Princess of Blood

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘That door?’ he demanded, pointing.

  ‘They were shooting from the window too.’

  Honeth turned and pointed at the nearest Bridge Watch troops. ‘With me. The rest of you, watch the windows!’

  He advanced on the door at a crouch, a mage-pistol in each hand, and pressed himself against the door-jamb. One soldier took a position on the other side and the other crouched at the base of the steps while Honeth hammered on the door.

  ‘Open up in the name of the Monarch!’ he roared, loud enough to echo all the way down the street. ‘Lower your guns!’

  There was no response so he banged again. ‘Answer me now or we break it down!’

  Again there was no reply so Honeth gestured to one of the soldiers. The man nodded and took a step back, braced himself on the handrail of the steps, then launched forward to stamp his boot into the door.

  It burst open under the impact. From behind his wall Lynx caught a fleeting glimpse of a hallway empty but for a small table set behind the door, a box on top of it. Some sixth sense made him duck his head as the table and box went flying.

  In the next moment the house exploded.

  Bade turned just in time to see the man vanish – swallowed by the floor without a sound or the tiniest disturbance. He heard the brief scream a second later, distant and muted.

  ‘Guess that answers that question,’ Chotel muttered.

  Bade flashed the man a grin. The dead man wasn’t one of theirs, but one of two dragoons running down the narrow path of the upper chamber. ‘Didn’t you explain rule one of relic hunting to ’em?’

  ‘I thought you did?’ Chotel said in mock surprise.

  ‘Dammit, must’ve forgotten. Ah, well, looks like they’ve learned the hard way.’

  The second dragoon stumbled to a halt, looking wildly around at the blank flagstones of the upper chamber. There was nothing to see – the illusion was pristine and unbroken, without even dirt to break its crisp lines. Eventually his gaze returned to the two men watching him and that shocked him back into movement, trotting forward with his oil lamp held high.

  ‘Where’s Exalted Kastelian?’ the man gasped.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Bridge Watch came to the house. We blew it.’

  ‘Sure you brought it down?’ Bade asked sharply.

  ‘I heard it go as I was running here. We rigged the door with a whole box of grenades,’ he confirmed. ‘It’ll take them days to dig it out.’

  Bade nodded and turned back the way he’d come. ‘No time to lose, then. Let’s hope you’re right about being ready, Chotel.’

  Chotel offered him an obscene gesture in reply. They hurried the short distance back to the second labyrinth entrance where most of Bade’s crew were camped with their kit on the narrow path of the upper chamber, four dragoons standing guard at the open doorway itself. They couldn’t risk keeping anyone inside the entrance chamber now the wall was too thin to mask any noise so the remaining dragoons had been sent on to a broad platform before a massive stone doorway they’d found, where the mages were currently working on opening it.

  ‘Timetable just got moved up,’ Bade called once he was close enough not to shout. ‘Get to the door and be ready to move. Sonna, you’re in charge until I come.’

  A tall woman with a long mage-gun in her arms nodded. By coincidence she was a local of Jarrazir, or at least a village down the coast, but the tattoos, fetishes and jewellery she sported showed how far the sharp-shooter had travelled – both before and after joining Bade’s crew.

  Bade headed inside to the main chamber below the keep, slowing his footsteps to be as quiet as possible. Just inside the inner door was Bug’s crate where Ulestim waited, away from the wall they’d been patiently digging out. Bade waved the man forward and the three headed into the main chamber where the alchemical globe was still going, its light fading. Fortunately, they wouldn’t need it for much longer, not now the townhouse entrance was no longer a secret.

  Bade ascended the slopes until he was right at the door and Ulestim handed over a limp cloth pipe with a tapered brass nozzle. Ulestim was a tall man with tanned skin and round spectacles on his neatly bearded face. His clothes were non-descript but for a belt picked out in whorls of green and red that held a rapier on one hip and a pistol on the other.

  Bade connected the pipe to an oblong metal object that had a grille covering much of its back half and two broad handle-like pieces sticking out at the middle. With most of the dirt and rubble blocking the doorway to the deep armoury removed, only a thin wall of bricks remained. They had already constructed a rough frame of sticks and cloth around the doorway to hide the globe’s light in case there were gaps in the mortar so Bade simply sat on the floor and pulled the folds of cloth around him until he was working in near-total dark. Using a knife he slowly worked away at the mortar between bricks until there was a hole to push the nozzle of the pipe through, whereupon he pulled a wet rag from a small pail off to the side and tied it around his nose and mouth.

  Ulestim pressed at two parts on the metal object that was connected to the pipe and a dull glow appeared within the main seam running down the centre. The pipe jerked like a snake waking from hibernation. Quickly it filled out and the machine silently started its work.

  Bade watched it happen, enraptured. He’d not found this item himself – fortunately enough as it transpired. Another relic hunter had and had died not long afterwards, the object being passed between collectors until one worked out how to use it. Most likely it had been intended simply for eradicating vermin, but now the vermin were soldiers. He’d never had a chance to use the thing before, a sleep- or death-inducing gas that was lighter than air being not immediately useful, but finally he would see how effective it was.

  If it isn’t, we do this the old-fashioned way.

  It was difficult to gauge how long it needed, but given the gas would rise and escape through any vent or window above they had to let it run as long as possible. After five nerve-tightening minutes Bade reached out and tapped Ulestim on the shoulder. The man nodded and shut off the machine again, stepping back before removing the rag about his mouth just in case.

  ‘That should do it,’ Chotel whispered from behind them. ‘Now Bug?’

  Bade nodded and Chotel crept back to fetch the remaining dragoons to help them carry Bug’s crate up to the doorway, Kastelian following along behind. Waiting as long as he could for the gas to have taken effect and then dissipate, Bade worked the first brick free and peered through with his gun ready. He could see nothing inside – the gas also smothered any flames it encountered – so rather than assume there was someone waiting in the pitch black he started removing more bricks.

  Ulestim helped him until there was a hole roughly the size of the crate’s end. They slid the crate up to the hole and prised open the face until they could lift a piece clean away, leaving the crate open to the room beyond the doorway. Bade sat on top while Chotel braced it behind. Bug had been drugged and cooped up for days now. She’d not be in the best mood.

  Best she finds something to kill and eat before I give her a scratch behind the ears, Bade thought as he peered through the small gap above the crate, his Duegar lamp held to one side. There was a soft scrape of claws on the bottom of the crate then nothing until he spied faint movement in the blackness beyond.

  It was hard to make out, even though he knew what to look for, but the progress of a dark, sleek shape was just about visible across the room beyond. Eventually, Bade made out two shapes on the floor of the room, past a wooden mechanism like a dumb waiter and a triple row of steel lock-boxes covering the far wall. Neither was moving and the elusive shape of Bug paused only momentarily at them, her hunger overruled by the instinct to search out any threats first.

  Bug crept to the stairs with small, precise movements where there was a touch more light and Bade could make out the familiar lines of grey carapace and black blade-like limbs. The size of a large dog, Bug had a blunt eyeless head wit
h a wide slit mouth, shark’s smile half hidden behind the double pair of mandibles that twitched up and down, tasting the air. Her fat lobster-like tail curled up high as she ascended the stone stairs, ready to explode into movement, but she continued with the slow stalk until she was out of Bade’s sight.

  ‘That’s some runt,’ Bade whispered to himself as much as anyone, but Chotel coughed a small laugh beside him.

  ‘It’d have been a real pain to get a full-size maspid into the city, though.’

  ‘Also tricky to train up from a grub I reckon.’

  ‘How long do you give her?’

  Bade shrugged. ‘Time to find someone, rip their face off and eat what’s underneath until she’s not so hungry.’

  ‘So a few minutes more?’

  ‘Aye, probably best.’ Bade took another long look at the room beyond then eased himself back to the ground. With Chotel’s help he lifted the crate quietly away before enlarging the gap so a man could walk through without ducking. On top of the crate he put a small clay pot and removed the lid. Inside was a sticky substance that he dipped one finger into and dabbed some of the pungent secretion on his throat, Chotel doing likewise and indicating to those behind that they should also.

  That done they moved on through, guns drawn, until they’d reached the lock-boxes. Under the light of Bade’s Duegar lamp it was hard to make out much, but he could see that most of the locks had been removed and the boxes were empty. Most, but not all. There were two remaining – each big enough to contain one bombardment sphere that would nestle neatly in the wooden frame of the dumb waiter. A second smaller rack of boxes on the other side was also empty but for two mage-spheres about double the size of a standard grenade, intended for firing in groups to scatter in the air and cause maximum damage.

  Still enough for our purposes given we brought a few boxes of grenades too, Bade thought as he inspected the dumb waiter mechanism. It was simple but sturdy, held by thick chains that were all freshly oiled and each strong enough to hold ten times the weight of a sphere with ease. The frame itself had blocks lined with leather padding that could be removed so a sphere the size of a large pumpkin could be fitted, then the blocks restored to protect it on all sides.

  He nodded towards the stairs. There had been no shooting so it was unlikely anyone was left alive. Bug might be hungry but the runt was still a maspid, undersized or not. She was too intelligent to just stop and eat without investigating the remaining rooms first. Only daylight would keep her away and it was well past dusk by Bade’s estimate.

  He led a nervous quintet of dragoons up, keeping his gun drawn just in case Bug had decided to go feral and was waiting to ambush him. The secretion he collected from her and stored in the jar should tell Bug they were part of her pack, but maspids were clever. They could make choices of their own and he’d seen her kill one crew member she didn’t like, despite the scent.

  The first room was empty, the second a bunkroom. The soldiers inside had fallen where they stood or simply never got up, two broad puncture wounds showing Bug had indeed passed this way before moving on. The men on the top bunks she’d left or not noticed from waist-height, but they were already dead when Bade checked, knife at the ready.

  They moved on and found more signs of slaughter, more bodies in a windowless mess-room and the kitchen beyond. A brick chimney rose through the mess-room, a protected path for the mage-spheres to reach to the roof. Above that was a garrison room with more dead and a heavy outside door reinforced with long bars of steel and bolts top and bottom.

  Bade lowered the three long bars that served as additional protection, in case someone twigged what they were up to, then carried on. To get through it now any attacker would have to rip the entire frame out of the six-foot-deep stonework it was set into – going directly through the wall with earthers would probably be easier.

  Up again and into several small guardrooms with narrow windows affording fields of fire in all directions. More dead there, and above in the watch commander’s office. They found Bug in the guard rooms above that, keeping to the enclosed space and feasting on one of the corpses. The runt maspid twitched and tensed at their arrival, but Bade clicked his tongue at the creature until she relaxed a shade. They couldn’t communicate properly, not as easily as a master and his dog even for all of Bug’s greater intelligence, but the creature could sense what he wanted well enough.

  Bug responded with a short burst of clicks and returned to her meal while Bade and Kastelian headed up to the roof. There they found more bodies; a pair of uniformed soldiers who’d been almost torn apart by Bug.

  ‘Must’ve still been moving,’ Bade whispered, pointing to the bodies. ‘These ones she put down hard.’

  ‘Lucky for us they didn’t get a shot off.’

  Bade gestured at the thick wall that ran around the entire platform to protect the trebuchet from gunshot. ‘Probably still got a dose of the gas; this keeps it enclosed.’

  There were slits around the edge for sighting, but most of the entire top platform was composed of a massive trebuchet on a pair of sliding rails that in turn sat atop a great turntable. Fat-toothed gears ran all the way around the outside of that, a great block of gearwheels set to one side with a handle protruding far enough for four men to grip.

  Which in all likelihood, it’d take to move this monster, Bade realised, looking up at the great arm of the trebuchet – black against the dull glow of the Skyriver.

  ‘The keep’s clear,’ Kastelian announced as another of his men ascended to join them and signalled to the Exalted. ‘Time to rig it up.’

  ‘Aye.’

  They headed down again, leaving Bug to her feast and ushering the rest away until there was only Chotel and Bade left in the lowest room. One of the dragoons had provided them with the commander’s key and they carefully unlocked the first of the sphere cases. Inside was a dull steel ball, made without finish or great care. Bade had seen them crafted once, back in a Charneler sanctuary. It was terrifying watching the glass ball be coated variously in wax and sawdust, then twine, before molten iron was poured over in stages. The slightest mistake and everyone within fifty yards wouldn’t even notice they were dead.

  Unlike a grenade, there was no flaw in the coating, nowhere for a pin to pierce the glass. The iron was a rough covering because it needed no more refinement than that. Some said that they could be dropped on to a stone floor without detonating, but Bade doubted anyone had tested the theory. When they were thrown by a trebuchet, they were light enough to be hurled half a mile and the impact would be all the detonator necessary.

  Quickly they assembled a wooden frame and placed the sphere underneath with five boxes of grenades the dragoons had ferried up. Atop the frame they placed three primed grenades while a candle was set underneath one side of that, just beneath a thin rope that held the platform level. Before the candle was lit, Bade sent Chotel away to make sure everyone was well clear before fetching a sated Bug. The maspid followed him easily enough and sensed by Bade’s manner than she needed to move carefully in the lower room, skirting her master before heading down into the depths.

  Bade waited a short while, hoping for no gunshots as the dragoons saw Bug, but none came and a low whistle from Chotel confirmed that the maspid had gone through. She would catch the scent of Senna, the member of Bade’s crew Bug liked more than the rest, once she was through the chamber and follow that across the upper chamber of the labyrinth.

  Hopefully she’s got enough sense to find the path, Bade thought to himself as he retrieved his matches from a pocket. Reckon she’ll be useful in the days to come.

  One last check of the frame and he lit the candle, checked it was burning correctly then scampered away.

  The rope’s thick, he reminded himself as he hurried down the zig-zagged slopes beyond the door, you’ve got time.

  Still, Bade didn’t slow up until he’d reached the upper chamber and saw the dragoons heading off down the path. He followed them a short way until he was well away
from the door, whereupon he knelt and waited. Chotel joined him and lay flat, prompting Bade to copy him, and side by side they lay as the seconds ticked by.

  ‘Really burning your bridges today, aren’t you?’ Chotel whispered. Bade laughed and soon the two men were giggling like children together, half-tensed against the explosion to come.

  ‘Think there’s a problem?’ Chotel added after a while longer.

  Bade opened his mouth to reply and then there was a distant cracking sound that was immediately swallowed by a long, deep boom that roared like an approaching firedrake, full of wrath. The sound shook the roof and walls and path beneath them, filled the air above with its deep rumble until Bade thought his ears would burst.

  A great gust of air and dust spat from the stone doorway ahead, scattering shards of stone and dirt like rain across the upper chamber. It whipped at their clothes as the two men lay face down, hands clasped over their ears. Finally, ears ringing and limbs trembling, Bade looked up and blinked at the darkness beyond. He could see little difference with so much solid rock between them, but could only imagine the devastation wrought up on the surface.

  ‘Nope.’ He coughed, banging a fist against his lieutenant’s shoulder. ‘Reckon there’s no problem.’

  Chapter 20

  Blurred light and distant sound. Pain and numbness, crushing weight and emptiness. A body he could no longer feel began to thrum with fearful energy – a flutter that rose from deep inside his chest to describe a shape, a form. The curve of ribs, a deep chest and thick limbs all traced in the dancing jangle of fear. It spread, became fingers and eyes and hair and finally the picture was done – a man traced in lines of panic.

  With a jolt and a gasp, Lynx opened his eyes. A thin wail escaped his lips as the darkness pressed down on his chest – hot and sharp like tiny teeth. Flailing, he managed to haul himself around and dislodge some of the bricks on top of him, twisting where he lay to shake them off and relieve the pressure. He tried to make out where he was but the air was full of dust. The sky was dark above him, the Skyriver a distant dull haze while smears of orange flame shuddered at the periphery of his vision.