“NOLAN!”
That wasn’t right. “Shuddup. Tryna get some rest with my friends.”
“NOLAN, LIFT YOUR FOOT. DO IT FOR ME,” came the voice in Nolan’s head
In my head? How? Nolan thought, but sluggish—so sluggish—
“NOLAN, LIFT YOUR FOOT NOW.”
“Ch—Cherry?” He knew that voice. Why was she yelling?
“Lift your foot—that’s it,” Cherry said. She wasn’t yelling, anyway. That was better. Nolan moved a toe. Something pulled at it, and pain lanced up his leg.
“The fuck—” Nolan jerked his foot away, spinning. He was— “How the fuck did I get naked?”
“Naked? What the hell’s going on down there?” Avina said, her voice urgent.
“I don’t—”
“Put your fingers in your ears, Nolan. Now,” Cherry said.
“I—okay.” He did.
The bells stopped. The song died.
“Holy shit.” Nolan snapped his feet back, kicking at his boots, which he’d managed to take off—along with his jacket, shirt, and one pant leg. “The bells. The song.”
“Chimegrass isn’t a plant. It’s an animal,” Cherry said.
“I get that now. Fuck me, it’s so subtle. Am I awake now?” Nolan asked Cherry.
“You are. Permission to run an aural blocker?” Cherry asked.
“Granted.”
Something hummed in his ears, and Nolan dropped his hands with cautious relief. The song was gone.
“Tell Avina,” Cherry said.
Nolan yelled up to Avina, explaining what happened. For a stunned moment she was quiet, then she spoke, stress flooding her tone.
“What do you want?” Avina said.
Nolan looked at the dense, swaying chimegrass growing among all the bones.
“Earplugs, just in case the aural—you know what, just earplugs. And a big-ass knife,” Nolan said. Then cupped his hands and yelled, “Disregard the knife. Brought my own.”
Nolan detached his axe and began to limber up with a couple practice swings.
He spoke to the chimegrass in a conversational tone as the axe hissed through the air. “Doubt you can understand me, but just to let you know—”
Nolan swung the axe in a savage arc. The chimegrass rippled in response as the blade bit deep. “I hope it hurts.”
Drone Download: Report 3
Despite being sore and in need of sleep, Nolan came aware the instant he sensed Jack’s request for connection via his internal link.
Report, Jack. I’m here.
Diane forwards data as well. Two large cities, in the south and north, are hives of action. Assassins are working in the south, a place called Marwai. They carry technology that is not of this world.
What is it?
A blade. We have detected other items with similar signatures, none of which register with any known manufacturer. There is also a method of communication that is on the verge of Tier One. It is called Thread, and can carry images and sound like original televisions.
Nolan mulled that. Now they were getting somewhere, though the sheer size of the planet meant that anything short of orbital jump planes would make control of the continent an impossibility. Any info on who built this place? Or the Starway, or the cable, for that matter?
None, but we do have a date, and an origin of the population. Four thousand plus years ago, humans arrived here from earth. We think it likely they did so in the slow colony ships that were corporate ventures, Jack reported.
Holy. Shit. Four thousand years? But no connection to the cable? Or the Starway?
None detected. Do you have additional orders? Is our firewall with Cherry still in place?
Yeah. For now. I’ll let her know at the last possible moment. Command stays active. Got any video?
Playing now.
The scene was Corra, taken from outside a high window in—a castle. It was a castle, and there was no other term for it. She looked quite different from before, and Nolan watched her interact with people who could only be her advisors. There was an ease about the room that said more than any pilfered recording could.
Who are those other people? Nolan asked.
We have compiled a list of names and ranks. In essence, Corra is being positioned for control over the entire river valley and its deltas. Diane sees signs of troop movement and cavalry in the deserts.
Cavalry? That is—I never thought I’d see anything like that. It’s so. . .archaic. And they have no knowledge of the stars?
Many of these people do not. But we have reason to believe that all is not as it seems, here. This is a world that was once colonized, once abandoned, and even now has a high infant mortality rate. There are raids, and skirmishes, but no large-scale wars, Jack stated.
Nolan did the math, and didn’t like his conclusion. Biological? Something killing these people?
Possible. Should we pursue that question? Jack asked.
Nolan paused, uncertain he even wanted to know. But he did, of course. He had to know. Do it. And Jack? Find out what kind of weapons we’re looking at. If we come east to step in, I don’t want to find out there are ancient ship masers or artillery tucked away in that pile of rock.
Understood. We will find out, Nolan. We have battery power to spare.
Nolan sighed. I’m glad one of us does.
Chapter Nine
Balant
Beneath the vast kitchen level of Sindelaar, Balant sat at a heavy wooden table, hands wrapped around a bottle of mulled wine. The space was dusty, open, and hemmed with rough timbers high above smooth walls so different from the nine upper floors. This was the old space, walls poured into molds long before North’r built the castle overhead, and other than occasional cracks, still intact after a thousand years and more.
It was empty save the table, the Marchwarden, and two men sitting across from him, both grizzled veterans with white beards and swords at the hip. Their faces were deeply lined, chapped from the cold, and grateful to be inside, though the reason for the meeting left much to be desired.
“It’s time,” Balant said, turning the bottle in an offering to his companions.
Accepting, the smaller man took an appreciative pull, then passed the bottle sideways before wiping his mouth with a huge hand, knuckles scarred and worn. Droft was everything the kingdom needed just then—steady, quiet, loyal, and strong. His partner Witsen was similar, choosing to serve the people of Snow from a distance, where they could work without interference.
Droft answered, voice gruff with disgust. “Figured, once the Thread went down. She’s coming, then?”
“Ulwith sent a second message, away from other eyes. She’s in transit, tucked into a barge and sleeping away the klicks, but when she gets here, everything must be ready. We always knew it might go like this, but—” He waved helplessly around, anger flushing his pale cheeks.
“I knew we’d be here as soon as that wicked conjurer abandoned her post. Every web needs a spider, lest it go on killin’ without conscience,” Witsen said. He was right. Silence would unravel in a bloodbath and take every other kingdom with it unless a stable hand could intervene. The deserts were vicious, but the grasslands had roaming tribes who could swarm north or south based on the whims of their leaders, and it would take nothing short of total war to stop them once they crossed the borders.
“Any news of the king and queen? What about Ren’s family?” asked Droft. He’d known them since their election to the throne. He also knew Balant was avoiding the topic because it should have been the second thing he spoke of after Corra’s safety.
The Marchwarden ran a hand over his short hair, rubbing at an old scar. “Nothing yet, but it’s a big river.”
“It’s also a deep one,” Droft answered.
“Aye, and none too friendly for those of us with feet, not fins.” Witsen spat onto the smooth floor, his anger rising at the stupidity of it all. To lose one crown was devastating, but to lose them all spelled the end of the world if they coul
dn’t protect Corra and stitch together a nation, or something like it.
“Who’s watching the castle?” Droft asked. He knew Vondaar wasn’t alone. He would have friends, and they would have access to a Thread of their own, no doubt.
“Discreet eyes and ears, everywhere from kitchen to tower. If anyone looks askance, I’ll know, but that’s not what concerns me. I know those meddling scum have spies in Sindelaar, but it’s the ones on the river that worry me. I can’t dispatch riders to meet Corra because no one can know where she is.”
“Or how many have survived. Or died,” Droft added. “Do you think any of them got out?” He thought of the report, of fire and water and chaos, and wondered who could survive such a conflagration.
“Corra lived,” Witsen said. “She’s half our size, but we’ve seen her train and fight. She can swim like a halfkin and kick like a horndall. If she lived, others could too.”
“A fair point,” Balant admitted. “We don’t know, so it’s best to work with the idea that Corra must be ready.”
“For what? All of it? Silence? How many cavalry can we muster, three thousand? Please tell me you don’t expect us to hold Silence from those howlers with only three thousand mounts. Can’t be done. To even try it in the west—it’s the end of us. Of our armies. Of Snow.” Droft was right, even if it hurt to say it, but honesty took precedence over politics among the North’r, even when the news was grim.
“General Stera did it with five times that many, and only for a year until Silence stopped burning long enough to elect a queen,” Witsen recalled. He looked like a ruffian, but his knowledge of history was endless.
“That was five hundred years ago, too, when the Cablers still kept to the water. Their agents are abroad in Marwai, the deltas, even here, if we look hard enough. I don’t trust them, and I don’t trust anyone in Silence,” Balant said, jabbing the table with a thick finger.
“Then we’d better hope Ainault is up to the task. How long does he have to get her ready?” Droft asked.
“She’s already trained, but she needs something more. It’s not enough that she can shoot and ride or swing a blade. Any fool can swing a blade, but diplomacy comes with age, and we’re asking her to quell an uprising mere weeks after she was pulled from the river next to the corpse of her king. It’s going to be at the limits of her ability, and ours. That’s why I need you to use the tunnels and open the Deep Origin. Now. We take her through here, out of sight and safe, and when she comes out of the fog of sleep, we put an edge on our sword and see if she can do the cutting.” Balant looked over their shoulders at the wall.
A hidden passage led under Sindelaar, cut through solid rock and running unbroken to the back of a greenhouse known only to the inner circle, and even then, not all of them truly understood the purpose of the secret place. Inside was a garden, and library, and training ground where the great kings and queens of Sindelaar grew lethal under masters whose names were little more than historical rumors.
In the extensive records kept by Penman Olrute and those who came before him, there were many names with vague job descriptions, a fact that was intentional when it came to anyone associated with the Deep Origin. Corra would be pushed hard, hard enough to break, but a queen wasn’t crowned, she was forged.
Unless she broke. If that happened, then it was war and nothing else.
“Will you be there when she wakes?” Droft asked, his face a mask of worry.
“No, but I will,” Master Ainault said from the doorway.
“Quiet as ever, I see,” Balant remarked. The three soldiers grinned at the sudden appearance of Sindelaar’s swordmaster, who made a habit of moving unseen and unheard.
He leaned against the doorframe with a slouching indifference, though his eyes glittered in the lamplight. “Silence is my business,” he drawled, walking to the table with a smooth, rolling gait. “Just as it’s yours, and that of our queen, if we can make her ready before the world shakes itself apart.”
“The distinction being that yours is the art of quiet, where hers will be a land twice the size of Snow,” Balant countered.
“I disagree,” Ainault argued, though he spoke as an old friend rather than a churlish combatant. “If she is to ride south, it must be with the quiet of a first snow—at least until she’s in the heart of that wasteland they call an empire. Then, she must announce her presence with authority and win the people, if they can be convinced to rally at a single point. Everything we do from this point forth must further that end, and any energy we waste will bring us closer to ruin. As an added task, along the way we’ll have to deal with Venessa, Turgos, and their spies. They won’t allow this crown to go unclaimed, not when they can talk their way into the North’r hearts with promises of a unified empire.”
“I could not agree more,” Balant said.
Ainault took the bottle with a thankful smile to Droft. “How long before you can arm the cavalry?”
“They’re already armed. The question is bringing them in from the Faunhills,” Droft answered. “It’s a two day ride to the closest eastern towns, and a full five days to the heart of it. If we leave tomorrow, we’ll be lucky to get the tribes in, fed, and rested before we strike south, saying nothing of the Mergansi in the west.”
“Will they answer the call?” Ainault asked. His gaze lingered on Witsen, whose family had deep roots in the wildest regions near the Clockstones. Suspicious and introverted, the Mergansi were the least domesticated of all North’r, second only to the Faunhill in distance from the stabilizing presence of Sindelaar.
“Some will, out of a lust for blood. Some won’t because we asked, and still others will run and hide, but, yes, we will have enough of their sword arms when we go south,” Witsen answered.
“I’m more interested in their bows,” Ainault replied. The Mergansi were past masters of archery, having a culture built on hunting the snow plains that swept west from the Clockstones into the low valleys, where there were entire months of green grass and sunshine.
“As am I, but their accuracy with a flight of arrows won’t build an empire,” Witsen said.
“Nor will the ability of a single woman riding south, but here we are, and it’s up to us to see that she gets the opportunity. I’ve seen her grow from a child to a widow in far too few years, and I’ll die before I let her miss the chance to do what she was meant to do,” Ainault retorted.
“There is purpose enough for all under the skies of war, Ainault. You need only do your part, and we shall do ours. I have every faith in your ability to bring her the final steps, even if it is only that she may join her husband under the waves, or in the stars themselves,” Balant said with rough urgency. “I would prefer that neither of them was lost to us, but it all comes to this moment. This is the final cataract we must navigate, after all these years as an empire, lost in our own thoughts up here among the snow and rocks.”
“We weren’t lost, Balant.” Ainault tipped the bottle and finished it with a grand smack of his lips. “Only waiting.”
Nolan
West
“Owen was right,” Crowe said, tapping his knuckle against a dried length of chimegrass. “I’ve never seen anything like this that wasn’t engineered in orbit. You could build a skyhook to the moons with this stuff.”
“Four stories will do for now,” Nolan said. “But I like having the option.”
Around them, the kids swarmed under Owen’s patient direction. They weren’t just building on the high ground; they were taking the high ground. There were two springs and a clear runoff that carved a stony path down the hillside, exposing rocks of brilliant colors in the noonday sun. With help from Owen, Cherry, and Nolan’s experiences on Brightline, they were going to build for the long run. No one thought that rescue ships were ever going to arrive, and even if they did, there was nowhere to go. At Hardline, it was all people without a home, a history, and for some of them, nothing more than each other.
They would start anew, and it would happen right there, in
one small oasis of safety.
Relative safety, that is.
“What happens in the future? When they find this place?” Crowe asked. He looked haunted as the words tumbled out of his mouth. Nolan squeezed his shoulder; he understood. Up until now, every plan he’d envisioned had been temporary—a place to hide, his aura of safety shattered by the events at Sunward.
“I’m not naïve, so you’re right about it being when, not if we’re discovered. That doesn’t mean we won’t do everything we can to be ready. Tell me, why did Sunward fall? What’s the one thing you would have changed?” Nolan said.
He winced, sifting the memories of death and loss, but Crowe was tough. He squared his shoulders, then pulled at his chin, giving the question a careful moment.
After a long, silent pause, his shoulders fell. “I thought the cliff would substitute for offense. I thought we could withdraw and stay out of sight. I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my entire life.”
“You won’t be wrong again. You did what you could with what you had, but that was a one-off. You have my word. Sometimes, it takes a few fighters to turn the tide, because those fighters have new ideas, tactics, concerns. Our concerns are the same—survival. Our hardware has changed, and so has our location. Trust me, Crowe. We’re going to make those fuckers bleed until they’re pale, and the cost is too high for anyone to dare striking at us again,” Nolan said.
“I—I believe you, Nolan,” he said.
“Good. Because I need you—the real you, not a man who thinks he’s only here because of spilled blood. You deserve to live, and so do the rest of your people. With Owen and Hardline, we’re not the same target. In fact, we’re not a target at all,” Nolan said, looking over the growing site.
“I’d say you’re right,” Avina said as she sauntered up the hill. She was squinting into the light with approval, a tool belt around her narrow waist. She had rounded hips, and the belt looked a lot better on her than Nolan, who gave her a frank look of approval.
Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series Page 14