Beggar’s Gate, he thought. Their last bastion of hope.
The surrounding landscape was black and bare, save for a few charred tree stumps and gnarled roots. The only signs of humanity: a handful of abandoned carts and wagons toppled across the plain, their owners’ bloated, arrow-filled corpses sprawled beside them.
As they passed a large rock outcropping, Haliden noticed a torn tent flapping in the breeze. Inside, several bodies lay side by side, their black, bloated hands clasped over empty glass vials.
Suiciders. Haliden shook his head. To give up so close… so near to salvation. It was unthinkable.
As the smog ebbed, several stragglers appeared in the distance. They were mostly elderly or touched souls abandoned by families and friends.
“We should help them,” Haliden said.
Gremin huffed. “Help one and we’ll have to help them all. Forget it, artist. We’ve barely enough room for ourselves.”
Evetner frowned as the figures vanished behind them. “This is shameful,” he said. “To abandon one’s elders… I can think of nothing that’s more an affront to the gods.”
The Block covered the entire horizon, a gargantuan granite wall whose shadow stretched almost a sixth of a league from its base.
At first glance it appeared featureless. But as they drew closer, Haliden noticed tiny windows and slits carved into the higher recesses.
“This was a product of man?” he breathed.
Gremin grunted. “Many men. And women. And boys and slaves. A lot of blood is baked into that rock. All so a handful of lords can cower safely from the fire.”
At the base of the cliff, less than a league to the east, a man-made tunnel extended a hundred yards into the wasteland. It was fifteen footfalls tall, a miasma of metal and wood wide enough for two wagons to ride abreast.
Haliden marveled at the amount of steel covering its surface. Pieces of every shape and size had been welded and wedged together over an external web of scaffolding.
“I hope to the gods you still have that pendant, artist,” Gremin said. “No man’s getting through that thing without one.”
A thick curtain of snow now swept across the northern expanse, slamming against the Block. To the south, the Breath completely covered the sky.
The punchers ran on, their fur soaked and ashen, their blistered paws leaving bloody prints into the fresh snow. Behind them screams filled the air as refugees continued to spill through the fallen gate.
“Slow or we’ll fire!” a voice shouted from atop the tunnel.
Gremin pulled back on the reins and brought the punchers to stop.
Half a dozen guards stood atop the tunnel with crossbows in hand.
“Pendant!” the same voice boomed. “Let’s have it or find elsewhere to die.”
Haliden drew back his sleeve and raised his arm.
“What’s that supposed to be?” the guard shouted.
“My mark!” Haliden replied. “It was branded by my village elder.”
“Come closer then, fool! And move it. We’re almost done here.”
Haliden carefully approached the entrance. A set of steel doors sealed the tunnel and death holes were positioned above it on either side.
“Where’s your venermin?” the man shouted. “And what in the hells is that stretched across your wagon?”
“Felltower hide. We used it to keep the verax off us,” Haliden replied. “We had no choice. They were everywhere.”
Some of the guards laughed.
“Raise your arm higher!” the man shouted.
Haliden obeyed.
The man squinted. “A southern runner, eh?”
Haliden nodded. “Moss Town. But we have another venermin, too. From Marigel.”
The group of guards noticeably tensed.
“Bullshit!” the man spat. “Ain’t no fuckin’ venermin coming from that cursed city.”
Haliden reached into his satchel and withdrew Brendle’s pendant.
“Marigel’s pendant,” he said. “Their runner gave it to me before he died.”
“You killed him?”
“No. He was a… he was a friend. A good man.”
The man shook his head. “You know I can’t grant you passage. Pendant or no pendant, I ain’t letting that Rot shit in.”
Haliden gestured over his shoulder. “You do see what’s behind me, right?”
The man crossed his arms. “Oh, I see it. Been staring at it for days. But look behind me. You think the Breath can penetrate this?” He shook his head. “But that Rot shit sure can. And if it gets going it could make its way all the way across the Acid. Just go, friend. Go somewhere else to die. Your passage is denied.”
“Fuck this!” Gremin shouted. “No runner can be turned back from the Block!”
“This ain’t the Block!” the guard replied. “This is Beggar’s Gate and I’m its master! If I say fuck off, you fuck off! Or would you prefer a quarrel in your throat?”
“Piss on you!” Gremin shouted. “All of you! Ain’t no Rot with us!”
An arrow whistled past Haliden’s face and slammed into one of the punchers. The pack erupted into a frenzy, jumping and snapping as their companion gurgled its last breath.
Horrified, Gremin jumped down and ran to its side. The dog spasmed violently, choking on its own blood before finally falling limp in his arms.
“You fuckers,” he growled. “This dog ran half across Alimane for us!”
“We can take another off your hands if you like. Or you can turn back. It’s up to you.”
Gremin stared at him, his eyes trembling. “Let’s go, artist. We’ll find no quarter here.”
Haliden tossed the pendant at the base of the gate. “May the gods piss on all of you.”
Gremin unfastened the dead dog’s harness as the other punchers paced nervously around him. When he was done, he lifted the dog and placed him aboard the wagon.
“We’ll take him somewhere else,” Gremin said. “He deserves that much.”
As they climbed back onto the wagon, laughter echoed atop the tunnel.
“Happy trails!” the guard shouted.
Gremin turned. “We’ll be seeing you soon enough. There’s more than one way to crack this fucker.” And with that, the punchers turned and carried the wagons back into the Stretch.
25
“Where are we going?” Evetner shouted as the wagons bucked and jerked atop the uneven terrain.
They were moving parallel to the Block on the western side of the tunnel.
“I worked this section for two turns!” Gremin shouted. “I know every crack and crevasse. If I can find what I’m looking for, we’re in business.”
“Find what, though?”
Gremin smiled. “Gremwa tenem!”
The dogs ground to a halt beside a scattering of petrified stumps.
As the dust cleared, Gremin jumped down and approached the wall.
“There’s secret vents hidden by some of the older workers,” he said. “Crawl spaces leading into interior shafts. They were to be filled once work was completed. But we hid one before the overseers could mark it on their prints.”
Haliden hopped down onto the blackened soil and glanced to the south. The mobs were approaching Beggar’s Gate, a mass of silhouettes running like frightened children. The guard’s voice bellowing through the horn, warning them to stop. But they ignored him.
“Bastards,” Haliden breathed as the guards fired bolts on the crowd.
Gremin knelt before a partially concealed handle. “Ah! Here we go.” He took out his knife and began picking away the surrounding cement.
“That’s it?” Evetner said.
Gremin shook his head. “What did you expect? A door?” He grabbed the handle and braced his foot against the wall. “All right, get back!”
The men obeyed, watching as he dragged a four by four square block from the wall. When it was free, they knelt before the opening.
A shaft extended six or seven footfalls into the Block, en
ding at a wall covered in crude, metal handholds.
Haliden got down on all fours and carefully crawled inside. When he reached the wall, he looked up. “By the gods! It’s black as night.”
Gremin nodded as he yanked a torch from the wagon and knelt down beside Evetner. “It was designed so workers could get to the top without the wind blowing them off the wall.”
“Have you been up there?” Evetner asked.
“Only once,” Gremin replied as he crawled inside. “It was forbidden for ground crews, but I snuck up the shaft the last night I was here.”
“What did you see?” Haliden asked.
“The Acid. Stretching for as far as the eye could see.” He ignited the torch and watched as the flames licked the tunnel’s granite ceiling. “When I went back to camp later that night, though, my friends were gone. I searched for calls, but every tent I found was empty. The entire repair crew, gone.”
“What happened to them?” Haliden asked.
“Executed. To the last man. And anyone who knew about this shaft.”
“Except you,” Evetner said.
Gremin nodded. “Except me. But they came close.” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a large square scar in the torchlight. “This was my death mark,” he said. “Of course I didn’t know that when I took the job. They told us we would be paid according to the brand when the job was through.”
Haliden stared up the shaft. A tiny pin prick of light loomed far off in the distance. “So how high is it?”
Gremin grinned. “A thousand footfalls. Straight up.”
“By the gods,” Evetner breathed.
“The gatekeeper resides up there,” Gremin went on. “And the Tritan mechanism that controls the gates.”
Haliden’s heart quickened. “How many men are we talking about?”
Gremin shrugged. “A hundred… a handful… Who knows? But I heard it only takes two to operate the mechanism and one to hold the key.”
Evetner unfastened his sword belt and chest plate. “I’ll go.”
Gremin nodded. “Good. I don’t think I have the stones for it again. Damn near fell last time.”
Jonathan and Brandon tensed as Evetner stripped off his armor.
“Where are you going?” Jonathan asked.
“Got to open that gate.”
Jonathan glanced up at the top of the Block. A pair of draba birds circled above, cawing ominously. “Don’t go!” he pleaded.
Evetner placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m the youngest and most able,” he said.
“Don’t let him go!” Brandon pleaded as he clutched his older brother’s arm. It was the first time anyone had heard him speak.
Haliden sighed as he turned back to the shaft. The air was stagnant, still, the darkness infinite. I don’t know if I can do this, he thought.
But then her voice said to him.
Come find me, Haliden. At world’s end, find me if you still love me.
“I’ll go,” he blurted.
Gremin turned to him, his brows furrowed. “You think all that painting strengthened your arms enough for this, artist?”
Haliden shrugged. “Only one way to find out, right?”
Evetner shook his head. “This is my job, Stroke. Not yours.”
“So what happens when the gate opens? You think they’ll just let us in without a fight?” Haliden pointed to the trapper. “He can handle a blade, as can you. But I’m worse than useless with a sword. Stay with the boys. You can protect them better than any of us.”
Evetner glanced at the brothers. Both were staring at him, silently pleading for him to stay. “And you’re sure you’re up for this?”
“No, but it’s the best way.”
Evetner hesitantly shook his head. “Very well then. The climb is yours.”
Haliden nodded. “I won’t let you down.”
“Perhaps down is not the best word to use,” Gremin said.
Haliden glanced up at the Block. “Perhaps you’re right.”
26
It was silent in the shaft. Stifling and cramped, with a five hundred footfall drop yawning below.
“I should have kept my mouth shut,” Haliden grunted as he grabbed another rung. Since beginning his ascent, he had counted over five hundred, most of which were either rusted or broken. And hundreds more still extended up the shaft.
As he climbed, Gremin’s dagger rubbed against the small of his back, a silent reminder of the job to come. But can I do it? he wondered. Cut a man’s throat in cold blood?
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he mumbled aloud.
A warm breeze poured down the shaft, stinking of sulfur and burning pine. Haliden closed his eyes as it cooled his sweaty flesh. Almost there, he told himself.
When he finally reached the source of light, he braced his back against the wall and withdrew the trapper’s dagger. A steel grate was mounted to the right side of the shaft. But the bolts were old and rusty and it only took a few twists of the bone dagger to break it loose.
With a groan, the grate swung open. Haliden winced as the sound echoed down the shaft. When it was gone, he climbed from the shaft and closed the grate behind him.
Smoke and ash swirled across the Block, cutting visibility to just a few footfalls.
The gatehouse, Haliden thought as he scanned the area. Where in the hells is it? He could feel the fire on his face now, a throbbing presence drawing ever closer. He had to hurry.
With the dagger in hand, he crept eastward toward the center of the Block. From his vantage point, he could now see the Acid stretching across the northern horizon, an endless green expanse of steaming death perpetually blocked by the wall.
But it wasn’t the sea that impressed him. It was the thousands of ships anchored atop it.
“Never could I dare imagine such a sight,” he whispered aloud.
The armada stretched for as far as the eye could see. Every known vessel on Retrac Daor was represented: Culver cogs, Circle skiffs, three masted Algian whalers, Nefrefel corsairs, Dro Wat pleasure barges. And many others he didn’t recognize.
It was an inspiring yet forbidding sight. For they weren’t there for him; these were scavengers circling their prey like draba birds hovering over a rotten carcass. The wealthy and powerful would find quarter aboard any number of vessels. And perhaps even a few runners.
But most of us are on our own, he reminded himself.
A superheated gale blasted over the wall. Haliden took cover behind a pile of rocks as embers streaked past. When it died down, he peered toward the southern horizon.
The Breath arched leagues into the sky, a great tidal wave of flame and fury illuminating the bellies of several low-lying clouds.
I hope the others are all right, he thought as the fire revealed hundreds of ant-sized shadows flooding across the Stretch.
Laughter suddenly echoed to his left.
Haliden ducked. The smoke had lifted, revealing a small shack about a hundred footfalls away. A massive wooden crane stood beside it, guarded by two armored men.
One of the men peered over the southern side of the wall, laughing hysterically as his partner sat silent beside the crane’s controls.
Haliden’s heart quickened. The machine was enormous, a complicated miasma of interlocking sprockets and metal pistons. I’ll never figure that thing out on my own, he thought as he crept closer. Which meant he needed one of those fools to do it for him.
“Look at them fuckers!” the man by the crenellation shouted. He was short and skinny, a single dagger sheathed in a frayed leather belt. “Every one of ’em dead men. And still they bang at them doors.” Chuckling, he leaned over the edge and let a stringer of drool drip below.
“Wouldn’t you?” the other guard asked. He was enormous, his arms bulging like tree trunks beneath several layers of rusted chainmail.
Another figure stepped out of the shack. He was middle aged and wore a mail coif and rusted scale armor over a ragged black tunic. “It’s time,” he said. “Fifty count
s, then close it. Understand, Dren?”
The brute nodded.
“And Jarnen…”
The lout spun around lazily and snapped to mocking attention. “At your disposal, sir.”
“Get on with it.”
The spitter bowed. “Very well.” He approached a metal tripod where a large, C-shaped piece of bronze dangled from its center. He then picked up a rusty, footfall long bar and slammed it against the bell.
The guttural call echoed far across the Stretch, bouncing back at them from the distant cliffs.
Moments later, another bell tolled below.
Haliden’s pulse raced as the brute pulled back on a rusted, metal handle mounted to the crane’s gearbox. There was a loud click, followed by a strange whir as the crane swung out over the side of the Block. When it stopped, he pushed the lever all the way to the floor, dropping the counterbalance over the side. The chain snapped taut.
The brute quickly slid a metal bar through an opening in one of the cogs. When it was secure, he released the lever and stepped back as the gears bit into the rod.
“Fifty seconds!” the armored man shouted.
The spitter leaned over the side. “Best make it twenty! They’re rushing her again!”
Another superheated gust blasted across the walkway. The brute ducked behind the mechanism as embers exploded over him.
Haliden tensed. This is it. He stepped from cover and crept toward the crane. Smoke and sparks pounded his body, burning his exposed face and hands. But he kept moving.
The armored man turned to him.
“Kyle? Is that you?”
Haliden ignored him as he rushed forward.
“Stop!”
But it was too late. Haliden tackled the man against one of the crenellations.
“Jenner?” It was the spitter. And he was already running at them with a dagger in hand.
Haliden quickly pushed the man between the crenellations, inching him toward the edge.
“Who in the fuck are you?” the man grunted as he clawed at the wall.
Haliden's Fire Page 24