by Eric Asher
He adjusted the spiked breathing mask on his face, long the symbol of his family line in war. Though it had not often been worn outside of battle, things had changed.
“Now, traitor, tell me of these pamphlets.” Mordair had already read them. Their pages were filled with conspiracies that the king had lost his mind, was simply warmongering for his own personal gain, and cared nothing of the population at large. The irony, of course, was that a great many of those conspiracies were true.
The man slowly raised his eyes to the king. Hair matted by blood covered one eye, and a magnificent bruise stretched from ear to chin. “I have nothing to say that wasn’t said already. Do with me as you will.”
Mordair leaned back in his throne. “I believe we have had a misunderstanding. It is not so much you I am interested in. It is who gave you the stories.”
“So they’re true,” the man whispered.
“Truth is a fickle beast. The fact there are fragments of it in your stories—and that is all they are—is dangerous.”
“You murdered families in Ancora. Families no different from mine. You want us to believe they deserved to die because they put a kink in your trade route.”
Mordair laughed. “Defiant. I can respect that. Let us see if your wife feels the same.” Mordair gestured to a guard at the back of the room.
The man on the floor did not respond.
They escorted a petite woman in heavy robes across the room. Unlike her husband, she was free to walk on her own, or flee to her death, if she chose. It took time to convince a populace they were powerless. But the easiest way was to offer them small freedoms before crushing the dissenters.
The King of Fel had grown used to loyalty. He had expected some resistance as the nature of his campaigns came to light. There were always fractures, even in the most loyal populations, and witnessing the destruction of the city would make many question their leadership.
But the ringleaders of these so-called spies could not be allowed to continue. The pamphlets had been found in more than one dissenter’s home. Some abandoned, the owners fleeing to some far-off city. But Mordair needed the population. They were a convenient shield against any possible invaders.
The nearest guard tried to force the woman to her knees, but her hand slid inside the heavy robes. Mordair watched, somewhat detached, as her hidden blade found a joint in the guard’s armor. Blood sprayed from his neck as she turned on the king himself. Two more guards pounced, impaling her with their pikes as she collapsed to the ground.
Mordair stood and took two steps down toward the dying woman. What he didn’t understand was the impassive look on her husband’s face.
The prisoner leaned over to kiss his wife goodbye. But when he straightened, and smiled at Mordair, a small metal orb gleamed between his teeth.
“Down!” one of the guards screamed, diving for Mordair.
Almost in slow motion, their captive bit down, setting off the small explosive. Shrapnel tore through the guards. The prisoner and his wife died in an instant. The nearest guard, the one who had dove for Mordair and taken the brunt of the shrapnel, gurgled and reached out to his king. Mordair shoved him away with his boot and stepped down to the corpses of their prisoners.
The king exhaled and leaned down beside another dead guard by the chained prisoner. He picked up the small metal box, now dented from the impact of shrapnel. Inside, he found the latest pamphlet they had meant to print.
It spoke of new evidence that Mordair had funded the warlords of the Deadlands. That he was responsible for the fall of Midstream, the razing of the villages around Gareth Cave, and the new aggression emanating from Bollwerk.
Mordair crumpled up the paper and walked over to a small torchère at the base of the throne, tossing the paper in.
He turned to the Red Hand. “I don’t know who was feeding them information, but I want every informant found.”
“Of course,” the Red Hand said. “Should we cancel the march, sir?”
Mordair slowly shook his head. “No. Pull a detail off to clean up this mess. But the march goes on as planned. We need to remind these people who feeds and protects them, and where their loyalties should lie.”
“It shall be done.” The guard gave a short bow to Mordair and turned to exit through a decorative steel door.
Mordair made for his chambers to the rear of the throne. The leather apron he wore would need to be changed. Too many questions would arise if he showed up with blood splattered across his chest. It was only then he noticed the burn on his left biceps. A small bit of shrapnel had found him, and that was the closest an enemy had come to him in a very long time.
There was an excitement in that. An escalation that had not happened in the city in recent memory. The conflict to come would be memorable indeed.
* * *
The old flag of Fel had been a symbol of weakness and ruin when Mordair took power. It was a pale and colorless thing. Now he stood on the balcony of the king’s courts and watched the procession below. Vibrant red flags emblazoned with an abstract black Tail Sword hung from the dark gray stone buildings and the airships floating silently overhead.
For all the kingdom knew, this was simply a show of respect for Mordair’s fallen brother, the most honorable Newton Victor Burns. And perhaps some small part of it still held that meaning. But Mordair had a different reason for these marches. He made it a point to deploy their military forces inside the city at minimum four times per year. It was a stark reminder of how much power those who spoke up against Fel could bring down on their family’s heads.
Some were too soft to see it, or too caught up in blindly supporting their king. But Mordair knew even his staunchest supporter could waver and abandon the city if they learned the truth of things. So, instead, there were reminders and rallies and, occasionally, disappearances.
Like those two fools earlier that day. Their home would be found abandoned. Others would assume they’d fled the city. Only four guards and Mordair himself knew the truth.
The great orator and warrior of Fel, known only as the Red Hand, stepped to the foremost armored crawler as it slowed, lifting a polished brass transmitter to her mouth, one that reached the amplifiers mounted across every crawler.
“Only with the great sacrifice of Newton Victor Burns have we obtained a great victory. Our rivals in Dauschen are no more, thrown down from their mountain fortress by a decisive blow from our king. Only he had the foresight to bring down their base and collapse their mountainside docks.
“Now, with Ancora brought to heel, only Bollwerk remains as a blockade to our domination of the Deadlands. Rejoice, citizens. For you will soon be a part of the greatest empire this world has witnessed in its long history.”
Few knew what had happened in Dauschen. And the handful who wouldn’t keep silent were themselves silenced. There was no room for dissenters under the rule of Mordair. But it would not always be that way. He only needed the shield until it was time to join his allies in Ballern.
The Red Hand continued, detailing the king’s plans he’d not yet spoken in public. “Soon we will take once more the city known as Midstream.” The longer she spoke, the more fervent her words became until, at the end, she was nearly shouting. “From there, beneath the absolute power of Fel, we will launch a strike on Bollwerk that will change the landscape of the Deadlands for all time!”
Mordair shivered at the cheers and screams that responded to those words. Like loyal pets trained to attack, these fools would die for an empire that cared little for the blood that fueled it.
With Belldorn’s allies weakened, Ballern would have their opportunity, and Mordair would move through the ranks of their ruling class like a malignant parasite. He grinned beneath his mask as the citizens of Fel took up the booming chant of the citizen’s oath.
One thing Newton had never fully understood was patience. Patience was not infinite. Patience was the means to wait for an opportunity. And then strike.
CHAPTER SIX
“It feels strange to be leaving them here in Cave,” Alice said.
Jacob secured the ties on one of his packs and glanced up at her. “Our parents?”
“Yes.”
“We can stay longer if you wish,” Drakkar said.
Jacob shook his head. “I know they’re safe here. Ancora needs us.”
Alice nodded, as if trying to convince herself that she agreed with everything Jacob was saying. “You’re right. We need to get back and help where we can. One day we’ll have the Lowlands rebuilt. Then we can bring our parents home.”
In some ways, Jacob hoped Ancora would be different, not so separated between the Highlands and Lowlands. But he’d seen enough over his life to know that a change like that would take a great deal of time. For now, they could help with the reconstruction, and maybe in the future they could help heal the divide inside Ancora.
Alice started to fold the blanket on the cot where she’d slept. The Rock Inn hadn’t had many rooms left, but the innkeeper had a couple extra cots for Alice and Jacob.
“You can leave that,” Drakkar said. “The innkeeper will straighten things. And my back thanks you for leaving the bed to me. Now, if you have all of your things, let us head for the stables.”
The trio waved to the innkeeper as they exited. It was good Drakkar knew him, and well enough that he could acquire a room, but Jacob wondered about the rest of the overcrowded city. How many people slept on floors and alleys while they enjoyed a cot. He supposed it was better than those worst off in Ancora. At least here in Cave every citizen had a roof over their head.
Drakkar led them away from the inn, winding up through the more familiar streets of Cave. Jacob had only seen a small part of the city before. It was an odd thought now, knowing just how deep Cave went. One day, when they had more time, Jacob wanted to return and explore that cavern on the Silver Gulf.
A stable hand greeted them when they returned for George. He fetched the Walker’s saddlebags without question, and without Drakkar asking for them.
Alice walked over to one of the other pens, peering inside at a large Jumper. “She looks like Bessie.”
Jacob stepped closer. “She’s not all gray, though.”
“Not from Ancora,” Alice said. “Their hair grows in different patterns and colors, depending on their environment. I wouldn’t be surprised if this Jumper wasn’t from the Deadlands at all.”
Jacob frowned. “Her armor sure looks like a Spider Knight’s.”
The stable hand overheard their conversation. “She doesn’t belong to a Spider Knight of Ancora. Some of the soldiers around the Sea of Salt also ride Jumpers. If you look there on the wall, you’ll see more leg armor than anyone in Ancora uses. Especially on a Jumper.”
“Wouldn’t that be too heavy a load?” Alice asked.
The stable hand nodded. “Some people who ride Jumpers don’t want them jumping.”
Jacob could understand that. He’d had more than one rough ride on Bessie’s back.
“This should be all of your saddlebags. There’s an extra package of dried Sweet-Flies in there. Good for your Walker, or you.”
Drakkar exchanged grips with the stable hand. “I appreciate your care. Be safe and travel well.”
“I won’t be traveling anywhere for a while. I’ve heard what happened in Ancora. Sounds like staying underground is the place to be.”
Drakkar inclined his head. “Alice, Jacob, it is time.”
* * *
The trip back through the mountain paths didn’t take as long with George well rested and fed by caretakers who specialized in Walkers. George sped across uneven terrain, his legs pumping and churning through the dirt without hesitation.
Jacob was about to shout a warning that there was a Red Death ahead of them, but George simply charged over it, impaling the black carapace briefly with his pinchers, and then trampling the beetle into a ruin.
Drakkar glanced back with a smile. “I do not think we need to concern ourselves with a lone Red Death.”
“Apparently not,” Alice said.
The Walker was a bit rambunctious after that. George surged up onto some boulders flanking the path, giving his riders a wild time trying to hold on.
“Can you stop him from doing that?” Alice asked. “Jacob nearly lost his pack.”
Jacob frowned at Alice. “You didn’t have to tell him that.” Jacob tightened the straps and resecured it to his back. It obviously hadn’t been a good idea to let the pack ride free in front of him.
Drakkar leaned forward and dropped a dried Sweet-Fly onto the Walker’s face. The food vanished in an instant, and Drakkar continued feeding George, who suddenly became much less interested in the boulders along the path. He kept to the center, and Jacob dozed off with the rhythmic roll of the Walker’s stride.
It was Alice’s words that shocked him fully awake. “One of Bollwerk’s warships is still over Ancora.”
“I see it,” Drakkar said. “Hold tight. We’re going to take George up the wall by the old lift.”
“By the old lift?” Alice asked. “Drakkar, that’s nearly a sheer cliff.”
“Yes? Make sure the saddlebags are tight, closed, and your packs are secure.”
Alice stared at the Cave Guardian somewhat in disbelief. But after a moment’s hesitation, she started checking the buckles and tightened her own pack against the gray sweater she wore.
Jacob did the same, watching the road vanish beneath the Walker’s stride. The path and cliffs that led to Ancora looked far off, but after he’d finished checking his own pack and saddlebags, they were already at the wall.
The thing Jacob noticed first as they neared the lift was the fact the remaining bodies around it had been cleared away. Part of him wondered what had been done. Had they all received burials? Or had it been like the old wars Charles talked about, where one massive funeral pyre sent the dead on their way? Another part of war Jacob never wanted to know.
“Hold on,” Drakkar said.
George slowed for only a moment before Drakkar gave him two quick pats on the head between his antennae. With that silent signal, the Walker climbed onto the wall. Bits of rock pattered down while Jacob locked his legs across the segment he was seated on.
He and Alice both kept their hands bound to the straps of the saddlebags. It was both annoying and inspiring to see Drakkar casually riding on a near-vertical Walker. He made it look effortless, and in that moment, Jacob felt it was anything but.
As fatigue leached the strength from Jacob’s fingers, George mercifully crested the cliff and surged into the ruins of the Lowlands.
Jacob hadn’t spent much time near that old lift. Before the city fell, it had always been guarded by city knights. When Jacob was a more active pickpocket, knights were the kind of people he tended to avoid.
But as they cleared the ruin of the old city wall and slithered onto the street where their school had once stood, Jacob’s chest tightened. There were only a few buildings left standing in the Lowlands. And perhaps that in itself was an exaggeration. There were only a few ruins he could recognize.
But beyond those clusters of fallen stone and wood loomed the unmistakable outline of Charles’s old lab.
As if she’d seen it at the same time, Alice leaned back and squeezed Jacob’s hand.
“I want to go back,” Jacob said. “Charles had more hiding spots than what we raided. I want to see if there’s anything else he left behind.”
“It is unlikely,” Drakkar said. “The Butcher raided that same lab. Do you really think they missed that much?”
Jacob shrugged, even though Drakkar couldn’t see it. “Maybe they did. I just … I have good memories of the place.”
“I miss him too,” Alice said.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” Drakkar said. “For now, we need to find Baddawick.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t talk to Archibald?” Jacob asked.
“Archibald has already departed. Look closer at the airship above you. That is not Archibald�
��s.”
Jacob squinted at the massive warship. It’s not that it wasn’t one of Archibald’s, but Drakkar was right. It was not the warship that had landed after the battle with the Butcher.
“I trust Baddawick more, anyway,” Alice said. “If anyone is going to know who is left from the construction crews and who is helping rebuild the city walls, it’s going to be Baddawick.”
It made sense to Jacob, though he figured some of the Spider Knights might also be aware of happenings around the city. But the idea of returning to the Wild Horse Inn was not unwelcome.
Deeper into the Lowlands, Jacob could see more of the progress that had been made in the short time they’d been away. There wasn’t much more in the area that had been done to the remnants of the city wall, but the remains of invaders and buildings alike had been pushed aside to make a narrow path.
George followed the path on instinct alone. Drakkar didn’t guide the Walker as they sped past debris.
Alice’s hands tightened on the saddlebags’ straps, and her posture stiffened as they reached the wreckage of the square. It was hard to reconcile the fact that this place, still stained with blood, had hosted Festival so recently.
Jacob could make out the fractured stage and the splinters of more than one vendor cart. Beyond the ghost of the square, they skirted a crater in the road. Jacob had little doubt what had made that. One of the compound bombs, possibly one that he’d dropped while he fled from the horde with Charles.
“Look,” Drakkar said, pointing toward the east mountains.
At first, Jacob wasn’t sure what Drakkar was pointing at, but then he saw it. Along the side of the plateau where the Lowlands sat, more of the wooden city wall had been erected, the temporary structure stretching all the way back to the towering stone walls of the Highlands. It still left them open to attacks from invaders, but provided a modicum of protection.