunities don’t crop up for me every day. I told you I have nowhere else to go.”
“You don’t get it,” Taro said, “it never ends. If you live like a thief—and it is thievery to do what he’s suggesting—it’ll always catch up to you.”
Sikes seemed affected, but not swayed. “I am who I am,” he said, almost under his breath. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I was always a much better thief than you.” He winked. “And teamed up with a rich guy? I’ll be unstoppable.”
Taro winced. “Sikes, I—”
“Please,” Sikes interrupted. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Go find your sister.”
It was hard for Taro to leave Sikes there; but he was nothing if not stubborn, and changing his mind after it was made was like trying to move a mountain.
Maybe this was for the best. Taro hugged him and wished him well. “Good luck,” Taro said. “Try not to get yourself killed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Dragon’s Cage
UNTIL NOW, THE LARGEST aculam Taro had ever seen had been in Endra Edûn. It was commissioned by Sun King Ranos and was tucked away downtown, just across from a fish market. Only two-stories tall, it wasn’t a place one attended very often. Quite the opposite; if you were Endran, you only went if someone close to you died.
This is not to say the Church wasn’t strong. Certainly it was, and it boasted thousands of clerics, but the Faith of the Mast was not an evangelistic religion. On Arkos, and especially in Endra, the presence and power of the Old Gods was not in question. Their works and artifices were seen every day and on every corner of the city; therefore, Church outreach was not necessary.
Rather, the Church focused on the archiving and preservation of historical religious documents. They worked closely with the Magisterium in this regard, though the two differed somewhat on how old artifacts and knowledge should be treated. The Church saw them as holy relics to be treasured and revered, while the magisters simply saw them as another tool to be dissected and examined. An engine was an engine, even if it was made by the hands of an Old God.
In Helia, this relationship was flipped on its head. The massive aculam that stood before Taro was a testament of that.
The Grand Aculam rivaled any palace within a thousand miles. It was so tall it cast a shadow from one end of the city to the other; and so wide it had several archways built between the columns to allow two roads to travel through tunnels beneath it. The façade was shades of purple and yellow, with gas-fueled torches in forty alcoves in the hands of forty maiden statues reaching out from the balconies above.
As Taro, Vexis, and Kadia passed the corner
stone, he caught a glimpse of the gold-leafed engraving thereupon. It was in ancient Deific, and some words were unfamiliar, but it seemed to say:
COMMISSIONED 2209 N.E.
SARINESH, BLOOD OF SACROLESH THE DIVINE
LORD OF AEDRIS ENOR, PROTECTOR OF THE REALM, SERVANT OF THE OLD HIGH GODS, EMPEROR OF HELIA AND THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES
“Vuone ulotuvilta malmojen välillä, sijaitse vain
kuolema je vihe. Irtautua je tunse rauha.”
The last of it was incomprehensible to Taro, but it sounded very much like Draconic. Though he couldn’t for the life of him understand why that would be the case.
The main double-doors seemed to be only for show and were permanently propped open with metal braces. The inside was extravagant in a way Taro had never seen. He’d thought he’d seen excess in the Sun King’s palace, but it was a pale shadow by comparison. The floor was like a sea of red glass, with purple and gold carpet leading from the entrance to six altars in a semi-circle, one for each of the primary Old Gods. Ten thousand prayer candles were set at these altars, like a thousand tiny stars set against the black grain. Melted wax poured over the fine obsidian statues and clear granite daises, caking the fixtures.
Incense burned nearby, smelling of chicory and nutmeg. Four clerics in their long, dark-purple robes walked between the crowds. Hanging from their necks, over their robes, were sigils of the Church. The Silver Compass of Sarona, Irenim’s Iron Astrolabe, and the Cartographer’s Signet. They represented the pillars of the Faith: Morality, Obedience, and Understanding (the order of these was a matter of great debate amongst the various sects).
Kadia shook beneath the cloak Vexis had given her. “Take down the sun,” she said anxiously. “At the hour of his final death, he ushers in the dark light. The void of nether and shadow and eyes and unending-ness. En dor calun, vaelon atua Ith-harus echae. Isaroth en Sith-Narosa valyre. Nir Vor’aj.”
Vexis shushed her gently and patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t be nervous. It’ll be okay.” She glanced back at Taro. “We’re going ahead, alone.”
She didn’t give Taro any time to argue; she disappeared through a set of double doors near the altar of Irenim. Taro idled about, keeping his head down and moving with the flow of people through the basilica. Atop a mezzanine, a pious-looking cleric stood with an open book in one hand and his other hand outstretched to a group of the faithful. It seemed as though he’d been speaking for quite a while.
“—and Sacrolesh was bound in chains by the wicked Sun King Aldor and left to die on the River Lorne. But the Old High Gods were with him, even in his despair and defeat, and bore him safely across Aeton Bay. Nuruthil sent a great storm from Vor’aj to rock the waters, and all but Sacrolesh drowned. Still bound, the boat reached the mountains of the Fallen Empire. There, Sacrolesh wandered without food for sixty days and sixty nights. His body ached, his hunger burned and, when all hope seemed lost, his power was returned to him in the waters of the Sunken City.”
The cleric made an expansive gesture. “It was punishment, you see, for the Lord of All does not abide failure, even amongst his chosen. Sacrolesh broke free of his bonds in a flurry of shadow and fire, and he set out across the desert to this very spot, where—”
Before the cleric could finish, a tremendous noise shook through the aculam. It seemed to come from all directionsand caused the smaller doors to creak on their hinges as though rattled by some minor earthquake. A frightful roar, like that from some massive wolf, echoed through the marble halls; but something odd was mixed with the feral noise that Taro couldn’t quite place. It sounded almost familiar.
After a moment of listening, Taro was better able to discern its source and moved stealthily toward the eastern side of the basilica. He made it appear as though he was praying at a nearby altar, as he listened intently for the noise to come again. The fact that nobody else reacted to the noise unsettled him. When it finally did sound again, he realized that it wasn’t just a roar. It was speech, but in a foreign language and certainly not from any human.
Taro slipped inside a pair of copper-clad elm doors. They were so heavy, it took all his effort just to push one open the width of his body. Inside was a hallway that branched off in several directions. The source of the noise was easy to discern. A few dozen yards down the hall, it looked like a disaster area. The marble floor within the immediate area of a doorway was charred black and warped as if it had been exposed to a giant blowtorch. The doorframe was a mess of burned wood and peeling paint, and the wrought iron door that had once covered it was in a tangled puddle on the floor.
Cautiously, Taro approached the doorway, careful to keep his body from ending up the same way as the door, and peeked inside. It was a small room, burned from floor to ceiling. In the center, inside of an enormous form-fitting iron cage, was an enormous amber dragon. Around its snout were steel and aventium bracers that were screwed directly into his scales in a way that looked torturously painful. The scales around the bolts were cracked and torn.
When the dragon saw Taro, its yellow eyes zeroed in on him with a burning ferocity that Taro could feel even from the other side of the room. He didn’t doubt that if it could have, it would’ve incinerated him where he stood.
But the dragon’s eyes were familiar. As Taro approached the beast, he realized that he’d met this creature before. “Lord Arangathras?”
The dragon’s eyes softened slightly, and Taro took it as a sign to approach. “Please, be quiet and hold still. I’ll try to get this thing off you.” He retrieved his inscriber and, with some difficulty, etched a dividing rune on each of the pins in the iron mask. When he applied his templar, the metal snapped like plywood and fell away.
Blood dripped down Arangathras’ broken scales and mouth, and he breathed heavily. His eyes traced over Taro. “I know you.”
Taro nodded. “We met at the Magisterium.”
Arangathras nodded. “What are you doing here?” he said, exasperated. His eyelids closed halfway, as if he was tired and couldn’t quite stay focused.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. What the hell are they doing to you?”
Arangathras wobbled a bit in his cage. It seemed as though the hulking creature had been drugged. “Barbarians, I’ll burn them all…”
Taro smacked the dragon’s side with his hand to keep him awake. “If I get you out of these restraints, can you fly?”
Arangathras nodded wearily. “I believe so.”
Glancing at the door once again, Taro got to work breaking the cage apart with his dividing runes. It was exhausting work, and at any moment a guard could’ve come by and caught him in the act. When the last pin fell to the floor, Arangathras roared and hot air bellowed out of his nostrils. He stretched his wings as far as he could and extended his long neck with a crack. He eyed Taro warily. “If the Shahl discovers that you’ve freed me, he’ll do worse than kill you.” Arangathras seemed to be thinking more clearly, but he still had a dazed expression about him. “Grab hold, I will take you with me.”
Taro shook his head. “You go, I’ve got business to tend to here.”
Arangathras didn’t argue. “I’m in your debt, human.”
“Don’t mention it. But why did they do this to you?”
“Do they need a reason?” Arangathras sneered. “Vile creatures.”
“They must’ve had a reason. They’re risking war by attacking you.”
“They know war is already on its way,” Arangathras said gravely. “I don’t believe the Shahl much cares whether it comes sooner or later. There’s something about him…” Arangathras shook his head as if to clear it. “The guards will be here soon. They come every quarter hour. If you’re going to stay, you can’t let them see you with me. Go!”
Taro hurried as fast as his prosthetic would take him and slipped into the basilica, back to the opining cleric.
“—those who claim the Old God’s power for their own are guilty of the highest crime. They presume that such machinations are t
heirs to control. But the gods make it clear who their chosen are. They make their will known to us through their emissary. Those who violate this most sacred law must face the ultimate price. The Old Gods have spoken, their will is most clear. Those who use magic for their own gain must perish.”
Taro swallowed hard, and he was suddenly very aware of the still-hot inscriber in his front pocket.
While the prior roars didn’t elicit so much as a head-turn from the congregation, what happened next got through to them, sure enough. The hallway door exploded off its hinges in flurry of fire and heat. What was left of the immolated wood hurled outward and smacked into a row of pews. Two men caught on fire, and those around them tried to put out the flames by smothering them with their cloaks.
Arangathras’ burning eyes shined through the smoke and ash, like two great fog lights; and when his full winged form became visible, it sparked panic. People ran for their lives, pushing and shoving in a frantic attempt to get to the exits. Briefly, Arangathras gave the scattering people a rueful look; and for a moment, Taro was afraid he’d burn them all out of spite. Instead, the dragon pushed through the doorframe, sundering the support beams and cracking the marble tiles. He moved into the basilica, overturning statues and rows of wooden pews, until he was in the center of the circle of light cast by the stained-glass window directly above.
Guards poured in, weapons drawn, but Arangathras didn’t pay them any mind. He looked straight up at the many-colored windows of the rotunda, and his wings swooped open like a giant canvas. When they flapped, it sent a gust of wind through the chamber so strong that half the guards were knocked back and slid across the marble floor, smacking against the wall.
Higher and higher he flew until he broke through the window, sending shards of colored glass raining to the ground.
Taro shielded himself, but many were much too slow to get out of the way in time, and their bodies were severely cut. There didn’t appear to be any deaths, but a great many people required medical attention.