by Devin Hanson
“Of course not,” Iria said, miffed. “But until you have undergone the balai training, your guard will shield you.”
“Balai training?” This was the first time Andrew had heard of that plan. “Since when am I getting training?” he grumbled, mostly to himself. He still had years of catching up to do to make himself the alchemist he wanted to be. The idea of adding intensive combat training on top of that soured his spirits.
Iria ignored his complaints again, giving a theatrical shiver and stepping up to the rail to stare down at the ground below. “This land is vast. When will we arrive at Andronath?”
Andrew rolled his eyes at the subject change, but answered her question though she knew it as well as anyone. “Today, if the winds are with us. Noon if there is a strong tailwind, tomorrow morning against a headwind.”
“So quickly. I do not like leaving so many wardens behind.”
Andrew shrugged. “There was only the one ship, and we were lucky to find it. My… Guard and twenty more wardens are all the airship can carry.” He stumbled over the unusual concept of people assigned to keeping him alive. He still wasn’t sure if he liked the idea, but he liked the idea of dying even less. When they reached Andronath, his chances of premature death were going to rise to all-new highs.
Iria frowned down at the mist, no doubt thinking of the remaining wardens galloping through the plains of Salia heading for Andronath as fast as they could ride. It had been a difficult decision: a slower trip to Andronath with the full force of the wardens, or a swift journey with only a fraction of his army. Even at their fastest pace with replacement horses, it was a full eight days of travel by horseback, while the airship could cover the same distance in two days with favorable winds.
“Things will be fine,” Andrew assured her. “Ava didn’t give me the impression that Andronath is under siege by an army or anything, just that airships were firing on the city.”
“Avandakossi has little understanding of human affairs,” Iria returned gloomily. “This you have said yourself. What is of little consequence to one such as her could be very dangerous for us.”
“So, what? Should we stop? Turn the airship around and rendezvous with the wardens?”
Iria shook her head. “Your decision was the right one. But I do not have to like it.”
“Smoke on the horizon!”
Andrew rolled out of his bunk where he had been studying the dragon tooth, memorizing the Do rune that was key to the Saying the Incantors were so fond of using. Doco’lani was a comparatively simple Saying, essentially causing the distance between a piece of steel and its destination to be zero. The speed the steel traveled was dependent on the amount of vitae supplied, and, of course, the precise knowledge of the runes used. Andrew was discovering a great deal of potential subtlety in the Saying, and the more he studied the rune, the more he thought of other ways to use it. The brute-force combat Saying was a rather inefficient use of the rune.
He shook the lingering thoughts of the rune from his mind as he scrambled up the ladder to the airship’s deck and emerged into the sunlight, blinking as his eyes adjusted. Jules saw him come up and hurried over, her face pinched with worry.
“It’s Andronath,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
The sun was a hand span from the horizon, and he estimated another hour of daylight before dusk. This far north, the sun set quickly. “Did the captain give an estimate for our arrival?” he asked.
“Shortly after nightfall,” Jules said.
“We made good time, then.” Andrew squinted his eyes against the glare of snow-capped peaks and made out the smudge of smoke. He recognized the shapes of the mountain peaks on the horizon. It was hard to say if it was Andronath itself that was burning, but the fire was certainly in the right area.
“The watch hasn’t seen any airships. We should have seen some by now.”
“Are we too late?”
Andrew’s question seemed to mirror the worry Jules had because her face fell. “I hope not.”
“Come on, now,” Andrew put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “We’ll get there in time, you’ll see.”
Jules leaned into him for a minute before she reluctantly pulled away. “If we’re going to be arriving in a combat zone, the wardens will need to know the city layout.”
“Right.” Andrew had to fight down the urge to pick Jules up and go back below. Let someone else deal with the mess. Instead he nodded, “I’ll help map out the city. There are parts that I reckon you’ve spent as little time as possible in that I will be familiar with.”
Jules gave a wry smile, but nodded. “Thanks, Andrew.”
“Of course.”
“I mean about coming to save Andronath. I know it’s not your city, and the Guild hasn’t been kind to you, but I really appreciate you coming to help.”
“Oh.” Andrew shrugged, gesturing for Jules to lead the way, “I don’t have anywhere else to call home right now. The Guild might have a bunch of slip-wits in it, but Professor Milkin is there, and I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to lose one.”
The Highwind arrived at Andronath an hour after the sun settled beyond the horizon. The source of the smoke became clear; the city wasn’t burning, but the skeletal corpses of destroyed airships were. The buildings crushed by the falling airships had burned, but Andronath had too much stone in its construction for fires to spread quickly, and alchemy-powered firefighting engines helped put out the ones that had started.
Flashes of light around the city’s summit drew their attention. The battle that had destroyed the airships wasn’t over yet. Most of the mooring towers in the city were partially destroyed by cannon fire, but the Highwind’s captain picked one out through his spyglass that seemed stable enough, and he set course for it, muttering curses about being hijacked and forced to fly into a warzone.
The wardens waited in patient silence, crouched out of sight below the airship’s railing as the airship docked, then swarmed over the railing and onto the docking platform. Andrew heard a shout begin and get cut off. A few clashes of steel on steel, then one of the wardens returned and sketched a short bow in front of Andrew, his face obscured by a sand mask.
“The tower is secure, my lord.”
“Did you take prisoners?” Andrew asked.
“As you requested, Speaker.”
Andrew nodded his thanks and turned to Jules and Iria. “Okay, Iria, this is your show for now. Let’s find out what we’re up against, then move to secure the Academy. From there, we can work out how to save the city.”
“Your will, Speaker.” Iria fit her own mask into place, gave a hand signal to the warden, and together they slipped over the railing and into the mooring tower.
“I feel bad unleashing the wardens on Andronath,” Andrew said sadly. “We don’t know war like the Maar do.”
“Look on the bright side,” Jules said grimly, “at least we don’t have an army of dragons ready to wipe out the city if we fail.”
“Not helping,” Andrew grumbled. He made his way to the foredeck where the captain was standing, glaring at him impatiently. “Thank you for the swift voyage,” Andrew called and underhanded a purse toward the captain. “Your bonus.”
The captain caught the purse and hefted the weight. The distinctive clatter of gold came from within. For a moment, greed warred with his better judgment before he shook his head. “Just get off my ship, my lord.”
Andrew tipped him a little bow. “Gladly.”
The wood planking of the mooring tower’s loading deck was hardly under Andrew’s feet before the airship dropped away and sped off into the night. He couldn’t blame the captain for wanting to get his airship out of there with haste. The city was a graveyard for airships already.
Despite his flippant words to Jules earlier in the day, finally arriving back in Andronath didn’t feel like coming home. All he felt was a vague disgust and a need to drive out the city’s attackers like he felt a need to bathe after a long day of
dirty and sweaty work. The home of the Alchemists Guild didn’t hold the charm and wonder for him that it had a few months ago.
And what was he now? It was trite to think he could be a student at the Academy still. He no longer felt a driving need to sit and study runes for hours at a time. They still held a fascination for him, and he looked forward to the next time he had an opportunity to study in peace, but it seemed fate had chosen a different path for him.
What would the Guild think of him? He coughed out a bitter laugh. Would they see him as a savior? Or just another conqueror, no better than Trent? Was he a conqueror? Once his wardens controlled the Academy, would he leave them to their squabbles and secrets? Could he even afford to? The thought made him sad. One way or another, the Guild was coming to an end. Whether it could be rebuilt into something stronger and better, or simply fade away into obscurity, had yet to be seen.
Jules laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going in to oversee the interrogation. Make sure the right questions are asked.”
Andrew nodded and watched Jules go, the sway of her hips brightening his mood somewhat. Being the Dragon Speaker had its benefits. A pair of wardens standing at the entrance to the tower’s superstructure stepped aside to let her pass with brief obeisance. At the bottom of the tower, he heard liquid Maari syllables as the wardens secured the street and surrounding block. He sighed and pressed a hand against the scale in his belt pouch, feeling the comforting heat against his leg. Better get this over with then.
The faint mewling of a man in pain drifted through the doors and Andrew’s mouth twisted. This was not how he wanted to arrive back in Andronath. He strode forward and into the office where a sand-masked warden was leaning over a grimy man in mismatched leather armor.
“That’s enough,” he said, his voice snapping out, surprising even himself. The warden bowed and fell back, leaving the victim moaning quietly, his hands bound behind his back.
Andrew kneeled down so he was at eye level with the captive. “Do you know who I am?” he asked quietly.
“Burn me if I know,” the man spat. He was missing an ear, that side of his head a red welter, blood still streaming down the side of his face and matting in his filthy undershirt.
“I am going to ask you some questions. It would behoove you to answer them quickly and precisely.” The sight of the torture made Andrew’s stomach sick, but he hardened himself deliberately against it, thinking of how this man had taken control of Andronath.
The captive laughed and spit in Andrew’s face. The wardens surged forward, but stopped when Andrew held up a hand. “Thank you, but I’ve got this one.” He wiped the saliva off his cheek, fury warring with the dislike of torture.
“I’m not telling you nothing, you poncy wanker. Tell your thugs to kill me and get it over with.”
“You’re Salian?” Andrew asked, ignoring the man’s taunts.
“Who this mug think he is, eh? ‘Course I’m a burning Salian.”
“Who do you work for?”
“Yer mum!”
Andrew felt a surge of rage swell up in him and the Sayings ripped out of him as if they had a will of their own. The chair the captive was tied to shattered, and the Salian was flung against the wall and pinned there by bands of air and force. “Answer the question!” Andrew roared, pressing his will against the man until he heard tendons creak and a rib snap with a dry crack.
Abruptly the rage puddled out of Andrew and he released the Sayings, letting the man flop to the floor. The smell of urine filled the room. The man was shuddering, trying to draw himself up to a sitting position, his eyes wild with fear.
“Who do you work for?” Andrew asked again, quieter this time.
“Lord Priah!” the man blubbered, all his will to fight gone. “Please, I’ll tell you anything you want to know!”
“Good.” Andrew turned away, suddenly disgusted with himself. “Warden, I leave you to it.”
Jules caught his eye from the corner of the room. Andrew hadn’t even realized she had been standing there. He left the room with Jules hard on his heels. Behind him, he heard the warden start to question the mercenary and the man’s immediate, plea-filled answers.
“Andrew!” Jules called.
Andrew stopped and bowed his head, fighting back tears before he turned around to face her. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he rasped, his throat thick from unshed tears.
“Tiny gods,” she said softly when she saw his face. “Of course not, Andrew. You’re a good man. No decent person can.” She laid a hand alongside his face then pulled him into an embrace for a moment before holding him back at arm’s length. “But if it’s to be done right, Andrew, a decent man has to do it. That’s the burden of leadership.”
“I almost killed that man, Jules. Another second and…”
“But you didn’t. That’s the important thing. You didn’t.” Jules shook her head. “The wardens would have had to torture him nearly to death before he cracked. You saved him from that, at least.”
“How do you do it? How am I supposed to do these things and stay the same person?”
Jules smiled sadly. “I don’t know, Andrew. We do what must be done, and try to hold on to what makes us human as long as we can. We do it, and take comfort in what good we manage to achieve.”
Andrew nodded, hearing the sense in her words, but unable to shake the look of fear in the mercenary’s eyes. He had come this far, he decided, and it would be worse to abandon Andronath to the mercy of Trent. “Let’s get out of this tower.”
Once outside of the tower, Andrew heaved a deep breath and shook his head convulsively, trying to escape the last dregs of his bad mood. The streets of Andronath were fuzzy with settled ash from the fires. For a moment, it reminded Andrew of the sandstorm aftermath in Nok Norrah. He would have to concentrate hard in the coming hours. There would be no room for self-doubt.
“Lord Speaker.” Andrew turned and found Iria beside him, her sand mask pushed up on top of her head, her forehead creased with a frown. He hadn’t heard her approach. “The mercenary forces led by Lord Priah are assaulting the Academy. We do not have much time.”
“You look troubled,” Jules said. “What is it?”
“The mercenary was babbling near the end, I do not credit all that he said. But he seemed to think a large force of alchemists had joined Trent.”
Jules swore. “Incantors?”
“He did not know.”
“All the more reason to go carefully,” Andrew said. “Warn the wardens, but we’re leaving now.”
“It is already done.” Iria placed fingers to her lips and trilled out a birdcall. The sound would have blended in with the background noise in the desert, but here in Andronath it seemed ridiculously exotic. The wardens would have to learn new birdcalls if they wanted to stay subtle.
Andrew gave the wardens a minute to gather, then led the way through the winding streets of Andronath at a jog, the masked wardens behind him sliding through the shadows with hardly a noise, desert wraiths in the night.
The streets were empty, giving Andronath a sort of ghost-town feel to the unlit streets. Distant shouting and the echoing retorts of alchemy drew them up the hill toward the Academy, but it wasn’t until they turned the last corner and finally got a clear view of the home of the Guild that they understood what was happening.
The great rune-powered shield that protected the Academy was a foolproof plan, except for when the attackers were alchemists themselves. Iron portals large enough for two men to pass through abreast and carved with the runewords that granted access through the shield had been carried into place. The defenders had not given in without a fight, and bodies lay in windrows on the approach to the door. Sheer numbers had gotten the portals fixed into place, and the rest of the fight was a foregone conclusion.
As powerful as the alchemists were, the vast majority of them were not warriors.
Andrew stepped through the portal with Jules at his side, the shielding Saying on the tip of his tongu
e. He needn’t have bothered. Beyond a scattering of mercenaries, the defenders were either slaughtered or had fled, and the attackers gone in pursuit. Too many of the bodies were younger than Andrew.
“Tiny gods,” Jules whispered, kneeling down to check for a pulse on a young boy in student’s robes. “He’s still warm. We’re too late by less than an hour.”
Andrew stepped up to her and pulled her to her feet while wardens streamed past and took up defensive positions about the entryway courtyard. “There are others still living who need us,” he said gently. “There is still fighting within the Academy. You’re our guide now, I’ve never been within these walls.”
Jules shook his hands off, her face tight with anger. “I know that! Burn me, I know.”
“Then think! What is their objective?”
Jules bowed her head, cradling her face in her hands, and took a deep breath. When she stood straight again, her features were composed. “The Archives. Within are the only things of real value within the Academy worth wasting hundreds of lives to capture.”
Andrew nodded. “Good. Then that is where we are heading.”
Shouts dragged Andrew’s attention to the north, to the next courtyard over. A score of mercenaries burdened with armloads of riches had seen them. The mercenary leader threw down his stolen goods and drew his sword, followed by the rest of the Salians.
Iria appeared by Andrew’s side, her own sword out, her sand mask covering her face. “Should we eliminate them?”
Andrew shook his head. “Let’s see if they want to talk first.”
Iria nodded and flashed a hand signal. All about the courtyard, wardens who were out of sight of the mercenaries slipped into shadows and behind cover. The rest of the wardens pulled into a tight knot around Jules and Andrew. Andrew recognized Adnan Hakhim, the captain of his personal guard, among wardens pressed close to him.
The mercenaries pushed into the entry courtyard, fanning out and surrounding them. “Who’re you lot, then?” the leader called. “More of these idiot alchemists?”