A Cadrisian just beyond the light’s reach took aim at Astlin, but without pausing she cast her spear at the rifleman. The solid flame burned through his chest and he fell, firing his weapon into the air. Astlin willed the spear back to her, and the blazing red shaft vanished from the corpse’s chest as it appeared in her hand.
Besides two more soldiers whom Xander nexically compacted into milk crate-sized cubes, no one else challenged him and Astlin as they came to stand before Shaiel’s Will. The great beast and the two Zadokim formed a peaceful island in a sea of war.
“Two by two they come now to the slaughter!” Shaiel’s Will boasted.
Xander didn’t waste words. He stretched his open hand toward the monster, and a thunderclap sent its massive head whipping sideways on its long curved neck. The beast recovered, and its maw darted toward Xander, who funneled his power through both hands in an effort to keep the snapping jaws back. But this time the nexic waves broke around the giant head, not even slowing its descent.
Astlin threw her spear. Its fiery tip sank into the roof of the monster’s mouth, and Shaiel’s Will pulled back, bellowing in pain.
Xander nodded to Astlin. “Thank you,” he said before nexically hurling a company’s worth of swords and pikes into the beast’s exposed underbelly.
Shaiel’s Will screamed. It broke the weapons sticking out of its belly with one foreleg and shook the ground as it came down on all fours. The tail slap had made Astlin wary enough to notice the ragged wing bearing down on her. She willed herself to a position beside the beast’s left hind leg and watched the lance-like wingtips tear the ground where she’d stood a second ago.
A jolt of dread passed through Astlin’s mind when she saw the other wing covering the spot where Xander had been standing. But his silver radiance shone from the other side of the monster as if the full moon had fallen to earth. Shaiel’s Will flinched.
Astlin unveiled her own light and dashed around her titanic enemy, slashing at its legs. Scales and flesh parted with the stench of seared rotted meat while Xander pelted the beast with a hail of nexically launched missiles. Whenever fangs, claws, wings, or tail struck down at her, Astlin would vanish and reappear out of reach.
“Petty gods flaunting your borrowed crowns,” the monster cried. “Behold the glory of Shaiel, which is death!”
The golden light that burst out from Shaiel’s Will caught Astlin before she could will herself away. She braced herself against the freezing sallow blaze as her flaming spear guttered and died. Icy cold invaded the bare skin of her hands and face and seeped through the Worked fabric of her dress.
Pure white light drove back the tainted gold. Warmth rushed back into Astlin’s body as the white glow’s source approached. Astlin saw that it was a Gen dressed in furs with stone beads braided into his long hair and bright markings on his coppery face.
“Jarsaal?” she said.
“You call my name rightly, souldancer,” Jarsaal said. His hazel eyes looked her up and down. “Though perhaps I misname you.”
Astlin’s words tripped over themselves. “What are you…? How did…? Why?”
Jarsaal raised his hand. The white light that surrounded him and Astlin faded. The awful gold light was also gone, and she saw that a circle of Dawn Gen shamans surrounded Shaiel’s Will. To her relief, Xander stood a short distance away looking unhurt.
“We are Faerda’s priests,” said Jarsaal. “Our goddess called, and we answered. She opened the way, and we came.”
The Dawn Gen worship the White Well. Elena must have brought them here.
A pack of sleek brown and red wolves raced across the field and fell upon a group of Isnashi. Both packs of skin changers collided in a snarling mass of flying fur and gnashing fangs.
Jarsaal surveyed the torn, tar-covered field with disdain. “The Dawn Tribe shuns the Land of the Unclean, but we are glad to oppose the Defilers who pervert our Mother’s gifts wherever we find them.”
“Soft-brained savages,” sneered Shaiel’s Will. “The trollop who masqueraded as your goddess is no more. With her last breath she called you here to die!”
Cold fear stabbed Astlin’s heart. Elena can’t be dead!
But if Elena was still guarding the gate, how had Shaiel’s army gotten in?
Astlin heard the seductive voice of despair. Even Jarsaal’s stern face fell. The circle of priests muttered darkly to each other.
The beating of powerful wings drew Astlin’s eyes to the sky, where saw a winged giant diving to the ground. He landed on one knee, and his purple-skinned, leather-armored body rose to its full towering height.
“Still your serpent’s tongue, Forranach,” Anris rebuked Shaiel’s Will. He drew his large hooked sword and strode toward the beast like a gardener approaching a shrub he meant to prune. “False prophecies of our deaths will not forestall your own.”
Astlin and Xander fell in with Anris, and Jarsaal joined them. Looking at the foes advancing on him and the ring of priests surrounding him, Shaiel’s Will laughed.
“Death forsook me long erenow,” the monster said. “Yet those whom Shaiel favors gain a reprieve from death, though their silver threads be severed.”
Astlin wondered what the snake meant. She thought he was stalling for time until she saw movement among the bodies strewn across the battlefield. To her horror, dead greycloaks and Cadrisian soldiers rose and took up their weapons again.
“Such is the folly of rebellion against the Lord of Death!” crowed Shaiel’s Will.
“Not every lost cause is folly,” said Anris. “Almeth’s Resistance failed, yet the children of Gen who fought with him survived. They stand against you now, as do I. Defend yourself!”
The malakh spread his wings and shot toward Shaiel’s Will like lightning. His hooked sword flashed, and a horn the size of an oak branch fell from the beast’s head. The Will of Shaiel loosed an earsplitting shriek and took to the air with Anris in pursuit. Their battle gave Astlin the impression of a dove fighting a vulture.
“Faerda’s messenger shall cast the serpent from the sky,” Jarsaal declared. “My brothers and I must cleanse this land of the restless dead.”
“What about Elena?” Astlin asked.
Xander laid his hand on her shoulder. “The kost is a liar. And even if his lies hold a kernel of truth, we cannot challenge a power capable of slaying Thera—not alone. The enemy is inside the gate, and the Gen are outmatched. Let’s even the odds.”
By Astlin’s will, a jet of flame sprang from either end of her closed fist, forming a burning red spear.
“For Elena, Nakvin, and Seele,” Astlin said.
Light blazed from Astlin and Xander’s foreheads as they charged the blue-grey tide of Shaiel’s army. With a ground-shaking cry, the survivors of the west division followed. Jarsaal ran before them in wolf shape to join the priests who fought the undead with flashes of holy light.
38
Teg saw lights and heard nervous chatter from the intersecting tunnel up ahead. He crept along slowly, hoping to get close enough to find out what was happening while staying hidden.
A violent tremor rocked the tunnel. The rails under Teg’s feet clattered. The lights up ahead flickered, and grit rained down from the ceiling. The nervous babble turned to cries of panic and rhythmless pounding of a human stampede.
Teg reached the abandoned tunnel’s intersection with the working track and crouched down in the shadows. Peering around the corner he saw a crowd—mostly bureaucrats judging by their costly but unimaginative clothes—trying to force their way aboard a train. A squad of blue-uniformed soldiers waged a doomed battle to impose order.
Of special interest to Teg was the lighted sign above the wide stairway leading up to the surface that read “Settlers Common Station”. The Common was the plaza where the House of Law stood. The fact that this was the station serving it meant Teg was on the right track.
Actually, he wasn’t. The track he needed was the defunct line that had run between the Mill and City Hall.
Unless all the old smugglers’ tales were total bullshit—unlikely in Teg’s experience—the way into the abandoned tunnel was somewhere nearby.
Teg had started back down the line when another quake nearly threw him facedown on the track. He steadied himself against the wall and heard an authoritative male voice blaring over the now frenzied crowd.
“Attention! This is a public safety announcement. The Voice of Shaiel has declared a state of emergency for all of our lord’s subjects within the Serapium urban core. Proceed without delay to the nearest orbital strike shelter in a calm, orderly fashion. Repeat; this is a…”
Screams drowned out the public address system, but Teg had heard enough to make him smile.
Looks like Celwen’s here.
Teg hurried toward a service corridor, turned the corner, and almost shot the person who surprised him before he realized who it was.
Celwen is here!
The Night Gen officer stood frozen, her green eyes staring at the mirrored white gun he’d drawn on her. She’d traded her sharkskin outfit for a snug black and silver jumpsuit. Her long black hair was tied at her neck.
Teg holstered the gun. “I’m not sorry for that.”
Celwen pressed a hand to her chest and took a deep breath. “You have no idea what I went through to get here. If you will give me no apology, how about a word of thanks?”
“Thanks,” said Teg.
Celwen sighed. “My ship is in orbit taking heavy fire from Shaiel’s fleet.”
“One ship? Didn’t you bring any support craft?”
“No.” Celwen shook her head. “The Sinamarg used a special means of travel unavailable to other ships. It carries four squadrons of small Yeleq-class vessels of the kind you brought to Temil, but nexus-runners are vulnerable to weapons based on Workings.”
“True,” said Teg, “but ether-runner shields can’t block nexism.”
“The surface batteries are the real danger,” Celwen said. “The sphere’s defenses are being coordinated from the House of Law. Admiral Raig sent me to help you infiltrate the Cadrys Navy’s command center and cripple their resistance.”
Teg nodded. “Sounds like fun.”
“We have a short operational window,” Celwen warned him. “Raig will destroy the House of Law, whether or not we are in it, rather than risk losing the Sinamarg.”
“That’s a problem,” said Teg. “There’s an instant win ticket that will hand the war to one lucky player somewhere in that building. Our best shot at victory is blown if Raig brings down the house.”
Celwen crossed her arms. “We had best get going, then.”
“You know a way in?” asked Teg.
“I scouted the area nexically before translating down,” she said, smiling. “There is a closed tunnel below leading to a lift that will take us straight to the House of Law’s basement.”
Teg smacked his fist into his palm. “I knew it! Lead the way.”
Celwen led him down ten flights of grimy concrete stairs to an even grimier service tunnel filled with cold humid air. The narrow corridor gave on another disused rail line where a rushing sound echoed up the tracks.
At first Teg feared an approaching train, since the noise got louder the farther down the tunnel they went. But there were no oncoming lights and no tremors shaking the ground.
About a hundred feet down the track, Teg’s flashlight beam fell on the source of the noise. Water poured down the right wall through a large crack in the ceiling and into a pool that spanned from Teg and Celwen’s feet to the bricked up wall where the tunnel ended.
“Looks like your people busted a water pipe,” said Teg. “We’re on a mission with zero margin for error and a countdown to certain death. Can they avoid throwing more obstacles in our way?”
“There are anti-orbital cannons nearby,” Celwen said. “Our gunners are doing their best to make surgical strikes that specifically avoid our entry route, but they cannot stand idly by and let the enemy bombard them.”
Celwen’s statement was punctuated by the biggest impact that Teg had felt yet. This time he did topple forward, plunging into the cold filthy water and losing his flashlight. He surfaced in total darkness as loud creaking gave way to a deafening crash and dusty air rushing from the tunnel’s far end.
“Are you okay?” Teg shouted over the gushing water and the sounds of rocks settling.
“Yes,” Celwen said uncertainly. “But the cave-in blocked the way back, and the ceiling looks unstable.”
“Is there a way forward?”
Celwen fell silent for a moment. At length she said, “There is a steel door between this tunnel and the one that leads to the lift, but it is underwater.”
“Time for you to go diving again,” said Teg. “Hop in. The water’s cold as hell and tastes like junkyard mud.”
A gentle splash and small waves rippling through the pool signaled that Celwen had taken Teg’s invitation.
“How do you know what junkyard mud tastes like?” she asked.
“You clearly didn’t grow up in the bad part of a big city,” said Teg.
The roof shifted again with a loud crack. Gravel-sized debris pelted Teg’s head.
Teg blindly reached for Celwen. “Guide me down to the door.”
“The water is too muddy for me to see through,” Celwen said, “and my nexic sight is not always reliable.”
“You got us this far,” said Teg, “and there’s no going back.”
Another series of cracks and groans sounded from above. Teg felt Celwen’s small smooth hand take his big rough one.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “And if we are to die here, there are few men I would rather share a grave with.”
Is she coming on to me? Teg wondered. Instead of asking, he took a deep breath, waited for Celwen to do the same, and dove into the black depths.
Celwen soon took the lead. She was a more skilled swimmer than Teg, and soon she’d led him to a spot against the wall about a story down.
The water muffled the rumbling of the roof giving out. A jagged slab of rock jutted down into the pool. If not for the water and his protective aura softening the impact, Teg might have lost his right arm instead of just having a chunk torn out of his biceps.
Celwen thrashed, but Teg fought through the pain and held her to ease her panic. Calming her down cost him time. His chest was already feeling tight, and the regeneration that was already healing his arm didn’t reduce his need for oxygen. In fact, he probably needed it more than most people.
Removing herself from Teg’s embrace, Celwen pressed his hand to a hard, pitted surface. Teg knocked on it and heard a hollow thud made tinny by the water. That had to be the door. He felt around until he found a seam; then ran his hand down it. A surge of relief almost distracted him from the burning in his lungs when his fingers touched a rusted handle.
Teg pulled on the handle. The door didn’t budge.
Locked!
There wasn’t much time left. Teg’s blood rushed in his ears. If he could’ve seen at all, he was pretty sure that the edges of his vision would be going dark.
Teg patted down the front of the door, trying to find the lock. His search became frantic despite a lifetime of experience warning him that haste didn’t help at times like this. It occurred to him that Celwen could find the lock, but he had no way to ask her where it was.
Or did he? Teg pulled on Celwen’s wrist, bringing her forearm closer, and traced the word LOCK on her sleeve.
Nothing happened.
Teg tried one more time, forcing himself to go slower despite his urgent need for air. There was a pause. Celwen’s arm tensed. She grabbed Teg’s wrist in both of hers and pressed it against a raised circular bump below the other handle of what turned out to be a set of double doors.
There was no more time. Teg drew one of his guns. Worked pneumatic pistols fired just as well in space as in an atmosphere, so he was pretty sure his would work here. He held the muzzle about an inch from where
he remembered the lock being and pressed the trigger.
There was a small pop. A shockwave coursed through the water. Teg pushed on the doors, but they didn’t budge.
Finally succumbing to panic, Teg pounded on the door with his bare left fist and the butt of his gun to no effect.
Celwen took hold of his wrist and forced his hand down onto the handle. She grasped the rusted metal and tugged.
Of course it would pull open, Teg grumbled silently to himself.
Pulling against the surrounding water pressure made Teg’s wounded arm ache and his tortured lungs burn, but between the two of them, he and Celwen managed to plant themselves against the wall and force the heavy door open.
A torrent of water streamed through the door into the unseen space beyond. Too exhausted to struggle, Teg let the flow carry him along. He washed up on a bed of gravel where he lay coughing and gasping for air.
It was a couple of minutes before Teg regained enough lung function to call out Celwen’s name.
“I am here,” she called from somewhere nearby. “We are here. Look!”
Teg realized he’d had his eyes closed since diving under the surface of the pool. He opened them and saw pale orange light spilling over multiple sets of tracks coated in decades of dust now turning to mud. He stood and looked in the direction of Celwen’s voice.
Just beyond her lithe, dripping form stood a large brick shaft. The top was lost in the darkness high above, but the door set into its base was wide enough to drive a drifter through.
“That lift leads up to the House of Law,” Celwen said. “It is almost certainly watched. They may already know we are here.”
Teg stepped up beside Celwen, drew his other gun, and offered it to her. “Time to stop being subtle, then.”
Celwen took the gun. Teg started toward the lift, his boots sloshing with every step, and she walked right beside him.
We should have planned this better, Astlin thought to Xander as they waded through the middle of Shaiel’s army. The enemy fell back from the Zadokim’s light, and bullets fell away from Xander’s nexic barrier. But amid the chaos they’d been cut off from the Light Gen army and the Dawn Gen priests.
The Secret Kings Page 33