SHIANG

by C. F. Iggulden

  None of that prepared him for the helplessness he felt in the long room. He had grown to fear the sound of the door opening as Lord Ran appeared and consulted his servants in quiet murmurs. The four men lying strapped to the tables no longer seemed to concern the nobleman as individuals. Lord Ran and his staff moved and prepared around them as if they did not stare and tremble. The blind man called for help, at intervals, as if the sound lay buried in him and bubbled to the surface. No one answered him.

  They were offered water to drink. As the setting sun turned the windows to gold across the river, one of the servants even spooned a steaming mush of boiled vegetables into them, one by one. Taeshin was starving, but turned his head and refused even so, clamping his jaw shut. He had been hungry before. It felt like surrender to take charity from people who considered him just another ape tied to the bed.

  When darkness came, Lord Ran’s servants lit tapers, touching them to tiny jets of gas behind glass, so that light bloomed again in the long room. Taeshin had known oil lamps, but never anything that suggested pipes and contraptions hidden in the walls. He wrinkled his nose as the thin and toothless drunk urinated where he lay. The man was weeping, Taeshin saw. He looked for some expression in the servants, but as soon as they saw what had happened, they whipped the sheets away and brought clean ones, dabbing the man with cloths as best they could. Taeshin wondered if they would release his bonds if he emptied his bowels. He was almost desperate enough to try it.

  Great vats of sulphur acid and metals he did not know still bubbled on the tables, a line of white mist standing above each one like a rain cloud. Taeshin shuddered as he tried to make sense of what had happened. Lord Ran had turned a circular knob of some dark metal and the results had been like sour magic in him. First, his muscles had tensed on their own, without his control for the first time in his life. Taeshin had seen ridges stand up in his forearms, and he could still feel his jaw and neck ache from where they had been tensed for so long. Yet it seemed that Lord Ran had no particular accomplishment in mind when he worked the machine. It was as if he was still setting up and testing each part of his equipment. Taeshin had watched the men on the beds arch, one after the other, giving him a chance to see how he looked when the wires were attached. It was an ugly thing, he thought. The eyes of men could be made animal by pain. Taeshin felt himself twitch suddenly in the bed, though the wires had all been removed. That too brought a kind of fear, that they had taken some of his control away from him, a man who had worked hard to gain mastery of his flesh. It was one of the few things he owned and he sensed the machine could rip even that out of him.

  No one had explained why he had been placed there, nor why the wires made his muscles tighten with an unseen hand. Lord Ran ignored questions as if he could not hear them, moving like a ghost as he checked every connection and read his notes aloud as he did, murmuring instructions to himself as much as his servants.

  Lord Ran left the room occasionally, presumably to eat or rest. Taeshin still twitched and he thought he would not sleep, not in that place where every sense screamed to stay awake, to gnaw his way out if he had to. If he could have reached one of the wrist straps with his teeth, he would have tried it. All he could do was lean back and close his eyes.

  ‘Taeshin, wasn’t it?’ a voice said.

  It was the big man across from him, the one whose leg was missing. The servants had not replaced the fellow’s blanket, so that Taeshin could still see pink ropes and bristles along the stump. He had stared at it when the man had leaned back and closed his eyes. It was a fascinating thing to a young man, especially one who knew anatomy. Swordmasters were trained in the structures of the body. It made them better able to cut a man apart.

  Taeshin nodded.

  ‘Do you know what they’re doing with us?’

  Taeshin looked up. The long room was quiet, as if the staff slept. He had no doubt one of the servants would come through in a moment, but they were alone, no matter how briefly.

  ‘I thought I might be healed. All these wires, though – I don’t like the look of them.’

  ‘Torture, I thought,’ the blind man said suddenly.

  Both Taeshin and the soldier looked to him, wincing at the pink growth where eyes should have been. The man seemed to sense their scrutiny and he leaned as far forward as he could against his throat strap. The sinews in his neck stood out like wires under the skin.

  ‘Take a good look, boys. That’s what acid will do to you. I know that smell, I’ve known it before. We’ll not live through this, I’m telling you. I’d make your peace, if I were you. Never thought I’d get caught twice, but I couldn’t see them coming, could I?’

  He began to laugh and Taeshin thought it a cold sound. He wrenched against his bonds then. The black lumps in his side flared their agony, but for a time he was almost mindless, yanking and tugging, throwing his whole strength against the straps. He was only dimly aware of the servants rushing in and holding him still with cool hands against his skin. They checked the straps and nodded to one another.

  Little by little the long room came back to life. The peaceful gloom of the small hours was replaced by morning brightness as they turned down the jets of the lamps. Taeshin was exhausted and in pain. He spent a time wondering what would happen to Marias. She would not know where he had gone, he realised. No one would think to tell her. The thought of not being there to protect her was an oddly discomfiting emotion.

  The servants lined up on either side, their mouths covered with clean cloths tied behind. They stood in silence for an age and the only sound was the weeping of the thin man and the whispered cursing of the soldier. The one with no eyes did not speak again and seemed to have retreated into his own personal hell. Taeshin spent the time looking back over his life and seeking forgiveness for every sin and moment of cruelty. That was all that mattered, his father had said. It would not concern God that he had killed a dozen willing opponents. They had chosen their fate and risked their lives to stand against him with a sword. All that mattered was when he had been cruel, when he had deliberately caused pain. Not carelessly, for he was not a saint – and not any of the times when he had apologised and made amends. By his count, it left only three occasions. Though he regretted them all, he considered it was not too high a tally for a man of the sword. Not in Shiang, at least.

  As the sun rose, Lord Ran returned to the long room, looking refreshed. He was dabbing his mouth with a cloth and he had changed his clothes. Taeshin wondered if the man knew or cared that they had all emptied their bladders in the night and had sheets changed. It was a humiliation, but he sensed Lord Ran cared nothing for details of that sort.

  The man smiled as dawn entered the room. He was clearly in a good mood.

  ‘Gentlemen!’ he said. ‘Thank you for your patience. It will not be much longer, I promise you. Turn the gaslights right down, would you? Yes, off, I think.’

  He said the last to a servant, who went around the room and twisted tiny brass knobs, until only sunlight brightened the walls.

  Taeshin grimaced in remembered pain as the king’s Lord of Trade attached wires once more to the backs of their hands. The enormous batteries were wheeled closer, so that Taeshin had to blink and breathe shallowly against the smell of acid biting at his throat.

  ‘Lord Ran, would you please let me go?’ Taeshin said firmly. He had promised himself he would, as soon as he saw the man. The soldier across from him perked up at the words and added his own voice.

  ‘Me too, my lord. I’d like to call it a day here.’

  The drunk and the blind man said nothing, sagging in the straps and their own damp clothes.

  Lord Ran shook his head.

  ‘I am sorry it has taken so long, gentlemen. You have no idea how delicate these arrangements are, how careful I must be. I have one chance to prove my assertion. If I waste it for lack of care, I will never forgive myself – indeed, I may never get another. Rest assured, my intention is to heal you. For some of you’ – he inclined his he
ad to Taeshin – ‘I believe it is your only hope. Have faith then, gentlemen, in science and in magic. Have faith in me!’

  ‘Please, my lord. I would prefer not to risk it,’ the soldier said again.

  Lord Ran ignored him, though his colour deepened and the good mood evaporated.

  ‘Put the stone in place,’ the lord called to his servants.

  They brought in a box and removed a stone about the size of a man’s outstretched hand, or a little longer. It was a creamy white, flecked with gold that caught the sun streaming in through the windows. Taeshin could not look away from it. He saw a similar reverence in Lord Ran as he rested his hand on the surface.

  ‘Is it not beautiful?’ he murmured, though the question was not directed at the men on the beds. He smiled more gently then, his irritation eased by its presence.

  ‘It is a source of magic, gentlemen, if it can be tapped and used. My instruments suggest a vast reservoir of power in this white stone, but until recently, I could not find a way to draw it out.’ He gestured to the batteries with a sweep of his hand.

  Taeshin began to struggle again, almost mindlessly. He could not stop them placing the stone in the tangle of wires, nor could he pull free the ones they stuck to his side, though tears of agony and terror rolled down his cheeks. The men on the beds were draped in thick braids of metal and cloth, made almost into machines themselves. Taeshin felt bile come into his throat and burn him as Lord Ran checked the entire assemblage once again.

  ‘Stand clear,’ he said to his servants. ‘Do not touch these men now, on pain of your lives.’

  He stood with his hand on a dial and Taeshin could only stare. Lord Ran nodded to them all.

  ‘Ready yourselves, gentlemen. It is time.’

  Taeshin saw the hand turn and he felt a jolt of strain enter him, then swell impossibly, so that he arched against the straps. Lord Ran was shouting something and the servants were scurrying around. The men on the beds twisted and writhed. Taeshin could see light burning in them, behind their teeth and in their eyes. The whole world seemed to flare into whiteness and he knew he walked with death.

  5

  Into Dust

  It was hard to recall the taste of things, Gabriel thought. He remembered lemons as bitter, but saying the word no longer had any real meaning for him. His memories had lost the concept, as if all the colours had seeped out.

  He had half-expected death to be nothingness, but it was not. When he had died and woken in surprise on a cold plain, he had hoped for Valkyries, or even angels. Instead, he had found himself in armour, standing in grey dust. The armies of the dead had formed around him, accepting him. Orders had been roared up and down the lines and it had been familiar, almost comforting. He had fought, for ever, seeing souls vanish as they were cut down. If they were souls; he did not know. He fought because there was nothing else on the plain – and because it was what he had known best when he was alive.

  It was always the hour before dawn there, when the air was chill and hands were numb and stiff. He tramped and fought, and when the battle was at an end, they sat and stared and even slept. Then the souls returned and the ranks rose once more. They did not seem to mind the repetition, but every time it made him want to roar out his frustration. They had not killed him, though, not once in countless years. He had that much pride left amidst the dust.

  There was a hill by the battlefield, a gentle rise in the land that Gabriel had always told himself he would explore. Yet each time he awoke rolled in his blanket, each day he was called, he just stood and brushed himself down. He could not leave the line, the men around him. So he spat on the ground and clicked his neck and took up a brass shield from where it lay at his feet. Sometimes in the fighting, he would glimpse the hill on his left and tell himself he would not answer the next call. Yet he always did – and some part of him howled, knowing he would answer for ever.

  On that morning, as Gabriel stood and made ready, he looked over the plain as he had so many times before. It would be a hard day, with his courage put to the test. Of that he was certain. As he raised his head, he saw a light appear high up on the hill, a grain of gold in the distance, as if a bonfire burned on the peak. In awe, he stood still and shaded his eyes.

  ‘What is that?’ he said, turning to the man next to him.

  They had fought side by side for years but Gabriel did not know his name. He realised he had not spoken a word to any of them before that day, as if his mouth had been sewn shut without him knowing. The stranger had a cruel face, his teeth sharpened into points. Gabriel had heard of such things in warriors. Fear was as much a weapon as a sword.

  ‘I have not seen it before,’ the man said.

  His voice too seemed unused, almost a croak. It was the voice of a dead man and Gabriel took fresh stock of those around him. Most of them were preparing for the day’s battle, as they had done every morning for longer than he could remember. Had they always worn such an array of armour? There was no pattern to the styles. Even the swords were a dozen different lengths and shapes.

  In the ranks nearby, two others stopped checking their kit and readying themselves. They raised a hand to peer at the hilltop, remembering they had to shade their eyes from the sun. One of them looked at Gabriel.

  ‘Are you going to see what it is?’

  ‘Yes. I am,’ Gabriel said, making the decision.

  He wondered if he could, but as he hesitated, the battle lines formed around them and a great mass of men began to march towards the enemy. None of the four went with them. They stayed behind and the entire army moved away. Gabriel expected one of the officers to roar his name and summon him back, but they were facing forward, intent on the enemy as they had been for … He shook his head. For too long.

  He looked at the other three. They were young and strong-looking, with serviceable weapons and armour. The first to have spoken wore a set of plate as ornate as anything Gabriel had ever seen, with designs and swirls etched on the metal. The other two wore simpler kit of leather and brass or bronze, with short swords he knew very well.

  ‘Will you follow me?’ Gabriel asked.

  He had led thousands in life, he remembered suddenly. He had lived for blood and conquest, so that he had carved an empire out of forests and plains. He did not understand why he had been left to march and fight every day in the grey place, but he felt no special anger at his fate. Like the taste of lemons, anger was a thing he had forgotten.

  ‘I will follow you,’ the first man said, suddenly.

  ‘And I,’ the other two added.

  Gabriel smiled, though it was a strange expression in that place.

  He gestured and they walked together towards the hilltop and the gleam of light there. Behind them the army trudged on, the officers roaring orders and formations. This would be the day they finally won. They had been promised victory and they would gladly give their lives if that was the price.

  Yet Gabriel and the others walked away, their faces turned towards the golden eye that had opened above the plain. After a while, they began to fear it would close before they reached it. Though they could not have explained the sense of urgency, all four began to run.

  Lord Ran groaned and picked himself up from the floor. He hadn’t been punched in the face since he was a boy, but the feeling was instantly recognisable. His lips were swollen and crushed, so that he could taste blood in his mouth. His servants were scattered around the long room. One of them was pressing a hand to his face as if he had been struck with something. As Lord Ran watched, he saw a line of blood dribble between the man’s fingers. He shook his head and felt the room spin crazily. His fingers probed a lump at the base of his skull, making him wince. He’d fallen badly, that much was obvious. The air was thick with the smell of acid and fire, and in the middle of it, the four wheeled beds lay around the Aeris Stone, festooned in wires.

  His heart thumped in sudden hope and he jerked forward, to see. It was an instant of perfect anticipation and it lasted just long enough for him t
o reach the beds and look down on the same miserable figures he’d been given. He sagged at the sight of open mouths and lolling tongues. The blind eyes were still blind. Nor was there any mistaking the stub of a leg that twitched even as he stared at it. Lord Ran sighed as he examined them. It was a failure. Perhaps the connections to the stone had not been of sufficient thickness. He saw some of the wires had heated as they passed over bare flesh, so that they’d burned lines of red onto skin. The woven cloth covering the terminals had smouldered and gone black in places. He shook his head, following the length of the wires to the pedestal and the source he’d tried to tap.

  The white stone looked subtly different as his gaze reached it. Lord Ran froze, instantly afraid. The surface had been a smooth and creamy white before, flecked with gold. He’d spent hundreds of hours working with it. He knew the Aeris Stone as well as his own hands. It invited the touch and he had stroked it or patted it a thousand times. Yet that perfect surface had grown pitted somehow, as if acid had scorched it.

  The men forgotten, Lord Ran made a choking sound and bent close enough almost to touch the stone with his nose. Had the battery acid splashed over it? His heart was in his mouth as he reached out, his fingers trembling. At the first touch, the stone collapsed into white dust, finer than flour, so that most of it became smoke or vapour.

  He let out a great cry of anguish as his most precious possession was reduced to worthlessness. Lord Ran leaned both hands on the pedestal and supported himself on locked arms, head bowed in grief. The stone had cost him a great part of his family fortune. He’d almost bought it for next to nothing, but then Lord Wen had bid against him on a whim, just for spite. The resulting price had forced the sale of his summer home. Worse, Ran had spent years researching the thing, seeking some way to employ the forces he was sure lay within. He had neglected his public position in his obsession, letting the noble families get on with their pointless games of trade on their own. And it had all been for nothing. He knew the people of the city called him the Lord of Ruin, whenever they blamed him for some poor harvest or when the docks needed to be dredged again. For the first time, the name suited his despair.