“Oh!” Gribly had come up the night before, expecting promises to be kept and ship to be leaving immediately. He’d forgotten to have Berne leave it down. “I’ll get that in a moment…”
“No need,” sighed Gram. Hefting his war hammer off one shoulder, he swung it in a wide upward arc. The air hummed, as if sensing the compressed weight and might of the hammer. Gram was lifted- flung was more like it- up into the air, as high as Gribly, coming to land on the deck in front of him with a heavy thud. The pirate king stumbled, cursing, and caught his balance. “Blast! I’ve been too long on the sea, Gramlen… the Stone just doesn’t come like it used to, though it’s been better lately. Haven’t Stoneflown in years, like that. Bloody death!”
Gribly just watched, stunned. “That was a Stone Striding power?”
“Using the hammer, yes,” Gram replied.
“The hammer…” Gribly mused, suddenly thoughtful, “Where’d you get it?”
Gram grinned wide, eyes twinkling in his flabby face. “Stole it. From the Red Aura.”
Gribly’s eyes bulged. “You…”
“A lot’s changed since you were taken, Gramlen,” Gram sighed, strutting down the deck with an arm across Gribly’s shoulders. “But not our family. We’ll always be rogues, Gramlen.” His grin was roguish indeed, but Gribly still winced a little inside before returning it. Gramlen. He wasn’t sure he wanted the name.
“Let’s go meet with Berne,” he told his father. “He says he’s got some way for us to catch Sheolus’s ship, even with the massive head start they’ve got.”
And we’re going to need it, now, he wanted to say. Though he didn’t mention it, Gram frowned and seemed to hear the implication.
Everyone seemed to think their reunion perfect, Gribly knew. How wrong that was.
~
The invaders called themselves the Golden Nation. An obvious name in Karanel’s opinion, as nearly everything they made seemed to be made of gold or bronze or some shiny metal. She suspected most of it was fake, or conjured somehow. Gold and bronze were too soft to be reliable in battle. But who knew, with these invaders? If they could control Fire and Shadow themselves, who knew what else they were capable of?
No one… except Karanel. Her days here had taught her much… almost too much.
Turning a corner, she loped down the dark, dirty side-alley where she had set up something of a residence along with some of the city’s other beggars. There were many, and they were routinely ignored by those who now ruled Manlyn. It had given her the perfect opportunity to spy, and one thing at least had become hideously clear: the Golden Nation was not run entirely by Coalskins, as she had thought. The creatures were barely sentient, in her opinion, and she soon found that they had been aided on many fronts by traitors within the city… traitors who now ruled in the highest administrative posts, keeping order when the strangeness and cruelty of Coalskin ways grew unbearable.
Not to say that Manlyn was a joyful place, of course. It was a hellhole. Children were neglected, men were pressed into service, women were treated like animals… It made Karanel sick, but she knew better than to interfere… most of the time. The only crimes committed were by the Golden Nation themselves; any lawbreaking by the citizens or vagrants of Manlyn was put down with brutal force.
“In the name of the Golden One!” cried a man, “Open up your door to the Law!” She watched morbidly from the shadows of the alley’s end. It was too bad the Law was moving into this quarter of the city. She would have to find another place to hide. The Law was furiously ‘reorganizing’ the city, drafting human men for service and taking children to the hideous ‘Institution’ buildings that had once been the Manlyn Smallshrines. She had yet to learn where they took most of the women, or who the ‘Golden One’ was. Perhaps the ruler of Manlyn? She didn’t know if there even was a single ruler.
The man in front of the house was human, of course. The leaders of the Law all were. His head was shaved, and several ugly scars crisscrossed his face. A devil, to be sure, but his troops were worse. Twenty-two Coalskins, in that horrible flat gold armor with those expressionless gold masks. A full Claw, part of the Grip assigned to this quarter. Karanel’s whole being wished to rip them apart with Sky Striding, casting lightning down on them and burning them out of existence… but she couldn’t. She could only watch, and wait.
“I said, open up!” The man was dressed like a brawler. He had no business leading troops of any kind. When no answer was forthcoming, either to his shouts or blows to the door, the leader finally retreated, calling his men forward. Two Coalskins came to the front and faced the door, holding something like a metal bowl between them. It was sealed off at the top, and had hooks around the edge. Karanel winced; she had seen this before.
The Coalskins thrust the hooked end at the door; when it hit, the metal hooks latched into the wood with a crunch. The Coalskins let go and stepped back, waiting. The dome began to rattle, steaming with sudden heat.
Karanel gritted her teeth, turning to go. It irked her to leave these people to their fate, but what could she do?
Halfway down the alley, the screams began. Karanel bit her lip until it bled, but did not turn back. It would do no good! Aura Above! Why must it be so hard? Four alleys later, screaming was too faint to hear. She was just beginning to think that perhaps she should have done something anyway… when she had another chance.
“Help! No! No!” It was a girl’s voice. Karanel cursed and rounded the corner, unable to draw herself away from the sound.
It was a Coalskin Pit Strider, torturing someone. They did that sometimes, when they had no rebels to weed out, or men to break. Just pulled children off the street, or babes out of cradles, and…
But this was different. Karanel peeked around the corner, sweating under her heavy concealing cloak. The Pit Strider was wrinkled and malformed, dressed in badly-fitting black cloth with tarnished armor strapped over it in critical places. He was a weak one, it seemed, barely able to conjure sparks, but he was putting his power to malevolently clever use. The girl who had called out was choking on black smoke now, that poured from her mouth whenever she opened it. Flames licked at her whenever she wasn’t expecting it, and from the way she contorted and writhed, there was fire on her skin as well. But…
…But the girl was a Coalskin. Karanel almost choked herself; she hadn’t known the beasts had women. Unlike the wrinkled skin of the Pit Strider, the girl’s was smooth, and her eyes were wide in all-too-human panic. Her hair was a glistening black, the same shade as her skin.
“We’ll see if you humiliate me in front of the entire Heart again, misbegotten wench!” snarled the sadistic Strider. Karanel was shocked to realize he was speaking the commontongue, but she was even more shocked to see he was torturing one of his own kind. Was the whole Golden Nation this evil?
“I… I’m sorry! Forgive me, Master, I- agh! Aglb-” her words were garbled and choked off as more smoke poured from her mouth. Her hair caught aflame and stayed lit. She collapsed on the pavement, clawing at her clothes. Flames licked out her high collar as she ripped part of it right off.
“Blast you, demonspawn!” Karanel spoke before she could stop herself, stepping around the corner to confront the Pit Strider. “You’re going to kill her if you don’t stop!” For some reason, it seared her heart even worse that the mongrel would hurt a female of his own race than anyone else. Her pulse was throbbing with the expectation of pain and battle, but she ignored it. The girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen!
“You,” spat the Pit Strider, whipping around to glare at her. His hideous bald head seemed too large for his shoulders, and he hunched in fury, and… interest? “You smell… powerful, Woman.”
What? “Leave her, mud-brain, or I’ll kill you myself!”
To her chagrin, the Pit Strider only frowned at her, then shrugged, and laughed. “You’ll be next, Woman. I should like to make you dance and scream… But not yet. This wench deserves all I give her!”
Karanel wa
nted to yell at him, but she kept her voice low. This would have to be done quietly; a racket would draw the whole Hand of the Law, or at least several Claws. “Burn in the Blazes of Kerberus, Demonspawn,” she hissed, and charged him. Fool, her sense told her, you’re going to get murdered! But she ignored it. She was so blasted tired of hiding.
The knife had been hard to get, with weapons being forbidden in Manlyn now, but she intended to make good use of it. When the Pit Strider summoned flames in his palms to ward her off, she was already grabbing the blade from her belt with her good hand. As she neared her enemy, the Coalskin flung both handfuls of fire at her, one after the other.
She twisted out of her cloak, letting it fly off and catch the fire in its billowing folds. Black stains and a very loose tie were testimonies to how many times she had used this same trick before, deeper in the city before the Law was so strong. Ducking to the side, she dodged the burning cloth and leaped towards the Coalskin, wishing fervently for the thousandth time that she could still Stride.
The Pit Strider cursed and stepped back, hands sparking as he conjured more flame. The Coalskin girl yelped; he’d stepped on her leg without noticing. Karanel smacked one arm away with the stump of her right hand, allowing herself smugness at the way the injury distracted the Pit Strider. He brought a flaming fist thudding into the side of her head… but it was too late.
Karanel fell to her knees, coughing blood. The Pit Strider smiled, took a step forward… and tipped over backwards, moaning as blood bubbled from the knife stuck in his chest.
So Coalskins had red blood, too? Who knew? Just the Creator… and her. Ha. Karanel’s stump hurt where it had blocked the fire, and hit the pavement, but she couldn’t get up to feel it. Her face felt like it had been ripped off, then burned, then trampled. Ugh.
Despite herself, Karanel found she was laughing. Her mission had gone to waste, but what of it? At least she had stopped an ounce of the Golden Nation’s tide of injustice.
One small dam to hold back the golden tide, she thought, and laughed again. It hurt her, to laugh, but she did it anyway. Loudly. And coughed. Blast, but it burned!
“You… you have delivered me, though you hate me. I do not understand.” It was the Coalskin girl, muddied and singed from her ordeal, laying partly on her side, obviously still hurting. It took Karanel a moment to realize that she was being spoken to.
“Wha… oh. I… I need to leave. Need to tell the King… everything.” She was rambling, and knew it, but didn’t care. Let the girl think whatever she wanted. It was over.
“I can… show you a way out, Mistress,” said the girl, crawling a little closer. “Only those in the Heart know it, but I serve them, and… ah, this hurts… and I can show you how to make it outside the city without being seen. I can help you, since you helped me. Please.”
Karanel slowly realized she was being offered aid. “I… what will happen to you?” The pain in her head and face and hand was dissipating, but not fast enough. She couldn’t heal so fast, now. Not without Striding. Bah.
“I will be punished. Maybe killed. Maybe sent back to the Homeland. I do not know.”
“You could come with me,” Karanel said, forcing herself to look up, kneel up, trying to stand. It hurt, but eventually she did it, and stepped over the Pit Strider’s corpse to help the Coalskin girl stand, too.
“No,” the girl shook her head, closing her eyes. “I cannot. It is the destiny of my people to rule yours. But I will help you, as you have done for me, and…”
“Fine,” Karanel said, trying to breath normally. She was angry, and hurt… but the girl was so sincere. She wanted to hate all Coalskins, but this… this changed everything.
“We must go,” the girl said. Then, hesitantly, she took Karanel by the hand, and a hard light shone in her eyes.
“Yes,” the former Windmaster said, meeting the girl gaze for gaze. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Sixteen: Shattered Fastness
Weeks of speedy travel left the small patch of sunlight on the Lost Walls far behind. Lauro felt bone-tired, but at least there had been relatively few life-threatening situations since then. The clouds were thinner, this far south. Even if you couldn’t see the sun on a warm day, you could still feel it. And as the prince and his ranger guide pushed on ever southward, the hot days grew slightly more frequent. It was winter now, but winter did not touch the Greenwood or the lands below as strongly as it did the North.
One thing disturbed Lauro, though. They had passed through the Greenwood entirely in the past two days… and had not seen a single nymph.
“I don’t know what to make of it,” Mudlo said, finally standing after what had seemed like an hour with his ear pressed to the lower part of a tree. “These woods remember the friendly wood nymphs who lived in them, and shaped them… but barely. Some trees have forgotten, and even the memory of the stones themselves grow vague. There is an air about… that, ah… I frankly do not like.”
Lauro had learned not to question the ranger’s strange ways. He trusted Mudlo with his life, and knew the truth in the man’s words anyway. He could hear things on the wind, and see them sometimes too… but for the past week, there had been nothing. A void that trapped him. An unnatural quiet.
“I don’t like it either, Mudlo,” he said, “But we’ve got to keep on, and have a good eye out, too. There’s a wrongness in the wind, I agree. But we can’t fail Avarine… and Arlin, and the rest. And, well, everyone. They’ve all sacrificed so much to get me here.”
“Convincing yourself?” Mudlo said, chuckling in a most disconcerting way. “You know I don’t need a speech. This is my life, remember? Serving the Aura.”
“I…” Lauro stopped. He had been going to say, I don’t serve the Aura, but that was a bit hollow even to him. He really did serve them now, and not his own puny quest for honor. This was bigger than him; bigger than all Vastion together. It was-
Suddenly Lauro gasped. The wind had begun to be colored again, swirls and twists and waves of red and gold and deep, deep black that smelled of death and blood and triumph. A battle, but one like nothing he’d ever seen. What in the…
“What’s wrong?” Mudlo asked, fingering his bow. “You’ve sensed something?”
“Yes,” Lauro snarled, “And whatever it was, it happened not too long ago. In… that direction, Southwest… and I smell nymphs!”
Without waiting he charged ahead, letting the hood of his worn-out, borrowed ranger’s coat fall from his head. He still wasn’t used to these cloak-like garments with sleeves like a shirt, and collars like a king’s cape… but he had to admit it was convenient. The wind rushed by him as he streaked across the grass and over a hill, the ranger pursuing at an equal pace. His warrior’s topknot had come undone, and he had left it as it was. His father thought him errant and wild? Very well. He would have to be, to face the struggles ahead.
~
Long before he reached it, Lauro recognized the burning building as a dalheim. It was a small one, probably the easternmost of those that had guarded the borders of Vastion in past, stronger days. It should have been abandoned before… it certainly was now. But who had attacked it, and who had defended it? He raced on to find out.
“By my Oath, Vale… slow down!” Lauro slowed and waited for Mudlo to catch up. He hadn’t realized he’d been using the winds to abet him.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.
“Look, Prince Too-Fast-For-Me, this isn’t the way to go about things at all. The building’s burning, for the love of Allfar… Ah, anyway, you’re going to walk into a trap at that speed! You need to slow down and think! Why isn’t there a siege, I’d like to know? And where have the attackers gone? Did you think of that?”
They were almost beside the out wall now. Lauro shook his head. “I’ll go in, and you hang back to snag anyone who tries to get the jump on me. Simple, see? Now come on!” The prince suspected that a senior ranger like Arlin would have refused, but Mudlo just grumbled and followed him anyway. The thing abo
ut being prince, he thought, is that everyone always thinks you’re confident, even when you’re not. Sometimes good… sometimes bad.
When he rounded a corner, stepping over the twisted remains of the dalheim’s gate, Lauro goggled at the damage that had been done. There was almost no two stones left together in the dalheim; everything had been burned to a crisp, pulled apart, and thrown about as if in a whirlwind. What was more, it all looked so recent!
Then he began to find the bodies. In the midst of what had probably been the stables, he found three nymphs, burned to death where they stood defending the door. One of them had stuck a knife in his killer before the end, though… his corpse was still holding onto the black-skinned creature, who seemed to have clawed out its own eyes in its death throes.
Lauro stood up quickly, horrified, from where he had been examining the scene.
“By the Aura, Mudlo… it’s one of the same creatures that attacked Gribly and I at… Mudlo?” He looked around, but there was no sign of the ranger anywhere among the wreckage. Of course, Lauro thought, I told him to slink around and wait. But why is it so bloody quiet all of a sudden? There had been a few birdcalls before, as they had approached. The dalheim. Why not now?
Golden Tide (Song of the Aura, Book Four) Page 12