by Tom Lloyd
Not that it matters a whole lot, Lynx reminded himself, given we’ve got more soldiers appearing on the stands all around.
Now that he had a moment’s pause to look, Lynx realised the whole scene was haloed by small fires burning in a dozen places around them. The wooden benches and tiers of the amphitheatre were easy fuel for the burners they’d fired. It would take a while to set the whole place going, but the longer the guards watched them rather than the fires, the more chance of an inferno there was.
‘Hand the bag over,’ Faril ordered.
Bade blinked at her a short while then did so, quickly backing off once the attention was back on the general. He glanced at his crew and the rest of them edged back a little way, guns still trained on the Cards but looking more like running than fighting now. Only when Faril ordered them to stop did Bade grind to a halt, face betraying his tension as he watched the confrontation between Faril and Toil.
‘Changed your tune, haven’t you?’ Toil asked the general coolly.
Faril gave her a slight smile that was in that moment as disconcerting as Reft’s. ‘The fragments remain my principal concern and Bade has changed the options. Perhaps a mage-sphere can destroy them, perhaps it’s something special to your tattooed mages. The look on your faces shows you’re not certain yourselves and it’s my soldiers who pick up the pieces once we’re all dead. My Order that retrieves the God Fragments.
‘If Banesh himself could only shatter the gods into fragments, it’s not a bad bet that a standard mage-sphere won’t make them crumble to dust.’ She cocked her head at Atieno. ‘It will mean you struggle to do the job yourself and save your mercenary hide at the same time. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong.’
No one spoke. No one knew what to say so far as Lynx could tell. It wasn’t quite an admission, but it opened the door to certainty enough for a crowbar to be inserted.
‘Well that’s disappointing,’ Toil said eventually.
‘It is, isn’t it?’
Toil turned to look at the mercenaries behind her. Lynx saw her catch the eye of Atieno, Lastani and Sitain, nodding slightly as she spoke to the rest. ‘Drop the bags,’ Toil ordered. ‘She’s won this one.’
‘Eh?’ Deern demanded, lowering his gun and turning to stare, incredulous, at Toil. Lynx felt a sudden tingle on his skin, building with terrifying speed.
‘You heard me,’ she said as the bags started to thump down on to the wooden floor.
‘Kas?’ Toil called to the dark-skinned scout who still held her bow fully drawn, arrow pointing at the general. ‘You too – do it!’
The tingle became a torrent of fire on Lynx’s skin and swirls of light and colour erupted around them. Kas fired even as a veil of ice magic descended over them. Lynx caught sight of the arrow slamming into the general’s chest – unaffected by the surging currents of power that knitted themselves into a skein of white.
There was one final glimpse of the shock on the general’s face, the pain and surprise as she was hurled backwards under the impact. Then the shield solidified between them and Lynx had just a moment to crouch and cringe, to feel fear at what was to come. After that, the world blinked away in an explosion that eclipsed everything.
Chapter 38
Toil blinked and tried to move. Her whole body hurt; sharp pains mingling with a bone-deep ache. An orchestra of discomfort playing a hundred individual notes accompanied each movement as her wits slowly returned and she could begin to take stock. Each injury combined and magnified those around it to echo through her very bones – not merely the sum of their parts but some grand symphony elevated to shake the very rafters.
‘Shit,’ Toil croaked, pawing feebly as she tried to make some sense of where she was.
The explosion. The blinding light and the force of impact. Even the mage-shields hadn’t been able to fully withstand it. They’d been hammered backwards, thrown from their feet and then … She looked around. There was wood everywhere. Broken pieces; planks and splinters. And it was gloomy – not dark, not night, but something not quite like day.
‘Ulfer’s horn,’ groaned someone nearby. ‘Am I dead?’
Slowly, Toil pulled a piece of wood from across her chest and shoved it to one side. Her hand was a mass of tiny cuts and her little finger burned with pain as she moved the wood. Toil frowned at it for a moment then, jerkily, lifted her other hand and tried to pull her dislocated finger back into place. The action made her scream at first, prompting a flurry of panicked movement all around her, but Toil could see little until she was done.
When it was in place, she lay back, panting until the pink spots faded from her vision. In their place came clarity and she finally realised where they were. A halo of torn wood seemed to hover above her, penning the sky overhead. They were in the lower chamber – the explosion had shattered the artificial floor beneath their feet. Toil looked left and right. There were Cards slowly rising from the rubble like the hideous risen dead – caked in dust, bloody and battered, scowling at a world that had tried to kill them yet again.
‘Anyone got a gun?’ Toil asked hoarsely.
Abruptly, Lynx rose from the mess of shattered wood a few yards away. ‘Sod my gun. Ain’t counted my legs yet.’
‘Who’s shitting idea was that?’ Anatin said. The man whimpered as he tried to get to his feet with only one hand and an uneven pile of wreckage underneath. He slipped once, twice, then managed to steady himself and flapped at the empty holster at his waist. The Prince of Sun frowned, then kicked at the broken pieces, scanning around for a while until he bent and pulled a mage-pistol from the mess.
‘Aha, that’s better. Now I can shoot whichever shit-brained excuse for a heifer made the world blow up.’ He scouted around, wobbling slightly and squinting at the faces nearby. ‘Kas, where are ya? Here, girl, time to get shot in the face.’
‘Put it away,’ Toil said, grabbing Lynx and using him as support to get up herself. ‘Or watch above, in case the Charnelers come looking.’
‘Ain’t they all dead yet?’
Toil shook her head and dragged Lynx to his feet, then went to help Lastani. ‘Not the guards in the stands, the bomb wasn’t that big. Doubt there’s any bits of the general left up there amid the mess, though. I’ll just have to pray that Bade was close enough to get the same but right now we’re probably still outnumbered so no time for checking. You okay?’ she asked the young woman.
Lastani blinked up at her with a blank expression, too dazed to reply, but Toil couldn’t see any serious injuries so she didn’t press the issue.
‘Guess we got lucky,’ Lynx muttered, looking at the wreckage around them. Almost the entire roof of the room had been staved in; part of one tunnel at the far end ripped open. ‘I’m fine too, by the way.’
‘Lucky?’ bellowed Deern, lurching towards them with a mad look in his eye. ‘You call that lucky?’
‘Aye.’
‘An earther,’ Toil said, catching on a moment later. ‘Gods yes. If he’d grabbed a fire-bomb, we’d all be cooking right now.’ She looked up at the sides of the room. There were some scrappy ends to grab on to, but nothing that looked strong enough to pull her up and out of the hole. If it had been a fire-bomb there’d be no escape. As it was, the earther had destroyed the artificial floor and ripped open a chunk of ground beyond, but there was only a great cloud of dust hanging over them rather than the smoke of burning planks.
‘Sound off,’ Anatin called, still waving his gun around like a confused drunk. ‘Who’s left?’
More Cards struggled from the piles, Haphori, Safir, then Layir. Toil scouted around and found Aben lying prone not far behind her. She pulled him up and checked the man over. There was a wound to his head bleeding everywhere, but it didn’t look fatal.
‘Well?’ she said to Anatin as there came unintelligible grunts from different directions.
‘Sitain? Ah, there ya are. Lynx, pick her up, she ain’t looking good.’
Anatin fished another mage-gun from the debris and tos
sed it to Teshen as the man sat up with his face hidden by his long hair. Teshen caught the gun seemingly without looking and swept his hair out of his face to give Anatin a baleful look. Then he stood, hauling Atieno with him. The mage looked as unsteady as Sitain, but Toil was happy to forgive him that.
‘Looks like we all owe the mages a drink or two,’ Toil commented. She grabbed a pack that hopefully contained some God Fragments. ‘Get your shit, anything you can see, and head back the way we came.’
She pointed in the vague direction as the Cards turned uncomprehending expressions her way. ‘The tunnel, clear the entrance.’
Finally, they looked back and some of them started to wade towards the half-covered tunnel entrance, its tile-strengthened walls mostly intact despite the explosion. Others started grabbing at the canvas packs that were scattered all around, apparently as intact as the mercenaries themselves.
‘Shift yourselves,’ Toil announced, finding a gun at last and realising with slight surprise that it was her own. She opened it and slotted a fire-bolt in. ‘Burner in the pipe!’ she called loudly, prompting startled looks.
Those guards won’t be too far long, let’s not stay like rats in a pit. The general didn’t think God Fragments will burn and I reckon she’ll know more about it than me. The Monarch can dig through the ashes in a few days.
‘What’s the plan, Toil?’ Anatin asked.
‘The finest traditions of the mercenary craft,’ she said, feeling a manic grin cross her face.
‘We’re running away?’
Toil nodded. ‘Followed swiftly by a good bit o’ hiding too.’
‘I like this plan.’
‘How about this bit?’ Toil aimed the gun down the far end of the shattered room and pulled the trigger. The burner hit the far side and exploded into flames, hurling fragments of burning wood high in the air.
‘The fuck’s this bit?’ Anatin howled.
‘Set the place on fire so no one follows,’ she announced, sheathing her gun. ‘Now get your shit and everyone into that tunnel!’
The flames spread quickly through what was now a huge firepit of sawdust and splintered wood. The Cards barely had time to grab their stunned comrades and all the bags they could see before the fire pursued them right to the tunnel mouth. Toil made sure she was last in, counting the heads once more to ensure only surviving Charnelers would burn. Half of them didn’t have mage-guns and she guessed they were missing half the God Fragments too, but Toil didn’t wait to search.
They scampered down the long tunnel, doing their best to ignore the sound of raging fire behind and glad the rush of wind in their faces showed it was drawing air in, not acting like a chimney for the smoke to escape. When they neared the far end Toil called a halt. They all sank to the ground, exhausted, while Toil arranged them to put Atieno and Sitain at one end, Lastani at the other.
‘What now?’ Lynx asked, settling the unconscious Aben down so his head was resting on one of the God Fragment bags. ‘We just wait here?’
‘We wait,’ Toil confirmed. ‘We sit and hide like quiet little mice unless it starts to fill with smoke. If anyone comes after us, the mages keep us alive while we use up whatever cartridges we’ve got left.’
‘I don’t think I can do much more,’ Lastani said, her voice slurring with weariness and dyed white hair hanging limp over her face.
‘Sit and rest for now. We’ve got an army out there with no leaders, the amphitheatre’s probably on fire by now. They ain’t getting the God Fragments in a hurry and no one in charge likely knows much about ’em. It might take a while to organise, but I reckon they’ll withdraw and leave us to it.’
‘Sit and wait,’ Lynx said, nodding slightly drunkenly. ‘Reckon I can do that.’ He lay down beside Aben and stretched his legs out. ‘Wake me if an army comes to kill us.’ He paused. ‘Mebbe don’t, actually, not sure I’ll want to know.’
The Cards sat in the dark of the tunnel for two hours or more. It was hard to gauge the time passing. They heard distant gunfire, shouts and the tramp of many feet, but didn’t venture out to investigate. Toil kept awake and didn’t say a thing as she saw others drift off – not even when the mages slumped and started to snore. Her hearing was sharp and she was confident of being able to wake them before a burner got fired down the tunnel, so until then she let them recover their strength.
When someone came, despite everything, Toil was so startled and jumpy she almost shot them on first sight. It was just a dark figure in the tunnel and the echo of boots, but then came a blessed sound – a voice even her exhausted, half-scrambled brain recognised. Her brother, Vigilance, advanced down the tunnel with a few of his lieutenants. After kicking the others awake Toil embraced her brother and happily allowed herself to be shepherded out into the grainy afternoon light.
Vigilance confirmed what she’d expected, that the Knights-Charnel had been harried out of the city in the confusion surrounding General Faril’s death. Soon the mercenaries were reunited with the rest of the Cards and they were escorted as a group back to the palace while the amphitheatre continued to burn furiously. The city was a brutalised thing, whole streets shattered by earth and fire. Hiding in the shadows were frightened and bedraggled citizens shocked by the devastation and picking their way through the ruins.
Much of the fighting had taken place in the merchant district where they had lodged and those districts beyond it. Even from the palace Toil could see the damage done, the wreckage of a street battle. The great beasts of the city, the guild-houses and university, were holed and wounded amid the broken corpses of their lesser kin. And, among those, Toil saw bright robes of the dead, ordinary guildsmen in the uniforms of their trades alongside the mages of the city – selling their lives to defend it.
The palace itself was relatively untouched, one tower fallen and a lesser wing staved in down one side. Inside there was disorder and damage, but again it was minor. It seemed General Faril’s control of her troops had extended to keeping them from looting, although Toil wondered if that would have continued after the battle was won. In the throne room, however, the white Duegar lamps were gone, recognised for what they were and plundered along with silver and gold ornaments. As Crown-Princess Stilanna formally received the tattooed group and all except Paranil, who was beaming from a stretcher, knelt to her, Suth pulled the one remaining white glass oval from her pack. Its light spread around the room and the Monarch gave a weary smile. The sight seemed to diminish the gloom in more ways than one.
‘Not all plundered,’ Stilanna said, gesturing to a servant to relieve Suth of the burden. ‘Thank you, Suth.’ She paused and looked again around at the faces. ‘Elei?’
‘No, Majesty,’ Suth said, eyes downcast. ‘Dead in your service.’
‘As so many others.’ She reached out and touched the arm of the Crown-Prince beside her, as though reminding herself that he was still there. Tylom was pale and still spattered in mud and blood, one arm in a sling. ‘My husband tells me his life was saved more than once by those who gave their own for him. The sacrifices will not be forgotten.’
The Monarch took a deep breath and straightened. ‘And yet, by most other measures we are victorious – thanks in great part to you, Mistress Toil. Your employer’s faith in you was well founded.’
The packs they’d managed to recover were brought forward by more servants and unpacked on the floor in front of the throne. It was an incongruous sight; an untidy pile of plain canvas and white cloth before the great throne inlaid with jet and gold, then glinting shards of the gods themselves slowly appearing, to gasps from the watching court.
The servants were painstaking in their investigation of each pack, eight in all, and checked every fold of cloth before setting anything aside. The largest, a fist-sized chunk with jagged striations down one side that shone with a yellow light, was passed up to the Monarch. She cradled it in both hands and stared like a child, Tylom crouching down beside her despite the discomfort it brought.
‘There are more,’ T
oil said, ‘you just might have to wait for your amphitheatre to cool down a bit before you go collect them.’
The Monarch nodded slowly, reluctant to tear her gaze from the God Fragment. ‘Yes, you do seem to have caused a fair amount of destruction in your wake,’ she said with the hint of a smile, wonder eclipsing fatigue and shock. ‘Perhaps we should not discuss a reward and I’ll just hold back from billing you for a new amphitheatre?’
Toil gave a hollow laugh. ‘Pretty sure I didn’t cause most of the damage to the city,’ she said, ‘but I’ll waive my usual fee as a gesture of goodwill.’
Crown-Princess Stilanna’s face turned serious. ‘Then goodwill you have, for you and your employer. Might he have something to request of me?’
‘No doubt a whole list of ’em,’ Toil confirmed. ‘With your permission, can we leave the details for another day when I’m not hurting and exhausted? It was mostly goodwill I was sent here to build. The Militant Orders are growing bolder, as you’re now only too painfully aware, and divided we will fall. The Archelect proposes a League of Parthain – an alliance between states that have all too often been enemies. He hopes you will agree to meet him and discuss the foundation.’
‘A League of Parthain?’ The Monarch was quiet a long while before nodding. ‘I will meet the Archelect. Goodwill wins you at least a discussion and the hope for more.’
‘And the God Fragments,’ Crown-Prince Tylom added, ‘might serve to expand that – gifts for the other states to bring us all together?’
Stilanna looked startled one moment, then laughed the next. ‘How very selfless of me that would be, to offer gifts no state would think of refusing and ensure we were all equal targets, should the Knights-Charnel ever come looking for the God Fragments again.’
‘What about the labyrinth? What else is down there?’ Tylom asked. ‘Does it pose a threat to the city? Are there artefacts to be removed?’