Haliden's Fire

by Chris Sendrowski

  “So… “ the man at the desk said, “I ask again, what brings you to this place?”

  “We were trying to pass through the mountain,” Haliden said.

  “And where did you think you were going?”

  “The Block,” Haliden replied. “We are runners with a venermin.”

  Excited chatter rippled throughout the crowd.

  “Runners?” someone said. “So it’s true? The Breath is real?”

  “Very real,” Evetner replied. “And it’s only days away now.”

  “We must rejoice, then,” the old man named Tywin proclaimed. “This is a blessing.”

  “Call it what you want,” Evetner said. “We have a job to fulfill. Is there passage through the mountain or not?”

  The man at the desk laughed. “Passage? From here? You’re in Marigel now. The great, forgotten city. There is no leaving.”

  “Both passages are bound with magic,” a young woman said. “You can enter the city. But there is no leaving. At least not with your flesh.”

  Haliden shook his head. All this way… just to be trapped?

  No. We will find a way. There’s always a way.

  “Are there no chargers still amongst you?” Haliden asked.

  An old man sitting beside him laughed. “If there were we would have broken the gates and strung them magic bastards up turns ago.”

  “Have you tried digging past the barriers?” Evetner asked.

  “Digging… climbing… everything,” the man at the desk said. “Every idea has been tried and many have died in the attempts. We are trapped here.”

  “There’s always a way,” Evetner said. “Every wall has its weakness. Even walls of magic.”

  “You’ve been in Marigel a day, boy. Give it some time. You’ll see there is nothing you can do here but survive.”

  “Do as you wish,” Evetner said. “We’re going to the Block. With or without your help.”

  The man shrugged. “You are free to test the barriers. Go ahead and walk Fenwen’s Bluff or the Rough Hewn Trail. Look at the blackened bones of those who tried their luck. You can learn the hard way that there is no escaping this place.”

  “We’ll see.” And with that Evetner turned and left the chamber.

  Haliden sat silent as the gathered turned to him.

  “And what of you, artist?” the man said, smiling.

  Haliden tensed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You didn’t think your face would go unrecognized here? Come, come, Stroke! You’re known well in these parts. Your portrait even resides in the Hall of Wenwa.”

  Haliden sighed; he’d always hated his portraits, particularly the one painted by that hack Korbin Kollop. If I’d known I looked like a troll, I would have had him paint a damn bridge over my head.

  “I’m humbled, friend,” Haliden replied. “But I have yet to learn your name.”

  “Count Hamden Unal of Marigel’s southern districts. But since the outbreak I am now overseer of all Marigel law and commerce interests.”

  Haliden bowed. “A pleasure, Count Hamden.”

  “The pleasure is all ours, Stroke. Did you know your work once hung in the king’s audience hall? Absolutely beautiful, if I do say.”

  “I’m honored,” Haliden said.

  “As are we. Perhaps in these final days you might show us one last glimpse of your talent?”

  Haliden laughed. “My apologies, but I fear the last thing I painted was a fence.”

  The man chuckled. “A bloody shame then.” He turned to the rest of the chamber. “Well… back to the tasks at hand, yes?”

  As the meeting commenced, Haliden quietly exited the chamber.

  Outside, Evetner and a willowy, gray haired man in his sixties awaited him in the shadows.

  “Do you truly wish to go to the Block?” the man asked as Haliden approached. He was tall and dressed in a worn, black robe with long gray hair draped over each shoulder.

  “Of course,” Evetner said.

  “And you, artist? Do you wish to run no matter the price?”

  Haliden nodded.

  “Good. Then follow me.”

  For the next call, the trio walked in silence through the dead and soundless city. Weed and bramble had risen through the cobbled streets, and in some neighborhoods entire rows of houses were nothing more than burned out skeletons with large white Xs painted across their doorways.

  They eventually arrived at a small, unlit building nestled between two crumbling shops.

  “My home,” the man said as he unlocked the door.

  Inside, a treasure trove of oddities spread out before them: beakers, vials of orange and black powder, a verax skull, banded chests, bronze candelabras, gilt sofas, jester stafitures, silver and gold cutlery.

  And paintings. More paintings than Haliden had ever seen.

  “By the gods,” he breathed.

  “Those are from the king’s personal collection,” the man said as Haliden approached the stacks propped against the wall. “I rescued them when the city fell.”

  Haliden’s heart soared as he flipped through them. Many were well known to him; Skyfellwen’s Twisted Peace, Horwin Dro’s abstract Silent Fall from his baroque period, Stren Haring’s Crimson Sunrise. But it was one piece in particular that stole his breath. A watercolor on white canvas depicting two soaring white doves merging into a single, blurred form.

  “Menerwin’s Entwined Doves,” Haliden breathed as he ran a finger across the canvas. It was from the artist’s short-lived Fauvism period, a most rare and coveted piece. He had seen it briefly in Garfax during his apprenticeship to the famed painter Pyrin Mel, where it hung in the Palladium Norwen, the city’s largest and most respected museum.

  “How did this get here?” he asked.

  “King Edward was obsessed with the arts,” the man said. “He held one of the finest collections in all the realms. Most likely he had it procured on the black market.”

  Haliden flipped to the next painting. It was a watercolor of a man in jest lying atop a sleeping woman covered in a white veil. “Alaban’s Courted Jester,” he breathed. Another famed piece which had resided on the metal city of Tritan.

  “These are priceless!” Haliden blurted. And there were so many more. Works from the Black period of Na, surrealist chalkings from Janwa and Bellman’s oddity period. There was even a twisted bronze sculpture from Menal the Mad’s final, black period.

  But of all the works before him, only one stopped his heart.

  The man smiled when he saw Haliden’s expression. “The Right,” he said. “One of the first of Haliden Stroke’s famed colorless period.”

  Haliden’s chest tightened as he stared at the canvas. It was of Milane, as so many were from that period in his life. “By the gods,” he breathed. He still remembered the day she sat for it, her playful taunts, the excruciating summer heat, the sound of crested robins in the maple trees behind his home, her raven-black hair glinting in the sun.

  And her lips… They were the first thing he noticed about her. Plump and arched in a permanent grin.

  His heart ached as he stared at her. My greatest love, he thought. And greatest loss.

  “This hung in the king’s gallery?” Haliden asked.

  The man shook his head. “No, friend. In his very bedchamber.”

  Evetner patted Haliden on the back. “I’d say that is the compliment all artists seek, yes?”

  Haliden lovingly ran a finger across her cheek. He had called on her several times after that sitting, but she didn’t accept until he invited her to his first real gallery showing at Duke Midal’s holdfast in Ash Port.

  Haliden warmed at the memory of their trip. They had traveled, just the two of them, by carriage for nearly two days. Two days alone with her and that beautiful smile.

  Twenty turns later and he still remembered every detail from their trip: her laugh and the subtle arch of her beautiful mouth; every wink and every clever observation made throughout the journey. She was perfect in every wa
y, a dream spun into reality.

  She bound this very frame for me, he thought as he traced the arch of her lips with his finger.

  “I found that one hanging in the king’s water closet,” the man said.

  Evetner chuckled. “Perhaps that isn’t such a compliment after all?”

  Haliden blew dust off the canvas and gently put it back with the others. “I haven’t thought of this piece in many turns.”

  “It’s yours if you want it,” the man said. “I’m sure it will find a better home beyond the Block.”

  Evetner sat down on a bench and cleared his throat. “So are you going to tell us who you are and why we’re here?”

  “I am Willem Durnt, security advisor to Marigel’s council.” He brushed off a wooden stool and gestured for Haliden to sit. “What you’ve seen in this city is a facade. We may have staved off the Rot, but a new disease now gnaws at our society. And it’s spreading fast.”

  “What are you talking about?” Haliden asked.

  Willem sat back and sighed. His face was pale and his hands trembled on his lap. “I witnessed the city fall, survived the Rot and the madness that accompanied it. And all this time I held the knowledge my friends around me lacked.” He raised one of his palms to his lips and bit down. Blood percolated around his teeth and dripped down the side of his hand.

  “This is my secret…” he said. “My purpose here.” He closed his eyes and whispered something into his bleeding palm. A moment later, a blue light blossomed between his clenched fingers.

  Evetner’s eyes widened. “You’re a charger?”

  Willem opened his hand. The orb of blue light hovered before him, throbbing like a beating heart.

  “By the gods,” Haliden breathed.

  “I am but one of four who were secretly sent here,” Willem said. “But I am the only one who stayed behind.”

  Haliden’s heart fluttered as he watched the light. Never had he seen such a wonder.

  “But why?” Haliden said. “Why stay?”

  Willem sighed as the light cast deep shadows upon his face. “When I first arrived here I was but a boy fresh from my trial. I had never utilized my skills, never proved myself to the Circle. Yet here I was… sent to the great city of Marigel to seal its gates and cast death upon the thousands within.” He paused, his eyes trembling. “I’m not proud of my charge. But it was my duty. Protect the rest of the realms at all costs.” He shook his head. “Many of my brothers refused to come. But how could I? I worked and studied my whole life to be in the employ of the Circle. That was all I ever wanted. To defy my orders would have meant an end to everything I ever worked for.”

  Haliden and Evetner sat silent as the ethereal light throbbed and glowed before them.

  “I learned some time later that those who stayed behind were executed. Even so, there are days I wish I had joined them. Such a fate would have been mercy compared to this.”

  Evetner tensed. “It was you who set the seals, wasn’t it?”

  Willem hesitantly nodded. “I’m not proud of it… cowering here like this, my true nature unknown to even my closest friends. And that’s what these people are now… my friends. Or at least they were.”

  “So why not open the gates yourself?” Haliden asked. “You set the damn seals. Can’t you break them?”

  Willem huffed. “My charge was to contain the Rot. Protect the realm at all costs.”

  Evetner shook his head. “The Breath comes, charger! Everything will burn, the Rot included. Your job is done here.”

  “Help us get to the Block,” Haliden said.

  Willem nodded. “I wouldn’t have asked you here if I felt different.”

  Evetner stood. “Well for fuck’s sake, let’s be off, then. We’ve wasted enough time here already.”

  Willem nodded. “I agree. But there are complications.”

  “What do you mean?” Evetner asked.

  “They will hang me if I tell them what I really am. Just like they did to the Tritan engineers who built the gates.”

  “So we don’t tell them,” Evetner said. “I’ll gather the boys and the wagon under cover of dark and we’ll set off.”

  “And just leave my friends behind to die? And what of all this?” He waved a hand across the room. “This is Marigel’s history. Marigel’s venermin. I can’t just leave it.”

  Evetner paced the cluttered room. Without his armor he looked every bit the boy he truly was: frightened, angry, lost. But when he halted before the charger, something new came upon him. “I will protect you, then.”

  Haliden looked up. “With what, Evetner? Harsh words?”

  Evetner picked up a dagger sitting on the table beside him. “With this, if need be.” He held it up. The weapon was a marvelous piece of craftsmanship; both the leather bound hilt and blade were gilt in pure gold, and a cluster of red rubies was imbedded deep within the blade.

  Willem laughed. “You’ve a good eye, boy. That belonged to Harick Del, captain of the king’s personal guard.”

  “And now it belongs to me, captain of our personal guard.”

  Haliden shook his head. There’ll be blood enough on the road to the Block, he thought. The last thing he wanted was trouble with these people. “We need to tread carefully here,” he said. “There’s only three of us.”

  Evetner shrugged. “Still better odds than against the Breath.”

  Willem sighed. “There will be another gathering tomorrow. It will be then when I tell them the truth.”

  Evetner’s eyes widened. “In the name of the gods, why?”

  “I won’t just sneak away in the night like some animal,” Willem said. “If we leave, others will want to come as well.”

  Haliden stood and paced the room. Just one venermin had already stressed Instar to her breaking point. To bring another would kill her.

  “My garron won’t get far with that load,” he said. “And that’s if we could even fit all this. Our wagon is already overloaded.”

  “We have means here, Stroke,” Willem said. “After all, this is Marigel. Which reminds me…” He lifted a black bottle from the floor and held it before them. “The king’s personal rice wine. Fermented amongst the white patties of Kyle Te Fu. Go ahead and open it.”

  Evetner shrugged as Willem took out three wooden cups. “How can I refuse a king’s wine?” The boy broke the wax seal and poured an inch of the thick, brown wine into each cup.

  “Here’s to life,” he toasted, raising a cup to his lips. When he was done, he smiled. “Now that is truly fit for a king.” He picked up another glass and handed it to Haliden.

  Haliden shook his head. “Done with the drink, friend. But many thanks.”

  Evetner shrugged. “And you, charger?” he said, raising a glass to Willem. “Care to taste of a king’s cask?”

  Willem took it and nodded his thanks. “To life.”

  Evetner shook his head as he poured another cup. “No, charger. To the Block.”

  16

  Haliden stood silent in the moonlit street, entranced.

  A veil of gentle silver bathed Marigel’s many cracked and abandoned rooftops. There were no voices, no clodding hooves or grinding wagon wheels roaming the night; time itself felt frozen, slumbering beneath the moon’s indifferent gaze.

  But the fire still comes, he thought. It inched closer with every passing second, devouring everything in its path.

  The boys’ faces materialized in his mind. He saw flames melting their flesh and hair, heard their screams as their blood sizzled and popped.

  They deserve a chance, he thought, his stomach twisting into knots. A future.

  Behind him, Evetner and Willem were relieving themselves into a weed-filled fountain. The men had barely spoken since leaving the charger’s home and the silence was beginning to take its toll on Haliden. He had spent the last ten turns living in one city or another: Halowin in the jungles of Alg; Yur in the flooded plains of Abacor; and Tritan, the great metal city anchored atop the putrid Acid. Each had sung it
s own song, whether it was the shouts of fishmongers, or the advances of overzealous whores.

  But here there was nothing. Nothing but silence blanketing every abandoned hovel and alleyway. The few citizens who remained kept mostly to the market district and stables in the south. The eastern financial districts and justice houses were all but forgotten and falling into disarray. And the central cistern and trash districts were sealed off and forbidden, the Rot having taken its heaviest tolls there. As for the slums in the western district, they had been completely destroyed by fires during the initial outbreak.

  Haliden felt a chill tickle his spine as they passed a row of empty guard barracks. Enormous, man-sized gargoyles and flowing crenulations adorned the rooftops and marble facades. Agrgrian style, he observed. Remnants of that decadent period in architecture when even the lowliest structures were held to the highest standards of construction.

  In the distance, the city’s six great towers loomed before the moon like skeletal fingers. Flocks of birds circled them, cawing indifferently as the moon inched across the sky. Haliden watched them in awe. Were they also trapped? Or had they found a way around the barrier? To have wings… he thought. By the gods, that would be an end to our woes.

  “Walk silent here,” Willem whispered as they approached a vast courtyard encircled by dozens of three-story buildings. “The banished dwell in these ruins.”

  “Banished?” Haliden said. “ You cast out your own?”

  Willem nodded. “Criminals grow everywhere, artist. Under every rock and cobble. Even here. And many now carry the Rot.”

  “Even after all these turns?” Evetner said.

  “They live like animals,” Willem replied, “scrounging through the sewers and burrowing into the Throat. We’ve dealt with them before. But they are like roaches, always returning. And always sick.”

  “How have you people lived like this?” Haliden asked.

  Willem sighed. “We’ve existed. Nothing more.”

  They entered the courtyard from the east, where the shadows were thickest. Weeds grew between the broken cobbles and trash lay everywhere. In the center of the square stood a massive marble statue of a woman thrusting a bronze spear skyward. At her feet lay the broken and bloodied bodies of armored men, their eyes wide with shock and horror.