Highlords of Phaer (Empire of Masks Book 1)

by Brock Deskins

  “That sounds like it would make quite an effective weapon,” Quinlan surmised.

  “Yes and no. It would take someone a fair bit of time to load it, far too much for your killer to murder six people with it. Then you have the problem of an effective method of igniting the powder. The easiest way would be a tiny hole over your powder source and lighting it with a brand, but that would be clumsy and inefficient. Holding a flame to the hole while keeping the weapon aimed at your target, all the while that person is trying to kill you? Again, I can think of far easier ways to accomplish the task.”

  Quinlan asked, “Could you think of a way to improve this design to do that?”

  “Given time, but I just now thought of it, and only with your help. Call me arrogant, but I am the smartest man I know, and if I did not conceive of such a thing, who could have, and in such a short time? My invention is barely three months old.”

  Quinlan arched his eyebrows. “Who indeed? Jareen once told me that you were the master at creating amazing things, but it was often he who found their practical application. From what I know of your servant, he is not a stupid man.”

  “No, he is not. I consider Jareen almost my peer when it comes to alchemy. Had he been born into a higher station, there is no telling what he could accomplish. But the idea that Jareen would do something like this is ludicrous. Even if he were in the city, which I assure you he is not, why would he murder a bunch of young people?”

  “I do not know, and I cannot even say with certainty that he is behind any of this. What I do know is that I have followed many paths over the months, starting with the attempted assassination of Highlord Nahuza, and every one of those has a common convergence.”

  “Jareen…” Auberon whispered.

  “It could be coincidence, but if it is, it is the most remarkable case of serendipity in history.”

  Auberon shook his head in bewilderment. “I cannot bring myself to believe such a thing. Jareen is more to me than a mere slave. Were it not for the limits of his birth, he would be a peer. He has been more of a father to me than that imbecile who sired me.”

  “As I said, it could be an incredible case of coincidence. It is possible that someone close to him is using that relationship to get access to your powder. Maybe Jareen hinted at the possibility of creating such a weapon in casual conversation and this person put it to use. Whatever the reality, we must take precautions, especially you. Imagine the destruction Jareen’s brother-in-law could have effected had he had use of your invention when he tried to kill the highlord. Aside from the cost of life, think of the damage it would do to your reputation.”

  “I will double the security around my factory immediately and further restrict access to the finished product. Jareen should return soon, and I will have a long discussion with him. He is not as adept at hiding things from me as he might think.”

  “Very good, sah.” Quinlan made to leave but turned back at the door. “Be wary, sah. There may come a time when whoever is behind this decides that you are no longer needed to facilitate their goal, and I am certain they have something very specific planned for the future.”

  Auberon showed Quinlan out. “Thank you for bringing all of this to my attention, Inquisitor. I will keep you apprised of anything I might discover.”

  Auberon returned to his chair to think. The accusations regarding Jareen’s possible involvement troubled him more than he cared to admit, either to Quinlan or himself. He raised the cup of restorative to his lips before setting it back down on the table beside his chair without drinking and stared at it.

  CHAPTER 27

  Amaia used the ebony spear she wielded to slap aside the macuahuitl slicing in to lop her beautiful head from her slender shoulders and struck her assailant in the chest with a black ray that sent the Ulec flying through the air. She ducked and whirled around to face another attacker, spinning the spear in her hands like a staff, and took the feet out from beneath the second Ulec. Two more brutes charged toward her with murderous intent gleaming in their black eyes.

  An arcanstone set in the butt of the spear pulsed as Amaia pulled power from it and caused the intricate gold rune-scribings to glow. She stabbed at one of the Ulec and a black lance leapt from the tip and struck him down. The last attacker darted inside her reach, but a thought caused the spear to collapse in on itself, reducing its length by two thirds. Amaia barely managed to parry the dagger wielded by the Ulec and felt the tip skip off of her ward. The attack would have drawn blood had she not been protected by her magic.

  Amaia reached out to a dark shadow lying at the base of a wall. A glossy black tendril leapt out of it, wrapped around the Ulec’s waist, and hurled him across the courtyard. She smiled and gave the weapon an approving nod before slipping it into a leather holster at her hip. She turned her gaze to a young man standing nearby.

  “You have created a fantastic weapon…what was your name again?” Amaia asked.

  The young man, just thirty years old, a veritable teenager by their people’s standards, bowed. “Peio, Harbinger.”

  “You have done well, Peio. How many of these lances can you make?”

  Peio shifted his weight. “As you know, Harbinger, void steel is exceedingly rare in this land. I only recently discovered the deposit and how to forge it. With what I have found, I can craft perhaps forty weapons by the time your armada departs.”

  Amaia frowned. Two score was a fraction of what she would need just to equip the Necrophages leading their army across the sea. “Very well; make as many as you can. I will at least get these into the hands of my officers. Bring them to me as you craft them so I can use them for training. Whatever you need to make more is at your disposal.”

  “Thank you, Harbinger. If I could get just a couple of airships with crews in order to seek out more void-stone deposits, I could then devote my time to forging and training others how to work the steel.”

  “You will have it. Your name will be written in the annals, Peio. Your dark lances may be the difference between victory and defeat.”

  Peio bowed once more. “Thank you, Harbinger Amaia.”

  Amaia turned away, signaling Peio’s dismissal, and strode to Dante’s side. “What do you think?”

  Dante smiled. “I think I am very jealous of your new toy.”

  “The next one is yours, I promise. Did you see? Taking on the Ulecs was child’s play. If we could put these dark lances in the hands of every Necrophage, we would be unstoppable. This is the terror we once were, and I will see to it that we become so again.”

  Dante slid his arm around Amaia’s waist and squeezed. “You already terrify me.”

  “As well I should.”

  Amaia pressed a hand to her stomach as a wave of nausea struck.

  “What is wrong?” Dante asked, seeing the discomfort wash over her face.

  She shook her head. “It is nothing.”

  “It is not nothing.” Dante tried to pull his consort’s hand away from her stomach. “Did that last attack manage to cut you?”

  Amaia broke out of his grasp and pushed him away. “No, it is nothing like that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Amaia rolled her eyes. “I fear we got careless in our celebration after removing Pherick.”

  Dante took a step back, his face going an even paler shade of its usual alabaster. “You don’t mean…”

  “Yes, you infected me with a child.”

  A wide smile splayed across Dante’s face, and he wrapped Amaia in a tight embrace. “That is wonderful!” He pushed her away, scowling. “What do you think you were doing fighting in your condition?”

  “It was hardly fighting and certainly not dangerous.”

  “You ordered your slaves to try and kill you!”

  Amaia shrugged. “I needed to get a true gauge of the weapon’s potential.”

  “I could have done it!”

  She patted Dante’s arm. “It’s cute that you think that.”

  “Do not try to deflect your fo
olishness by belittling me.”

  “Fine, but you are making too much out of it.”

  “You are not taking this seriously enough. There is no way you can lead the advance party now.”

  Amaia’s face clouded over in anger. “I am pregnant, not crippled! I am the harbinger, the bringer of death.”

  “You are the woman carrying our child. No one wants you leading the invasion more than me, but the only way that is going to happen is if you delay the launch by several weeks.”

  “I will not do that. We cannot risk losing the opportunity.”

  Dante laid a hand on her shoulder. “Then stay here, have our baby, and then join us in Nibbenar once we have conquered the city. With their shipyard under our control, you can lead a true armada into Phaer and personally destroy the highlords. You know it is the right thing to do.”

  “It goes against everything I have fought for thus far.”

  “Sometimes, true leadership is allowing others to do their job.”

  Amaia sighed. “You are right.”

  Dante smiled. “Occasionally, being rational accomplishes more than just being strong.”

  “I am perfectly rational!”

  Dante poked her in the stomach with his finger. “Not perfectly.”

  She slapped at his probing finger. “Ass.”

  ***

  “Message from the port, Captain,” the forward lookout called across the deck.

  “What do they want?” Irna shouted back.

  The lookout deciphered the blinking lantern. “They say to set down in cradle five and wait to be boarded. No one leaves the airship until they perform a customs inspection.”

  “Tell them this vessel belongs to Sah Auberon and is on official business.”

  The lookout flipped the lantern’s shutter in a rapid cadence. “They say it doesn’t matter. All ships get inspected, no exceptions.”

  Irna grimaced. “That can’t be good. What do you think it means?”

  “Quinlan,” Jareen answered. “Something’s happened to get his hackles up. A universal order like this is bold even for him, so it must be serious.”

  “Spread the word for everyone to brace themselves. We’re going in rough.” She called to the forward lookout. “Signal the port that we’re damaged and we’re losing flight control. We might not have a lot of choice in where we moor. I need to set down in either cradles three, six, or seven. Let me know which is open.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “What are you doing?” Jareen asked as he tightened his grip on the rail.

  Irna smiled. “Do you think Rayna picked my name out of a hat? I’ve smuggled more illicit cargo than the lowborn districts have skitter lizards. Those are smuggler cradles. They have a secret door beneath them that leads into the undercity. If the inquisitor really is after you and our cargo, then that’s the only way we’re getting it off this ship and across the city.”

  “What if none of those are open?”

  “One of them will be available. The underlord pays people good money to make sure at least one always is.”

  Irna began rocking the ship from side to side and bobbing it up and down. The wild motions caused Jareen’s stomach to churn, but he maintained his grip on both the rail and his dinner. The Voulge sailed over Vulcrad’s imposing walls so low the sentries went diving for cover. Several signal lights within the mooring yard directed their beams at the Voulge and flashed wildly.

  “They want cradle six!” the lookout shouted.

  Irna ignored whatever orders the port authority was issuing and aimed the Voulge at cradle three. The airship scraped the cradle arms with enough force that the metal groaned in protest and the airship’s frame creaked and cracked. The Voulge set down with a heavy thud that knocked many of the crew onto the deck. The shrill cry of whistles cut through the night as gendarmes assigned to the port raced up the cradle’s stairs.

  Irna stood at the rail nearest the embarkation platform but did not extend the gangplank as a platoon of gendarmes crowded onto the platform.

  “What in the Tormented Plane is going on here?” an officer demanded.

  “Sorry about that,” Irna shouted across the gap. “A storm brought us down midway between Vulcrad and Thuum and we got beset by horned devils. One of the beasts managed to get below decks and did a real number on the interior. I thought we got the damage to the scribings repaired, but some of them fouled a couple of hundred miles out and it was all we could do to limp back into the city.”

  “Then you should have set down outside the walls! You damn near killed folks down here!”

  “We have wounded, and several of my people have come down with dust lung and need medical attention.”

  The gendarmes took an involuntary step back, some of them covering their noses and mouths with their face wraps. A few of Irna’s crew began coughing.

  “Keep your people on board, and for the love of the twin gods, get them masked!”

  “Can I evacuate my wounded?”

  “Keep everyone on board! No one leaves until we inspect.”

  “How long is that?”

  The gendarme officer cast his eyes across the Voulge’s deck. “I’ll send for someone to check on your sick and wounded, but I have a full queue, so it’s going to be at least two hours before anyone can leave.”

  Irna made a show of looking displeased despite being relieved at having enough time to clear out their illicit cargo. “All right, we’ll make do.”

  The officer descended the stairs but left half his platoon on the embarkation platform to ensure that Irna complied with his order.

  “What now?” Jareen asked.

  “We cut a hole in the bottom of this ship and dump everything that will get us killed down a deep pit. With any luck, we can barter with the undercity for passage and get it to wherever you need to store it.”

  Irna motioned to several of her crewmen and led them down into the bowels of the ship. They took saws and hammers to the timbers, cutting and hacking an opening through the outer hull. One good thing about airships over their seafaring cousins from ages past was that they did not need to be watertight. One could theoretically fly little more than a frame as long as the rune-scribings were done properly. In the case of racing vessels, many nearly do that very thing.

  “I best get topside,” Irna said once she got her people working on their escape. “Those gendarmes are likely to be wondering what we’re doing making all this racket.”

  “What will you tell them?”

  “That we have to shore up some internal supports damaged by our rough landing and the rampaging horned devil.”

  Jareen grinned. “It’s almost the truth.”

  “The best lies always are. Listen, do not go into the undercity without me. You will need me to facilitate a meeting. They will kill anyone they don’t recognize on sight.”

  “No problem. I’ll send someone up to get you as soon as we cut through the hull.”

  Irna returned to the deck, leaving Jareen and the crewmen below as they hacked their way through the ship, fighting not just the tough wood but the powerful odor of several tons of worm dung filling nearly every available space inside the Voulge. Thankfully, their mission in Glisteran had gone almost exactly as Jareen had expected it to and in less time. Jareen reassured Overlord Leena that Sah Auberon’s discovery would in no way lessen her standing with the highlords. He had convinced her that part of the acclaim Sah Auberon and Overlord Caiden received for increasing mining production would be attributed to her for allowing Velaroth to keep the worm dung in exchange for daggerwing guano.

  It took less than half an hour to cut a hole through the deck and outer hull. It only took that long because they were careful to avoid causing unnecessary damage. Wood was an expensive commodity, and they needed to repair what they had done before Sah Auberon or the port authorities discovered it. At least they could deflect blame onto the horned devil.

  “Send someone up to fetch the captain,” Jareen ordered one of th
e men.

  Irna returned a few minutes later with a lit lantern in her hand. “Jareen, you follow me down, no others. No matter what happens, nobody make any sudden moves. We are not expected, and the underworld is not kind to uninvited guests. I’ll keep my face illuminated and hope that someone recognizes me and asks what we want before killing us out of hand.”

  “If it is so dangerous there, should we not take some men with us?”

  Irna grinned. “Not even the gendarmes dare attempt to police the undercity. If it comes to violence, I see no reason to add more than our names to the death toll.”

  “Sounds promising,” Jareen quipped.

  “Would you rather take your chances with the gendarmes?”

  Jareen cocked his head toward the hole. “Lead the way.”

  Much of the city that was now Velaroth was built atop ancient buildings buried by sand during a great war where sorcerous power conjured storms of unimaginable power and destruction.

  Despite fighting back against an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia, Jareen marveled at the labyrinth of tunnels carved out by industrious criminals over the centuries to create an entire undercity where adventurous people came to partake of activities frowned upon by the highborn, at least publicly. Brothels existed on the surface, but those with particularly deviant fetishes and desires had to go below to have them satisfied, and the debauchery houses counted many highborn amongst their clientele.

  Of course, the debauchery houses and gambling halls were located along the few “public” tunnels. Where Jareen and Irna delved into was one of the dark paths, places where no one traveled unless they worked for the underlord or were invited. Jareen and Irna were neither.

  Irna brushed the sand covering the trapdoor away and lifted it open. She paused, stared down into the black pit, and sighed. “Here goes nothing.”

  The airship pilot navigated the ladder rungs set into the stone lining the shaft and reached the bottom some twenty feet below the Voulge’s ruptured hull. Jareen followed her down and stood close behind her at the base of the ladder.

  The size of the passageway surprised him. The ceiling was just low enough for his fingers to brush it if he extended his arm over his head, and the width allowed two people to walk abreast without bumping into each other or the walls. Despite the tunnel’s size, it did little to alleviate the claustrophobic feeling Jareen felt.