Inside, the building was surprisingly homey, decorated with woven rugs over smooth tile floors, and abstract paintings hung in the entryway. Benches lined the foyer, and a common room had a broad hearth with sturdy wooden chairs arranged before it. A ceiling fitted with sheets of glass invited rosy light in.
Unlike the ruin of the Hall of the Artificers, the furnishings in this building were still in good condition, making Taren wonder if it had been sealed against the effects of time as the overseer’s office had been. Either that, or someone still lived there and maintained the place—or had until recently.
Despite its remarkable upkeep, the building turned out to be deserted as expected. On the inside, it resembled a large inn rather than a barracks, with a common room, a kitchen, and rows of several dozen living quarters. Most of the rooms were empty and abandoned, but a handful still had personal effects inside, although the clothing in the wardrobes was threadbare, and a layer of dust coated the furniture.
Taren would have liked to search the place further and examine the numerous books found in some of the rooms, but he knew they didn’t have much time to find Lenantos, if he still lived. Nesnys’s minions were at large, and they had to get to the control rod before their foes did.
“There’s a graveyard round back.” Creel had searched around outside while the others went through the living quarters.
Secluded by a hedgerow that had grown unkempt, dozens of cairns lay in neat rows, all unmarked. Grass covered the graves, with lichen coating the stones. Even the most recent looked to have been dug decades earlier.
“So who built the last of the cairns?” Aninyel wondered. “There were no remains in the lodge.”
“Good question,” Taren replied. “Could have been the factotum, but I suspect someone must tend to them and give them direction. Unless their final orders were to bury the dead. I was hoping to find a construct to question, but they all seem to be destroyed. So now we need to find a way off this island so we can continue searching.”
“There’s another island in that direction about fifty paces distant from this one.” Creel pointed in the opposite direction from the lift dock. “But there doesn’t seem to be any way off this one. Other than trying to cross the gap, I don’t know where else we go next.”
The companions made their way to the far end. The next island over seemed much like the one they were standing on—lush and green and overgrown.
“Look at this.” Kulnor was examining two identical five-foot-tall stone pillars built near the edge. He pointed at two round holes the thickness of Taren’s forearm, bored into either pillar. “See these here? I reckon there were pegs inserted here holding up this end of a bridge spanning that gap. ’Twas a defensive measure—they knocked out the pegs with a hammer and collapsed the bridge.”
Taren looked across to the other island and saw Kulnor was right. Matching pillars stood directly across from them.
“You can magick us across, right?” Ferret asked.
“I’m not sure,” Taren replied honestly. “There is very little earth magic here to draw upon. I hate to risk it unless there’s no other way.”
Making a gate took a heavy mana draw. Flying them over on a disc of force was simpler to do, but the results would be catastrophic if he abruptly ran out of magic to draw upon midway across.
“Let’s do it the old-fashioned way.” Creel rummaged through his pack and withdrew a coil of rope. He eyed the gulf then turned to Kulnor. “Do you have any more rope?”
“Aye.” Kulnor pulled a neatly coiled rope from his own pack.
Creel knotted the two ropes together and tied a running noose to one end. He gathered the combined rope up, tested its heft, then flung it across the gap. The attempt fell a little short, dropping into space, but he pulled the rope back up. His second attempt struck the face of the stone pillar and dropped away. The third attempt landed neatly over the top of the pillar. Ferret clapped her hands, and Creel gave a half smile and pulled the rope taut then tied it off on one pillar on their side of the chasm.
Creel tested the rope’s strength before turning to the group. “All right, who wants to go first?”
Taren swallowed hard at the thought of clambering across the rope over the span of nothingness below. He idly wondered, if he lost his grip or the rope gave way, how long he would fall for and if a bottom even existed. Perhaps he’d simply fall forever.
“I’ll go first,” Aninyel said.
She checked that her sword and dagger were secure, cinched the straps of her pack more tightly, then moved beside the rope and faced away from the chasm. She grasped the rope in both hands and swung her legs up, crossing her ankles above the rope. Then she began to clamber nimbly across, moving hands and legs in sync. Within moments, she reached the other side. She had a moment of difficulty disengaging from the rope, for it had slid to the base of the pillar and didn’t provide much space to climb onto solid ground. Eventually, and with great agility, she swung around until she was momentarily poised atop the rope, then leaped onto the island.
Taren let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when she was safe.
“Wait a moment. I’m going to retie this,” she called.
Aninyel loosened the rope and wound it through the column’s peg hole then knotted it. She tested it then declared it ready.
“Taren? Will you be able to make it across?” Mira asked quietly.
“I… think so. I will,” he added without much confidence.
“You’ll be fine,” Mira replied. “Take your time and use your hands and feet just like Aninyel did.”
I’d much prefer using magic, but it’s too risky. I can do this. I was a fair climber back home.
Everyone seemed to be waiting on him to go, so he took a deep breath and positioned himself as Aninyel had, with his back to the gorge. He gripped the rope, testing its strength. It had a bit of slack but felt stable enough when he put his full weight on it. Mira helped support him until he got into a comfortable position, then he was scooting backward as Aninyel had, moving hand over hand and sliding his legs. The farther he got, the more the rope dipped down from his weight, and the wind tugged at his robes, but he kept moving steadily, refusing to look down.
“Keep going, Taren,” Aninyel called. “You’re doing fine.”
He tilted his head back and glimpsed her still a ways off—he was perhaps halfway across. His arms were growing tired, but he kept moving along, one hand at a time, trying to focus on advancing steadily. Right hand, then left hand, then slide his feet.
“You can let go now.” Aninyel’s reassuring voice came unexpectedly from right beside his ear.
He let his legs down first and, when he felt solid ground underfoot, released his grip. His legs were wobbly, and he would have fallen on his rear had Aninyel not supported him with an arm around his waist and held him up until he could lean on the pillar to support himself.
“That was fun, right?” The elf grinned and clapped him on the back.
“Not exactly the word I’d use,” he replied, working the cramps out of his hands.
When he looked up, Mira was moving as nimbly as a squirrel across the rope, only ten paces away. She dropped down a moment later and gave Taren a smile.
They’re all enjoying this. Well, not Kulnor.
On the far side, the dwarf had his arms crossed and was shaking his head, face looking pale through his beard even at that distance.
“Wonder how this will play out,” Aninyel said with an impish grin.
Taren shrugged and went to sit down in the grass. He took a long drink from his water skin, and while he rested, his nerves calmed. Creel and Ferret must have done something to convince Kulnor, for the dwarf was making his way across the rope, albeit as slowly as a snail. Despite having burly arms corded with muscle, with his short reach, he moved even more slowly than Taren had.
After several more minutes, the others made it across. Ferret and Creel had no trouble traversing the rope, although it sagged
precariously from the former’s weight. Kulnor, however, lay panting on the ground like a fish out of water. The moment Creel crossed last, Kulnor accosted him. Taren realized then the source of his motivation when he tilted his head back and drank a long slug from Creel’s flask.
Creel retrieved his lightened flask and approached Taren. “Any sign of friend or foe here?”
Belatedly, he remembered to scan with his second sight. “Nothing,” he replied a long moment later. This isle bloomed with vitality, but he saw no auras of anything alive other than plant life.
They took a short break, eating snacks and drinking from water skins. While they ate, Ferret stood as still as a statue, gazing raptly into the distance.
After a few minutes, they ventured onward. A crushed stone path wended through the undergrowth. Much of the plant life was blackened and scorched as the intruders had evidently burned a pathway through the jungle. After a couple hundred paces, they entered a clearing amid the trees, what had apparently been fields of crops at one time, though none had been tended to for many years. Withered rows of corn stalks stretched into the distance to the left, and to the right was an overgrown mixed vegetable garden left to rot. Taren spotted a few tomatoes that looked juicy and ripe amid the weeds and thorny vines choking off many of the plants. A ramshackle barn holding the expected farm implements and little else stood at the far end of the clearing near the path.
The path wended onward through another stretch of forest. Beyond the trees stood a low-roofed building in the same style of architecture as the barracks. Another battle had been fought there, just outside the woods, with the debris of destroyed automatons laid to waste around them.
“Gods, how powerful is this foe?” Taren asked as they walked through the debris field. “All these constructs destroyed and no sign of dead invaders.”
“That is a bit worrisome,” Creel admitted. “I had wondered the same.”
A metallic scraping sound drew their attention from one of the scrap heaps when something moved. Ferret kicked a piece of scorched metal aside to reveal the relatively intact torso of an automaton lying facedown. Its body was missing below the waist, legs and hips lying partially melted a few feet away. A piece of shrapnel was impaling it through the edge of its backplate. Its left arm was also missing below the elbow, and it lay awkwardly, the good arm pinned beneath itself. A strange metal box jutted from its back, unlike any of the other factotum Taren had seen before. It turned its head at their approach, eyes burning a steady amber, in contrast to the red he was familiar with seeing.
“Hello, little brother,” Ferret said softly as the factotum regarded them, trying in vain to free itself from its awkward pose. She pulled the spike of shrapnel free, and the automaton rolled over onto its back. It pushed at the ground with its single hand and elbow stump as if to pick itself up but succeeded only in propping up its torso.
The automaton clicked and shuddered for a moment before it spoke. “Factotum anomaly detected.” It stared at Ferret for a long moment before its head swiveled to regard the others. “Authenticating artificer identities. State the countersign, masters. You have ten seconds to comply.”
Taren displayed the Ring of the Artificers, and the construct whirred a moment before it subsided.
“Identity confirmed. Welcome, Master.”
“What has happened here?” Taren asked.
“Intruder present. Security operation currently in progress to eliminate intruder.”
“Who is this intruder?”
“Intruder identity unknown,” the automaton said. “The overseer has stated denizens of the Abyss have breached Kaejax Outpost.”
“Overseer Lenantos? He yet lives?” Hope swirled in Taren’s breast.
“Overseer Lenantos is extant.”
What does that mean? “Where is this intruder now?”
“Intruder’s current location unknown.”
“How long ago were you damaged?” Ferret asked.
“This unit sustained damage…” It clicked for a long moment before responding. “Eighty-six hours eighteen minutes ago.”
“We must speak with Lenantos at once,” Taren said. “Where can I find him?”
“Master must travel to the Refuge. Overseer Lenantos is present there.”
“How do we get to this Refuge?”
“Bridges one and two are destroyed, and portal two is damaged. Only practicable means of conveyance currently available is the mistral skiff.”
Mistral skiff? Wonder what that could be.
“Do you have a name?” Ferret asked before Taren could follow up.
“This unit’s designation is G-77, Master,” it said.
“G-77, will you guide us to the overseer?” Ferret asked.
“Mobility inoperable due to structural damage.”
“I can help with that.” Ferret shrugged off her backpack and handed it to Creel. She then lifted the construct and slung it across her back instead. “Grab on.”
The construct slipped its good arm around her neck to hold itself in position. Ferret looked as if she’d suddenly sprouted another head on one shoulder, this one with glowing amber eyes.
“Good thinking, Ferret,” Taren said. “G-77, direct us to the mistral skiff.”
“Yes, Master. Proceed for two hundred and seventeen paces east to the boathouse.”
“Boathouse?” Kulnor frowned. “I like not the sound of that.”
“Aw, you’ll be fine,” Aninyel said cheerily. “You’ve made it this far. And do you see any water around here?”
“That’s not reassuring,” the dwarf grumbled. “Nor is the picture conjured up by the words ‘mistral skiff.’”
Aninyel laughed. “You should embrace this opportunity to broaden your horizons experientially.”
“Bah! I like solid earth beneath me feet just fine. I’ve no need to set foot upon floating islands or air lifts or, Reiktir forbid, mistral skiffs.”
“You could wait for us here if you like,” Creel said. “No promises that we’ll be back this way again, though. Obviously, rationality in this place is somewhat… limited.”
Aninyel tittered again. “Well said.”
“Reckon I’ll stay with the rest o’ ye for now,” Kulnor said with a sigh.
Taren smiled at his friends’ banter as they walked. The trail took them near the long building. “G-77, what is this building here?”
“That is the Factotum Repair Depot, Master.”
When he peered in one of the dirty windows, he saw long workbenches covered with various tools and machine parts.
“How many artificers live here?” he asked.
“None,” G-77 replied.
Taren exchanged glances with his friends. “Has the intruder killed them all?”
“The last living artificer on Kaejax Outpost died sixty-seven years ago, Master.” G-77 clicked and whirred a moment. “Until today. Welcome to Kaejax Outpost. A service-model factotum can provide you with accommodations in billeting.”
“Aren’t you a service model?” Ferret asked. She seemed to enjoy her new companion.
“This unit is a guardian-model factotum,” G-77 replied, perhaps filled with a touch of pride, though Taren probably imagined it.
“Guardian model?” she asked. “I thought there was only one model.”
“Overseer Lenantos ordered the creation of the guardian-model factotum following the Exodus.”
“Speaking of Lenantos, I thought you said the last living artificer died,” Taren said.
“Correct.”
“Then what of Lenantos?”
“Overseer Lenantos is extant.”
“Explain.”
“I do not understand your query, Master.”
“What does ‘Overseer Lenantos is extant’ mean?”
“Overseer Lenantos is extant, Master.”
Taren sighed. “Guess we’ll find out for ourselves.”
They passed the remains of a small shed that looked as though it had exploded. Shards of stone littere
d the ground for a couple dozen paces around. The path continued, winding through more trees.
“You are approaching the boathouse,” G-77 said once they passed the ruined shed and entered the forest.
The trees parted after about twenty paces, and the island ended at an expanse of open sky as far as the eye could see. A small metal building hunkered at the edge. Creel cautiously pushed the door open, revealing a dimly lit interior. A wide roll-up door on chains, similar to the ones found in the Hall of the Artificers, was raised on the opposite side of the boathouse.
Moored at a pier, as if it were a dock in a harbor, were two bizarre metal contraptions resembling wide canoes with flat keels like a barge. One was clearly out of commission, for it hung limply from the mooring chains and would have tumbled into oblivion if not for its tethers. The second craft bobbed on the air and gave off the ubiquitous blue-white magical aura. The strange air boat had a flat floor with no seats and a waist-high railing. At the stern was a broad-bladed device resembling a magical fan Taren had seen in Nexus designed to push air around the stuffy rooms of the well-heeled. However, this fan had sharp metal blades and looked as if it could be dangerous.
“That looks a bit dubious,” Aninyel observed with a frown.
“I think it’s our only way out of here. Is this the mistral skiff you spoke of?” Taren asked G-77.
“Yes, Master.”
“Tell me more about it.”
“The mistral skiff’s primary function is to transport materiel to the various islands of Kaejax Outpost, but they also can transport personnel. It must be activated with an artificer’s key.”
Mira swung open a gated section of the skiff’s railing and hesitantly stepped onboard. Taren followed, and the vessel bobbed slightly when it took his weight, but it seemed much more stable than the lift had. The others got onboard, and Kulnor pushed the gate shut. Creel released the mooring chains.
In the bow was a round metal egg with winglike protrusions on it—the helm, Taren assumed. It accepted his ring, which folded into an octagonal shape that he inserted in a depression revealed in the egg’s center. When the connection was made, magic coursed through the helm and into the craft, making it vibrate subtly underfoot. A buzzing sound issued from the stern as the bladed fan he’d noted earlier began to spin.
Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3) Page 33