The Mortal Blade: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Magelands Eternal Siege Book 1)

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘I have a new job for you.’

  ‘Sir? I was just about to order my platoon to get the wagons back to the soap factory.’

  ‘I’ve brought fresh soldiers who can take care of that. As the officer on patrol, it is your duty to follow up on any incident that occurs during your watch.’ He handed Daniel a scrap of paper on which a rough street layout had been sketched. ‘Some information came into my possession while investigating the attack on the convoy. Suspects were seen entering the premises marked on that map, and my source stated that they had at least one live captive with them.’

  ‘This marked building is a large apartment block, and I have just the one platoon, sir.’

  ‘I’ve brought soldiers for that too. Third Platoon, borrowed from the Eighth Foot. Take them and your own platoon, and make your way to the target building immediately, Lieutenant.’

  ‘And what do I do when I get there?’

  ‘If any of our people are alive, get them out safely. As for the Evaders, we don’t have space in the prisons for any more, so use your imagination. Dismissed.’

  Daniel turned to see two new sergeants by his side. ‘You from the Eight Foot?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said one.

  Daniel glanced at the map, while trying to smother a rising sense of frustration. ‘Come with me.’

  He led them to where Monterey and Hayden were organising the ponies.

  ‘Leave that,’ he said as they glanced at his approach; ‘we’ve got a new job.’

  Daniel divided his force into two as they approached the large tenement block marked on the map. It was a ramshackle, sprawling complex of grey concrete, multi-levelled, with several entrances. He didn’t know either of the new sergeants, nor any of their troopers, but had no choice other than to assign them their positions and hope they would do exactly as he had ordered.

  The locals saw them approach the building from different streets, and a cacophony arose as some fled, while others shuttered their windows and barred their doors.

  ‘Seal the entrances!’ Daniel cried as they reached an alleyway that ran down one side of the tenement. His troopers responded, spreading out to cover each of the doorways leading in. Daniel walked round to the front of the building, and gazed up at the towering block.

  ‘Sir, your orders?’ said Monterey by his side.

  Daniel paused. People could live or die depending on the next words that left his mouth. He couldn’t turn around and go back to the soap factory, not without at least attempting to rescue any Tarans that might be alive inside; but the only information he had was from a source he didn’t know, and could easily be a mistake or a lie. He wanted to do the right thing, but had no idea what that was, or if it could even exist in such circumstances.

  He lowered his eyes. ‘Storm the building. Search the apartments for our missing people.’

  The sergeant’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, sir.’ He turned to the assembled troopers. ‘You heard the lieutenant; it’s time to collect a little payback. Squads one and two, you’re with me. Once inside…’

  Daniel’s attention drifted away from the sergeant’s words. He felt sick. Was this what his expensive training and education had been for, so he could stamp on the weak and poor? The people who had killed the troopers and wagon-drivers of the convoy deserved to die, but the tenement in front of him looked like countless others, and he refused to believe that every single apartment within contained a nest of rebels.

  Monterey blew his whistle, and the troopers charged into the building. With every second that passed, Daniel felt his spirit drain away. Screams and angry cries were coming out of the tenement, along with the sound of doors being kicked in. Anyone who tried to leave was forced back inside by the soldiers posted at every exit and before long crowds of them were straining to escape.

  Smoke started to belch from an apartment three floors up, then a window directly above was opened, and a headless body was pushed outside. It landed on the cobbles next to Daniel and he stared at it. It was one of the missing Taran troopers, his neck sheared.

  ‘Sons of dogs,’ Hayden muttered.

  More smoke was pouring from the upper floors and flames appeared at a high window.

  ‘Call the squads back,’ said Daniel. ‘The building’s burning.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Hayden blew three short blasts on his whistle.

  More screaming rose into the air, and Daniel frowned as he tried to locate its source. Damn it, he thought, it was coming from the rear of the building, where he had posted the platoon from the Eighth Foot. He ran down the narrow alleyway that lay by the side of the building and emerged into a backstreet littered with bodies. Troopers in close lines were loosing their crossbows at Evaders trying to flee the tenement.

  ‘Hold!’ Daniel cried as he strode forward. ‘I ordered no killing of civilians.’

  ‘They were trying to escape, sir,’ said a sergeant. ‘They refused to listen to our warnings.’

  Daniel glanced at the entrance. At least a dozen bodies were piled there, blocking the doorway.

  ‘And anyway, sir,’ the sergeant went on, ‘if we’re not letting them out, the fire’ll get ‘em anyway. If it was me, sir, I think I’d rather be shot than burnt alive.’

  Daniel looked up. Flames were streaming from more windows, and all of the upper floors were on fire. Thick, dark coils of smoke spewed into the air, and the screams were drowning out every other sound.

  ‘Remove the soldiers from the doorway and let the civilians out.’

  The sergeant frowned. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘Pull back!’ cried the sergeant. ‘Get clear from the doors and pull back.’

  The troopers hurried away from the doors and a flood of civilians spilled out onto the street, running in a massed panic away from the burning tenement. The troopers held tight like a rock in a river as the swarm of Evaders moved around them. When they had passed, Daniel stared at the dozen bodies lying in the doorway and began walking back round to the front of the building.

  What had he done?

  The front of the building was in chaos. The troopers who had stormed the apartments were back outside, and were barricading the front entrance against the mass of people who had gathered there to escape the flames.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he cried.

  ‘Following your orders, sir,’ said Hayden. ‘You told us no one was to leave.’

  An explosion rocked the tenement, and flames burst from the windows on the lower floor, blasting the shutters to pieces. The troopers retreated, each gazing at the inferno engulfing the tenement. Daniel stared at it, his mouth open. No one still inside could be alive, he knew that as a certainty.

  ‘Good job, lads and lasses,’ said Hayden. ‘Let’s get out of here. Sir?’

  Daniel tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. He nodded.

  ‘Move out!’ cried Hayden. He pointed to a trooper. ‘Run round the back and tell those dozy beggars from the Eighth that it’s time to go.’ He pointed at another two. ‘You pair, carry the body of the trooper back with us. It’s evidence that we hit the right building.’

  The troopers began to peel away from the tenement, forming up into a double column down the alleyway. Daniel walked to their rear, his head down.

  Hayden caught his eye as he passed. ‘That was well done, sir. Maybe I was wrong about you.’

  Daniel led the two platoons back to the soap factory. Runners had been sent ahead with the news, and the body of the fallen trooper from the convoy was taken away by stretcher bearers when they passed through the plaza. The locals eyed them with the same sullen expressions as they had when they had went out on patrol that morning, unaware that they were gazing at soldiers who had just carried out a massacre.

  The barrier at the entrance to the factory’s forecourt was lifted for them, and they returned to the relative security of the compound. Daniel left the platoons at the bottom of the stairs to get cleaned up, and ascended the steps to the commanding officer’s office on the
upper floor. He paused outside the door for a moment, then knocked.

  ‘Enter.’

  Daniel opened the door and walked in. The major-general was seated behind a table that was being used as a desk.

  ‘Lieutenant Aurelian? I was half-expecting to see you this evening; I heard about what occurred, and your part in it.’

  ‘I’ve come to explain, sir.’

  ‘Explain what, Lieutenant? You have nothing to explain; in fact I intend to write a letter to headquarters in Torwood this evening, in which I will strongly recommend your elevation to senior lieutenant. Your actions today were exemplary; by all accounts you led two platoons in the elimination of a rebel stronghold, and got some measure of justice for the troopers that were so brutally murdered in the convoy.’ He stood, walked round the table, and stuck his hand out.

  Daniel shook it.

  ‘Now come this way for a moment, if you please?’ The major-general gestured to the door.

  Daniel followed the commander along the passageway towards the officers’ mess. He opened the door and strode in. The room fell into silence and around two dozen officers turned to look at their commander.

  The major-general ushered Daniel forward. ‘You’ve all heard what happened today,’ he said to the watching room; ‘and you all know what this young lieutenant achieved. With an iron will and firm leadership, he utterly destroyed a nest of rioters and murderous rebels. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Lieutenant Daniel Aurelian. Please show him your appreciation.’

  The room erupted into cheers.

  Daniel stood in stunned silence. A glass of something was thrust into his hand, and his back was slapped until he nearly toppled over. A regimental song started up, and within seconds the room was ringing to its sound as every officer present bar Daniel bellowed out the words.

  He had finally been accepted, he realised. All it had taken was murder.

  Chapter 17

  The Boy in the Pool

  Ooste, Auldan, The City – 13th Koralis 3419

  The barge bumped against the side of the wharf, and Aila stepped off.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am.’ said the Evader official waiting for her. ‘Lord Naxor’s carriage has just arrived.’

  Aila smothered her reply. She was busy night and day dealing with the troubles in the Circuit, and had little time for her cousin’s frivolities. They crossed a bridge over a wide canal and entered Icewarder territory. The local militia saluted her, and she noticed they had been heavily reinforced with Dalrigian troops.

  She left the Evader official behind at the border and was joined by an Icewarder, who bowed low.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘may I take this opportunity to lay some of the district governor’s concerns before you regarding the spread of violence into certain Icewarder regions?’

  ‘Not today,’ Aila said as she kept walking.

  ‘But, my lady…’

  She glared at him. ‘Not today. Schedule a meeting like you’re supposed to.’

  ‘The local officials have tried, my lady, only to be continually told that you are not available.’

  Aila spotted Naxor’s carriage parked by the side of the large administrative building.

  ‘The local governor has authorised me to issue a warning to you, my lady,’ the man said, hurrying to keep up with her. ‘She said that if you keep refusing to meet with her, she will be forced to take matters of security into her own hands.’

  Aila paused. ‘You, a mortal, are warning me, a demigod?’

  The man’s face flushed and he stared at the ground. ‘Apologies, my lady, but the situation is fast becoming desperate. The governor says that if the violence continues to spread into Icewarder lands, then the militia will be forced to move into the Circuit to occupy key, strategic points.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Aila. ‘The Tarans, Sanders, Pellans and Dalrigians are already there; why not the Icewarders too? Welcome to the party.’

  She turned and strode away, leaving the official staring at her from the wharf.

  ‘Cousin,’ she said as she saw Naxor leaning against the carriage. ‘This had better be important.’

  He grinned at her, but his eyes betrayed his worry. ‘Now, don’t be angry with me, but I may have enticed you here under false pretences.’

  ‘What? Is this some sort of joke? Do you realise how busy I am? People are dying; every hour the casualty list rises, and not just from the violence. Food shortages are as big a fear now, with the supply chains being cut and…’

  ‘Save it, please. I’d hate for you to have to repeat yourself.’

  ‘And why would I have to repeat myself?’

  ‘Because you’re getting in the carriage and I’m taking you to the Royal Palace in Ooste.’

  She frowned. ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, cousin. You have been summoned.’

  ‘By who? Your mother? Tough, tell her I refuse.’

  ‘She thought you’d say that, so she made sure the summons was issued by the God-King himself.’

  Aila felt the colour drain from her face.

  Naxor shrugged. ‘Sorry. You can refuse a summons from my mother, but from the God-King? Are you willing to incur his wrath?’

  ‘You donkey turd; you set me up.’

  ‘I am merely the emissary, cousin.’

  ‘You lied to me.’

  ‘Only to ensure that you turned up here this morning. Tell me honestly, would you have come all the way from Redmarket if you had known the truth?’

  She glared at him.

  ‘Please,’ he said gesturing to the open carriage door.

  ‘You’re a devious asshole at times, Naxor,’ she said. ‘I’ll go, but don’t imagine for a moment that I’ll be in a hurry to trust you again.’

  He smiled as she climbed aboard the carriage. ‘I’m sure you’ll forgive me in a century or so.’

  Naxor waited until she was seated, then jumped aboard and sat on the bench opposite Aila. A servant closed the door, and the carriage set off, the six ponies pulling it along the road in the direction of the Union Walls and Auldan.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes as Aila glared out of the window. She didn’t experience fear very often, but the thought of coming face to face with the God-King was terrifying. She hadn’t laid eyes on him for over three hundred years, when he and the God-Queen had intervened to end the Civil War following the slaying of Prince Michael. Her last image of the two gods that ruled the City was of them taking two bodies back with them to Ooste; their dead son, and Princess Yendra. The God-King had shown mercy to Aila that day, and had sentenced her to two hundred years imprisonment rather than executing her, which was the fate he had decreed for Yendra.

  ‘I hate you, Naxor,’ she muttered.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ he said.

  ‘Will it? I guess Ikara has blamed me for everything?’

  ‘Yes, she has. My mother knows her daughter well, however, which is why she wishes to speak to you in person. I’ve seen my sister’s reports; they are filled with inconsistencies and contradictions. Every success she credits to herself, and every failure is put squarely onto your shoulders.’

  ‘I’m doomed.’

  ‘As I said, my mother knows what Ikara is like.’

  ‘Then why did she make her Governor of the Circuit?’

  ‘You know the answer to that. With so many of our fellow demigods killed in the Civil War, she wasn’t exactly spoilt for choice.’

  ‘So the Circuit fell to Ikara by default? That tells me exactly where the Evaders fit in your mother’s list of priorities.’

  Naxor’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘I’m changing the subject.’

  Aila glared at him, then turned to the window, where the wide streets of the Icewarders were racing past.

  ‘I have some gossip for you,’ he said. ‘You interested?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘A pity, but I’ll tell you anyway. As you know, news of what occurs within the Bulwark is often suppressed. Duk
e Marcus usually only lets out information that he feels will make him look good with the general population of citizens. You still not interested?’

  Aila said nothing.

  ‘I have contacts, however, as befits my role as emissary, and I hear things that others are completely unaware of.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know,’ she sighed. ‘Get on with it.’

  He smiled. ‘Well, the news is nearly a month old, but back in Izran, an attempt was made on the life of the new champion. He was returning from a sortie beyond the walls, and a madman ran at him, and plunged a six-inch blade into his side.’

  Aila froze for a moment. Was he talking about Corthie? She needed to be careful. Naxor could read her mind any time he liked, and the last thing she wanted was for her cousin to find out that she had kissed the champion. She wasn’t embarrassed by what had happened, and the knowledge would probably make Naxor laugh, but a part of her was hoping that the kiss might turn into something else; something more. She needed to stay calm, and nonchalant.

  ‘You’re being awfully quiet,’ Naxor said. ‘I thought my news would amuse you at least.’

  ‘I assume you’re talking about that muscle-bound oaf? I forget his name.’

  ‘Corthie Holdfast? Yes, it was him.’

  ‘And… is he alive?’

  Naxor laughed. ‘The way you said that makes me almost believe that you care, cousin. Yes, he lives; I don’t think even Marcus could have suppressed the news if he’d been slain. Apparently he was up and about and fit for duty after only a few days. But I fear you’re missing the point.’

  ‘The point?’ said Aila, trying to hide her relief.

  ‘Yes. Clearly the duke was embarrassed by the lack of security that led to the assassination attempt. I mean imagine; the best champion in decades, maybe centuries, and he almost gets killed by a Blade?’

  ‘Do they know why?’

  ‘No. The champion’s more… fervent followers tore the assassin to pieces before he could be questioned. The rumours are that my mother was somehow involved, but I don’t need to tell you how ridiculous that suggestion is.’