by Lee Carlon
Pete shone his torch on a large oak door that filled a brickwork arch. He glanced back at Vincent, then scowled and turned back to the door. He lifted the latch and pushed. The door opened with some resistance.
Pete grimaced, put his shoulder to the door and pushed until it was open enough for him to squeeze through.
Inside Pete stepped over something then shone his torch on it. A large man with dried blood covering the right side of his face sprawled on the floor.
Vincent moved his torch beam around the room. A sleeping roll was spread out next to a large barrel. A woman lay face down in a pool of blood in an alcove. Vincent went to the woman and checked for a pulse, but her skin was cold. She’d been dead for hours.
“There was supposed to be three of them,” Vincent said.
“Aye,” Pete said. “The third was a girl. Cali. If she’s not here, there’s a chance she got away.” He stooped and took a heavy ax from its holster on the big man’s belt. He turned and struck one of the wooden barrels with the ax.
Vincent watched for a moment, at first assuming Pete was acting out his fury at losing his friend, but Pete’s strokes were even and well placed. When the first barrel was in pieces, he turned to the next one and broke that down too.
As Pete worked, Vincent examined the alcove where the woman had died. An old terminal sat on a ledge. The wiring had been pulled out, and the screen smashed.
There were a couple of notes taped to the wall. Neat handwritten letters spelled out a single word on each piece of paper. Vincent read: Assassin, Angels, Warwick, and Marlan. There were more scraps of paper on the floor. Some of them had soaked up blood, and it was impossible to see the words written on them. Some of the notes were on the woman’s back, telling Vincent they’d been knocked off the wall after she’d been murdered. The terminal had probably been destroyed then as well.
One piece of paper had the word Valan printed on it, and another had Walden.
Pete was almost done with the barrels, so Vincent dragged the woman from the alcove and laid her next to Stan.
Pete broke the silence between them, “Do you think Amir was lying about killing Valan?”
Vincent went through the large doorway into the dark corridor beyond and said, “I think Valan would be hard to kill.”
Pete followed Vincent. Once there he took something slender from a pocket in his jacket and tore the end off it. Pete tossed it into the room and pulled the door shut. Golden light flared briefly under the door.
A new voice said, “He wasn’t lying.”
Pete reacted first. He still held his fallen friend’s ax, and he lifted it and swung as he turned.
The newcomer retreated before the ax, but he wasn’t quick enough, and it bit into his shoulder, knocking him to the floor. Pete strode forward turning to bring the ax forward in an overhand blow that would crush the man at his feet.
Vincent reached out and caught the shaft of the ax.
“Fuck off, Green!” Pete bellowed. “This bastard killed Stan.”
“Wait,” Vincent said, pulling Pete back.
Valan had his right hand on his shoulder where Pete had cut him with the ax.
Pete stopped struggling against Vincent. “Fine, but when you’re done with him, you let me kill him, and if you get in the way, I’ll fucking do you first, right?”
Vincent nodded and let go of the ax.
“What do you want?” Vincent demanded of Valan.
“Today, just one conversation where somebody doesn’t try to kill me,” Valan said.
“Well don’t be such a—“
Vincent cut Pete off, “Why are you here?”
“I need your help,” Valan said, wincing as he examined his shoulder.
Pete swore and raised the ax to rest the shaft on his shoulder. He stood over Valan.
“What happened?” Vincent asked.
“Amir was supposed to lead you to Maiten’s Hall. I see he didn’t.”
“He said he’d only take Walden,” Vincent said.
“And you let Walden go alone?” Even bleeding on the floor, Valan didn’t try to hide the scorn in his tone.
“Walden’s choice,” Pete said.
“Do you know what Amir is?” Valan asked.
“A piece of shit,” Pete snapped.
“What is he?” Vincent asked.
“A rock-slider. He can move through solid rock. It means he grew up around mines.” Despite his injury, Valan spoke rapidly.
“No it doesn’t,” Pete said.
Valan ignored him. “He grew up around mines, and he knows explosives. When I caught him the first time, he was unarmed. I knew he was a rock-slider, but I assumed he’d just hidden his weapons, but I was wrong.”
“Not a word of this is going to save you,” Pete said.
“I finally realized why he was unarmed,” Valan said.
“He’s rigged explosives under Maiten’s Hall,” Vincent said.
“Yes.”
At Valan’s questioning frown, Vincent explained, “He did the same thing at the rendezvous.”
“You have to stop him,” Valan said.
“Fuck off,” Pete said. “We’re cutting your throat, collecting Walden and Ulri, and getting the fuck out of town.”
“If you do that, Amir will be the next Lord of Damar.”
“So?” Pete asked.
“Do you think that’s the outcome Lord Obdurin had in mind?”
“You want us to stop Amir and help Walden take Maiten’s heart?” Vincent asked.
Valan closed his eyes for a second. “Rarick has Walden. There’s no hope of him—“
Vincent drew the laser-cutter on his belt and pointed it at Valan’s forehead. “Is that why you sent Amir?”
“No. Amir betrayed me and tried to kill me,” Valan said.
“Were you planning to tell us about Walden?” Vincent asked.
“Walden is dead, if not in fact, it’s only a matter of time. Rarick is working on him now,” Valan said.
“And that’s that? You’ll do nothing to help him?” Vincent asked.
“There’s nothing to be done.”
“Bullshit!“ Vincent snapped.
Valan sniggered through his pain. “Still looking for people to blame, Vincent? Walden knew the risks when he concocted this plan with Obdurin. Do you think I sent him in there, or that I requested Walden be the one to come to Ardel and take Maiten’s heart?” When Vincent said nothing, Valan continued, “Obdurin, my son, is brilliant. He likes to pretend he’s turned off his emotions for individuals in pursuit of his goals, but he is still blinded by them. Walden is the wrong man for the job, he was always the wrong man for the job, and that’s what I told Obdurin, and I won’t sacrifice what we’re doing here to save the wrong man. Blame me if you want, but Walden is getting cut to pieces in Maiten’s Hall because of the choices he made.”
“Then we’re done,” Vincent said.
“There’s an alternative, somebody with a connection to the Gods, somebody they know.”
“I won’t do it,” Vincent said and had to resist squeezing the trigger.
“Right, are you finished. Can I kill him now?” Pete asked, hefting the ax.
“Not you, Vincent. Rarick’s sister,” Valan shouted, his blood covered right hand held out in front of himself in a pathetic gesture to stop Pete’s ax from swinging. When Pete and Vincent didn’t respond, Valan said, “The Chosen are all bastards, Rarick, Darsoon, Duman, Benshi, Marlan—“
“Marlan is better than most,” Vincent said, surprised to hear himself say the words but pleased he had. He’d been unnecessarily hard on Lord Marlan earlier that day.
“What if they weren’t all bastards?” Valan asked and struggled to his feet.
Pete brandished the ax at him. “Give me an excuse.”
Valan held his good hand up. “Rarick’s sister isn’t like her brothers. She’s a good person; she’d never harm anybody.”
“Would she take Maiten’s heart?” Vincent asked.
“Would Maiten accept her?” Pete asked.
To Vincent, Valan said, “Given the correct motivation, I think so.” To Pete, “Who knows.”
Vincent considered it and then dismissed the idea. “No.”
Valan stiffened then relaxed where he stood. “Well, at least you’re not waiting for permission anymore. Do you have the courage to do it yourself, or are you going to get your thug to do it for you?”
Pete lowered the ax from his shoulder.
“I think you’re a good influence on him,” Valan told Pete.
Vincent turned to watch. He met Valan’s eyes but didn’t say anything.
Valan asked Pete, “What about you? Obdurin’s loyal man, repenting for sins committed under Lord Benshi, Vincent’s father.”
“You know what?” Pete asked. “I don’t care about any of this. None of it matters. The whole world is fucked, and we’re just postponing the inevitable. You killed my friend, you bastard. Now I’m going to kill you.”
Pete lifted the ax and swung it as hard as he could at Valan’s neck. Sparks flared as the ax struck stone, but Valan was gone.
19
Divine Insights
Amir waited in the silence that followed the scream, holding his breath and listening.
The agony in the sound felt familiar as it echoed the screams that had come from Amir’s own chest in the cell Valan had committed him to. Farewell, Walden.
He wondered what divine insights the Rhynsian councilor would find in the pain. Would a God speak to him? Would Maiten?
“No,” Amir muttered before he could stop himself.
Maiten won’t abandon me.
In the darkness he listened for the sound of the guards Valan had said were down here.
There was nobody there.
Another lie, Valan? Amir wondered. Of course, it was a lie.
Still, Amir proceeded with caution. Even if Valan had lied, Amir knew it was best to assume something would go wrong and that he would run into somebody down here.
Every eventuality, Amir remembered Valan’s words. Valan was a fool. If he’d ever spent any time at a rock face or down a shaft, he’d know something always went wrong, and it was impossible to predict. Better to be alert and ready. Not confident and complacent in your calculations.
Amir breathed slowly and continued to listen.
If somebody gave themselves away, it would be now, in the silence after the sounds of another man’s torture.
The second scream, muted by the layers of rock between them, broke the silence.
Rhynsian fool, Amir thought. He smiled remembering his words, I reckon you’ll be a fine Chosen.
The ground shook, and Amir reached out to the tunnel wall to steady himself.
It took him a moment, but he realized, Tralit!
He hadn’t known whether or not to believe the fool. He placed both hands on the tunnel’s rock wall and closed his eyes. The ground and wall shook again, and through the vibrations in the rock, Amir knew something heavy was coming down on the streets in Ardel.
As a child, he’d assumed everybody could read the vibrations the way he did, but that first cave-in at the mines had taught him that wasn’t the case. At night he could still see his father as he’d found him, crushed deep in the mine.
It had taken him a long time to understand why anybody who didn’t have his talent would go down in the ground like that, but he got there eventually, without his father to filter the world for him. He learned that desperate people did things that defied logic. Worse, he’d learned that everybody else would encourage those desperate people and use them for the betterment of their own lives.
Another scream broke the silence, but this time it was mingled with manic laughter.
Walden was such a person. The stink of business came from deep inside him. Amir wondered how many men and women had died for Walden in the pursuit of profits. Walden might not have ever killed with his own hands, but Amir was certain his business enterprises would have taken lives in a way that allowed Walden to believe his hands were clean.
“Market forces,” Amir muttered and pushed aside memories of his father and the Rhynsian fool being tortured above.
He let the rock guide him, and when he arrived at his destination, he stayed inside the rock, feeling the vibrations and allowing the rock to show him what was in the chamber beyond.
Satisfied there was nobody there, he emerged into the chamber below Maiten’s Hall. The explosives were as he’d left them, positioned for maximum damage. The AI he would use to trigger the detonation was on the rock shelf where he’d left it. He checked his work, then retreated into the rock with the detonator.
20
Watching Shadows
“Are you sure this is the place?” Corsari asked.
Doran nodded. They stood on a circular platform constructed from basalt blocks suspended in darkness. Doran had conjured a one-way window between this realm and the realm Newterrans considered The Real World.
“Look,” Doran pointed at a man on his knees with deep cuts on his chest and torso. Two men stood patiently behind him, while a third, with the heavy bracelet and glowing stone of a Chosen, raved at the kneeling man and periodically pointed toward one end of the hall. They couldn’t hear what the man said or any other sound from that place.
Doran winced as the Chosen slashed his knife across the kneeling man’s chest.
“What of him?” Corsari asked with no emotion.
“That’s Councilor Walden,” Doran said.
“Oh, so it is.” Corsari smiled briefly. “Perhaps he will join us soon?”
“Perhaps,” Doran replied, saddened that her friend felt nothing for a man who had been their companion earlier that day.
“Will you bind him?” Corsari asked.
Doran studied her, but she couldn’t sense any bitterness in her old companion’s words. She said, “It doesn’t work like that.”
“How does it work?” Corsari asked this time the bitterness was evident.
Doran wanted to ignore the question. Instead, she said, “If anything holds him back, I won’t be in a position to help him.”
“Or restrain him?” Corsari asked.
“I wouldn’t be in a position to help if I were dead. If it were possible to release you without sacrificing my life, I would.” Doran kept the emotion out of her tone and her eyes forward as she spoke. Corsari’s feelings toward her were unlikely to change, no matter how long they’d known each other in life or how long they would know each other in death. Doran placed a hand on Snuffle’s neck and took comfort that at least one of her companions didn’t resent her.
The silence stretched out, and Doran examined the scene.
“Where is Vincent?” Corsari demanded.
“I don’t know. This is where Lord Obdurin sent them. Walden is…” she stopped speaking.
Silent figures stood like living statues around the hall and occasionally glanced up at the darkness above them. As soon as they caught their gazes wandering, they brought their eyes forward and resumed their silent vigil. Doran only saw movement in the darkness once, but she was left with a sense of something malevolent and hungry.
Everybody in the hall turned suddenly to look in the same direction. The wall at the far end of the hall buckled.
“Vincent?” Corsari asked.
Doran did ignore her companion’s question this time. It wasn’t unusual for the recently deceased to lose grip on reality when faced with its true nature.
The wall buckled further and giant stone blocks that had been set centuries before tumbled silently to crash below.
“It’s time,” Doran said.
The living statues drew their swords and converged on the wall as more stone blocks fell. A black dragon pushed its head through the opening it had created. It swept its head left and then right forcing more blocks to fall and widen the opening. It spewed flames into the hall and bondsan fell screaming.
Doran was grateful they couldn’t hear the sounds of t
heir deaths through the portal. She noticed Corsari lean toward the violence.
The dragon forced more of itself in through the opening, pushing with its shoulders now.
Something pale swooped from the darkness, screaming with fangs and claws ready, but the dragon caught the threat in its powerful jaw and crushed it before discarding it.
The dragon swept the darkness in the upper parts of the hall with flames, revealing a dozen creatures that looked like pale humans with wings, perched on rails set around the perimeter of the hall. Their eyes were watery blue, and they winced and screamed against the light of the flames.
The dragon pushed itself the rest of the way into the hall, clutching at bondsan with taloned feet and spitting out flames all around it.
Doran sensed the shadows gathering eagerly around her, they had more substance in this realm than in Newterra, and she recognized individuals among them. She glanced at them and denied them. “This isn’t our fight.”
She’d expected them to retreat with the prospect of violence and freedom out of reach, but they stayed, and Doran was left feeling uneasy.
Snuffle pushed his head under Doran’s hand. The uneasiness didn’t go, but she felt better with Snuffle beside her. She glanced at his leg and was relieved to see it was better than it had been.
21
The Crucible
Valan landed with a thud that took his breath.
He lay in the darkness, mouth open, trying desperately to suck air into his lungs. His right hand grasped his neck frantically searching for the ax wound. His fingers traced the bumpy scar tissue the hangman’s rope had left, but he couldn’t find a fresh wound. He’d seen the ax coming, but he didn’t know if it had struck or not.
His airways opened and he breathed.
Vincent and the brute with the ax had surprised him. Valan had thought, despite their open hostility, that he could play them like he played everybody else.
Part of Valan’s mind mocked him, Like you played Ethan and Cali and Amir?