The Nullification Engine (The Alchemancer: Book Two)

by Scott Marlowe

  "You...agreed..."

  —I agreed to set my hounds on someone for you, and so I shall. Nor will I harm the boy. But I said nothing about not harming you.—

  Too late Ursool realized her error. Gasping, she clawed at the houndmaster's hand. Her attempt proved feeble as the houndmaster's grip tightened.

  —You are a hideous creature.— Krosus turned her one way and then the other. —Worse-looking than the pit devils of Barathrum.—

  The houndmaster's fingers pressed into a certain lump which had formed half inside and half out of Ursool's neck years before. Flashes of pain assaulted the witch as the demon's grip squeezed the lump's tender flesh. Then the flashes erupted into bolt of agony as the lump popped. Juices flowed down Ursool's neck, across the houndmaster's fingers, and down her back. Spared the worst of the disgustingness, her head lolled to one side as she began to black out.

  —If not for our arrangement, I would allow my hounds to kill you and feast on your flesh this very moment.—

  Finally, Krosus released her. But he did it by hurling her away so she sailed over the circle, now nothing more than ineffectual scratches, to skid across the ground. She came to a stop in a balled-up heap. Coughing, choking, and half-unconscious, she tried to heave in air while fighting to endure the pain pulsating from her neck.

  —Still you will know what it is to make a deal with one such as I. You have no choice now but to fulfill your end of our bargain, regardless of what I do to you.—

  Ursool tried to rise. She made it as far as her knees when she sensed more than saw the houndmaster standing over her. Pain exploded in her gut as the demon launched a booted foot into her. Her body lifted, then came down hard on the cold, firm ground. She clawed at the dirt, trying to put distance between herself and the demon, but it was too late, as once again he lifted her up. This time, he grabbed hold of her hair, lifting her so her feet hung suspended. She tried to cry out, but the houndmaster slammed his fist into her mouth, breaking teeth. He threw her once more. This time, she landed at the feet of Scourge. Burning eyes and long, pointed canines hovered over her for less than a heartbeat before the hound's massive head shot out and slavering jaws locked onto her forearm. Though the bite was not deep, still Ursool cried out in pain as the hell hound's acidic saliva seared her flesh. While Scourge had a hold on her, Krosus called out to the other nearby hound.

  —Ruin, go! Enter the city and never mind that the pup has ordered us to stay out. This new purpose takes precedence. Give us until tomorrow night to have our way with the witch, then fulfill our end of the deal by seeking out your prey. Now, go!—

  As Ruin started for Brighton, Krosus turned his attention back to Scourge.

  —Drag her to the hollow. Make sure she does not enjoy the journey. We shall finish this where others cannot see or hear.—

  Ursool cried out at the first jarring movement as Scourge nearly tore her arm from its socket. She wailed all the way down the hill. When her head finally hit a rock, knocking her unconscious, she made no further sound at all.

  18. A Change in Leadership

  NEITHER LIGHT FROM THE SUN nor the moon ever touched Xirklx, yet before Acharat had even approached the city's fringes, his tired old bones were telling him his home had slipped into night. Too many ascents to the surface of late, he knew. But his duty called for it. While he might long for days of idleness, sitting in an honored seat at the communal meal whilst he extolled the wisdom of his lifetime to anyone who would listen, such wishes had not yet come to fruition. Might never come to fruition, he suspected, for always there was something else. As chieftain and shaman, his duties were too many, but no one skeva had yet shown the fortitude, ability, or willingness to succeed him in either capacity. Acharat knew why, too. In a word: Rachna.

  The shodeth leader wanted the title of chief for himself. That of shaman, for which he'd far less regard, would fall to one of his witches if his plans were ever realized. Through intimidation and coercion, Rachna had secured enough support amongst the people to someday assume the role of leader. Only Acharat, whom age wore down a little more each day, stood in his way. Acharat feared for his people once he was gone. That was why, above all other reasons, he continued to cling to the role of leader.

  Dens and houses were dark and silent. The city's central square was empty. High above, glow moss shone as always, providing more than enough light for even Acharat's old eyes to guide him past the square and beyond to his lonely house. He lived like any one of his people, in a modest den built of mud brick and wattle. His mate, Pujeel, who had passed some ten years before, had always wanted something larger. Acharat thought the place adequately sized for the two of them, for there had never been anyone else. Though filled with memories, the place was more way station than anything else of late, somewhere to rest the body and mind for a short spell between the many duties always calling to him. Once inside, he shuffled straight for his bed and, leaning his cane against the wall, lay down to sleep.

  He woke minutes or hours later to a pounding on his door.

  "Acharat! Come forth!"

  The voice, which Acharat did not recognize at first through the haze of sleep, sounded again when he made no immediate reply.

  "We know you are here, shaman! Show yourself!"

  Acharat recognized the voice now. It was Hosh, Rachna's second.

  The old shaman fought the stiffness in his joints and the soreness in his back as he rose from his pallet to stand. His hand found his cane of its own volition, and soon he pulled his door open to greet Hosh and anyone else who had come to wake him. Moss lanterns down the lane to his home remained partially drawn. Their light illuminated the outlines of four others besides Hosh. Rachna was not amongst them.

  "Why do you wake me in the middle of the night, Hosh? What has happened?"

  Hosh joined his fists at his chest and bowed. The others, all shodeth warriors, followed suit.

  "Nothing has happened...yet."

  Acharat put one hand on the door jamb for support. His body, still aching, had not gotten even a quarter of the rest it needed. "What is it then? What danger encroaches upon our city?" No other reason explained shodeth outside his door at such an hour.

  "No danger from without, Chieftain."

  "But one from within?" Acharat blinked away the last bits of sleep and narrowed his gaze. His tail curled inward. "Why are you here, Hosh?"

  "You know why, Acharat. This game between yourself and Rachna must come to an end."

  Acharat lifted his chin. "Come to kill me, have you? I am surprised Rachna is not here to do the deed himself."

  "If Rachna were here, then you would already be dead. But I convinced him to allow me to handle this while he sees to other business."

  "Why? No bad blood exists between us, Hosh."

  "That is why I am here. You and I, Acharat, we've each seen many years, no? We've seen our people at their best, and at their worst."

  Acharat nodded. "Yes, we have. But the worst? It seems the worst is yet to come."

  "Or, perhaps the best. Know this, Acharat. Rachna has hatched a plan to rid our people of their fear of the surface dwellers for a very long time. Perhaps forever. As I speak, the shodeth make final preparations to assault the city above."

  Acharat scoffed. "The shodeth are formidable, but there are not enough of you to launch an assault on a city as large as Brighton. The people still listen to me, and so I will continue to urge against them taking up arms."

  "Not everyone listens to you, old one. Enough have already heeded Rachna's call that we have ample soldiers now."

  "Even if half the skeva of Xirklx joined you, still it would not be enough."

  Hosh bobbed his head. "You are right. That is why we enlisted the aid of another."

  "Who?"

  "It is not important. What is important is that you do not interfere."

  "And if I refuse? What if, as chieftain, I issue my own call to arms, not against the surface dwellers, but against the shodeth?"

  Hosh
sniffed, considering. "You would never do such a thing. You would never lead your people to slaughter."

  Acharat sighed. Hosh was right.

  Hosh pointed at two of the shodeth. "These two will stay here. You are not to leave your house until Rachna sends for you. It may be a day or two hence. Do you understand?"

  Acharat sighed again. He nodded, but said nothing.

  Hosh turned to go. The two designated as house guards remained. Only when Acharat had backed into his house did they approach and take up positions outside at either side of the door.

  Inside, with the door closed, Acharat began making preparations for his escape. He went to the cupboard first, pulling out dried ingredients he'd gathered or been given for a soup he'd never gotten around to cooking up. These he placed together in a mixing bowl. He put fire to his stove and started some water heating. Then he went to his bed and, from underneath, pulled out a long case. He slid the top off and made a few careful selections from the assortment of roots, leaves, and moss stored in individual compartments there. Back at the table, he laid out his selections before emptying the contents of the mixing bowl into the pot of water. If either of the shodeth looked inside, they'd see only an old skeva cooking up his dinner.

  He added several additional ingredients from pouches on his belt. In the same mixing bowl, he crumbled, twisted, and squeezed an assortment of the substances. Adding more water, he stirred the concoction, waved a hand over the surface, and reached within to his sri. Not a source, but a conduit, he coerced his inner strength into culling Uhl's natural forces. Now, he used that energy to draw forth an exhalation of smoke from the pot. White wisps rising from the bowl's swirling contents became a billowing rush as the smoke readily filled his home's small interior. With that done, Acharat took hold of his cane, tapped over to the door, and opened it.

  Hosh's shodeth stood with a mixture of alarm and confusion on their faces. Not knowing if the house was burning down or if this some sort of shaman's chicanery, Acharat emerging unscathed told them the latter. But by then it was too late as the white smoke billowed from the house to engulf the warriors, who slipped to the ground with swords still in their sheaths.

  Acharat walked past them. They weren't dead, only unconscious. He had to find Rachna before the skeva led his army to the surface. He had to—

  Acharat stopped, for Hosh stood at the other edge of the light given off by a nearby moss lantern. The grizzled shodeth had his arms crossed and his ears lay flat on his head in a sign of disappointment.

  "I knew you would try something, Acharat. Rachna was right. We cannot allow you to live if our order is ever to move forward. You will foment dissent and turn the people in the wrong direction again. This I cannot allow."

  Hosh said nothing else as he slid his sword from its sheath.

  "You say you knew I would try something, Hosh?" Acharat hobbled back, ensconcing himself in the thick of the smoke. "Well, I knew you'd be waiting, and so I've something else still." The shaman waved his arm, sprinkling a fine dust before him. Once more he opened the channel between the spell material and his surroundings, this time letting energy from the glow moss run straight through him and into the dust, igniting the fine particles in a dazzling kaleidoscope of exploding power. Unlike the debilitating effect of the smoke, which had not affected him, Acharat had as little protection from the blast as Hosh. Acharat's only salvation was in knowing it came. Not spry enough to leap away, Acharat had not gone far when the blast slammed into him. He heard Hosh's scream of pain, and then nothing. Knowing he had to rise, Acharat pulled himself to the nearby wall and, with his cane, managed to slide up its length. He saw right away that Hosh no longer posed a threat. The skeva lay on his back, unmoving. His arms were lifted up, which might have protected his face, but the entire front of his body was blackened, the fur singed off and the skin beneath turned raw and red.

  Acharat stumbled over to him. Falling to his knees, he checked for a pulse and found one. The old shaman sighed with regret. The warrior deserved a quick, clean death, not an agonizing one.

  "Why have things come to this?" Acharat asked in a whisper.

  He straightened the skeva's arms and touched his face and forehead, whispering words of succor. The warrior's eyes fluttered open and fixed on Acharat.

  "You...have...killed...me."

  "Yes. For that, I am sorry, Hosh."

  Hosh attempted to pull back his burned lips into a smile. "I chose...my path...shaman. No need...apologize. Better... Now I go...to her."

  Acharat knew to whom he referred. Like Acharat, Hosh's mate had also died years before.

  "Tell Keysea, and my own Pujeel, that I will join you all soon enough. Then I know we will forget about all of this and be at peace with one another."

  Acharat thought Hosh tried to nod, but the gesture remained unfulfilled as the light faded from his dark eyes. Acharat stayed with him a few minutes longer, performing the rites of death. Not the entire ceremony or the honors the skeva deserved for his long service, but it was the best the old shaman could do right now.

  Acharat stood. He took one deep breath and then, with white smoke still dissipating around him, walked away from his house and back to the dark tunnels leading to the surface. He had to find Rachna and stop him.

  19. Missing Journal

  JACOB STOOD ALONGSIDE THE GRIFFIN, inspecting repairs to her hull, when the captain returned from his very early and very unexpected meeting with Thorvid Kelm. Upon learning of the summonings, Jacob had wanted to accompany Captain Kreg. But he'd duties here, most notably getting the repair work back on schedule. Despite their progress of the day before, they'd run into a snag. Seemed the yardmaster hadn't properly understood their need for Dormont spruce, so the price had suddenly, and suspiciously, gone up. Jacob had meant to bring the subject up to the captain during breakfast, but a messenger had arrived almost as soon as they'd sat down. No written missive this time, the envoy simply requested Captain Kreg's presence at a meeting with the crime boss and informed him the time of the meeting was now. Captain Kreg had grumbled about it, but he'd excused himself and gone. This time, he'd taken only Lundy with him.

  Now, as the captain walked past his commander, he said, "Jacob, with me."

  Lundy peeled off to his duties while Jacob took his spot next to the captain. Captain Kreg said nothing as they boarded and went straightaway belowdeck. They stopped before the door to the savant's room.

  "You have the key?" Blyden asked.

  Jacob shook his head, confused.

  "The key, man! Do you have it?"

  Jacob fumbled at his belt. He kept keys to all of the airship's cabins, especially those designated as special. This was perhaps the most special cabin on the Griffin, despite the fact that no one had occupied it since the savant's departure.

  Jacob barely had the door unlocked when the captain brushed him aside, slammed the cabin door open, and went about tearing the room apart like a man possessed. He paused once to ask between breaths if Jacob thought a single scroll, tome, or anything else resembling a sheet of parchment might have been missed back when he'd boxed it all up. Jacob was certain he'd missed nothing. Thorvid Kelm's men had come to collect all of the materials last night, and so, to Jacob's knowledge, their new owner possessed everything. He said as much to the captain, who didn't seem satisfied as he went about searching the cabin once more. Finally, he gave up, slumping onto a divan.

  "It isn't here," he said, a hint of dismay in his voice.

  "What isn't here, sir?"

  Blyden rubbed his hand over his face. "The dwarf's gods-damn professor spent the night running through the basic formula and apparently it became 'painfully obvious' something was missing." Blyden sat up. His eyes went wide. "Erlek took it with him, gods-damn him. He had a journal. A small book he always kept on his person. I remember it now. Thorvid's man said key pieces of the formulas and such were missing." Blyden slumped back down. "The damn savant had it on him when he left the ship. We'll never find it."

 
Jacob pieced together the situation in his mind. If the savant had taken the most vital piece of the research with him, then the value of the materials they'd sold to the most dangerous man in Brighton just went from priceless to worthless. Which about summed up the value of their lives as well if they didn't come up with the journal.

  Blyden looked up sharply. "Where's the coin?"

  Jacob knew what he was thinking. "It's too late, sir. Most of it has already been distributed. The yardmaster was crowing about shortages, and one of the tinkerers demanded a third more to cover his outlay, and we had to cover another day of docking, and—"

  Blyden let out a deep breath. He chewed his lip for a moment before asking, "How long until we're airworthy?"

  Jacob considered the question. "Minimum of three days, sir."

  "That's too long. We need to leave by morning. I can stall Thorvid until then. But after that..."

  "Sir, are you proposing we renege on the deal?"

  Blyden shot up, a snarl taken hold of his features. "Have you any idea what Thorvid will do to us if we can't give him the missing information? Have you any idea what he'll do to me? We need to leave as soon as possible."

  "But, sir, surely we can appeal to the man's sensibilities. I'm sure he'll understand if you just explain the situation to him."

  "Sensibilities?" Blyden marched over to Jacob so he looked down that long nose of his at him. "Just how naïve are you, Jacob? I've heard stories about Thorvid. They say he's got a building deep in the Slums which backs up to the Whitecrest. The dwarf likes to hang out back and feed the fish raw meat sometimes. Where do you suppose he gets the meat, Commander?"

  Jacob swallowed. "Yes, sir. But there's only so much I can do. The tinkerers won't have our engine parts ready for two more days. I can pay them a visit and see if they can make it a rush job, but these are delicate bits of machinery. If we push them too much, we run the risk of defects."