by Jack Conner
They had stopped. His head spun, and he spat blood. He tried to get his bearings. He felt strong hands beneath his arms. Janx pulled him to his feet and patted him on the back.
“You did good, Doc, but we gotta get movin’.”
Avery coughed and nodded.
The others picked themselves up and dusted themselves off. As they climbed from the wreckage of the dirigible, Avery saw that they had struck the ruin of a truck. Up the street massed lines of soldiers and military vehicles. Soldiers rushed toward the downed dirigible, guns drawn.
Avery stumbled into the street, stepping over the corpse of an old woman. Her teeth, coated in dust, shone in a ghastly smile.
Janx shoved him toward an alley.
“Com’n, hurry!”
Staggering and disoriented, the band pressed between the high, cracked walls of the buildings.
The Ungraessotti were better organized than Avery had bargained for, however. One group must have radioed another, for before Avery and the others had gone fifty feet a score of soldiers burst from a side-alley. Avery, still muddle-headed, could only blink and sway as soldiers surrounded him. He knew he and the others must present an odd sight: bedraggled, covered in fading boils, obviously not Octunggen soldiers.
The band pressed tight against each other, back to back. They eyed the soldiers that surrounded them warily.
The troops’ leader stepped forward, a stalwart-looking fellow of medium height. Several days’ worth of beard grew on his not-unhandsome face, and where it grew out over his scars it was white. He stared at the group and questions flickered behind his eyes.
“Come with us,” he said.
* * *
“I’m Captain Hunried,” he said as he led them through alleys and down blasted streets. In the distance, Avery could still hear explosions. Fighters whizzed overhead, their machine guns rattling. There came a concussive bang as an anti-aircraft gun was destroyed.
The Ungraessotti soldiers surrounded Avery and the rest, herding them, but they did not point their guns directly at any of them, and Avery wasn’t sure if the group had been taken prisoner or not. As he went, his mind cleared. He smelled grease and gun smoke and the rot of days-old bodies. He waded through heaps of debris, through burned-out cars, some with corpses still sitting at the wheels. Whatever had happened here had happened fast.
He asked Capt. Hunried about it, and the captain said, “We were hit by a time-bomb. You’re heard of them? Well, it suspended us. In time. We just froze stiff, while the rest of the world moved on. Just for a few seconds, but it was enough. When we came out of it, the Octs were swarming everywhere and half the city was bombed to hell. We just barely managed to drive them back. One of their spies had disabled a processor, leaving us vulnerable. We got it running again, though, and we’ve held out this long. We stockpiled hot lard and other substances before the Octs arrived, but they’re running low. Luckily they’ve mainly been hitting us with their regular troops; their weird shit must’ve been tied up elsewhere. But now the damned Over-City has arrived.” He spoke the name with dread.
Capt. Hunried led them out of the narrow streets into open areas, and they crossed a great courtyard. Finely-made statutes of Ungraessotti heroes posed defiantly, those that still stood. Several had been reduced to blackened stumps or lay shattered across the stone tiles. All around loomed the impressive edifices of Ungraessotti buildings. A few of the pre-L’ohen structures remained, proud and gray, but by far the majority of the buildings bore the more elegant craftsmanship of L’oh. Avery saw graceful arches, weightless flying buttresses, airy domes, all the more impressive for being fashioned of granite and marble in the Ungraessotti way. Many bore black scorch marks and great rents, and some had collapsed entirely.
The captain ushered them toward a wall of tanks and soldiers and anti-aircraft guns, then through it. Soldiers eyed Avery and the others strangely. Many grouped around artillery cannons and anti-aircraft guns, or filed behind hastily-made walls and readied for combat in case of Octunggen land attack. Others smoked cigarettes, cleaned guns, and listened tensely to radios. Rows of dead and wounded sat directly on the ground, with frantic-looking doctors and nurses crouched over the living, tending to them with what meager supplies they’d managed to save. Avery could not resist feeling the urge to roll up his sleeves and help them, but Hunried led them on, deeper into the Ungraessotti encampment.
Finally the captain drew them toward a still-standing but non-functioning fountain, a grisly piece of art depicting, Avery knew, the beheading of Emperor Nuanis, the so-called Half-Lord. Water would have gushed from the place Nuanis’s head would have sat; the head itself was held up by the hair, in the grip of a victorious Emperor Mortel, the Half-Lord’s brother-in-law and the rival for his sister’s affections; it was a strange old story. In the statue, Mortel held his sword in the hand not holding the head, and Avery noted that the sculptor had even managed to depict blood coating the weapon. The statue, of course, had been commissioned by Mortel to celebrate the event and even long after his death no one had dared remove it.
Before the fountain a group of commanders stood over weather-beaten fold-up tables and studied maps and files. Some barked orders to junior commanders. Hunried, apparently a leader of some standing, dismissed most of his men and instructed Avery and the others to come with him.
The captain sat down upon the rim of the fountain and went about the motions of building and lighting a cigarette, then stared up at them. A few of his men had remained, and they stood as unobtrusively as possible, baring their guns but not aiming them in any particular direction. Avery was only partially reassured.
Hunried studied Avery and the rest, smoking silently. Finally he said, in Ungraessotti, which Avery spoke a smattering of, “You’re not Octunggen, that much is obvious. And you had the whole fucking Octunggen fleet after you. Clearly you’re no friend of theirs, which should make you a friend of ours.” Fighters whizzed overhead, and Avery jumped. Hunried didn’t bat an eye. “Who are you?”
Janx, Hildra and Avery looked at each other. Janx shrugged. Avery raised an eyebrow at Layanna. She seemed more pale and sickly than ever.
“We’re a great enemy of Octung,” Avery said, speaking in what he hoped was passable Ungraessotti. “That may sound melodramatic, but it’s true. And we need your help.”
Hunried blew a plume of smoke at him. “Speak on.”
“Are the Tunnels of Ard still accessible?”
A wry smile twisted Hunried’s face. “The Hallowed Halls? Yeah, I guess. Lot of it’s been collapsed, but the Soul Door still stands—and will, long as the Palace does.” His expression went flat. “Why?”
“We need access to them. We need to reach Cuithril.”
That seemed to surprise the captain. “You want to die?”
“No. The real city.”
Hunried frowned. “The Halls are sacred, and Cuithril doubly so.”
“Nevertheless, it’s our destination.”
“Only the God-Emperor can give living men access to the caverns—that’s why his fathers built the Palace over the entrance—and I can tell you right now—”
Janx stepped forward. Hunried’s eyes widened slightly, taking in the whaler’s massive dimensions.
“Then I guess we need to see the God-Emperor, don’t we?” said Janx.
Hunried frowned. Behind him an anti-aircraft gun thundered. Overhead the bi-wing of a whizzing fighter caught flame. The plane spiraled out of the sky and smashed into an already-pocked building that lined the courtyard. The impact sent burning bricks and shattered glass in all directions. The band hunkered low. Flames roared and crackled all around.
Hunried continued to stare at them, thinking. Smoke curled up from his hand-rolled cigarette.
Finally, he said, “I’m just a captain. I don’t have clearance to give you access to the God-Emperor. I’ll need to get you an audience with the General.”
While he orchestrated this, Avery and the others waited. In the distance the boom
of anti-aircraft guns eventually faded, as did the rattle of machine guns and the roar of planes. The Octunggen had broken off their attack, but surely only for the moment. Avery held no doubt they would try again, and soon, especially now that the Over-City had arrived. Idly he wondered what had become of Sheridan. Had she and the rays given up the hunt once they entered the warzone? He doubted it. He thought of her glistening naked by candlelight. He thought of the shotgun shell she had given him.
Hildra and Janx spoke some measure of Ungraessotti, as it was one of Ghenisa’s closest neighbors, and so they were able to communicate when called upon. To Avery’s relief, the Ungraessotti were able to provide him with medical equipment, and he saw to Hildra—a piece of shrapnel had sliced her arm—and Janx, who had several deep cuts from the crash. Another doctor treated Avery’s wounds on his back and neck.
The sky darkened, and freezing winds tore through the streets, bustling with cement and asphalt dust. Avery alternately shivered and coughed. He was exhausted and simply wanted to sleep. His stitches itched. In the distance dogs howled, or perhaps wolves—these were the mountains—and bands of soldiers patrolled the streets. There were still people living here, hard as it was for Avery to believe. He saw them from afar, drifting like ghosts through the ruins, coming home from their jobs—jobs, in this insanity—or venturing to the meager markets. The nearest temple had been shelled, but worshippers had cleaned it out, done what repairs they could, and as Avery watched they filed into the building and began a service. Candles flickered in the broken, dust-streaked windows. He wondered if they were faithful Vericans worshipping the God-Emperor and praying to their ancestors in the Hallowed Halls.
Two hours after dark, an aid came and requested that the band accompany her to one of the command tents. General Rossit sat, tired and irritated, behind a fold-up desk in his mobile office. He seemed a hard, grim sort, bone-thin, almost bird-frail, but he held himself with dignity and authority. He did not ask his guests to sit. There was only one chair other than his, and by unspoken consensus they let Layanna occupy it.
The general’s eyes fell on her. Avery had told them she did not know Ungraessotti, but it was obvious from the general’s glance that they still had questions about her.
The wrinkles to one side of the General’s mouth deepened. “You lot continue to demand to see the God-Emperor? Not just anyone is granted an audience with His Eminence.” When no one spoke, he went on. “However ... because of the unusual nature of your arrival ... the obvious fact that Octung considers you an important threat, I am tempted to allow you a visit to the Palace.” His voice lowered, and Avery heard a note of lament in it. “But, I warn you, you would rather deal with me. The God-Emperor is ... well, let us say ... eccentric. You will not find him easy to deal with.”
Avery glanced to the others, then the general. “If you can grant us access to the Halls, we’re very happy to deal with you.”
The general shook his head wearily. “Only His Eminence can grant you that. The Halls are off-limits to the living. And for good reason.”
“Then we’d better see him.”
“And you won’t say why?”
Avery sighed. “All we can tell you is we’re on a vital mission to stop Octung. To end the war.”
The general drummed his fingers on his desk. “That seems unlikely, but so be it. I’d rather not have you here as a distraction. The troops are very curious about you. I’m dispatching Captain Hunried to take you to Lord Haemlys himself, and I’m officially washing my hands of the lot of you.”
Maqarl, capital of Ungraessot, was far from Azzara, and it was determined that they would set out for it at first light. That night the band was given a tent to sleep in. To the sound of wounded men crying out in the background and large military vehicles trundling by, Avery lay down on the ground, as there were no more cots available, and prepared for slumber.
“You sure this is the right thing?” Janx asked. The whaler lay on his back, fingers threaded behind his head, staring at the ceiling, which rippled in the wind. A lamp on low flame flickered, throwing leaping light onto the walls. “Goin’ to see the Emperor?”
“We need access to those tunnels,” Avery said. “To the Soul Door. It’s the only way I can think of to reach Cuithril, whatever it really is.”
“I don’t like this,” said Hildra. “Caves! At least you can see what’s coming at you on the surface.”
“Yeah,” Janx said. “Bullets.”
“But do we need to go all the way to Maqarl? Hunried said the Tunnels’d been bombed. That some’d collapsed. Might be there’s a way open, a way easier than dealing with the damned God-Emperor.”
Avery shook his head. “First of all, we’re not going to be aimlessly wandering the Front exploring caves. Second, Cuithril is said to be far away, near Maqarl. Furthermore, if we did find a cave that led to the Halls, and we were willing to travel for hundreds of miles in the darkness of the caverns, lost and going in circles ... they’re not empty.”
“What d’ya mean?” said Janx.
“I don’t know the details, but there’s ... things ... living down there. The only way for us to survive the Halls is to ride in the Emperor’s dirigible.”
“Dirigible?” said Hildra. “In a cave?”
“The Emperors all take sojourns into the Halls to commune with their fathers,” Avery said, “and ultimately, according to legend, to dwell there. It’s where they go to die, I suppose. At any rate, the Emperor will keep a dirigible at the Soul Door, in one of the main cavern halls. It’s that dirigible we need, and that hall. There we can fly it above any ... things ... that live there.”
Janx looked glum. “If you say so, Doc.”
“Then it’s settled. All that’s standing between us and reaching Cuithril is the eccentricity of the God-Emperor.”
In Octunggen, Layanna said to him, “It will not be that easy.”
He tried to put it out of his mind and sleep, but instead he found himself fantasizing about Maqarl. Ungraessot was the last country left still ruled by a L’ohen Emperor; technically it was all that was left of L’oh now that Es’hem was gone. And he was about to visit its palace! He’d studied L’ohen history all his life, fascinated by the romance of the ancient empire, with its jade temples and crimson knights, and now he was going right to its heart. He was even going to meet an emperor.
The fantasy faded, and the nightmarish shape of Uthua loomed above him, mountainous and awful, pseudopods crashing down. A shiver coursed up his spine, and he prayed the Mnuthra would not find them.
He awoke with a gasp to the sound of bombs.
The ground shook. People screamed in the distance. The roar of great planes split the night. Anti-aircraft guns boomed, and somewhere sirens rang.
Avery crawled to his feet, trying to get his bearings. The others were stirring too, swearing and wide-eyed. Janx was already shrugging on his clothes.
A great explosion ripped through the night nearby. The ground jumped beneath Avery’s feet and nearly sent him back to the ground.
The tent flaps burst in. There stood a breathless Captain Hunried, unshaven, shirtfront open. “Get going! We leave now, while it’s still possible.”
They stared at him. Avery felt his mind shifting gears, too slowly.
“You want your visit with His Eminence, right?” Hunried demanded. “Then get a fucking move on!”
Janx shoved a duffel bag into Avery’s hands, and Hildra called to her monkey, trying to calm him. Layanna grimaced and stood. They readied themselves while the captain brought around a jeep, and they all piled in.
As Captain Hunried stomped on the gas, Avery’s belly lurched, and he hung tightly to the back of the seat. Hunried wound his way through the chaos of the encampment, which was still dark, the eastern horizon just turning the ghostly gray-white of early dawn. Men and women hurried among tents and tanks like phantoms. A sharp chill cut the air.
Bombers lumbered overhead and pounded anti-aircraft guns on ground and rooftops.
Buildings flamed and crumbled. The greatest concentration of bombs smashed around the largest of Azzara’s functioning processors; once it was destroyed, the Octunggen could bring their otherworldly weapons to bear on the city in force. In the distance Avery heard the rattle of thousands of guns, and with a feeling of horror he realized the Octunggen were striking by land as well as air. They had used the night as cover to draw close enough to spring.
Captain Hunried drove the band through Azzara and out. As the jeep bounced down dim mountain roads, Avery watched the silhouette of the city flame and smoke on the horizon, and he thought of all the soldiers, all the citizens praying to their gods for deliverance, then looked to the others in the jeep, who were turned backward in their jouncing seats. They too stared at the fires, grim and silent. He knew they were all thinking the same thing he was, that the Octunggen attacked because of them, that the Azzarans were dying because of them. Of course, the Octunggen were going to strike at some point no matter what, it was just a matter of time, he knew that. And yet ...
Avery looked to Layanna and saw flame dancing in her eyes.
* * *
For nearly two weeks they traveled through the mountain roads of Ungraessot. They passed innumerable convoys headed toward the front lines, crossed over wide, sturdy bridges between mountain slopes and a few small, shaky ones. Several of the larger ones had been bombed, and Captain Hunried was forced to find alternate routes, some of them quite time-consuming. Once they crossed over on what the locals called a high ferry, which consisted of a platform suspended from a huge crane. The crane swung the platform from one mountain shoulder to another, over a steep, narrow gorge. Looking down into the mist that filled the gorge and seeing rocks poke through the cottony layer (and wondering if that was lichen or blood that covered them), Avery had never felt so ill. He would be monstrously glad to be out of the highlands. Unfortunately, Ungraessot was about half highlands, and the flat areas were all occupied by Octung.
The jeep passed not just military and supply convoys but ragged lines of refugees. Their homes and cities had been destroyed and now they wandered, homeless and hopeless. Avery saw endless campfires dotting the peaks at night between the pines. From time to time, planes flew overhead toward the front lines, and when they did Avery could hear refugees cheering raggedly to the side of the road. Ungraessot still had some fight left in her.