by Layton Green
“I just like to cover my bases,” Val said.
“I am unfamiliar with this colloquialisssm.”
Val chuckled to himself. “I believe you can guess the meaning.”
Sinias pointed a black-lacquered pincer at him. “Underssstand I cannot ensssure a sssafe journey through Undertown. But I can asssure you my bargain includesss my faithful ssstewardssship.”
The corners of Val’s lips upturned. “I suspected it might.”
The next morning, when Val stepped outside Salomon’s Crib with his staff in hand, ready to journey to Undertown, his mouth fell open when he found Synne sitting cross-legged on his doorstep. Dressed in the thin black robe and silver belt of the majitsu, she carried nothing other than the small backpack she had worn on the journey to find Tobar. She had also adopted a silver patch over her left eye, to cover up the missing orb the demon lord Asmodeus had plucked from its socket.
While Val had gotten used to having the young warrior-mage by his side, and missed her steady presence, the queen had rewarded her role in the mission by reinstating Synne into the Academy of Majitsu.
“It’s great to see you,” he said, as she rose to greet him with a forearm clasp. “You could have knocked, you know. I’ve been awake for hours.”
She gave a small smile and didn’t respond.
“Are you going to kill me with suspense?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be off learning how to punch through walls and fight whole regiments of Black Sash gypsies?”
“I’ve been given a leave of absence,” she said, in a neutral voice. “By the Congregation.”
“A leave of absence? For what?”
“To accompany you to Undertown, and wherever else the search for the Coffer might take you.”
The news both surprised and pleased him. Having Synne by his side would be a huge advantage. Still, as Adaira had intimated, it made him wonder if Lord Alistair didn’t think the journey was more dangerous than he had let on.
Moreover, while she looked pleased to see him, Synne did not seem excited by the arrangement. “Is there something I’m missing?” he asked.
“Missing?”
“Will this set you back at the Academy?”
“On the contrary. I was promised that if we recover the Coffer, I would be exempt from further studies and afforded the rank of full majitsu.”
Seeing the set of her jaw made him withhold his praise. “You don’t like that for some reason, do you?”
“I’d prefer not to discuss it.”
“We’re friends, Synne.”
After a moment, she said, “There is tradition, and a certain honor, in the successful completion of my studies. It would be untoward to jump rank in that manner. There are also awards to be won at the Academy, commendations to be earned, that can never be regained.”
He folded his arms and considered the problem. “Can you not re-enter the Academy after the Coffer is recovered?”
“Once assigned to a wizard,” she said, “I am not free to make my own decisions.”
“You’ve been officially assigned?” he said, both humbled and slightly amazed. “To me?”
She gave a single, firm nod.
“Are you happy about that? Is there another mage with whom you’d rather work?”
“No,” she said fiercely. “It would be an honor to serve with you.”
“It’s an honor for me as well,” he said, waving at Gus as the carriage approached from the other end of Magazine Street. “And I suppose that once we recover the Coffer, the first order I’ll give you is to return to the Academy and graduate with as many medals as you can fit in your backpack.”
With a broad grin she quickly smothered, the first true smile he thought he had ever seen from her, she sprang to her feet and gripped his forearm so tight in gratitude that he yelped.
“Full of surprises, ye are,” Gus said to Val, after Synne climbed into the carriage behind him. The driver looked nervous at the presence of the shaven-headed warrior-mage.
Val introduced the two. “Synne and I have been through a lot together,” he said to the bearded driver. “She’s with me, now.”
“Good enough for me,” Gus said, touching his fingers to the tip of his black top hat.
“What do you know about Undertown?” he asked his driver as the horses clacked down Trafalgar, a wide cobblestone street lined with contiguous homes and shops.
“Not much, laddie. Never been there meself, though I know blokes who have.” He gave a low chuckle. “Plenty o’ people where I’m from end up in the gutter, but no one talks about what lies below it.”
“Is it dangerous?”
Gus turned to display a tobacco-stained grin. “For the pair of ye? I’d worry more about the health of whatever’s down there. Still, they say there’s Undertown and then there’s Undertown. One’s a well-trod grid of old sewers and underground byways, but the other’s deeper even than that. Home to some things that, well, aren’t fit for the light o’ day. I don’t how much truth is in the rumors, but as always, laddie, never trust the situation, no matter how powerful ye’ve become. Ye just watch your back, now and forever, ye hear?”
“That’s what I’m for,” Synne said, with a cold smile intended to put Val at ease, but which instead gave him a shiver.
Dressed in a cowled gray cloak that shadowed his face and concealed his tail, Sinias Slegin met Val and Synne at the entrance to his yurt. The serpentus carried a wooden staff with a hooked blade on one end and a spiked iron bauble on the other.
From where does his race hail? What are their customs?
With a sinuous wave of his hand, the snake man turned and led them through the Goblin Market. The other residents scurried out of the way as soon as they glimpsed the hooked staff and gray cloak. On the far side of the market, Sinias approached a corner of the wall that abutted the river, shielded by the backs of a line of canvas stalls. After glancing to each side, he depressed one of the blocks on the stone wall, made a motion like turning a wheel, and a door-size section of the wall hinged open, exposing an iron ladder set inside a narrow hole. A plop of water sounded from below, and the stench of sewer drifted to Val’s nostrils.
The snake man rasped a chuckle. “The entrance of kings.”
“Easy access from the Goblin Market to Undertown?”
“Yesss.”
“Works for me,” Val muttered, hoping the forest-green cloak and boots he had purchased at the magick shop, ensorcelled with a waterproof spell, would hold up. On Earth, the heart of New Orleans was a saucer-shaped depression surrounded by water, much of the land below sea level. Besides the levees, the city relied on an enormous underground sewer system to pump waste and rainwater into Lake Pontchartrain. He didn’t even want to think about what sort of nasty conditions and vile creatures existed in his hometown’s sewers.
And that was back home.
After shaking out a jade glow rod, the serpentus led the way into the claustrophobic shaft. He had a bowlegged, rolling gate that reminded Val of a sailor stepping off a ship after a long voyage.
The ladder deposited them in a tunnel with a low, rounded ceiling and smooth rock walls. Val’s boots sank ankle-deep into a thick layer of muck and sewage. The stench was almost unbearable.
His flat nostrils wrinkling in revulsion, Sinias retrieved a stoppered glass vial from inside his robe. He opened the bottle and held it up to his nose, breathing deeply. “Better,” he said, after a prolonged sigh.
The serpentus offered the vial to Val, and he gratefully accepted. It smelled like a stronger version of the perfumed oils in Sinias’s yurt, and left him feeling light-headed. Not too much, he cautioned himself.
With a grimace, Synne refused the vial and cast a wary eye around the sewer tunnel. Val assumed a geomancer had played a part in forming the slate-gray walls, since no seams were visible in the twenty-foot cone of light emanating from the glow rod. Water dripped from condensation formed by the humid air, creating a steady rhythm as they followed behind Sinias.
“How far
to our destination?” Synne asked.
“An hour walk if there isss no flooding.”
“It hasn’t rained for days,” Val said. “But what do we do if the tunnel’s flooded?”
“There are other waysss. Other passsagesss.”
“More sewer tunnels?”
Sinias flicked his forked tongue. “No, mage. Deeper.”
“Who made them?”
“They were here before the tunnelsss were built, before even the native tribesss. Older racesss or culturesss, perhapsss.”
“Are they dangerous?”
“Of courssse. All of Undertown hasss peril. But the common routesss are a known commodity. They are not caussse for concern.”
“What are the chances we’re alone down here?” Val asked.
Sinias turned, his shrewd yellow eyes flickering inside the hood. “The upper level belongsss to Zagath.”
“Meaning he’s watching us already?”
The serpentus didn’t answer.
At periodic access points, water and sewage would spill into the tunnel from smaller pipes above. When they reached their first intersection, the rush of running water could be heard down the intersecting tunnel. Probably a channel to the river. Straight ahead, the tunnel continued sloping downhill. Of principal interest was the jagged hole in the floor, and the bolt attached to a heavy metal chain that led into it.
Sinias stood beside the hole and lowered the glow stick to peer inside. Twenty feet down lay another tunnel. Unlike the polished sewer walls above, the constricted passage looked formed of crumbly rock and hardened sand. The first layer of bedrock, Val assumed.
“Why doesn’t it flood down there?”
“Who sssaysss it doesss not?”
“Good point,” Val muttered. He didn’t like the thought of a whole other level or levels down there, hiding who knew what. He could tell by her frown that Synne didn’t, either.
“Ssstrange,” Sinias said.
“The hole?”
Another supple weaving of the snake man’s head. “The sssilence. We should have ssseen othersss by now, passsing beneath the city. Travelersss. Begarsss. Thievesss.”
Not having a choice, they continued walking until, just past another intersection, the disgusting sewage was piled even deeper. They pressed forward until it reached their knees, and Val exchanged a concerned look with Synne.
“I don’t like it,” she said. “I cannot move as well in this environment.”
“Thisss isss the way. We mussst not deviate.”
“Is there not another—”
A large plop interrupted her. Val jumped, startled by a small round ball the size of a grapefruit that had fallen into the water at their feet. At the same time Synne yelled “Stunsphere!” he looked up to see a ragtag band of men and women in patchwork cloaks and black sashes surging down the passage, wielding an assortment of weapons.
Ready to blow them back with a Wind Push or a Fireball, Val was not too worried until the ball at their feet exploded, causing a stinging paralysis to spread down his limbs and arrest his movements. The last thing he saw before he fell was a trio of black-sash gypsy sorceresses hovering above the muck, their eyes gleaming like feral witches, linked arm-in-arm as they drifted closer.
-13-
A hazy afternoon sky welcomed the crowd gathered in the tiled public square fronting the Fifth Protectorate Capitol Building. An imposing monolith of bronze and limestone, two sphinxes flanked the onyx marble steps that led to the entrance of the rectangular façade. The building housed both the High Courts and the Legislative Assembly, integral components of New Victoria’s Government District.
Facing the crowd, Lord Alistair stood atop a dais of hardened spirit that hovered high above the steps. Though the pair of sphinxes at his side appeared to be made of stone and almost never moved, they were very much alive, relics of an age whose history was lost to the ravages of time. As with the pair of colossi guarding the Sanctum, no one knew the exact origin of the mysterious wardens. They required no sustenance, were charged with defending their respective structures, and responded only to commands read from a set of scrolls in the possession of the Keeper, an elder mage charged with overseeing the ancient guardians of the Wizard District.
On the steps below Lord Alistair was a roster of Important People: the entire Conclave; a smattering of other elder mages and politically important wizards from the Congregation; Kjeld Anarsson looming above a contingent of honor guard majitsu; Yasir Ookar and a handful of lesser generals from the Protectorate Army; Alaina Whitehall—Governess of the Protectorate—accompanied by a row of high-ranking officials from the Assembly; and a personal steward of Queen Victoria, sent to bear witness to the public marshaling of the Protectorate into a state of war, as well as the ascension of Lord Alistair to Chancellor of the Protectorate.
The title was meant to be a temporary one, giving the person designated by the War Council autocratic authority in time of war. Yet if that war never ceased, and if the War Council happened to be fully under the control of the Chancellor, then Lord Alistair saw no reason why that particular state of affairs should not extend for a very long time.
Perhaps, he thought with a thin smile, it would extend indefinitely.
The presence of the Queen’s chief steward—a minor functionary—was a sign of Londyn’s disapproval. Yet Queen Victoria and her Mage Council had chosen not to intervene, as Lord Alistair had gambled. The old empire was an ocean away, and both sides knew that should the Protectorate choose to secede, its wizards and defenses and artifacts were at least the equal of Londyn. No, better to preserve the integrity of the Realm, keep the peace, and let the upstart Protectorate flex its adolescent muscle.
Speaking of youth, as the pomp and circumstance began, Lord Alistair cast his gaze on the youngest mage allowed a presence on the steps of the capitol building: Melina of the Randor Clan, a talented gypsy sorceress who had become one of Lord Alistair’s favorite devotees—and one who had an important role to play in the day’s proceedings. Melina was a strikingly beautiful young woman with full lips, lavender eyes, and long blond hair that was quite unusual for the Roma clans. The irony of her presence was quite delicious to Lord Alistair, as she was the daughter of Selina, the sylvamancer Alistair had blackmailed into becoming a spy for the Congregation.
Alaina Whitehall led the initial proceedings, her voice magically amplified as she read from the Protectorate Bylaws and announced the State of War. At her side was Yasir Ookar, his gloved hands clasped in front of him, reptilian eyes flat and steady. At the conclusion of the speech from the Governess, the crowd gave a thunderous ovation, causing Lord Alistair to preen with satisfaction. Nothing unites a populace, he thought, like a declaration of war.
Let the Age of Expansion begin.
After the applause died, Lord Alistair gave a rousing speech outlining his goals as Chancellor.
“I pledge to stamp out the vulgar Revolution that seeks to impede the progress of our great civilization. The gypsies would have us return to the darkness of the Age of Sorrow and destroy our way of life. Does anyone long for a future in which our cities’ water is not clean, bandits control the byways, and we are ruled by ignorance and superstition? I promise you I will punish, to the fullest extent of the law, those who assassinate our civic leaders, waylay innocent travelers visiting friends and family, cause law-abiding citizens to live in fear. Nor will I stop with the Revolution. I also pledge to secure the Ninth, as well as our Southern and Northern borders. This will allow us to fully exploit our natural resources, bringing prosperity to all and quelling the ambitions of our warmongering neighbors.”
As shouts of approval shook the plaza and fists pumped in the air, Alistair promised to take an even firmer stance on prosecuting Oath avoiders and redistribute their land to proper citizens, including vast tracts of mineral-rich property in the Ninth. This caused the greatest uproar of all.
When he finished speaking, Kalyn Tern waited on the top row of steps to present the Chief
Thaumaturge with a scepter traditionally given to rulers of the Realm during times of war. The head of the scepter, azantite and bronze interwoven in an intricate floral pattern, was symbolic of the union between mage and common-born. It was sent from Londyn as a gift from the Queen, yet Lord Alistair saw it as another slight: a reminder that he served the interests of the common born as well as wizards.
The Queen would do well to remember how the common born once sought to eradicate the mage-born from the face of Urfe.
The applause increased as the Chief Thaumaturge dissolved the spirit dais and drifted down to meet Kalyn Tern, dressed in a regal silver gown set off in a lovely manner by the onyx steps. Many had urged Lord Alistair to consider marrying Kalyn, a powerful aeromancer who hailed from the most prominent family in the First Protectorate. He had to admit the political capital from such a union would be potent. Yet despite his ambition, he could never remarry. Along with his daughter, Lord Alistair cherished the memory of his deceased wife above all things.
When Lord Alistair touched down on the step, authority and wisdom etched into the proud lines of his face, his arm outstretched to receive the scepter, a tight circle of fire erupted around him, shooting skyward at least fifty feet. Kalyn Tern, along with everyone else near the Chief Thaumaturge, gasped and drew back, staring in horror at the blazing inferno that had just enveloped their ruler. All of the mages could be seen waving their hands and whispering words of power, but the fire raged unabated, impervious to their efforts.
The roar of approval from the crowd turned to wails and shrieks of dismay. An elder aquamancer raised her hands, blowing off a sewer grate as she summoned the nearest source of water. As the water gushed to the surface, someone pointed at the wall of fire, where a glowing outline of the Chief Thaumaturge had emerged in the center of the inferno, bluish-white in color. Lord Alistair was no longer holding the scepter. As he held his arms straight out, palms up, the glow around him spread to consume the wall of fire. Once the blaze had been subsumed by the bluish-white hue of his magic, he cleaved the wall in two, shrinking each half into a sphere which he held in the palm of each hand. Then he started to expand, growing in size until he reached twenty feet in height, looming above the crowd.
