by Tom Lloyd
‘Are the rumours of a competition true?’
‘They are not,’ Stilanna said firmly. ‘Commander Honeth will be in charge of any expedition – but we need to assemble the very best scholars and experts to ensure the next effort does not end in disaster.’
‘Experts?’ Aronei’s mouth twisted in distaste. ‘You mean relic hunters?’
‘Unless you know of anyone else adept at investigating Duegar ruins? Or perhaps you prefer we invite the Militant Orders in to take charge of the situation and trust that their troops will leave again afterwards, after first sharing with us whatever priceless artefacts they might have found?’ Stilanna’s tone was acidic, Aronei being the most prominant noble in the city to support the Orders.
‘I …’ Aronei had the sense not to finish her sentence and merely sat back, aware Stilanna’s patience for debate had run out. ‘What will you say publicly?’ she said after a short while. ‘The speculation and, ah, perceived inaction will only fuel fears.’
‘I will make a formal announcement tomorrow,’ the Monarch agreed. ‘We have had representatives of the temples and Orders make enquiries already – they and the citizens need to know how I intend to respond. In the meantime the city will be prepared as unobtrusively as possible against the possibility that the Knights-Charnel or Knights-Artificer act in a more drastic fashion. The opening of the labyrinth may be a boon of the gods, but the whole of Urden must know it is under our sole control and the people must know we are indeed in control.’
‘Surely the Militant Orders would not simply attack – not a gods-fearing city like Jarrazir,’ Aronei protested.
‘With the myths about God Fragments being hidden inside?’ Lesser-Prince Besh replied with a glower that Stilanna guessed was more about his private grief than the public threat. ‘Don’t be certain you could predict what action one or all might take.’
Stilanna nodded. ‘We need knowledge too – the city’s foremost expert is dead, her writings incomplete and her surviving pupil missing. I require all noble families to inspect their private libraries and bring anything that might be of use, I know how we all hoard such things but the city will reward anything that helps our efforts. Just think of the stories you learned as a child – the Thousand Shards, the Tomb of Banesh, the Five High Kings. If the Militant Orders consider just one of those to be true, some among them will be willing to turn Jarrazir into a wasteland to secure such a prize.’
‘Or ensure the other Orders do not,’ Tylom added glumly.
‘Indeed. Colonel Pilter – I want that pupil found. Every guild, civic body and noble house is to join the search. By the time I make my announcement I want her here, understood?’
The faces around the table told Stilanna she had finally succeeded in imparting the gravity of the situation to the others.
‘Very well, I will see you all tomorrow.’
Sotorian Bade put his feet up on the long dining table and took a swig of coffee. All around him people moved with purpose, his team making final preparations. Thus far he had only had to bark an order once – Chotel knew his business well and the extra troops brought in by Exalted Kastelian were all Torquen dragoons; disciplined, elite soldiers.
Bade’s crew now numbered ten, a core six of whom had worked for Bade for years. Kastelian had procured twenty dragoons before they reached the city in that strange bartering way the Exalteds had among their own, then suborned the entire standing Torquen complement in Jarrazir, another ten in all. It added up to a packed townhouse by sunrise, bedrolls laid out in most of the rooms and carefully controlled traffic in and out so as to avoid official notice.
‘How are we doing, Chotel?’ Bade called out as the black man darted into view.
With a look of irritation the man stopped and turned to face his employer. ‘Almost there. Kit packed, weapons ready and lamps prepped. The heavy stuff went straight down last night.’
‘And Bug?’
‘Awake and eager a while back so I dosed her again.’
‘Time we took a wander downstairs then.’
Bade eased himself upright, drained his coffee and retrieved a smouldering cigar from the table. He gave a sharp click of the tongue and pointed at the two mages currently lurking near the window, watching the hard-faced crew at work.
‘Heel.’
The mages were the only ones without guns. The barge that had brought Bade and his crew to Jarrazir had been fully laden with crates – a simple enough task to secrete mage-guns and ammunition in those, with a few token trade pieces to offer up to the city bondsmen. Bug had been a harder task and Bade’s personal chest too – neither of which were small or would stand inspection by customs officials. But Kastelian had done his work and the Torquen’s standing in Jarrazir had paved the way for their arrival.
With the mages in tow, Bade and Chotel headed to an unassuming storeroom door just outside the pantry. The townhouse was a large one in a good area, but betrayed the faint signs of neglect that came from only occasional use. Its true value was a secret hidden from even most of the Order’s intelligence branch.
With extensive renovations done decades before, purely on the off-chance of this day, the interior of the house had been changed to conceal the existence of a cellar here. Today, however, the floor of the storeroom was raised and a light shone from the room down below. A shaven-headed woman was in the process of ascending the wide stairway there, one of Bade’s crew, but her grunt of acknowledgement went ignored in his eagerness to head down.
There he found three more of his regular crew, all carrying mage-guns and staring at a round block of stone in the centre of the room. Around the block, the floor fell away on three sides – shallow steps leading into unknown darkness below.
‘This should be fun,’ Bade commented, sharing a grin of anticipation with Chotel. ‘Let’s get started.’ He raised his voice. ‘Hey, Kastelian, where are you, ya pious bastard?’
From his belt he unhooked a small Duegar lantern, which looked like an egg-shaped chunk of black glass contained within a framework of brassy metal, itself contained within another frame. He twisted the metal disc that served as the lantern’s base and activated its light as Chotel turned down the oil lamps.
From one of the mages there was a gasp. Bade rounded on him. ‘Did I ask for your comment?’
‘I … no, sir.’
‘Damn right.’
He returned his attention to the stone column as Kastelian joined them, wearing a sleeveless fleece coat and no fewer than four pistols in holsters. The glyph that had been inscribed on the top of the stone column now shone with pale blue light and a lesser gleam of two small symbols now shone out from the smooth stone around it.
‘Fire and ice,’ Bade read aloud. ‘Could’ve guessed that bit.’
‘Number three,’ Chotel added. ‘Hardly poetic in their naming, are they?’
‘Reminds me of Colec Harbour, that,’ Bade remarked. ‘All a bit functional, early-era stuff.’ He glanced back at the steep stairway leading back up to ground level. ‘Torril, you there?’
‘Aye, boss,’ called a voice. Torril’s bearded face appearing a moment later. The man looked like a career soldier, but he was quick with a pen and had a remarkable memory so Bade used him as a notepad for his observations.
‘Remind me about Colec Harbour later, okay? Same imaginative numbering and design.’
‘Got it. Watch the walls then, eh?’
‘Aye, the walls. Fetch out the notes on our old friend Hopper in case he was the one to build this. I want ’em ready when we come back from this first look.’
Kastelian rolled his eyes. ‘Hopper?’
‘Heh, just our little name for a Duegar architect. Might be it’s just a style, but I prefer to think it’s a particular adversary for us.’
Bade drew one of his mage-pistols and confirmed it held an icer.
‘Right then,’ he said to Chotel and the mages. ‘Let’s go wake up something nasty, eh?’
Chapter 12
It wa
s mid-morning when Atieno returned to the Mercenary Deck’s lodgings. The sky was a uniform bright grey, a persistent covering of cloud that promised no sight of rain, sun or Skyriver. The citizens of Jarrazir were up and about by the time Atieno returned with Lastani’s reply, but there was precious little trace of the mercenaries.
A pair of easterners in kilts were practising archaic sword-forms in the courtyard, their blades a glittering whirl of death that mirrored each other’s perfectly. Off to one side their jackets hung on posts, one bearing the Knight of Snow card, the other the 14 of the same suit. Atieno paused to watch them a moment, both possessing a grace and speed he could only envy.
‘Toil’s inside,’ called the elder of the two as they paused, offering Atieno a short bow that the younger followed.
Feeling oddly formal, Atieno bobbed his head in reply and headed in, feeling their scrutiny until the door was closed behind him and he was faced with a near-empty common room. One table was occupied, however. Toil was sitting with a young woman who looked vaguely familiar and a greying, thin man with one hand and a sparker burn down his cheek. Toil’s dark red hair spilled unchecked over her shoulders and she was finishing the last of her breakfast, but aside from that she looked ready to go out. That pleased Atieno, he wanted this to be over with.
‘Mistress Toil,’ he said, approaching.
‘Master Atieno, good morning to you,’ Toil said, swallowing the last crumb of food. ‘May I present Anatin, benign ruler of this humble mercenary company?’
The greying man gave him a weak smile that had more to do with the redness of his eyes than much else, and extended a hand. ‘More benign than this lot are humble anyway.’
Toil grinned. ‘And Sitain you’ve already met, albeit briefly.’
Atieno frowned in thought for a moment then a flash of recollection came to him. This young woman’s face, briefly glimpsed in the gloom of night – pale skin fading into darkness as the world went black around him.
‘You’re the one who put me out,’ Atieno said stiffly. ‘The mage.’
Sitain shifted in her seat. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. No damage done, I hope?’
‘It does not seem so,’ he said, pausing a moment longer before awkwardly holding out his hand too. ‘Let us try again at meeting.’
Sitain shyly took his hand. She didn’t look like a mercenary to Atieno, for all that she wore fighting daggers on her jacket and had hair cut roughly short, but Toil was hardly typical of the breed either.
‘Got any news for me?’ Toil asked. ‘Any reply?’
‘She wants to meet you,’ Atieno confirmed. ‘She wants to look you in the eye before surrendering herself, talk to you alone.’
‘Time’s a-wasting,’ Toil grumbled even as she swept up her hat. ‘The longer she plays games, the more chance she’s got of being arrested.’
‘You blame her for being cautious?’
‘Damn right,’ Toil confirmed. ‘I blame everyone who doesn’t do exactly what I say and I go on blaming them until they’ve apologised for being wrong or dead.’
Anatin laughed. ‘It’s her easy-going nature that makes her a natural fit in the Cards,’ he explained to Atieno. ‘Probably also be the death of us all, but the gods are nothing but miserable bloody jokers, eh?’
Toil didn’t comment, just drew her hair back in one deft movement and piled it up under her hat. With the brim pulled low she buttoned her coat to hide the pistol holster and waved towards the door.
‘Lead on, my friend,’ Toil said. ‘On to glory, on to victory, on to whatever else that playwright said.’
‘The dark fields of death,’ Atieno replied after a pause for thought.
Toil shook her head and swept past him. ‘Nah, don’t take us there. Bloody stupid idea, what were you thinking? The dark will have to wait at least a day or two – be patient, my friend.’
‘The dark? You mean the labyrinth? What makes you think I’m going with you there?’
‘For glory and the other stuff,’ Toil said, waving her hand dismissively as she headed outside.
‘Once Lastani’s safe, I’m done,’ Atieno called after her. ‘You can enjoy the labyrinth all you like; I’m not going down there for glory, victory or anything else.’
‘How about money?’ Anatin asked as the door banged shut behind Toil. ‘You’re a mage, right? Might be you’ll be worth having with us.’
He paused. ‘How much money?’
Anatin gave a careless shrug and fetched out a cigar from a battered silver case. ‘It’s her money,’ he said. ‘How does “lots” suit you?’
The mage thought for a moment. ‘“Lots” works for me.’
‘Excellent. It’s a deal.’
Lastani looked out of the narrow window at the ground below. There was a mass of storage sheds and decrepit single-storey buildings round the back of the Badren Ovens, tight little alleys leading back on themselves, mostly fully of rubbish. A dog scratched disconsolately at one such pile, but seemed to find nothing to interest its appetite and it began to move away as Lastani lowered her bag down as close to the ground as she could.
There were soldiers in the main room below. She didn’t know how much time she had, but the books were too heavy to carry alone and too valuable to leave behind. Her fingers were already screaming at her as she tried to line the bag up, suspended from a short length of sheet that – now she was committed – was clearly far too short for the task at hand. At last Lastani managed to swing the bag right and she let go of the sheet. The bag thumped heavily on to a shed roof, slid a little way and held. Lastani gasped with relief then went to fetch a second.
She lowered that out of the window too, depositing it in a snowy pile of broken twigs to one side of the shed. That done, she pulled her cape on, slung a small bag with her remaining belongings over one shoulder and headed to the back stairs. It had been pure chance Lastani had seen the soldiers arrive. Her bags had been mostly packed already, but she’d not expected to have to flee quite like this. A rare prayer to Insar escaped her lips as she reached the narrow back stair and started down it. The god of Silence and the Cold Night was hardly a favourite of hers, despite her magic, but most toiling academics had said a prayer or two to Insar – also called the keeper of secrets – as they tried to unravel one mystery or another.
There was no overt sign of Insar’s favour, but the stair was chilly, dark and empty as she reached the bottom to slip out of a side door. With a flush of relief Lastani headed out into the grey light of morning and crossed the street to turn the nearest corner, determined to get out of sight of the Ovens as quickly as possible. Her bags could wait half an hour, she doubted anyone would steal them in the meantime and it was better than skirting around to fetch them.
Ten yards down the street she stopped dead with a whimper of fear. From the shadows of an arched doorway, the barrel of a mage-gun swung down to point at her. Her fingers began to tingle, but then a second gun appeared and she stopped. One soldier she might be able to get the better of; handling two without getting shot would be tough. Though she was an ice mage and those guns were almost certainly loaded with icers, a shield was exhausting to maintain even if she got it up in time.
‘Veraimin’s blessing, what we got here now?’
A man stepped out of the shadows – not wearing the grey of the City Regiment to her surprise, but a quartered blue-and-white coat of House Gradelines, one of Jarrazir’s oldest and most pre-eminent noble houses. There was little noble about the man himself, however; small piggy eyes and a bulbous nose complementing unshaven cheeks and stains on his jacket.
‘Let me pass,’ Lastani croaked after a moment of blind terror. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong and I’m no vassal of your house.’
‘Is that right?’ He glanced off to the right where a tall man was advancing through the shadows of an overhanging roof. ‘Well, that’s good to hear. Still, looks like you scuttled out the Ovens quick enough once those soldiers went in.’
‘I heard raised voices, I thought th
ere was going to be trouble.’
‘Sure. What’s yer name, little miss?’
‘Why do you want to know?’ she demanded, despite the guns. ‘You’ve no authority in the city.’
‘Ah now, we’ve been deputised, so we have,’ the man said with a broad grin. ‘The whole city’s to look for this rogue mage and you fit the bill pretty nice.’ He took a step closer but kept a tight grip on his gun. ‘So now, what’s yer name?’
‘I’m no mage,’ Lastani insisted. ‘Please, you’ve got the wrong person. Is it money you want? I’ve got some, but I don’t want trouble. I’ve got to get home, my father’s ill – he’s expecting me back.’
‘Let’s get back to the money,’ the guard said. ‘How much do you have?’
‘I … I don’t know. Some.’ She pulled her purse from her belt, taking her time in the hope a distraction would buy her time to use her magic, and tossed it at his feet. ‘Here.’
‘Keep an eye on her, Kreil,’ the guard said, crouching slowly so he could pick it up without taking his sights off Lastani. ‘She tries anything, shoot her.’
Lastani felt the tingle in her hands building, her magic screaming to be released, but she held back – hoping money was all the men wanted. It really was all she had, but while her magic was well schooled she was hardly a battle mage like they had back in the days of kings.
The guard hefted the purse then risked a peek inside. ‘That’ll do,’ he said before looking up. ‘Right, hands above your head now.’
‘What? But I’ve …’
‘Got no money and there’s a reward out on this mage,’ he finished for her. ‘So if you’re her, you’re worth a lot of money to us. More’n I won at cards last night,’ he added, nodding towards the purse. ‘If you’re not her, you’re acting real suspicious and you’ve only got yourself to blame for being arrested. Now – hands right up, touch the sky and back the way you came.’
Lastani hesitated a moment then flinched as he raised the gun, aiming at her face. She gave a squeak of alarm and put her hands up in the air.
‘Good girl, now turn around and walk slowly.’