“What can I get you men?” Pinch Face asked as they stepped up to the bar.
Pinch Face seemed to emphasize the word “men,” making Zalas frown. “Information,” he said.
Pinch Face narrowed his eyes and looked away. He started wiping the bar down as if he no longer cared for their business. “You’re in the wrong place, friend. We’ve got nothing but state beer, below average ale, and lukewarm food. If that’s what you’re buying I can help. Otherwise you’d best move on down the street.”
Zalas was tempted to reach across the bar and grab Pinch Face by the collar, but the presence of imperial soldiers, not to mention a full common room, stayed his hand. “I need to speak with the owner,” he said. “He’s an old friend of mine.”
Pinch Face stopped wiping the bar. “I’m the owner, and I’ve never seen ye before. Must have wrong place.”
“What happened to Jacque?”
“Oh, him,” Pinch Face looked disgusted, “you’d better hope you’re not friends with him or they might come after you too.”
“What happened?” Zalas said a bit too loudly.
“Drug off in chains like the traitorous dog he was. I figure he’s rotting in a cell until the hanging.”
Zalas looked at Doulos as the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. The mage’s hand slid toward his sword.
“Traitor you say?” Zalas asked. “When was the trial?”
“Trial?” Pinch Face laughed, “You don’t get no trial when you’re caught in the act, you’re beaten where you stand. He didn’t have the good sense to die then and there, so they hauled him off until they find a convenient time to march him to the gallows.”
Zalas started to sputter but Doulos grabbed his arm in warning. The mage cocked his head toward the door, and Zalas turned to see the soldiers looking their way with heightened interest.
“What was he doing?” Zalas lowered his voice.
“He’s a member of some cult that wants to overthrow the emperor, at least that’s the word. Seems he was caught with some kind of manifesto in his possession during a routine search.”
“Since when have citizens been subject to routine searches?” Doulos said.
“Since the Imperials up in the pyramid got word that the cult nearly burned Madhebah to the ground.”
There it was, all of Zalas’s fears made true. News of the inferno had raced ahead of them, and Eldinn was using the dragon’s attack to finally dispose of unwanted Faithful. The Imperials would use any pretense necessary to ferret out and apprehend members of the religion’s operations. The Faithful had become official enemies of the state.
“We’ve been set up,” Doulos whispered.
Zalas nodded, but kept his eyes on Pinch Face. “Thanks for the info, friend. I’m sorry to here about Jacque, but it sounds like he’ll be getting what he deserves.”
“Hmph,” Pinch Face grunted and waved a hand at Zalas before going back to his cleaning. The pair turned and made their way back through the crowd. As they neared the door they were met by a wide-eyed Tenna as she burst through the door.
“They’ve arrested them,” she hissed.
“What?” Zalas’s gut twisted.
“Onahim and Cedsul,” she said. “The soldiers said the city’s under martial law and non-humans are forbidden. They pushed me aside and drug them away.”
“They could have turned us away at the gates,” Zalas said. “They wanted us to come into the city.”
Then came the distinct sounds of swords drawn from scabbards. Zalas turned to find imperial soldiers standing like a wall behind them.
“Surrender or we’ll cut you down,” their captain ordered.
The trio raised their hands in despair.
22
Lorranos
Tander decided he loved flying.
He’d awoken early to pack his gear and eat a final, tear-filled breakfast with Vonedil. Several of the friends he’d made during his time in the Hollow came to see him off, making the tears flow fresh. Bita saved him with a last bit of good-natured ribbing in the form of practical but unnecessary advice.
“Try not to fall off the durned dragon.”
After giving the boy his promised view of the ocean in the light of the sun, Sidero turned north and retraced their earlier flight across the mountains. Tander whooped as they shot through the narrow pass and arrowed toward Lake Pelagos. By mid-morning they were nearing the rolling hills west of the lake, and by noontime he could see his hometown on the southern horizon.
The city was on fire.
Tander cried out in alarm as Sidero beat his wings harder, pouring on the speed in a race toward the inferno. He could make out hundreds of boats fleeing south down the river. Even more ships dotted the lake, all flying the colors of Anneal, also fleeing toward the swift waters of the Luwn River. Their own city was a gray smudge on the northern horizon, itself ablaze like its rival to the south.
Sidero pulled into a tight circle as they flew over the city walls. The damage to the city was dire, and foreign soldiers commanded the streets. The dragon had to take care and stay out of range of archery fire for the boy’s sake, and he weaved up and down in an effort to gain the city center.
The city gates were laid ruin. Packs of yrch roamed the streets in search of victims. Ebon-skinned dwarves ransacked buildings and destroyed anything they couldn’t carry away. Cadres of elves in their slate armor moved in the shadows, swift to seek cover as the dragon passed overhead.
They spied a lone figure standing atop the flat roof of the mayoral residence. The structure was surrounded by flames and people were jumping from the upper windows in desperation. Sidero pulled up short to alight on a stone granary nearby. The man screamed when he caught sight of the dragon, not in fear, but rage.
It was Tander’s father.
“You!” Festin pointed a bony finger at his son. “You should be dead! Why aren’t you dead? Now we’ll all die instead. You should be dead!”
“What do you mean?” Tander cried. “Where are the girls? Are they safe?”
Festin seemed deaf to Tander’s plea. “We couldn’t find you when she came,” he wailed. “She promised to spare the city but we couldn’t find you.” The Archon fell to his knees, jerking his lank hair out in bloody clumps. “The girls…their sacrifice…all in vain…all your fault…all your fault.”
“Who’s she?” Tander screamed. “Where are the girls? What have you done?”
“Sane!” Festin wailed. “Sane took them. She came for you, but you were gone. I gave her the girls in your place. She promised to spare the city…”
Festin seemed to finally realize that his son was sitting astride a dragon. His rage returned. He stood and quick-stepped toward the roof’s edge, his fists balled in fury. Then a sharp whistle split the air.
Festin skidded to a halt with a gray-hafted arrow jutting from his chest. He looked down at the shaft in surprise, moving his mouth in silent protest before tumbling over the roof and hurtling to the ground. An elf scurried through the shadows nearby by with bow in hand.
“No!” Tander cried as he scrambled to free himself from the harness. Sidero bellowed a roar and jumped back into the air, forcing the boy to stay put.
“Go back!” Tander screamed. “My father…”
“Is already dead, my friend,” Sidero said as he climbed out of arrow range. “Didn’t you hear? They’re looking for you. If you die, the line of Lonarch dies with you.”
Tander beat his fists against the dragon’s iron hide. “You’re a cold-blooded monster.”
“Yes, I am, and one day you’ll thank me for it.” Sidero dropped his head and beat his wings hard, working to drive as much distance between them and the city as fast as he could. Tander kept raging through his sorrow, demanding to be taken back to the city. The dragon ignored the boy and flew on.
Tander awoke hours later to find himself lying on the ground near a warm fire. He could make out the dragon’s shape in the shadows, keeping watch in his humanoid form. The Lu
wn burbled nearby. Numerous campfires burned in the distance.
“Where are we?” Tander demanded.
“A few hour’s flight north of Waterdown,” Sidero answered. “We’ll stay here until sunrise.”
“No,” the boy sat up, “take me back. My sisters are back there somewhere.”
Sidero moved into the firelight and crouched down near Tander. His eyes swirled in the light, seemingly alive with a fire of their own. For the first time, Tander feared the dragon.
“Listen well, manling,” Sidero’s voice was hard. “Your sisters are gone. Your father is dead by his own designs. He was in league with Sane, either as a worshipper or a conspirator at the least. My guess is she promised to spare the city if he delivered you, the last male descendant of Lonarch. By his own admission, he gave her your sisters as well.”
Tander sat fighting the tears, his body trembling with anguish. He wanted to call the dragon a liar, but he’d heard his father’s words with his own ears. “But why?” he wailed. “How could he do that? He loved the girls, even if he no longer loved me.”
“I don’t pretend to understand human passion,” the dragon shrugged, “but I can guess the reward she offered. As goddess of death she likely claimed she could raise your mother to life in exchange for your deaths.”
Tander’s eyes went wide at the suggestion, both hopeful and appalled.
Sidero shook his head as if reading the boy’s mind. “She does not have that power. Such a feat is impossible for the Azur. Only Onúl can grant life, no one else.”
The gates on Tander’s grief opened then, and he fell across the dragon with a sob. Sidero offered what little comfort a dragon might give, but he thought it a pittance for a boy who found himself suddenly alone in the world.
Tander gathered himself a long while later. “I’m sorry for calling you a cold-blooded monster,” he said.
The dragon shrugged. “I am both cold-blooded and a monster. I won’t deny either accusation.”
The boy nodded, accepting the forgiveness he heard in the dragon’s words. “Where do I go now? I’ve been spared for some reason, so what now?”
“We’ll follow my original plan,” Sidero said. “Rest tonight. We’ll make for the outskirts of Waterdown in the morning. My brother will be there to take you on the next stage of your journey.”
“You’re not going with me?”
“No, but fear not, we’ll meet again.”
“Where are you going?” the boy asked.
The dragon stood and looked northward where the burning cities still lit up the night sky. “I have an army to raise.”
23
The Bastion
The Bastion was a place of secrets. It was also the last line of defense for the Maehdrasian imperial family and their cronies. But it was far more than that. Raised by those who survived the cataclysm that ended the Great War, it stood as a monument to fear, hatred, and prejudice.
Its construction had been accomplished through means both ingenious and diabolical. Dwarves fled from the mountains following the rending of the earth. They drifted too close to the humans, humans blinded by rage and misguided blame. They fell on the dwarves, slaughtering the infirm and enslaving the rest.
Those slaves were pressed into constructing the mighty fortress, but one of the dwarves purchased freedom for himself and his family by becoming designer and overseer of the project. From this traitor’s mind came the Bastion.
Any who spoke against such cruelty were clapped in chains alongside the dwarves. Men who were once farmers now turned to pillage and slaughter, using their strength against those struggling to recover. Every settlement within a week’s travel became fodder for the horde.
When it was done, the slaves who’d labored to build the fortress were put to death, along with their families. Their masters wanted the secrets of the Bastion’s construction to remain hidden, particularly the fact that half of the structure was hidden from view below ground.
When Margosan turned a jealous eye their way many years later, his agents ferreted out every secret. He persuaded the Bastionites to accept his friendship and they unwittingly accepted their doom inside their walls. What no one understood at the time was that Margosan’s real spies were not his soldiers, but the few remaining slaves still under the iron will of their masters. Those slaves saw the soldiers as potential saviors and welcomed them with open arms.
Acting under the guise of willing concubines the slave women divulged the inner workings of the Bastion. They led the soldiers to locked door they believed opened to nothing more than storage cellars, but instead hid stairwells and passages leading below ground. The levels below mirrored the ones above. There were living spaces, sorcerer’s laboratories, and vaults holding the Bastion’s collected wealth and vast stores of grain. Even deeper were well-appointed chambers for the Bastion’s elite.
It wasn’t until the final key was handed to them that the empire understood the structure’s real value. Each of the above ground levels possessed load-bearing pillars that could be collapsed by way of special mechanisms built into the Bastion’s structure—mechanisms that could only be activated by a series of levers in a heavy vault below ground. This vault was so secret not even the most trusted slaves knew its location.
The grand design of the Bastion was that of a near impenetrable fortress that could be collapsed on an enemy’s head should they ever gain entrance. The defenders could live on and escape through secret tunnels burrowed into the surrounding hills.
When the order for the midnight slaughter of the Bastion’s residents came from Margosan, the slaves led the soldiers room by room through the fortress, ensuring not one Bastionite was left alive. As reward for their service, the slaves were annihilated. This, in turn, secured the Bastion’s secrets for Margosan and his army alone.
In later years, Madhebah abandoned the idea of an imperial bolt hole, renovating the upper levels into a military installation, and the lower levels into a prison tailored for enemies of the state.
Tenna, Zalas and Doulos sat in one of those dank cells. Stripped down to their underclothes, they huddled together in the cold darkness. Doulos whispered in the dark to try and keep their despair at bay.
The only consolation was that their arrest had been methodical and professional. Tenna had feared she would be separated from the father and subjected to all manner of molestation at the hands of the soldiers. She’d been spared that fate and shoved into the chilly cell alongside the other two.
They had found no sign of the Onahim and Cedsul on the way below ground, but Zalas was sure he’d seen a glimpse of Jacque, beaten and bruised in a cell further up the torch lit corridor.
Their own cell was about eight feet square. Zalas examined the walls in the dim light, determining they were not part of the original construction, but rather later additions of rough brickwork. Unlike Jacque’s cell that was closed in with iron bars, theirs had an iron-studded door of oak. The only light came through a small viewport slit into the door’s shape.
“What’s the plan for getting us out of here, mage?” Zalas whispered.
“Getting the three of us out isn’t the problem,” Doulos said, “but finding our friends and retrieving Nephali may take a bit of doing.”
“Don’t forget Jacque, I won’t leave him here to die.”
“Of course not,” Doulos agreed. “We know where he is, but the question is whether or not he can walk out under his own power.”
“Don’t worry,” Tenna slipped her hand into her father’s, “we’ll do whatever it takes to get our friend out of here too.”
The old mage stood and pressed his hands against the back wall of their cell. He leaned in close as if listening, then repeated this motion at each of the side walls and the doorway. This done, he turned and nodded as if he’d been given an answer he’d been expecting.
“Eat some more,” he ordered, “but save some for Jacque. Try to sleep through the night until I return. You’re going to need all the strength you c
an muster come tomorrow.”
“How are you getting out?” Tenna frowned. “And how will you keep the guards from noticing you’re gone?”
“As for the first question,” Doulos smiled, “you’ll see the answer with your own eyes. For the second, I’ve made it so the guards will ignore this cell unless you draw their attention. All the more reason to sleep. Now be quiet and let me work.”
Doulos leaned against the left-hand wall and bowed his head as if praying. The longer Tenna watched the more convinced she became that was precisely what he was doing. His lips moved silently and she could see his eyes rolling beneath his wrinkled eyelids.
She stifled a gasp as his body shimmered in the darkness, taking on a gauzelike transparency. Then his hand disappeared into the wall. The surface rippled around his wrist like water disturbed by a rock.
The mage turned to his cellmates. “I’ll find our friends and Nephali. Stay quiet and do nothing until I return.”
Doulos stepped forward and evaporated into the wall.
24
The Bastion
The cell door rattled, causing Tenna to bolt from her sleep in panic. She cast about in fear, worried the guards would discover Doulos was missing. Then her eyes fell on the shape of the old man shivering in his sleep nearby. He’d returned in silence sometime during the night.
The door jerked open and a soldier entered with a platter of food. Tenna rose to take food but the man stared her down. He tossed the platter to the floor, dumping most of the contents out, then slammed the door shut. One look at the food and Tenna’s stomach rebelled.
“Ugh,” she breathed, “more bread and cheese.”
“It’s better than I’ve gotten in other prisons,” a groggy Doulos rose up to snatch a dry roll. “At least it’s not moldy, and they’re kind enough to offer water as well.”
The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara) Page 13