A hatch opened in the ceiling and another mechanoid appeared, this one sleek and spherical. It hovered in the air like a hummingbird, reminding Joss of the illumicams in the Gauntlet, but thankfully not blasting Merry Merl’s voice at him this time.
‘Sur Verity,’ it squawked as it scanned the paladero’s face with a beam of light, then turned to scan Joss’s. ‘And Josiah Sarif. Welcome! The council has been notified of your arrival.’
Just as quickly as it had entered, the mechanoid disappeared again, the hole in the ceiling shutting behind it.
‘Are there any actual people in this place?’ Joss asked as Azof grunted beside him. He offered a hand to the raptor’s snout, coaxing it into silence.
‘Close to a million,’ replied Sur Verity.
‘Nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and two, to be precise,’ added a familiar voice, and Joss turned to see Grandmaster Eno entering from a side door hidden among all the pipework. ‘Good to see you again, Sur Verity.’
‘And you, Grandmaster Eno.’
Two grim-faced men entered from the same doorway, both dressed in the same red leather and bronze armour that Grandmaster Eno was wearing. As old as Grandmaster Eno was, these two looked to be even older. The shorter of the two was wearing a pair of thick glasses that gave him the appearance of an owl, while his companion had the lean face and piercing eyes of a wolf.
‘May I introduce Grandmasters Gilmyn and Warburn,’ Grandmaster Eno said, and the two old men nodded in turn.
‘A pleasure to meet you both,’ the owlish Grandmaster Gilmyn said, his voice like crumpling paper. ‘Please, join us inside. Your animals can remain here for the time being.’
The grandmasters filed back into the room from which they had entered. Thinking it the courteous thing to do, Joss waited for Sur Verity to go first in following them. When she didn’t move, he took the hint and went ahead of her, leaving Azof to huff as the door closed behind them.
What Joss found on the other side of the doorway was a massive metalwork chamber, soldered together from thousands of hexagonal steel plates. Just as in the antechamber, the room had been decorated with swords and skulls. When he looked closer, he realised that each song sword had once belonged to a grandmaster, their name and the years they had served on the council inscribed on a plaque beneath their weapon.
The swords ran up along the walls towards the elevated ceiling, with iron pylons framing a panoramic view of all the lands surrounding Tower Town. The sun was at its apex now, drenching the world in colour. Pterosaurs wheeled and dived through the perfect blue to pierce the clouds.
‘Wow …’ Joss whispered to himself, staring in every direction. The only thing that stood between him and the view was a triangular oaken table that was gilded at the edges, with a map of Ai painted on the floor in front of it. The whole continent stretched out before Joss like an open book, from Illustra in the north-west to the expanse of Thunder Realm south thereof, and onto the dividing wall of the Backbone Ranges that split the land in two, sealing off the mysteries that lay east of them.
As lords governed their orders, the Grandmaster Council governed all the paladeros of Thunder Realm. Looking around at the chamber, Joss wondered what it would be like to sit in this room each day, with the kingdom spread out beneath one’s feet. Surely there’d be as many who would run from the responsibility as there were those who would kill for the chance.
‘Your arrival is well timed,’ Grandmaster Warburn said as he slipped into a padded leather chair so large it could be mistaken for a throne. ‘We’re in the midst of discussing tomorrow’s ceremony, and it’s come to our attention that there may be an issue …’
‘Oh?’ Sur Verity replied simply, standing with Joss at the foot of the table.
‘As you’ll no doubt recall, Sur Verity, it’s the Champion’s Blade upon which all the prentices swear their oath, and it’s the Blade Keeper who offers it to them as part of the ceremony,’ Grandmaster Gilmyn said, a light snow of dandruff falling on his shoulders as he spoke. ‘But we’ve never before had a situation where the Blade Keeper has also been one of the Bladebound.’
‘I see …’ Sur Verity said, folding her arms.
‘We were wondering, Sur Verity,’ Grandmaster Eno said, offering only the barest glance at Joss, ‘would you stand in as Blade Keeper, and help conduct the ceremony?’
Joss felt his face grow hot. Before he could stop himself, he said, ‘I wouldn’t have any issue with that, should anyone wish to ask me.’
The moment the words left his lips he wanted to take them back. Nobody made a sound as they all stared at him. He didn’t risk looking up at Sur Verity, whose stare would no doubt be as frosty as those of the grandmasters.
‘Lord Malkus tells me, Prentice Sarif, that you are a bright young man who well deserves this opportunity,’ Grandmaster Eno said, his tongue clicking like a thunder lizard’s as it lunged for a dangling piece of meat. ‘I can’t say that I see what he does but I’ve always trusted his opinion, ever since he served as my own prentice. Do not make me question his wisdom, and do not interrupt again.’
With that, the grandmasters all turned their attention back to Sur Verity as if nothing had happened. Joss stood to the side, feeling as if he’d had a raw egg pelted at his face, though perhaps that would have been preferable. He could have cleaned himself off if that were the case. As it was, all he could do was frown through his burning sense of humiliation and keep his mouth shut.
‘It would be my honour to participate in the ceremony, Grandmaster Eno,’ he heard Sur Verity say, and risked looking up to see her staring straight ahead.
‘Excellent,’ Grandmaster Gilmyn hooted, looking around at his fellow council members.
‘Indeed,’ Grandmaster Eno replied. ‘With that settled, please feel free to retire to your accommodations. We appreciate your time ahead of what promises to be a very eventful day.’
The grandmasters didn’t wait for Joss and Sur Verity to leave before they started talking among themselves, discussing which dignitaries they were expecting to arrive and when. Joss’s head was still spinning from the sudden end to the conversation when something beeped right beside him, startling him.
It was the spherical mechanoid from before, hovering at their side to escort them back to the antechamber where Levina was busy fussing over Azof. She’d been in the middle of grooming him when Joss and Sur Verity entered, and it seemed his patience for it had just run out as he now snapped at her to leave him alone. Levina grumbled as she backed away.
‘Family troubles?’ Joss offered, but Sur Verity said nothing as she took her raptor by the reins and walked her onto the waiting elevator. Joss led Azof in behind them, and the elevator set off once more.
‘A reception will be held from noon tomorrow, with the binding ceremony to begin shortly thereafter. Please refrain from being tardy,’ the mechanoid politely intoned, having followed them both onto the elevator. Joss was almost grateful for its company, given that it kept Sur Verity’s silence from growing too cold or, worse, erupting into full-blown rage.
When the doors opened again, they were on the floor reserved for those participating in the ceremony. The raptors would be stabled in one of the sub-basements, the mek explained.
Walking down the hall, Joss was struck by the modesty of everything. The surrounds were cramped, constructed from tarnished metal, and the rooms looked to be packed tightly together. From all he’d heard of Tower Town, he’d expected it to be grander. Even the third-class carriages on the Resilient would have been more luxurious.
Not that he could complain. However dour the accommodations at Tower Town were, they still beat a bedroll on a rocky roadside. Or at least that’s what he tried to remind himself as he opened the hatch to his ‘room’ and found it to be little more than a capsule with a foam mattress, a pillow and a rusted sink.
‘I’m going to get some rest,’ Sur Verity said as she walked past, cracking her back as she went. ‘Try not to get into any trouble in the meantime.’
Finding her quarters further down the hall, Sur Verity slid inside and slammed the hatch shut. Joss shrugged, kicked off his boots and climbed into his capsule.
Inside he found a small porthole at the foot of the mattress. Keeping his head lowered so that he didn’t hit it on the ceiling, he gazed out the tiny window at the highway below. The road was still blocked with traffic, and, as Joss wondered how many vehicles were filled with people coming to attend the next day’s ceremony, a shadow fell across the earth.
He looked up and saw an airship with black armoured plating and mirrored windows that had been tinted a distinctly royal shade of purple. All of Tower Town seemed to rumble as the ship flew past the sun to dock with the building, announcing the arrival of Zadkille Station.
Exhausted to his bones, Joss didn’t dare think of how this would affect the next day’s events. Pulling the blind down on the porthole, he climbed under the sheets of his foam mattress and buried his head under the pillow, blocking out the world.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A VISION OF GLORY
THE blade in his dreams had grown dull, and now the waves that rolled through his mind were larger and darker than ever before. But this time he wasn’t alone. This time a man stood on the shore, a black hole where his left eye should be, his teeth flashing like lightning.
‘Save me!’ Joss cried out, choking on the black water that wouldn’t let him go. ‘Please! You have to save me!’
The man tilted his head to consider. ‘No,’ he answered, and walked away.
Waking suddenly, it took Joss a disoriented moment to work out exactly where he was. He wasn’t drowning, thankfully. He was dry and safe and warm, here in Tower Town, but still his heart pounded as mercilessly as the sea in a storm.
Sitting up in his bed, he reached out to the sink that was bolted onto the wall directly opposite him. The pipes hammered and shook as he turned on the taps and splashed his face with water, trying to command his heart to slow its rapid beating. Outside, the world was dark and quiet.
Searching for some fresh air, Joss slipped from his bed and crept down the corridor to a small balcony at the end of the hall. Opening the hatch and stepping out, he was almost carried away by a large gust of wind. It whipped around him as he inched forward to look out over the edge, but the night was so dark and the ground so far away that all he could see was blackness, as if the whole of Tower Town were a frigate sailing through a limitless void.
‘Good evening to you, Prentice Sarif,’ someone hissed from the shadows. Joss spun around to find a figure standing behind him. He was wearing a feather cloak that was as black as a murder of crows, his face hidden beneath a dark hood and a stone mask with unfamiliar glyphs carved into its surface. Joss had heard tell of eastern mystics who wore all kinds of exotic garments, but never anything like this.
‘My apologies,’ the figure said as he moved closer, his cloak rustling. ‘I did not mean to startle you.’
‘Who are you?’ Joss demanded, trying his best to not show any fear, and the figure raised his gloved hands to show them empty.
‘I am called Thrall. And I mean you no harm. I am here on behalf of my mistress.’
‘Mistress?’ Joss repeated in confusion, and the masked man – Thrall – nodded slowly.
‘May I ask, what do you know of the one they call the Stitched Witch?’ he asked, his voice as dark as smoke.
‘The Stitched Witch? You mean like in the ghost stories?’ Joss asked, frowning. ‘The woman who’s supposed to haunt the Spires?’
‘More than a ghost story, she is the Lady of Life Everlasting, the First and Only of Her Name, the Unequalled Mistress of the Forgotten East – and she requires your aid.’
Joss didn’t know what to say to that, nor did he know what to do as Thrall glided closer to him until they were standing face to face. The glyphs on his mask weren’t like the curled and graceful spriggan runes etched onto a song sword. These marks were crude and brutal, looking as if they spelt out the words of an ancient and guttural language.
Who was this strange man? He spoke of a mythical figure with such reverence, but could it all be an act? Perhaps it was some elaborate test that Sur Verity or the Grandmaster Council had set up, hoping to catch him out as being unworthy. It was a prospect that kept Joss doubly on his guard as Thrall continued.
‘Tomorrow, you will be bound with your fellow prentices and sent on the Way,’ he said. ‘With that will come the Constellation Key, the only means of entrance to the Ghost City of Vaal. There is an item my mistress requires and it can only be found within the city walls. In fact, her life depends on it. And she is prepared to reward you handsomely for retrieving it.’
From the folds of his cloak he produced an orb of polished crystal. The orb rippled with purple light, while faint figures appeared to shift and swirl in its depths.
‘What is that?’ Joss asked.
‘Everything you could ever hope for …’ Thrall replied, holding the orb before Joss so that he could behold its visions more clearly.
He saw himself a few years older, bearded, with a great cloak hanging from strong shoulders. He was sitting in Lord Malkus’s chambers, in Lord Malkus’s chair, behind Lord Malkus’s table. But none of these things were Lord Malkus’s any more. They all belonged to Lord Josiah, as did the song sword mounted on the wall and the Questing Egg displayed beneath it. He was giving one last command to an awaiting paladero, while another came to tell him that his mount was bridled and ready for him, with the weather outside perfect for riding.
Joss’s heart flickered as the vision faded. Pressing his dry lips together, he wetted them with the tip of his tongue. He didn’t realise he’d been holding his breath until the moment he drew in air again.
Thrall did not stir. He simply held the crystal orb before him and awaited Joss’s answer.
‘I think … I think …’ Joss began, words coming to him uneasily.
‘Yes?’ Thrall took a single step forward.
Joss regarded him. He didn’t move like a man who had a weapon strapped to him, though that
could be hard to tell. He also didn’t move like any other man that Joss had ever seen. There was something predatory in his manner. Something inhuman.
‘I think it shows your loyalty that you’d go to these lengths to help your mistress,’ Joss said quietly. ‘And while I’m sorry to hear she’s not faring well, I don’t see how the Constellation Key could possibly help. Vaal is a ruin. There’s nothing there but crumbled buildings and wild animals.’
Thrall drew back as if Joss had slapped him across the face, his mask tilting to one side as he regarded him askance. ‘You are declining our offer?’
‘I can’t auction off the Constellation Key to a masked stranger offering only vague promises of glory,’ Joss said more firmly. Whatever spell the crystal orb had placed him under was diminishing now, its visions blurring into nothingness.
Thrall didn’t wait to hear anything else. His cloak billowed around him as he withdrew to the hatchway, lingering on the threshold for only a moment.
‘Chances are a lot like lives, Prentice Sarif,’ he said, receding into the shadows that lay beyond the door. ‘We seldom get more than one.’
Disappearing entirely, he left Joss to stare at the now empty hatchway and wonder at what exactly had just happened. The wind grew stronger, taking on a chilly edge. Shivering, Joss left the balcony and returned to the cramped hallway.
There was no sign of Thrall. There was no sign of anybody.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A WAKING DREAM
THRALL’S masked visage still haunted Joss as he arose the next morning. It flashed in his mind as he brushed his teeth, floated before him as he dressed himself, brooded in the shadows as he buckled his sword-belt. The encounter had been so surreal that now, in the morning light, he wondered if it had just been a vivid and disturbing dream.
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