In Dark Service

by Stephen Hunt

  ‘For the love of God, Father Carnehan, she’s just a girl!’

  ‘And for the love of God I could show you the graves of a dozen far younger than her back in Northhaven. Their only crime to be too young to work inside this mortal circle of hell… and too slow to outrun the skels that caught and decapitated them.’

  ‘She’s innocent of all of this.’

  ‘She is this, Duncan. Every weave and thread of her clothes and every ounce of that massive carrier that brought you here to try and kill us. Come home with us. Your sister’s waiting for you over there. I gave Benner Landor my word.’

  ‘My father!’ Duncan almost choked on the word. ‘You’re trapped! You’ve got nowhere to go. All you and Carter are going to achieve here is to get Willow killed.’

  ‘There’s a gate inside the stones – a portal running all the way back to Northhaven. You only have to step through and you’ll be breathing Weyland air.’

  ‘You’ve been breathing too many volcano fumes.’

  ‘How do you think we reached the empire so quickly, boy? My story about building a fast aircraft was just that, a story.’

  ‘I don’t care if you were blessed by fairies in the gasks’ forest and slid down a magic rainbow to reach Vandia,’ cried Duncan. ‘My life’s here now, with her.’

  ‘Let Lady Cassandra go!’ Hesia stood above her father, the man still moaning on the ground. Hesia’s pistol pointed towards Jacob’s ribs – the imperial pilot to the left, Duncan standing to the right. Hesia had a good clean shot right past his human shield if she took it.

  Jacob grimaced. ‘You’re thinking they’ll pardon you for this? You’re having trouble remembering whose side you’re on.’

  ‘No. And I’m not planning on staying in the empire,’ said Hesia. ‘But I’m not about to let you capture Lady Cassandra and drag her with us into exile, either. Duncan is right; she’s innocent of any of this. I had my reasons for what I did. I’ll wear the title of traitor for it for the rest of my life. Damned if I’ll put that little girl’s life in danger again for nothing though.’

  ‘You’re mistaken. On both counts. It’s not for nothing. I’m taking her with me.’

  ‘You think I won’t shoot?’ hissed Hesia.

  ‘No, I’m actually quite certain that you will. This is the last chance for both of you.’

  ‘Just lower Cassandra to the ground,’ pleaded Duncan. ‘Let her go, Father Carnehan. If you do, I’ll turn my back and you can all run as far and as fast as you can travel. I won’t shoot at you… you have my word on it. I only want Cassandra with me, unhurt.’

  ‘There are two of us,’ insisted Hesia. ‘We’ve already drawn on you… and both your guns are holstered. You’re just a country priest searching for your son, and now you’ve found him. There’s only one way out of here for you now. Lower the girl to the ground and we can make a run for the gate.’

  She had a point. There was only one way out.

  ‘Father Carnehan—’ implored Duncan. ‘I’m begging you!’

  ‘Jake Silver,’ whispered the pastor.

  ‘What?’

  Quicksilver. The two guns were in his hands, exploding and rocking. Cassandra Skar tumbled towards the black ash-covered rock. Two more bodies crumpled into the dust. Hesia tried to gargle, but it was impossible to make a clear sound with the best part of her throat missing. The shot meant for her had flown high. Must have ricocheted off a fragment of raining rock. Duncan Landor had collapsed, sprawled silently on the ground with a bullet through his heart, exactly where he had aimed it. Still on the ground, blood spreading across the silver foil of his survival suit.

  ‘Dirty bastard,’ moaned Paetro, crawling towards his dead still daughter. ‘My girl, my beautiful little girl. Hesia flew you here. She saved your worthless life.’

  ‘Good people die in wars,’ said Jacob. ‘On every side. That’s why I’ve found it far better to swear off them. But then I didn’t start this one. Your people did.’

  ‘Bastard,’ moaned Paetro. ‘And Duncan, the poor lad was one of your own.’

  ‘Not at the end. Not when it counted. But I’m leaving you alive,’ said Jacob, standing over the writhing guardsman. ‘So you can tell the girl’s mother and grandfather this. Whoever they send, however many they send, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll kill them all. I’m going to start with the emperor’s lackeys in my country, but their blood’s not nearly enough to pay for slaughtering my wife and taking my son. Your stooges are merely going to be what I need to get started. After I’ve finished with the empire’s local puppets, I’ll slay all the skels under the sky. When I’m done with that piece of work, I’m going to be just about getting warmed up. You tell your princess and your emperor I’m counting on them sending a lot more like you. Every soldier and every machine rifle and every fancy, fast ship you can smelt out of this big bloody smoking monstrosity you’ve murdered so many decent people for. Because you’re all just too damn far away from Weyland for me to kill properly. So I’m relying on you to make sure your mistress delivers them up to me. You’ll do it, won’t you? For your noble-blooded little lady here, and your dead, renegade daughter?’

  ‘I’ll kill you!’ shouted Paetro, trying to stand.

  Jacob kicked the officer in the gut, sending him sprawling back onto the ash. ‘Good luck then, Vandian. Even I couldn’t manage that. And curse me, but I tried.’

  He hefted Cassandra Skar’s limp body and walked away into the deep, burning darkness.

  Carter waited with Willow by his side, desperately keeping his promise to his father. Willow stood on a boulder, scanning the murk intently. She wasn’t just looking for the pastor of Northhaven. Willow was convinced she had glimpsed her brother’s face behind a mask out there in the melee. Carter hadn’t seen Duncan Landor. Only dozens of Vandian guardsmen with rifles attempting to kill as many rebellious slaves as possible. If that had been Duncan, then she’d already lost her brother. The stone circle stood behind them, Carter urging the last few stragglers into the spinning circle of fire in its centre. Bodies seemed to dissolve as they struck its orange light. It was a measure of the desperation of their situation that most fled into the portal without a word of argument. But then, the slaves had watched Anna help Owen through first with Doctor Tooky in attendance, and if their leader had passed inside, that was enough for most of them. They marched in, the bravest first, the reluctant later – and the dead last of all. Poor Kerge and his brave father’s corpse. Please God, don’t make me carry my dad back that way. Sariel had disappeared shortly after he activated the stones, warning only that entering the circle was a one-way trip. Now Carter couldn’t even ask the old bard how much longer the gate would remain open. He felt safer than he had any right to. As if the circle of stones was a beacon of light, warding against danger. Even the clouds of thick volcanic ash seemed to twist around the pillar of light and fire, giving those sheltering below a wide berth. But his anxiety remained… the terrible fear that its light would wink out and they would be left stranded here. Carter delaying for his father and Willow refusing to go through without him.

  ‘There!’ shouted Willow.

  Carter scanned the waves of billowing black smoke. A figure? His heart leapt, before sinking as he realised it was Sariel, not his father. The old vagrant limped slowly forward, his wooden walking staff in one hand, the other hand securing a body slung over his back. He carried the Rodalian flyer, Sheplar Lesh. It was hard to tell whose clothes were more torn and blackened between the pair.

  Carter helped Willow take the pilot from the old man’s arms. Shep­lar was unconscious, his face a red mask of blast cuts. ‘You look like you’ve been dragged backward through the infernal regions.’

  ‘Merely paying my respects to one of its callers, Lord Carnehan.’

  ‘Where is my father – did you see him?’

  ‘I caught sight of him once briefly,’ coughed Sariel. ‘But then this base Rodalian rascal dropped a munitions ship on my head, having first secured his safe survival
with a parachute. As to where your father is now, see behind you…’

  Carter nearly choked when he saw his father emerging from the broiling gas clouds. The pastor’s mine survival suit was wreathed with steam, the ground black and burning with every step the man took. His father appeared to have rescued someone too, a small body stretched across his arms. Too compact to be Duncan Landor, surely?

  Willow ran towards the pastor. ‘I thought I saw Duncan out there on the plains. During the attack?’

  ‘Afraid your brother decided to stay put,’ said Jacob, halting before them. ‘But this one’s coming back with us instead.’

  Carter saw a face through the air mask and suddenly realised just who it was his father carried. ‘That’s Lady Cassandra Skar, Princess Helrena’s heir. She’s the emperor’s granddaughter! You do know that?’

  ‘I’m counting on it,’ said Jacob. ‘Careful assassins do a poor job. And we’ll need the aim of King Marcus’s killers to be off for everyone who’s survived the empire’s hospitality.’

  ‘Dump the child on the slope for her guardsmen to find,’ urged Carter. ‘We don’t need her as a hostage.’

  ‘Poor little thing… surely we can leave her behind?’ said Willow.

  ‘I’ll tell you how this’ll go,’ said his father, ‘without this daughter of Vandia. We’ll be back in Northhaven and there’ll be a bandit raid. Except they’ll be the best-armed and best-trained bandits you’ve ever heard of. The town’ll be thoroughly burnt this time, the old and new town. Everyone slaughtered. All the people you brought back counted among the corpses. So you can choose. This little Vandian girl’s freedom, or the lives of hundreds of blameless people you’ve survived alongside in this hell.’

  ‘It’s not right,’ said Carter.

  ‘I can’t offer you shades of right today,’ said his father. ‘Only a choice between wrongs.’

  Willow squeezed Carter’s arm. ‘Maybe we could travel to a country far away from home, after all? It wouldn’t be so bad.’

  ‘Not so bad for us,’ said Carter. ‘What about everyone else? You were right, Willow… there’s not another soul in Weyland who deserves to leave their bones here. The empire’s stolen so much of our lives, how can I let them rob us of our chance of returning home, too? I don’t think I can run away; not even if there’s another fight involved.’

  Sariel walked forward and slapped Jacob on the back. ‘Ransom. Very good. Quite the prize. Wouldn’t it be an irony if you left the centre of the world’s riches a poorer man than you arrived?’

  ‘Did you finish that filthy stealer?’

  ‘I was about to,’ said Sariel. ‘But someone carelessly dropped a vessel full of explosives on me. The unchin-snouted flap-dragon scurried away in the blast’s aftermath. Apolleon doesn’t heal as well as I do, so at least we won’t be encountering him in the next few hours.’ Sariel indicated the stone circle, the pillar of fire stretching from the menhirs to the poisonous, rolling clouds trapped below the sky. ‘There are, however, a horde of his unhappy friends currently crashing against the walls of our world, trying to overload the stones. It would far better if we start our journey before my concentration falters and they succeed.’

  Jacob limped towards the open gate, carrying the hostage. Carter walked after his father, Willow at his side. He had a nagging premonition that this was only the beginning.

  EPILOGUE

  The farm boy walked home towards the town, Landor coins in his pocket and Landor wheat heads stuck against his simple woollen shirt. He’d been working late in the summer heat. The days were long and so were the hours, attempting to bring in the harvest with so few hands. But the pay was better than it had ever been, so who was he to complain? A fabric bag dangled from the end of the wooden stick slung over his shoulder. This morning it had contained his lunch. Now it was full of vegetables and a good-sized hunk of bacon. A little off-the-book extra from a farm manager eager to make sure he turned up at the fields next week, rather than arriving at one of the rival farms for day-work. He tramped down the road, humming to himself, pine trees on either side, the red threads of evening staining the sky and chasing the setting sun lower. Up ahead was where the mountain road to Rodal joined the king’s highway. That was when he heard it. A mad sound. As loud as a festival in full swing, but crying and weeping mixed in among all the songs and cheering. Heading down the mountain road and getting louder. He stopped, startled, at the sight that greeted him. Hundreds of young men and women. A caravan without a single wagon, cart, horse or pony on the road. Clothes as outlandish as any traveller’s he had seen. Some in silvery suits, men with metallic-trousers and bare chests where they had torn off their clothes, women in dirty grey tunics, others in metal armour, strange black rifles hanging from nearly every shoulder like the weirdest shooting party ever to tramp across a Northhaven woodland. He waited uncertainly for the shambling mass of people to turn the corner and lead the way to the town ahead of him. An old man sauntered slowly down the mountain road with a few stragglers strung out behind him. If this elderly coot was a traveller, he was the poorest sort. Definitely a vagabond. He saw the boy and raised his gnarled walking staff in greeting.

  ‘Have you hiked in from Rodal?’ asked the boy. ‘Pilgrims from one of the mountain temples?’

  ‘These wayward knaves have wandered down from somewhere a little higher than Rodal,’ said the old man. ‘And a little further too.’

  ‘Never seen any caravan like this,’ said the boy, his voice cracking in wonder.

  ‘Oh, there’s a quite the tale behind it,’ agreed the old man. ‘It deserves to be told. It needs to be told as far and as wide as Weyland’s borders. Whispered in every ear and spread across every league of the land. Because if you can’t learn from history, you are surely doomed to repeat it.’

  ‘Maybe later. I have to get home. Ma’s on her own. She needs my help to prepare supper.’

  ‘Surely she can wait? My story concerns the true heir of Weyland and an evil king, distant lands, unwise rulers, slavery and battles, and the terrible travails of ordinary folks not so very different from you. It also features the prince of players, of whom it is said no more noble a figure ever—’

  But the boy wasn’t listening anymore. He had seen two ghosts shambling down the mountain road. Two ghosts that looked a lot like his dead older sisters. He ran towards them, the old vagrant’s last words lost to the wind and empty road around him.

  ‘—and suddenly… Ma wasn’t quite so much on her own.’

  Duncan struggled to consciousness as though he was drowning in a sea of acid, straining through a dark surf of pain – every last iota of agony, all his. Surgeons, doctors and medical staff everywhere, a quick glimpse of Paetro’s familiar face among the white masks and strangers, soldiers lying on medical stretchers under bright white lights. Screams, moans, the hiss of strange machinery trying to pump and inject life back into dozens of burnt and dying fighters. And there was a woman’s voice, yelling, one he dimly recognised even through his drug-infused befuddlement. Helrena. Straddled across an operating table near Duncan’s, her limbs flailing, orderlies trying to hold her down as surgeons picked metal from the crashed ship jutting out of her flesh. One of the doctors called for an anaesthetist, but he could barely be heard over the princess’s howls for her daughter – for vengeance.

  Paetro’s deep reassuring timbre spun out of the confusion, but Duncan couldn’t quite focus on the man – perhaps the surgeon’s blade slicing into him, the pleas for something called a ventricular suction pump, were too much of a distraction? He tried to peer through the bobbing white forms busy around him, surrounding where he was lying down. ‘It’s a disaster, lad. A bloody nose and no mistake. Half of us blown to pieces and our sky mines empty, the rebels fled.’ There. Duncan found the soldier at the other end of the trolley, distorted by dizzying waves. Paetro clutched tightly to a crumpled, blood-stained medal. The same one that Lady Cassandra had given away. It seemed its luck had held good, at least as far as deflecting th
e bullet meant for Duncan’s heart was concerned. But the young girl’s luck…? If Duncan could have overcome the disabling pain, he would have wept.

  ‘Aye, there’ll be a reckoning for this debacle,’ Paetro continued. ‘First from the emperor… looking for someone to blame. And we have to survive it. You have to survive it. If we’re going to see the young Highness back home safely. And pay them back for this damned humiliation. I want to be there for that.’

  Duncan tried to say something, to reassure his friend, but it escaped as a guttural choking sound and the taste of blood.

  ‘—defibrillator.’

  ‘—going into seizure,’

  A trapdoor opened along the operating table and Duncan plunged into total darkness.

  COPYRIGHT

  A Gollancz eBook

  Copyright © Stephen Hunt 2014

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Stephen Hunt to be identified as the author

  of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by

  Gollancz

  The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

  Orion House

  5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane

  London, WC2H 9EA

  An Hachette UK Company

  This eBook first published in 2014 by Gollancz

  A CIP catalogue record for this book

  is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978 0 575 09208 2

  All characters and events in this publication are fictitious

  and any resemblance to real persons, living

  or dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

  a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means,

  without the prior permission in writing of the publisher,

  nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or