by Swanson, Jay
“So you have sworn.” Rendin lowered his sword. “To the north and to the east, my brothers! One final battle awaits us, and may God lay waste to the darkness!”
Rain knew the majority of the soldiers raised would meet them outside of the valley of Albentine. No standing army was allowed within the Dragon's Teeth; only the high-ranking officials and family members from each house had been called to the king's council, but it still felt disheartening to ride out with so few. The sun began to wane in the sky before they set out, three hundred men on gilded horse.
She rode behind Rendin, who took the lead of the column with all forty-nine of his remaining bodyguard. Shill, she hoped, had made it through whatever ordeals had befallen him to the east. If he joined them, the guard would again number fifty. It took them nearly an hour to enter the Valley of Albentine, passing under the massive gates her father had constructed after nearly dying on the rocky slopes.
She took her horse up along the southern path, up to the point where Cid the Cleaver had famously saved her father. From there she could see the entire layout of the Spring Vale, with Islenda glittering in the sunlight in the southwestern corner. She smiled absentmindedly to herself, not knowing if this would be the last she would ever look upon her home. She drank in the green of the even plain among the jagged peaks. Dust covered much of it from the destruction of the nameless mountain, but still the colors shone through, defiant of the Relequim's influence even in this.
She sighed, and rode down to join the tail of the column as they continued into Albentine. The looks she received from the men that crossed her path and continued ahead of her varied greatly. Some, she could see, felt relieved to have her along. She had traveled farther east than any of the rest of them, after all. But many, if not most, resented her company. She knew that war was to be the business of men, but why it should affect them to have her along was beyond Rain. She had killed more of their enemies than most of them. She would gladly fight and die for her country, for her King, just like any of them. Why should they wish to deny her that?
In a way she felt more comfortable at the rear of the pack. It was lonelier here, but she needed time with her thoughts. The nobles that made up their party had plenty to grumble about on their own. She didn't want to get drawn into a discussion for courtesy's sake.
If Ardin was dead, they were lost. The Brethren would come to their aid, she hoped, but to her knowledge nothing had been seen of them since her encounter with Tristram in the burned-out temple where Branston had died. Branston's death presented another problem, for she was certain that his father would never let the issue drop with ease. Hembrody was ambitious, and a vengeful man. She would need to keep an eye on the man, if for no other reason than to protect her brother. Bramblethorn would keep an eye on him as well, simply because he disliked him. That gave her some level of comfort as they rode through the sheer walls of the valley.
Cid would be a welcome addition to their ranks if he and Shill had made it to the refugees alive. Assuming the refugees themselves hadn't been destroyed. The thought of so much work erased in one fell swoop of the Demon's forces resurrected her anger. She had sacrificed so much... too much. Her men had given more, many never to return to their homes. If the Truan refugees were lost, she wasn't certain she could live with herself. If my men are lost...
She wound through the mid-way point of Albentine, the massive gates held open to them as they trotted through. The whole place looked bleak, and they only served to make her think of her parting with Ardin. It was possibly the last time she would ever see him, and the realization stung anew. Crag the Steward stood by the gate, saluting as the soldiers passed. His stiff frame was turned only more rigid as he silently maintained form, keeping his hand over his breast and his nose in the air. She wondered briefly what kind of story had led him here.
The path through Albentine was where the Relequim had lost the last of his strength, his own presence mysteriously absent in the battle. He had been tracked to his fortress in the north, located in a desolate canyon in the midst of tall square mountains that harbored little life. Krakador. The fortress itself was never found, the winding path through the crags and valleys blocked and sealed before the armies ever arrived.
The battle there had been fierce, and she only knew this because so few would ever speak of it. Even her father, who had been so open with his exploits and failures, had refused on multiple occasions to tell her what had transpired in the Desert Mountains. Desperation had driven the Demon, and like a cornered animal he whipped his minions into a frenzy that knew no restraint. The forces that assailed them showed them no quarter, and the Demon took as many with him as he could.
Many had set out to find the fortress of Krakador in the years that followed. Most never came close; the rest never returned. It was there that her brother was certain the Demon's will was bent. Some power held within it was being forged that would be the undoing of mankind, a weapon unlike anything they had even conceived possible. It was upon the steps of Krakador that the fate of mankind would be determined.
Rain figured it would be best if she rejoined her brother before they left the valley. He would want her with him. She didn't wish to cast aspersions on him by not appearing supportive in any way. To appear weak to his enemies or to seem unfit in front of his army would cause morale to drop at the very least, and welcome insurrection at the worst. While her father had kept his nobles in line with ease, she knew that the task had been accomplished at a cost for Rendin.
It didn't take long to rejoin him at the head of the column. He nodded to her as she approached, the relief visible to her in his face. They had been thinking the same thoughts; their lines of reason rarely diverged. She came close, leaning in to ask quietly how he was faring.
“I'm well, sister.” He smiled. “I don't think I shall enjoy much of our excursion, but traveling through our own country is something I haven't done in a long time.”
As they exited the valley under the lidless eyes of the massive towers that guarded it, Rain felt a sense of relief wash over her. There were thousands of soldiers in the hills below waiting for them to arrive. Pennants and banners streamed from a small sea of tents as the smoke from thousands of cooking fires mingled in the air to form a glorious haze. There weren't nearly as many as had been in existence in her father's day, but the sons of his soldiers had reformed well enough.
“We will take our night's rest on that hill there.” Rendin pointed for his bodyguard to see. “We march north in the morning.”
Rain was surprised to hear they would head directly north. “Rendin, shouldn't we see to the refugees and my men first?”
“It's too far, Rain. Our supply line would never reach and would be far too vulnerable east of our territory.” He looked steadily in her eyes, the softness in them showing only briefly. “Shill and the rest are on their own, sister. They always were.”
Every instinct in Rain told her to run. Right then and there, she knew she needed to fly into the east, to save her men, to bring them home. She knew it to be folly, knew it was suicide and would only hurt her brother. She had known this was coming, she had known she had abandoned them, but she wanted it all the same. How could she let them die?
“If the Relequim were truly after them, the best thing we can do now is strike at his heart.” Rendin could read the crazed look in her eyes, she knew. “He will be forced to pull back, Rain. He can't let us get to Krakador uncontested. He won't.”
She knew it to be true, but she couldn't believe it. I must believe it, she told herself. My place is here... this is the best I can do for them.
She sighed as they began the descent into the foothills surrounding the Dragon's Teeth. She would take her rest tonight and do her best to calm her heart, for she knew that even though she was abandoning her men to their death, she too would be riding to death's door all too soon.
TWELVE
ANDERS KEATON SAT IN THE MOUNTAINS EAST OF ELANDIR, PORING OVER THE CITY'S BLUEPRINTS. He had never
actually taken the time to study the design of the great black wall, nor the infrastructure running underneath the city itself. It was incredibly well thought out, and he knew it had been executed just as well. The Magi had made most of it, though they taught the humans as they went. It was amazing that history had attempted to wrest credit away from them in only a generation, and even more incredible that people believed it. This was the work of genius.
“Have you found a way in yet?” Saltman sat down silently on the bench next to him.
“I'm not looking for a way in.” Keaton flipped the page he was reading over to see what the key on the back could tell him.
“I thought we were looking to kill Merodach, sir.”
“We're looking to depose Merodach. There's a difference. Getting into Elandir is beyond us at this stage, Lieutenant. We may be able to get in and kill Merodach, we may even be able to get out alive.” He put the blueprints down and looked Saltman in the eye. “But what will we be leaving behind? Chaos? A leaderless government? We're not trying to destroy Elandir, Saltman. We're trying to free her.”
“Then what's with the blueprints?” Saltman picked up a page and twisted it in his hand as if the answer to his question was hidden somewhere among its fine lines.
“The people in Elandir are already on edge, but they aren't dissatisfied enough with Merodach to want him out of office, let alone dead.” Keaton pointed to a blocky structure built into the side of one of Elandir's square towers. “But we can get them there.”
“That's a power station, sir.”
“We can't very well get in and announce Merodach's treachery, as much as I would love to do so. There's no proper medium, and even if we made our accusations, we would be shut down and shouted over instantly. What we need to do is show them his incompetence, aid him in a few foibles. God knows he's had enough on his own. Show them he's not quite as capable at keeping them safe and comfortable as they think he is.”
Saltman nodded as he looked at the drawings. “Like how poor of a job he's doing in keeping the lights on.”
“Precisely.” Keaton grunted as he leaned back. “We just need to find someone to replace him with safely, someone we trust, and someone with some semblance of legitimacy. If we can do that, we can shut Merodach up for life or have him tried and executed. We just need to push the people past the breaking point with him.”
The leather-clad lieutenant smiled as he flipped through the blueprints on the table. “I'm sure we could find a few more things he's not so good at maintaining.”
“That's my hope.”
“But who do we find to take his place?”
Keaton smiled. “You know they set up a line of succession for Merodach when he was interned in the South Tower?”
“Yeah,” Saltman nodded. “I thought Merodach did away with that when he took office.”
“Not so publicly.” Keaton rolled up a blueprint and shook it in front of Saltman. “You know the guy that got us these blueprints?”
“Some official inside.”
“That official is the finance minister, third on that list to succeed Merodach, and he's the one we'll be putting up in the North Tower by the end of the month.”
Keaton broke the Hunters up into three small teams the following day, giving each a task revolving around a necessary utility in the city. To one he ordered they keep the lights out in three of the city's twelve sectors at all times. Another was to keep sewage treatment from functioning consistently. The last was to disrupt the delivery and distribution of major food supplies.
He knew tempers were already high in the city, and that after the attack on the city and subsequent war, the people were on the verge of rejecting Merodach's government. His simple hope was that all they needed was one final push, a nudge over the edge to sedition, and then he could come in and clean up shop. Supplant Merodach with one of his own officials and turn the lights back on. No one need ever know that it had been the Hunters who had turned them off in the first place.
Local farmers just outside the city recently held captive by Merodach in an attempt to capture the Shadow King would be easy to turn to for shelter and food. Two Hunters already had four farmhouses lined up to stay at in a rotation, and plenty more could be found in the meantime. If everything went well, no one in Elandir would even know they were there. If things got ugly, they could simply disappear and alter their plans.
Things won't get ugly though, Keaton told himself as they set out for the city in the early morning light. Merodach will be deposed, tried, and dead within a month.
Inside the walls, Keaton was certain they would find citizens sympathetic to their cause. There would be plenty already looking to overthrow Merodach. The real trick was going to be in orchestrating things with the finance minister, Quinn Phelts. He had already proven sympathetic, but Keaton hoped they could convince him to step into Merodach's role when all was said and done.
The Hunters had a few hundred miles to go, but they covered the ground quickly, starting out with trucks stashed by Saltman and finishing the final seventy miles at a quick march. He wanted them in position as soon as possible. Even if they needed to rest to make up for the time, he didn't want to miss any opportunities simply because they had been on the move. Runners from each team were designated, required to meet him every night to discuss targets and allocate missions for the following day.
Two of the Hunters who had family within Elandir were tasked with visiting the city regularly, slipping in during regular hours of commerce. Keaton wanted his fingers on the pulse of the populace. He wanted to know what they were thinking and when they would be ready to revolt. More importantly, he knew he would soon be able to coordinate attacks with civilians inside. Key members of the community would need to be contacted to legitimize the coup, and he needed to know if and when the bulk of the military would be returning to the city. The last he had heard they were cleaning up the mess they had made, attempting to secure Liscentia before Silverdale arrived to help them.
Keaton wondered if any of the other City States would rise up to Liscentia's aid before this was over. The thought only encouraged him to get rid of Merodach faster. A coup wasn't only necessary, it was of expedient urgency if Elandir were to survive her leader's madness.
“There are to be no assassinations,” Keaton told his men at their first briefing before sending them out. “Kill no one; these are still our countrymen. Anyone with blood on his hands at the end of this mission will have to answer for it.”
“What about Merodach?” The Hunter in the back who asked the question was fairly tall, dark-haired, and carried a long-range rifle with him everywhere he went. “If I get a shot I'm takin' it.”
“Don't kill Merodach either. He needs to stand trial and die dangling from a rope. A bloodless coup will be difficult enough to accomplish as it is. We want to get the ball rolling on succession, put the Council back in control, not reform the government in its entirety. If we start killing the leaders we have now, what's to assure leaders in the future that the same fate doesn't await them?”
“It'd keep 'em in line.” Another chuckled.
“And it would make them more brutal and bloodthirsty than Merodach.” Keaton's tone silenced further opposition. “We're here to free Elandir, to build the future we desire, and that takes intentionality and forethought. Not mindless killing. We have to win the hearts and minds of the people, and while killing Merodach outright may win their hearts in the beginning, it will eat away at their confidence in us over time. We'll come to be seen as murderers in the night, a necessary evil. Necessary evils are rarely tolerated beyond their usefulness.”
Merodach would die, he assured them. But it had to happen the right way or it was better that they didn't even set out on this mission in the first place.
They dispersed, melting into the darkness like rain vanishing into thirsty soil. Keaton attached himself to the sewage treatment team, knowing that their task would be the most difficult. Getting into the city was only the start,
but the plant itself was underground and practically sealed off. They would need to get creative if they were to succeed.
Keaton watched the tall, dark walls that night, thinking through everything he had seen. The scars from the false attack only weeks before still showed clearly as the lights that ringed the city turned on. They only served to sour his mood further, making him think of everything he had been put through. The faces of the men he had lost hovered near the front of his mind, salting his tongue and bringing a thirst for revenge.
His whole career had been a farce, his skill the tool of mad men whose goals served only themselves. He could barely stand to believe he had been so blind in the beginning. When the haze of light that burned over the Black City suddenly dimmed to one side, Keaton smiled. His men were already at work. This time, he would be the tool of no one. He would usher in the new peace and stop the infighting that would otherwise tear their civilization apart.
The next night his runners arrived as anticipated. He had spent the day planning the assault on the sewage treatment plant and decided to avoid the plant itself for now. Better to disrupt its outward operations first, then move in when the workers were distracted around the city. The power team had already taken out two stations located on the northern-facing walls. It had cut electricity to nearly a third of the city, and they said it would take days to repair the damage they had done.
No one, they said, had seen them come or go. There was no need to do real reconnaissance work; they had been doing that all their lives without fully realizing it. The team sent to disrupt food supplies to the city had started differently than Keaton had expected. Rather than directly attack any deliveries entering the city, they approached major granaries and farmers who had been put off by Merodach's imposed captivity within Elandir's walls. Most of them, the team found, were not difficult to win over to their cause. The food, the farmers said, would simply disappear. When asked after, they would blame fires or thieves, and they guaranteed Keaton's men that the grain would be gone.