Quest SMASH

by Joseph Lallo

The man fell backwards as if in slow motion and landed on the icy ground with a dull thud, the blanket with the boy under him.

  Carro wanted to run, but fear made his legs unwilling. He stared at the man’s neck, bent at an impossible angle. The invisible thing had broken the man’s neck.

  Carro waved the staff like crazy. That thing was going to kill him next. “Begone, begone, whatever you are!”

  A sudden gust of wind picked up, howling around the building. The air crackled. Snow sizzled, and blew into Carro’s face. He stood stiff with fear. He wanted to scream, but could make no sound. It felt like his entire face was on fire.

  And then quiet returned.

  Carro stood there, holding the staff. His hands ached with cold. Snow had blown into heaps obliterating any footsteps the apparition might have left. Where was it now? All Carro could see were indistinct mounds of snow, two of whom contained the Knights’ lifeless bodies.

  “Please, help.” The voice was soft and muffled.

  The Imperfect boy was pushing himself up from under the dead Knight, shaking snow out of his hair.

  “Come to me,” Carro called, still staring at the snow, expecting to see footsteps coming towards him.

  He waved the staff. The metal was so cold it steamed. His hands hurt from holding it, but he was too scared to worry about frostbite. A deep keening filled the courtyard. Wind tore through the gate, throwing up a cloud of snow.

  The boy had pushed the Knight off him. The man’s head flopped back like it was attached to this body only by skin.

  “Come now!” Carro shouted into the howling wind.

  The boy ran, clutching his blanket.

  Carro grabbed hold of him with his free arm, while hanging onto the staff with the other. The staff, and his hand, were rimed with frost. He ran, whistled for the eagle, and then remembered the business with the tied-up reins.

  But the eagles came, all three of them, flying low through the street, with their wing tips almost touching the houses on either side. The reins dangled loose—snapped? The two Knights’ eagles kept flying, but his bird landed.

  Carro heaved the boy on the saddle and clambered on behind him. One stroke of powerful wings and they were off into the night. Carro wrestled to gain control of the reins. His leather loop had broken, too, no, it had been cut.

  The boy was shivering.

  “S-s-so glad you came,” he said. His voice was young and hadn’t broken yet. “I thought . . . that blue thing was going t’ kill me like th’others.”

  Blue thing? “What did you see?”

  Carro shifted his weight to free his arm so he could lash the dangling reins around his wrist. He now saw how the tying-up trick worked. The knot still dangled in the reins of the eagle flying to the left of him. At his whistle, the birds had simply bitten through the leather. The Knights would replace the straps once they became too short.

  “Din’ you see th’ blue man?”

  “I didn’t see anything.” His teeth chattered.

  “He were all shimmery an’ in places you could see right through ’im.”

  Just what was he talking about?

  Carro had to concentrate on flying and the boy fell into silence. He didn’t shiver so much anymore. Carro was too busy staying in the saddle to talk, and too busy worrying what Rider Cornatan would say about the death of two of his elite soldiers, men much more experienced than him.

  Riding with the loose reins would have been tricky even during daytime, and the deadweight of the boy didn’t help. The eagle laboured to stay in the air, but he made the eyrie.

  Rider Cornatan was waiting at the back of the room, silhouetted by the light. Carro slid off his bird, the weight of the boy pressing him down.

  It was only when he stood in the straw, and the boy slumped on the ground that he realised the boy had lost consciousness.

  Rider Cornatan gave a sharp command. A Knight ran forward to lift the boy’s prone body off the floor.

  “Take him to the infirmary. Impress on the medicos that I want him to live.”

  Then the man was gone, and Carro faced Rider Cornatan. He couldn’t bear looking up. He’d taken out two capable Knights and had come back alone. Rider Cornatan had given him the metal staff to protect the patrol, but he had run first.

  “I can explain,” he whispered, but the horror of that snap echoed in his mind. How strong was this invisible monstrosity that it could break a grown man’s neck with such a loud crack?

  There were footsteps on the floor, Rider Cornatan coming closer. Carro cringed. He would sure be beaten, punished for his failure.

  * * *

  Carro sits at the big table in the dining room. His sister is next to him, crying.

  Why did you do that, Carro? his mother asks.

  Because she is ugly.

  That is such a horrid thing to say, I don’t know how you these things come into your head.

  But it’s true.

  His mother slaps him across the face. You need to grow up. You want to be treated like a big boy, you act like one.

  * * *

  But a warm hand touched his shoulder.

  “Look at me, Carro.”

  Carro raised his head, blinking hard to repress threatening tears. He couldn’t help it—he always did or said stupid things that got himself and, most importantly, other people, into trouble.

  Rider Cornatan’s eyes met his. It was impossible to guess what went on behind that gaze.

  “I know what it means to face the horrors of the Thillei legacy,” Rider Cornatan said in a low voice. “There are certain things we simple human beings cannot fight. That is the true reason I sent you: because you alone have a chance. Had you not been there, the boy would have been in the hands of the enemy. You did as well as you could.”

  “Who . . .” Carro swallowed. Did this mean that the death of two capable men would be written off as inevitable? While it was his fault? “Who is this enemy?”

  “That is what we need to find out. We might have thought that all Thilleians were dead, but it seems they are not.”

  Isandor. And then Carro had another chilling thought: did his friend have anything to do with this invisible monstrosity? It was Isandor’s idea to read the books, but what if he had kept the most important ones of them secret?

  “Now, I want you to clean up and rest. Go downstairs to my quarters and use the bathroom there.” He winked. “I know it’s Newlight. Don’t stay too long, though. I believe you’re racing tomorrow.”

  He passed an arm over Carro’s shoulders and squeezed them briefly.

  Carro’s head was full of questions. What did he mean—don’t stay too long? How could Rider Cornatan be so indifferent about the death of two men? What was he going to do with that boy? Why, if he wanted Imperfects, had he not noticed the one right in front of his nose in the eyrie, and what would Carro do if asked to betray Isandor?

  But he left the room and slouched down the howling staircase to the Senior Knight quarters. When he came to the bathroom in question, he understood at least the first part of Rider Cornatan’s remarks, because he could heard the sound of relaxed talk and laughter before he opened the door. It sounded like there was a party going on.

  The room beyond was huge and impossibly warm. Steam drifted from the surface of a huge bath. At least twenty people sat in the water, on a bench around the perimeter of the bath.

  “Hey, there is the hero!” one young man called out.

  The others cheered, holding up glasses.

  The group included some of the noble sons who had always been indifferent to him, men who should know about the deaths of two of their fellows. And, by the skylights, there was Korinne, seated in the water.

  Their eyes met, and Carro looked away, acutely aware of his filthy clothes. No way to face a girl.

  In a corner filled with benches and wash basins, Carro slipped out of his clothes and washed blood off his hands. It was warm in the room, and the laug
hter and cheerful voices made his ears ring, where he still heard that snap, that awful snap, of the Knight’s neck breaking.

  Footsteps in the snow.

  Crack.

  A servant came with a tray of hot bloodwine. Carro accepted a glass and drained it in one gulp. The liquid burned a way to his stomach. There. That was better. He slipped into the huge bath, not meeting anyone’s eyes. The water stung his cold-numbed hands.

  Carro leaned back against the side of the bath, letting the talk in the room wash over him. His head was becoming comfortably dizzy with the heat and the effect of the bloodwine.

  “Hi, Carro.”

  Korinne, on the underwater seat next to him. Her curls were flattened against her head and the bottom ends of her hair fanned out from her shoulders, partially covering her breasts.

  “Uhm, hello,” he said, and then he felt like he had to add something. “Have you been here long?”

  Stupid question, really, seeing as what he’d been through.

  “Not very long,” she said. She took one of his hands and began rubbing it, examining blisters on his palms. “Flying out at night?” she asked.

  He nodded, the simplest answer that didn’t require him to lie.

  “Didn’t you wear gloves?”

  Carro shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about his mission. The flow of the water drew her hair away from her breasts, soft white orbs with dark nipples. He felt oddly detached.

  “We were just getting ready for the party and were waiting for you.” She ran her hands up his arm, meeting his eyes.

  “For me?” Heat crept up his cheeks.

  Was this the girl who had called him a clumsy idiot earlier that evening? By the skylights—was it only that evening? It seemed many days ago.

  “Drink?” someone behind him asked.

  Carro turned and took the bottle from the man next to him, a tall, dark-haired young man with olive skin. His shoulders were lean and corded with muscle.

  The man met Carro’s eyes; his were grey and uncomfortably intense. He had long eyelashes. His face was narrow, with a long, hook-like nose.

  Foreign blood.

  “Uhm . . .” Carro hated how he blushed. “I’m Carro.”

  The man chuckled. “We figured.”

  “And you are?”

  “Farey.”

  His intense stare made Carro uneasy, but he felt he had to say something. He wanted to say something. Not to look like an idiot, for once.

  “I haven’t seen you at the eyrie before.” It was an insanely stupid remark, he knew that as soon as it left his mouth. Apprentices only ever saw a very small part of what went on in the eyrie.

  Again that chuckle, breathy and nervous and very strange at the same time. “You wouldn’t have seen me. It’s my job not to be seen when I don’t want to.” The grey gaze roamed Carro’s naked shoulders, the pale skin of his belly.

  Carro turned back to Korinne and made a show of unstoppering the bottle. His hands trembled. He drank a few swigs without tasting anything, and when he passed the bottle on, noticed how on the other side of the bath two noble sons faced each other. One was old enough to have the golden markings on his cheeks, the other was not much older than Carro. As he watched, the older Knight pulled the younger closer and kissed him full on the mouth. The light gilded the younger man’s cheekbones, His eyes were closed; his hands slid down the older Knight’s chest.

  Blood roared in Carro’s ears. He wanted to turn away, give his attention to Korinne, who was stroking his shoulders, but he couldn’t. Men did these things to each other by choice?

  Next to him, that strange Farey gave another one of his breathy chuckles. “You’re not with kiddies anymore, boy.” The tone of his voice made Carro shiver.

  Carro didn’t trust himself to meet the man’s eyes. He forced his gaze back to Korinne, but saw sinewy, olive-skinned shoulders. “You . . .” He cleared his throat. “You have parties here often?”

  “Not me.” She laughed. “But Rider Cornatan invites his elite group here quite often, I hear. This is the first time I’ve been here. He asked me to come.” Her eyes said for you.

  She looped her arm around his neck. Her bare breasts pressed against his chest. Carro wondered what had made her change her mind about him. Nothing he had done, that was for sure.

  But it was pleasant, and she was offering, and doing what she wanted, whatever the reason behind it, seemed easier than facing that strange Farey on his other side, and with all the uncomfortable feelings that brought.

  He bent forward, pressing his lips on hers. She replied, eager and passionate.

  The rest of the night passed in a drunken blur. When he stood in the deeper part of the bath, Korinne could loop her legs around him. It was easy to lift her in the water at the height he wanted her. She swallowed him, and he didn’t object. His body obeyed his mind. For those few crazy moments, he ruled the world. He was Carro. He’d show his father how “useless” he was. Let his father beg him on his knees for forgiveness. Let his mother learn what it was to live in hardship.

  If we are nice all the time, we’d never get anywhere.

  He didn’t suffer any flashbacks all night.

  Chapter 15

  JEVAITHI PULLED ON her thick furs and looked at herself in the dressing room mirror. Lush, thick and pure white, the cloak had been made in all haste for this visit. It suited her, she had to admit, and brought out the lushness of her hair. She had the maid pin it up in a loose bun today.

  Underneath the cloak she wore a thick dress, tall boots, woollen stockings and felt underwear over her usual silk finery. She twirled in front of the mirror, admiring her new clothes, feeling like a little girl again, like walking on her mother’s hand. Exciting, as if the whole world was out there to be discovered.

  She had even put some colour on her face. Lines of kohl and a fine coating of silver paint accentuated her eyes.

  Not too much or Rider Cornatan would object. She could almost hear his voice You are still a child.

  No, she wasn’t. She pulled up the leather strap she had insisted her maid bring her, and let the feather dangle over her chest. It was a crude thing, but one such as the new maidens of the city wore. It made her feel grown-up. It made her feel like she was in control of part of her life, no matter how small that part was.

  “Your escort is ready,” a male voice said.

  Jevaithi gasped and tucked the feather back under the white fur of her cloak, her heart still thudding.

  Rider Cornatan strode into the room. The dressing room! She should really have to talk to him about that. She was no longer a girl and he would have to start treating her like an adult, and an adult of the opposite sex at that.

  He stopped a few paces inside the door and stared. Oh yes, she did not mistake the look in his eyes. She saw it in the Knights who attended her.

  “Your Highness, you look . . . magnificent,” he said. His blue gaze roamed her body as if seeking something to criticise, something that was too daring or too revealing for the citizens of the City of Glass to see, and, having found nothing, came to rest on her right arm, which she held in her pocket. Nothing untoward there either.

  She stared back defiantly. No, nobody will know.

  “Are we ready to go, then?” she asked.

  “We are, Your Highness, unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless you would decide it’s not safe enough.”

  Not safe enough? She frowned at him. “Is there a reason why I should change my mind about this trip? A reason that wasn’t present when you agreed to take me? Which was . . . yesterday?”

  His eyes met hers. He opened his mouth. Hesitated. “No, Your Highness, there isn’t.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  He was lying, she could feel that. Something was happening right here in the palace. And she bet it was something to do with those golden rays that wormed their way up from the ground to her tower room. Icefire,
stronger than ever before. Whatever it was, he was worried, but would rather endanger her than talk about it.

  Interesting.

  She left the dressing room straight-backed, without looking at him. The fur lining of the cloak swished around her ankles. It was an unfamiliar sensation that left her feeling wonderfully warm and covered. For once, she wouldn’t have to look at the world from a great height. For once, people would look at her face rather than her dress, or what they could see through the fabric.

  The door opened, the Knights stepped to the side and then . . . oh, freedom. She walked onto the landing in front of her quarters. A breeze of frost-tinged air wafted up from the depths of the atrium, an immense triangular hall filled with bluish light, glass and mirrors. It was said that the hall was formed through the collapse of one building against another. When seen from here, the very top of the triangle, the theory made sense, and as far as she knew, the floors did slope in most of the unused floors of the other side of the palace.

  Down below, far down, the palace workers moved like crawling insects, past the fountain, a triangular basin of water in the middle of the hall. Although blue with salts, dripping water had frozen in grotesque stalagmites at the foot of the burbling fountain. Miniature ice floes bobbed on the pond’s surface, carved in shapes of flowers and animals.

  Lifts trundled up or down along rails set in the atrium’s walls. There was the sound of ordinary people talking, laughing. It was intoxicating.

  “Your Highness.”

  Rider Cornatan’s voice broke her reverie.

  A lift cubicle had come. Two guards stepped in, then Jevaithi and Rider Cornatan and then two more guards. The doors hissed closed. The cubicle jolted into action. Through the glass ceiling, Jevaithi spotted the jiggling chain that held the cubicle in place. The floors slid by. Sometimes they passed remnants of destruction that created the palace: twisted metal bent into elegant sculptures, haphazardly holding up sheets of grey stone. Molten glass carved into arches. Sometimes she wondered what weapon could twist stone and metal so.

  Lights lit up above the doors to indicate that the lift had come to the ground floor. The doors opened and out came more Knights, forming a guard of honour across the polished tiles of the atrium floor.