Beggar's Rebellion: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Empire of Resonance Book 1)

by L. W. Jacobs

  “But that core should be enough to continue with our old strategy.” Karhail nodded and shifted on his furs. “You are a good leader, Tai of Ayugen.”

  “I’m not asking to take over your rebellion, Karhail. I’m asking for a few men to try and save it. Pendra has already said she’d go.”

  “I’ll go too,” Weiland put in.

  “And I,” Lumo said.

  “And I as well,” Karhail growled. “I will not stand by while there is aught to fight.”

  Others began to volunteer, but Tai held up a hand. “I want this small and moveable. This is as many as I can carry. The rest of you, stay here and tend to the wounded, defend the caves. We will send word if we’re successful.”

  “And if you’re not?” an Achuri man asked, bandages wrapping his bare abdomen.

  “Then run,” Tai said. “You cannot stand against an army.”

  They pushed off a few minutes later, Tai’s body groaning under the weight.

  “The Arbiter’s rooms are likely at the top of the Tower,” he called over the wind. “That’s where I found him today. We send Weiland down the outside, looking in rooms till he finds the Arbiter, then we smash in and take him.”

  “What do you expect for resistance?” Karhail shouted back.

  “He was guarded mainly by timeslips this afternoon,” Tai said. “Though they had the strength of brawlers too.”

  “Timeslip brawlers?”

  “This thing is possible,” Lumo rumbled. “I did not know the Councilate also knew of it.”

  “Either way,” Tai said, “let’s hope there are no guards in his immediate sleeping quarters. Our best chance is to be in and out before the guards hear.”

  They were over Newgen now, city walls stippled in torchlight. “I will fight,” Tai said, “but disengage as soon as anyone has the Arbiter. Leap from the Tower and I will catch you, and come back for the rest.”

  “There are too many of us to carry, with the arbiter,” Weiland observed.

  “Aye.”

  There was nothing more to say. Tai put them down on the ceramic ring surrounding the Tower’s domed glass peak. Tai described the arbiter briefly to Weiland, and the slip sped away. The inward-spiraling rooms each had a roof of a few feet before the walls of the room started above, providing a narrow walkway that spiraled the length of the Tower.

  They sat in silence, waiting for the slip to return.

  “Did you mean what you said,” Lumo rumbled, “about running if we fail?”

  “Yes,” Tai said, gnawing a stick of dried wintermelon. “I do not want to see any more die if we have no other strategy to win.”

  Karhail was silent. “You would be welcome,” Lumo said, “in my home in the mountains, if you wish to come. My people are curious about you.”

  Tai wanted to ask more, but Weiland returned. “About two spirals down, facing south. Long stretch of blue glass. Room looks empty, just him and a woman. Next room over has five or so men on guard, blue-bands all.”

  Tai looked at each in turn. “Are you all sure you want to do this? There is no guarantee we survive.”

  “Never was,” Weiland said, face grim. The rest nodded and clung to Tai.

  He shoved off, wafting them down the south side of the pyramid. “There,” Weiland whispered.

  Tai nodded, pushing them back a ways. “Hold on.”

  He shoved forward, arrowing them at the glass. The men stiffened around him, uai crackling, and with a crash, they broke into the room.

  Glass flew everywhere. The Arbiter sprang from bed, Weiland already on him. His woman screamed, and the door burst open with guards.

  Tai shoved back, waiting for the slip to escape with Sablo, but high-pitched shouts said another slip had intercepted him. Tai darted back in, plowing a non-slipped fighter toward the far wall.

  The man blurred under him, and Tai slammed into the wall instead, stars exploding. He shoved up instinctively, a blade appearing in the wood where he’d been. He dropped to kick at the man but met only air. Tai cursed, shoving up. The room was a half-lit blur of battle, woman on the bed still screaming. Were they all timeslips? It was impossible to fight men this fast.

  Something slammed into him, blurring. A timeslip wafter. Tai reacted on instinct, shoving away from him with air. The fighter bounced off a bookshelf, volumes flying, and Tai pressed him against the wall with air. Slip or no, he wasn’t strong enough to fight the push, and Tai dropped him with a savage kick to the head.

  He spun. Another soldier was down, Lumo and Karhail back to back as sped-up battle raged around them. Sablo had retreated as far as the doorway.

  “No, you don’t.” Tai slammed it shut with air and shot himself toward the Arbiter. The door burst open, more fighters behind. Tai flipped in the air and met them feet-first, crashing into the first man’s chest and driving them back through the door.

  He pushed back through, nearly losing his head as the Arbiter swung a broadsword at him. Tai ducked, then punched the older man in the gut. Fighters boiled back through the door, but Karhail and Lumo were there to meet them, sword and staff flashing. Pendra lay on the bed, bleeding from her side, but Weiland appeared beside him, Councilate slips dead or incapacitated.

  “Guys,” Tai yelled, grabbing the coughing Arbiter, “we gotta go!”

  He shot for the broken window, then jerked back as a brawler leapt through, thick hammer in his hands. He fell to Weiland, throat gushing red a moment later, but more would be coming from outside. Karhail and Lumo were still fighting at the door. He could leave now, take Weiland and the Arbiter and run…

  “Get them free,” he snapped, dropping Sablo. “I’ll hold them off here.”

  Weiland zipped toward the door. Tai stepped out the window to find a horde of fighters running up the ledge toward them. He took a deep breath and shoved air at them from the side.

  The first four or five shot off the ledge, most falling. One bounced up and drew bow and arrow. Tai cursed, blasting another handful of fighters from the ledge, then shoved himself back in time for an arrow to slice through where he’d been. With a glance back into the room—chaos—he shot up at the wafter, catching him with two arms. Shoving in opposite directions, he spun them once, twice, then slung the wafter away toward the Genga.

  Tai spotted wafters leaving the city walls, having heard the noise. “Meck,” he cursed, shooting back toward the opening.

  The room was flooded with fighters, his friends keeping a perimeter around a dazed Sablo. Tai drew breath and blew a hole in the crowd, men flying to either side. He did it again, trying to make a line of exit for the brawlers. “Karhail! Let’s go!”

  Something punched into his back, burning. An arrow. The room swam, and Tai pushed himself into the crowd as another shot in. Karhail met him, blood running from a wound in his chest.

  “Let’s go!” Karhail roared. Lumo came on his heels, Sablo under his arm, while a blurred Weiland held the room off.

  Tai held out his arms, body unsteady but resonance strong. They grabbed on and he shoved backward.

  Into a storm of arrows. Another punched into his shoulder, Lumo and Karhail crying out as they were hit. Tai shoved outward and the world grayed, air rushing past. They were falling. He shoved up again, heart thudding, consciousness a wet eel. He couldn’t make it to the walls. None of them would, under this many archers.

  “Raah!” he yelled, shoving the opposite way. He would get them as far as he could. The archers followed, Weiland catching what he could as they half-flew, half-dropped toward the rooftops of Newgen, world fuzzing in and out.

  “Slips below!” Karhail wheezed, and Tai knew it was bad, very bad, he should keep pushing—

  They hit with a crash, bouncing off a stone wall and onto a short bridge. Tai tried to get up and couldn’t, then watched in a lucid moment as Karhail fell, spraying blood. Sablo shouted something, Lumo bellowing too, but their tones grew round and melodious, like the horns of Winterseve—

  38

  This Prophet is an
illusion of the heat, like time and money and ownership. Who has ever owned the sky? Who has ever conquered the tribes? Let their Prophet come to the motherland, and we will see if he can lead the People.

  —At’li man near ice sheet, Markels, Travels in the South: At’li and Achuri

  “What were you doing in here?” the officer demanded.

  Ella struck resonance, scene slowing: shattered window, soldiers pouring into her room, indentation next to her on the bed where Tai had been. Think, Ella. Tell them a story—or run now, slip out before they have a chance to react.

  Except the city was locked, gates barred to anyone outside or in. There was nowhere to run.

  Ella took a deep breath and dropped resonance, widening her eyes. “Officer, thank Prophets!” She clutched hands to her chest. “He just broke in here and—” She shook her head, as though overwhelmed by it all.

  The man’s face darkened. “I’m sorry, miss. After him! Summon the wafters! He went east!”

  Men ran from the room, shouting.

  “The rest of you, form a perimeter. Give the woman a moment.” He turned back apologetically. “We’ll need to question you when you’re ready.”

  “Surely,” she nodded. “Just give me a moment.”

  The men formed up outside the door. Ella went behind the privy curtain to dress, belting her money on and stepping into boots. No sense in not being careful.

  She stepped out. “Okay. I’m ready to talk.”

  The captain cleared his throat, a superior at his shoulder. “We just need to ask a few questions.”

  The superior spoke, a black-haired man with a fair number of stripes to his coat. “Lieutenant Beardsly tells me you were…held by the rebel; is that right, Ms. Aygla?”

  She winced. Her name was apparently known after the arbitration. “Yes. He came in and forced me to harbor him.”

  “Mm-hmm.” The man sounded noncommittal. “Have you had any other…dealings with the rebellion?”

  “None! What is this about?”

  “The neighbors overheard you talking with someone. They said it did not sound like a forced or violent conversation. Nor did Lieutenant Beardsly find you in a particularly violent posture on entry.”

  “He forced his way in!” Ella added a shudder.

  “But you talked at some length.”

  She nodded. “I tried to talk him down. These— The rebels, they’re scared. He wants to turn himself in, and I was trying to convince him to let me go, to go together.”

  “I see. If you’ll…wait a moment?”

  Ella nodded, fear beginning to bubble in her stomach. The higher-up didn’t seem nearly as sympathetic as the captain. The neighbors overhearing was a problem, but…

  Sablo strode in.

  Ella controlled her shock.

  “Ella. Would that we met under more pleasant circumstances.” A man zipped past Sablo, stopping at her only other exit, the broken window. Not good.

  “Agreed. Though I will say I’m glad to see you survived the attack.”

  Sablo regarded her a moment. “Do you know why we came to your room specifically, Ella?”

  She was about to say no, then it clicked: their first date, when Tai had appeared following the attack. Sablo had intuited something between them. Then tonight, when wondering where Tai had gone, he’d remembered.

  “You suspect me of rebel sympathies.” Ella weighed her options—the slip at the window, or the men at the door, the risk of trying to escape from inside.

  “Gainsel,” Sablo snapped, “she’s thinking of escaping.”

  Ella gasped.

  “I’m a mindseye, Ella. It’s part of the reason I make such a good High Arbiter. I’ve known about you and Tai from the start, and I overlooked it for the information it offered. But this…this is treason.”

  “No. Disowning me in the courtroom was treason. This is justice.”

  Sablo’s brows knit. He raised a hand, beginning to shout—

  Ella struck resonance softly and began to run toward him. Sablo and the guards moved in slowed reaction, and Ella glanced back to see the slip coming for her, leaving the window open. Good.

  Another step closer and she struck harder. The slip slowed, Sablo and the others freezing in place. Ella reversed direction, earthquake rumble of shouts around her, and dodged past the slip’s honey-slow grab.

  Out the window, stepping carefully. The ledge was less than a pace across, and Ella couldn’t help looking over the side.

  Distance contracted, the ground rushing up, and she wobbled, vertigo rising in her. She hated heights.

  “Focus,” she whispered, harsh, and forced her eyes to the wall. The crunch of glass behind her announced the slip coming, and she walked quickly, unable to run, spiraling down the outside of the Tower.

  The roof curved gently, Tower wide this close to the bottom, and Ella cursed the amount of time it was taking. A slip on the inside would be down faster, would be at the bottom waiting. Not to mention a wafter, if they had one. She walked faster, one hand on the glass wall to steady herself.

  Another revolution around the Tower, ground still dizzyingly far. This was taking too long. She caught a glimpse of the slip above, a row higher, winding his way down. He heard her, looked back in honey-slow motion, then jumped to her level, seeming to float down.

  “Scatstains.” Her deeper slip was the only thing saving her—she needed to go faster. Heart in her throat, Ella crouched, facing the wall, let her legs dangle, and fell.

  The slip followed, slower but steady. “Shattermeck,” she cursed, dropping another level. She risked a look down: still too far.

  She dropped another level, another, fear keeping her only slightly ahead of the slip, who was working his way down and closer. Ella dropped faster, beginning to trust the distance, not looking back.

  Until her feet hit something more solid. Cobblestones. She looked down, thanked the currents, and ran.

  Newgen was a trap. Ella outran the slip shortly after reaching the ground, the man’s yura-limited uai running out, but the front gates were barred, sentries on the walls. The way down to the ruined bluffmanses was closed as well—she might have hidden there for days without discovery. Instead, she crouched in the water under one of the shorter bridges, visible only if someone dropped to the waterline as well.

  People came after her, soldiers walking and calling her name, wafters checking rooftops. They had no reason to worry. Unless someone opened the gate, she was trapped. They’d find her when the sun rose.

  Ella shivered. The water under the bridge was not deep, rising only to her waist as she crouched, but it was cold this far south, even in summer, not like the tepid waters of Worldsmouth. For once, she wished she were there, able to slip into the crowds of people, one more light-haired woman among many.

  Instead, she was alone on the southern edge of the known world, not a calculor, not a scholar, wanted by the Councilate for involvement with a rebellion. What was she doing?

  You just got caught up in events. Letting the street tough in was a mistake.

  But it wasn’t a mistake. Ella knew that as clearly as she’d known anything in her life. The emptiness she’d felt after defeating Odril, the need she’d felt helping those wounded soldiers, Tai had filled it for a moment. There was a purpose there worth serving, something bigger than herself. The rebellion, the end of the Councilate, or just—helping another human being. It had felt right with him. Though for all she knew, he could be dead by now.

  The stars hadn’t wheeled far in the sky, Prophet’s Spear still high in the east, when she heard a crash from the Tower and the shouts of fighting. Ella crept from her hiding place, risking a glance west at the Tower, but she could make nothing out, just far-off shouts.

  They came closer after a time, then the walkway near her shuddered as a group of men slammed into it, yells and shouts of battle quickly reducing to a gurgling scream and barked orders.

  “Leave him alive!” “Back to the Tower!” “You and you, get me an escort
! You, hold him down!” “Drag those bodies off!” “Alive, I said! Bind those wounds!”

  Ella crouched, shivering, a single thought in her head: Was it Tai? Had he come back to save her? Was he one of the bodies they were dragging off?

  She had to know. Ella slid from her position, rising high enough to see along the walkway at boot level. A cluster of men stood ten paces off, Councilate by their coats, several more bodies on the ground. It was impossible to tell in the dark who was who, if any were Tai. A soldier knelt, wrapping bindings around the neck and shoulder of one, none of the men moving.

  She should duck back down. They might see her at any moment. Ella knew this but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  Another group of white coats trotted up, fisting salutes. “What now, sir?”

  “The prison. We’ll see what we can get out of him before he dies.”

  “Right.” They rolled a body onto a cloth between them and lifted it like a hammock to walk toward the gates. A foot slipped from the sling, dangling along the side. A bandaged foot.

  Ella gasped, recognizing the bandages. Tai. It was Tai. And he was alive, at least. Fear followed hard on the heels of relief. We’ll see what we can get out of him before he dies.

  He couldn’t die. Not now. If he went, so did the rebellion’s hopes. And hers, for better or worse. She was one of them now.

  Ella struck resonance and pulled herself onto the walkway as the men passed. There were too many to fight even in slip, and no guarantee some of them weren’t slips, anyway. Her dress was soaked, dripping onto the boardwalk, and she hurriedly wrung it out, not wanting to leave a trail. Then she stilled her uai, watching the party pass through the gates.

  She waited for the gates to start closing, then ran. She struck resonance, pulling her boots off to run fast and soft down the remaining walkway, and slipped through the gates just before they ground shut. With any luck, the guards inside would notice nothing but a faint breeze as she passed. Ella dodged around the soldier’s party, just barely out the gate, and found an overturned wagon to hide behind. There was still the risk that the sentries on the wall would spot her, but nothing to be done about that. When the party was far enough away, Ella slipped again and ran through the mavenstym fields, angling east and north for the nearest row of houses.