by Tom Lloyd
‘So we’re free to wander the city?’
‘Best we take the opportunity while we can.’ She brandished a rolled slip of paper. ‘The Monarch’s writ – permission to be armed in the city so long as we behave ourselves.’
Lynx nodded and stood. ‘You believe the rumours about this labyrinth then?’ he asked, putting on the gun-belt before hauling his coat over his shoulders.
‘Depends which rumours you’re talking about,’ Toil said. ‘Mostly they’ll be so much shit, but there’s certainly something down there. I’ve read translations that speak of a treasure or a cache – of a funeral for the Duegar race itself and the interment of their last great leader here. Take your pick which one you believe.’
‘And no enterprising soul has ever raided it?’
‘It’s been tried, but these texts aren’t exactly in your average library. The translations are pretty poor for a start – during the Revival period it was mostly being written by the predecessors of the Militant Orders to fit with their religious doctrine.’
Lynx nodded. The Revival was the period when the five gods had been ‘rediscovered’ by humanity and their followers had crusaded against the many pagan gods that held sway. More than twenty years of bloody conflict had raged before the five prophets had been handed a new weapon by their mage servants – the first ice-bolt. Once guns and cartridges were being mass-produced the result was inevitable and the equanimity of victorious, armed religious fanatics was unsurprising. Anything relating to the Duegar was hoarded, all knowledge restricted and filtered through doctrine.
‘How did you know?’ he said after a moment’s thought.
‘Know?’
Lynx gestured to the world at large. ‘About all this? What was going to happen here – don’t tell me it’s a coincidence that we’ve arrived days after this happened.’
‘Someone in my line of work needs to keep an ear open for news,’ she said with a small smile. ‘Not to mention have contacts with scholars. You can go one of two ways – break into tombs and blow up everything in your path or learn to read Duegar, do your research and have an idea what you’re looking for. Most of what can make your fortune isn’t in tombs or under a labyrinth. There are other dangers involved in getting to them, but something that was an everyday tool to the Duegar could be worth a fortune now.’
‘Even after all these years?’
Toil nodded. ‘It’s been so many centuries, there’s only the mage-made stuff left. Everything else has degraded and turned to dust, but the mechanisms, the buildings and the like; they’ll outlast us all.’
‘And that’s why you’re here? To take a crack at this prize?’
‘Who could resist the biggest prize in a generation – perhaps ever?’ Her grin widened as she said it, a flush of excitement appearing on her cheeks.
Lynx jammed his tricorn on his head. ‘When you put it like that, I almost believe you.’
‘You wound me,’ she laughed, ‘always thinking I’ve got an ulterior motive.’
‘Aye well, I’ve known you more’n a week.’
She shrugged. ‘You know who I work for, you know who I think are a danger to all the cities of Parthain. Even if it doesn’t turn out to be a whole lot of fun that guarantees my legend among relic hunters, getting to whatever’s down there before the Orders do might prove the difference when war comes a-calling. That enough of a reason for you, sunshine?’
‘Yeah, guess so. Almost sounds simple when you put it like that.’
‘I’ll remind you of you saying that in a few weeks, shall I?’
‘Please don’t.’
‘Let’s get moving then.’
The company’s lodgings led out on to a broad square with a hive-shrine to Ulfer in the centre, flanked by narrow hedges and troughs of medicinal herbs. A spattering of rain greeted them to the city, as warm and welcoming as the looks the mercenaries received from the middle classes passing by.
Colourful cloth and tall boots were the style here in the rich parts of the city. While Toil’s brown coat was tailored and new, it remained a functional item designed to last the years rather than impress the neighbours, and everything about Lynx was somewhat battered.
The square was not far from where they’d disembarked. A busy area of upmarket shops and townhouses, it was too expensive a place for their kind normally, but Toil had come to some sort of agreement with Anatin. The Envoy had taken a townhouse just one street away and she wanted to keep close. To the west they could see the towers of the Bridge Palace over the steep rooftops, while the pinnacles of a temple could be seen on the high ground to the east. There the four enormous temples to Veraimin, Insar, Catrac and Ulfer marked the religious district, a shrine to Banesh serving as border post between that and the alchemist district.
While there was no alcohol permitted in Jarrazir, there was a bustling trade in drugs of all sorts so the grumbling among the Cards had been tempered for the meantime. What alchemy was actually done there, Lynx didn’t know, but given the smell when the wind turned he was prepared to believe at least half of the rumours he’d heard.
‘The Deep Market’s this way,’ Toil said, pointing left. ‘Might as well start at the beginning.’
They headed down through the narrow residential streets that proliferated behind the main commercial district, towards the oldest part of the city. There were shrines at almost every corner and more than once Lynx saw statues he would have sworn were of the last kings. When the kingdom collapsed centuries ago, most vestiges of the royal house that had dominated the great lakes had faded away. That this grand old city kept hold of so much told a clear story of the way things were here.
Away from the religious district there were still temples studding the city streets – always slightly apart from the tangle of narrow alleys and tall houses. A small park of aspen surrounded one to Ulfer, their branches bare in late winter, but Lynx could easily picture their blazing colours at the god’s autumn festivals. Within that stood great stone pillars surrounding the temple itself, beautifully carved to look like trees, while the metal roof was embossed with a beech-leaf design. Despite a chill in the air the temple was busy, several dozen worshippers on their knees or burning offerings.
Off to the south-west he caught glimpses of square-topped towers and peaked copper roofs all worked with intricate devices and emblems. Those were the palatial guild-houses that served a variety of trades from metalworkers to mages, while huddled somewhere within them was the glowering bulk of Jarrazir’s famed university. What dominated the view, though, looming bright in the dull light, was the white fortress wall of the Senate, where the city administration was housed around a great oval forum chamber where the commoners could speak as equals to the nobility.
They reached the Deep Market when trade should have been at its height, but instead it was half-abandoned by a fearful population. The market itself was an arresting sight, mage-worked stone of piecemeal levels and irregular patterns. Dozens of sweeping stone walkways connected the various levels and sections, half of which were normally packed with stalls. It was far quieter than Lynx remembered from his last trip to Jarrazir; the noise and even the stink from the few remaining livestock stalls more subdued. The crowds had been replaced by mere handfuls of people moving quickly and furtively rather than a great press of humanity – all afraid, all keeping to the fringes of the market.
‘There we are,’ Toil commented, stopping at last. ‘Sod.’
Lynx pulled his coat tighter around himself, the cool of day becoming cold down there and the view chilling him further. Ahead of them was a small militia camp, cordoned off by a rough rope line, a hundred-yard stretch of the market that was patrolled by grey-uniformed soldiers. A makeshift camp of five tents stood halfway between Fountain and cordon, debris and bloodstains scattered liberally between.
The dome of the Fountain was pitted in several places, chunks of broken stone lying on the floor and the distinctive scarring of sparkers showing a violent gun battle had raged there r
ecently.
‘Hey, who’re you? Get lost!’
They turned to see a scowling soldier advancing towards them. His uniform was rumpled and his eyes bloodshot, his mood clear before he’d even pulled the gun from his shoulder. There was a pink rookie burn on his cheek, the livid mark of a man whose own comrade had almost shot his face off with an icer.
‘Just looking,’ Toil said, raising her hands submissively.
‘Well fuck off.’
The look on his face was one more of shock than rage. Lynx had seen it often after a battle and clearly Toil had too. The relic hunter backed carefully away from the cordon before asking what had happened.
‘What does it look like?’ the soldier snapped. ‘Some damn horror crawled up out of the labyrinth and tore half my squad apart. I barely got out alive.’
Toil gasped. Lynx couldn’t tell whether it was real or feigned. ‘You got sent down there?’
‘Yeah. Left the lieutenant and eight others down there.’
‘By some sort o’ ghost? Is it true what they’re saying?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Nothing, I just …’ She paused. ‘Well, I know a man, a relic hunter.’
The scorn was plain on his face. ‘Oh right, you’re one of those. Well you tell him to go jump in the lagoon, he ain’t getting in. Damn thing followed us out halfway to the cordon. An entire icer volley didn’t stop it.’
‘So there wasn’t a relic hunter leading your unit?’
‘Just the lieutenant.’
‘Shattered gods,’ she breathed.
‘Yeah well, icers slowed it up some, bought us time to run clear. Just glad it didn’t follow us, there were hundreds in the market beyond. Only the desperate came back this morning.’
‘What was it?’
‘Damned if I know. Some shining ghost of a monster – who knows what curses those Duegar used?’
‘You only saw one? How big?’
He gave her a suspicious look. ‘This you asking or your friend?’ The look he gave Lynx was more unfriendly until the big Hanese shook his head.
‘Not me,’ Lynx said with feeling, ‘you wouldn’t catch me wanting to go down there.’
‘Not him,’ Toil agreed, ‘but my other friend would be interested. He’s led hunting crews before, told me something about it. He’d ah, he’d be willing to pay for any details – anything you’ve not been told to keep back of course.’
The soldier glanced at his comrades. One was watching them, the others still patrolling. ‘Pay?’
‘When he hears about this, he’ll come as fast as he can,’ Toil said with a nod. ‘My guess is he’ll petition the Monarch to be allowed to try and get in. The more he knows about what happened, the more he gets direct and not from rumour, the more he knows what he might be dealing with.’
The combination of Toil’s looks, her earnest interest and the prospect of money seemed to suitably soften the soldier’s resolve. ‘There are a few families mourning today,’ he acknowledged.
‘Death pay ain’t great in a city regiment, I’m guessing,’ Lynx contributed. ‘Those families might be in arrears by summer.’
‘I’m not asking for anything to get you in trouble,’ Toil added hurriedly, ‘but a first-hand account is valuable currency to my friend.’
‘Don’t reckon your friend’s getting in, though, we’ve orders to shoot anyone who tries it.’
Toil gestured towards the bloodstains. ‘After this, the Monarch’s going to need experts to explore the labyrinth – her only other choice is blowing the entrances. If she’s hiring experts, the more my friend knows, the better a job he can do to stop this happening again.’
The soldier looked unhappy with the idea, but he didn’t contradict her. ‘We’re relieved in a few hours. Come back then – and bring your friend’s money.’
Toil nodded. ‘A few hours it is. Thanks, friend.’
‘It’s your funeral if you go down there,’ he said, turning away again, ‘money won’t be much good to you then.’
Two hours later, the soldier turned out to be as good as his word and so did Toil’s purse. Over a few pipes of spearleaf root the soldier’s nerves were soothed and he told them all he knew about the scholar, Ishienne Matarin, and her opening of the labyrinth, little though it was. He couldn’t say where all the entrances were, but confirmed they’d all opened at the same time so far as anyone could tell, and anyone descending was attacked by nightmarish ghosts with great spear-like limbs. Mage-guns warded them off, maybe even hurt them a little, but several volleys had barely bought the surviving soldiers enough time to flee.
Armed with a third-hand description and the name of the mage’s surviving pupil, along with the street where Mistress Ishienne’s house stood, Toil and Lynx retraced their steps back to their lodgings. Toil continued straight past, however, and Lynx realised their actual destination was Envoy Ammen’s rented house, just a street away.
It turned out to be a tall five-storey townhouse nestled at one corner of a narrow garden square. The garden in the middle was carefully cultivated with box hedges and three circular stone ponds filled with water lilies. White wooden pavilions stood in each corner and children played as uniformed nannies looked on. It certainly wasn’t the sort of place one of the Mercenary Deck would be welcome and as they neared the house, it appeared Payl was endeavouring to demonstrate exactly why.
‘… you chinless shit-grubbing cockroach!’ they heard Payl yell as they came close enough to hear.
As one, Toil and Lynx broke into a trot.
‘Stand down, soldier!’ snapped Captain Onerist, waving his finger in Payl’s face. ‘Corporal, take this woman into custody.’
The man in question was the runt of the Lighthouse Guard. Onerist’s order made him squeak in surprise and almost drop his mage-gun. To his credit, before he did anything completely stupid he glanced at the man beside him.
Reft smiled back – that wide grin of his that had all the warmth of a shark getting ready to bite. Unnaturally pale with neat white teeth and gold canines on one side, even the hardened veterans of the Cards were unnerved by Reft’s smile. This bespectacled weakling who Lynx could hardly believe was a real soldier almost pissed himself.
‘Corporal!’ Onerist rounded on the man, but also faltered at the sight of the white giant.
Reft slowly shook his head. Onerist took a pace back then recovered himself and returned to the less daunting prospect of Payl.
‘If you have an objection about your betters,’ he growled, ‘I suggest you inform your commander and he can be the one to bring it up with me.’ Onerist jabbed a finger against her chest and Lynx winced at his foolishness. ‘And he will get the same response from me. It is no more his place to question the actions of the Envoy than it is yours. Any more insubordination and I’ll have you up on a charge.’
‘You can take your shitstick of a charge and shove it where your Envoy friend likes to—’
‘What’s the problem?’ Toil demanded, stepping between them. Lynx blinked at the Knight of Sun, shocked by her animation. Payl was the most in-control and calm member of the company. For her to be so enraged it had to be something serious.
‘These mercenaries are the problem,’ Onerist said, voice thick with contempt. ‘They seem to possess delusions—’
‘Ain’t fucking delusions,’ Payl broke in. ‘I saw where we—’
‘Enough!’ Onerist roared. ‘You’re dismissed. The Envoy has no need of your service, pack your filthy belongings and leave your company. Just be glad we are not in Su Dregir or I’d have your legs broken before you were thrown into the street.’
‘Now both of you need to calm yourselves,’ Toil said firmly. ‘No one’s getting fired; no one’s getting their legs broken in the street.’ She raised a hand as Payl opened her mouth to shout once more. ‘Wait! Both of you, inside and tell me what’s going on.’
‘I don’t answer to you, woman!’ Onerist snapped. ‘Get this one out of my sight or I’ll have you dismis
sed too.’
Toil cocked her head and gave him an irritated look. Lynx sighed, this man really was determined to get his bits cut off. He stepped to one side to obscure the view of anyone watching the exchange.
‘Let me just say one thing, as the highest-ranking member of the company present?’ Toil said in an apologetic voice.
‘Well?’
She kneed him hard in the balls. The captain was almost lifted off his feet by the force of the blow, a strangled gasp of pain escaping his lips as his knees buckled. Toil grabbed his shoulder before he fell and Reft took his other arm. Together they guided the shuddering man through the main door of the townhouse and into a dim hallway and the others followed.
A young girl was inside, polishing a sideboard furiously as they came through – no doubt listening in. At a look from Reft she fled while Payl pulled the door closed. Toil let Onerist drop to his knees and the man doubled over, retching in pain.
‘Now then,’ Toil said brightly, ‘isn’t that a little quieter and more civilised? Captain, do you have a point to make to me?’
A thin keening was the only sound he made in response so she turned to Payl instead. ‘How about you?’
‘Your Envoy is a gods-damned pederast! You know where he’s been? Where we had to escort him to? Some bloody whorehouse where they gave him a child. I only saw his face on the way out, but the boy can’t have been more than ten years old. Ammen struts out with a fat grin on his face and a swagger in his stride.’
‘I know,’ Toil said in a small voice.
‘You do?’
‘Yup. Sorry to say it’s not illegal here, though.’
‘Still ain’t right.’ Payl shook her head. ‘I ain’t standing by and letting that happen again. Next time he wants to go visiting I’ll geld him on the doorstep – right in front of all the other sick fucks to make ’em think twice.’
Lynx cleared his throat. ‘Am I the only one thinking we should just shoot him right now?’
‘Nope.’ Payl’s expression was savage and Reft gave a curt nod.