Ashes of the Sun

by Django Wexler

  “It’ll work,” Kit said.

  “If,” Ibb said, pushing back his hat, “we do this at all.”

  The room went quiet.

  “You know I’m not going to pay for half a result,” Kit said. “If you want your share—”

  “I understand.” Ibb shook his head. “But my share will be a small comfort to my husband and kids if I come back as a corpse.”

  “I’m sorry about Harrow—” Kit began.

  “No you’re not,” Ibb said. “Do us both a favor and don’t lie about it.”

  “Fine,” she shot back. “He knew the risks. We all knew the risks.”

  “Did we?” Ibb’s eyes narrowed. “You knew that thing was waiting for us. No wonder you were so eager to get out of there.”

  “I hoped it wouldn’t still be active,” Kit muttered.

  “And you didn’t think we could have used some kind of warning?”

  “What for? All we could have done was run away, and we did that anyway.”

  “He’s right,” Yora said coldly. “You should have told us.”

  “Fine.” Kit shifted uncomfortably in her seat, unrepentant. “I’m sorry. I was worried that if I warned you, you’d back out.”

  “I gathered that.” Ibb got to his feet and stared at Yora and Gyre. “And maybe we should.”

  Nevin was hunched farther over his drawing, looking miserable. Sarah, silent through this conversation but watching closely, now turned to Yora.

  “If we back out now, then Harrow died for nothing,” Yora said. “And we need the money.”

  She looked at Gyre. Ibb turned to him, too, and Kit was watching out of the corner of her eye. Gyre swallowed.

  The Tomb. Everything that had happened—Kit having a code-key to an intact tunnel, the stone-armored guardian—pointed to her telling the truth about having been there. How else could she know everything she does? And if she had found it—

  He gave a slow nod. “I’m staying.”

  “Fine.” Ibb swept his coat from the back of the chair. “It’s been a pleasure working with you. Come and find me when you come to your senses.”

  “Ibb—” Yora began.

  But he was already stalking from the room. Kit watched him go, then turned back to the others and smiled brightly.

  “Fair enough,” she said. “Let’s see about this plan, shall we?”

  Chapter 9

  The villagers of Litnin assembled to see them off, offering Tanax stiff, formal bows when he told them to expect a further inquiry from Republic authorities. Maya suspected the villagers knew very well that this was an empty threat, as neither Council nor Republic was likely to spare much effort chasing down a few potential conspirators now that the smugglers had been destroyed. She herself got smiles and nods as she walked past, especially from the children. She saw Streza, waving goodbye with one hand and hugging her brother tight with the other.

  Varo, morosely apologetic that he hadn’t arrived in time for the fight, seemed determined to make up for it by setting a quick pace on the return journey to the Gate. Maya’s legs soon ached, and the straps of her pack chafed, but she had the satisfaction of seeing Tanax no better off. He did his best not to show it, however, possibly because their new companion, the messenger girl whose name turned out to be Dhira, loped along behind the scout without the slightest sign of being winded.

  And Beq—Maya didn’t know what to think about Beq. They’d had a moment of connection, alone in the night, and she’d worried at the time that it would make things awkward between them. Beq’s attitude the next morning had been relentlessly normal—normal for Beq, anyway—and only occasionally did Maya catch the girl watching her, when she thought no one was looking. She did her best to force herself not to read too much into it. For all I know, she’s embarrassed she ever talked to me.

  Maya talked to Dhira instead, at least for as long as she could keep up. Messengers were a unique and well-respected group among the Forge servants, because the nature of their assignments could bring them into considerable danger and strand them with no way to return. It took a centarch to open a Gate, so while it was always possible to travel from the Forge, for a messenger the return was never certain. A messenger sent to find a centarch who’d been killed—or even left their post unexpectedly—could find themselves stranded weeks or months from home.

  Dhira seemed to take this as a matter of course. She was a tall, muscular girl, with short-cropped gray hair and the humble bearing that all Forge servants affected in the presence of centarchs. Like Varo, she glided through the woods with an effortless grace, while behind her Maya fought down spikes of pain in her thighs and Tanax stumbled through the underbrush, face sheathed in sweat.

  “You really have no idea why the Council pulled us out?” he said between labored breaths. He’d been harping on that theme since they’d departed. “It doesn’t make sense. Surely you could deliver the letter to the dux as well as we can.”

  “I’m afraid I only have my instructions. The letter is ciphered, and only for the eyes of Dux Raskos himself. After delivering it, you’re to assist the dux and await further word from the Council. Beyond that, you know as much as I do.”

  “We could just return to the Forge and ask,” Maya said. “It wouldn’t delay us long.”

  “No,” Tanax said, apparently coming to a decision. “If those are our orders, we will obey them. I’m sure the Council has its reasons, as always.”

  “Reminds me of a friend of mine,” Varo said from ahead of them. “He and I were out on the road, and we got a message to head back to base by the following evening or there’d be plague for everybody. We rode all night, nearly killed ourselves doing it, and when we got there it turned out the messenger had got the wrong patrol. So we got chewed out, even though we’d only obeyed orders, and had wall duty for a month.”

  There was a pause.

  “That’s it?” Maya said. “What happened to your friend?”

  “Eaten by a pack of rabid thickheads,” Varo said promptly. “But that wasn’t until later.”

  Maya grinned, and then grinned wider at Dhira’s perplexed look. Behind her, a crash indicated that Tanax had had yet another encounter with a thornbush.

  They reached the Gate early on the second day, after Varo and Dhira persuaded Tanax that “as soon as possible” didn’t mean they should try for an all-night march. Grumbling, Tanax had insisted that they at least keep their rest to a minimum, so they’d set out as soon as the sun peeked hesitantly through the interlocking branches overhead.

  Maya was once again glad to have Varo in the lead, because without him she’d never have spotted the entrance to the Gate. There was no secret door here, just camouflage hiding a narrow cleft in a rocky hillside, which had been carved into a niche just wide enough to accommodate the delicate twisted arch.

  “Do you have any message for the Council?” Dhira said, standing in front of the Gate.

  “Just that we’re proceeding according to instructions,” Tanax said. “I will deliver the letter to the dux personally.”

  Maya badly wanted to ask for an update on Jaedia’s mission, but she doubted the Council would share anything, even if they knew. She shook her head when Dhira glanced at her. Tanax touched his haken and sent mental commands to the Gate, and the curtain of silver descended. Dhira gave a deep bow and stepped through back to the Forge. After a moment, the silver cleared.

  “Dux Raskos is an important ally,” Tanax said. “He’s to be given due respect. Is that clear?”

  Maya nodded. Varo said, “Do we know what sort of work assisting the dux is going to involve?”

  “Whatever he requires,” Tanax said, which Maya guessed meant he had no idea.

  She felt the ripples in deiat as he sent the unfamiliar sequence for the Deepfire Gate, and the archway filled with liquid silver once again. Tanax stepped through, unhesitating, and Maya followed close behind. As usual, there was no sense of transition, as though she’d walked through an ordinary doorway into a room
that happened to be hundreds of kilometers away.

  The other side of the Gate was in a chamber similar to the one that housed the Gates at the Forge—bare stone except for the Gate’s delicate arch, and a single heavily reinforced door. Two Legionaries stood beside it, looking like inhuman statues in their off-white unmetal armor and blank faceplates. At the sight of the two agathia with their haken, the soldiers lowered their weapons and thumped fists to chest in salute.

  “Agathios Tanax,” one of them said, her voice distorted by her enclosed helmet. “Please excuse me. The dux asked to be informed immediately when you arrived.”

  Tanax nodded, and the Legionary pushed the door open and slipped out. The other soldier remained at attention until Maya gave him a bow of acknowledgment. He relaxed slightly and inclined his head.

  “Welcome to Deepfire, Agathia,” he said. “We’re grateful for your assistance.”

  “Are we in the Spike?” Beq said eagerly. She fiddled with her spectacles, lenses clicking and whirring.

  “Uh… yes, Arcanist,” the soldier said, nonplussed. “Formally, it’s the Ducal Palace, but the Spike is its common name.”

  “One of the last Chosen-built structures,” Beq said to Maya. “After the Chosen burned the ghoul city here, Filo-math-Beria raised the main spire in a single day before installing the Gate. Founder Volute led some of the cleansing here, before the formal establishment of the Order.”

  “I had no idea,” Maya murmured, grinning at the arcanist’s enthusiasm. Whatever awkwardness lay between them was no match for the wonders of the Elder world, clearly.

  “I’ve always wanted to visit Deepfire,” Beq said. “Do you think we’ll get the chance to explore the tunnels at all?”

  “That’s up to the dux, I imagine.” Maya glanced at Tanax, who was looking at the door with obvious impatience.

  “Of course the strike did a lot of damage, but the area is still very well preserved,” Beq said. “It’s on par with Grace in terms of the discoveries that have come out of it. That’s why the Republic maintains a presence.”

  “How many Legionaries in the garrison?” Tanax said, chiming in.

  “Ten, Agathios,” the soldier answered. “And approximately one thousand Auxiliaries.”

  The door swung open. Four more Legionaries waited, two on each side, blaster rifles at the ready. Beyond them was a long line of more conventional soldiers, in steel breastplates and round caps, spears at their sides as they stood at strict attention. Between them, a short, heavily built man in flowing purple-and-gray silk offered a deep bow.

  “Agathia,” he said. His voice was moist and breathy. “You honor me with your presence. Please convey my utmost thanks to the Council for their assistance. I am Dux Raskos, and I hold this garrison on behalf of the people of the Republic.”

  He straightened up and smiled. His teeth were a horror, brown and splintery, gleaming here and there with precious metals like coins shining out of a sewer. Maya felt an overpowering urge to keep her distance, but Tanax had already started forward, and she had no choice but to follow. Beq and Varo came after her, the arcanist looking curiously at everything, the scout seeming distinctly ill at ease.

  “Thank you for your service, Dux Raskos,” Tanax said, with a shallow bow of his own. “I have a message for you from the Council.”

  “Of course.” Raskos took the letter, a slim envelope, from Tanax. The dux wore a fixed smile. “My gratitude.”

  “Until we receive further instructions, I am to place my team at your disposal. I hope we will be able to resolve your difficulties.”

  “I have no doubt you will,” Raskos said. His smile grew more genuine. “But that can wait. I understand you’re coming directly from another assignment, and you must be tired. Let us see to your accommodations.”

  The Gate room, it turned out, was deep underground, connected by a broad spiral staircase with the rest of the Spike. After several revolutions, it emerged into a large, luxuriantly appointed hall, where a phalanx of liveried servants waited like a second contingent of guards. The dux waved his hands like he was conducting an orchestra, and four dark-coated footmen peeled off to stand expectantly in front of Maya and the others. It took Maya a moment to realize that the servant was waiting for her pack.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a small gathering this evening,” the dux said, as the travelers handed over their gear. “Everyone in Deepfire is eager to make your acquaintance, though of course only the best people will be invited. I trust that will be satisfactory?”

  “Is that really necessary?” Maya said. Tanax shot her a look, and she hastily added, “I thought we would be at work as soon as possible, is all.”

  Tanax cleared his throat. “Agathios Maya is correct, Dux Raskos, that we don’t require any courtesies.”

  “Of course not,” Raskos said, bowing again. “But the situation here in Deepfire is delicate. It may be some time before your aid will be required. Until then, I hope you will take advantage of my hospitality.”

  Tanax nodded, apparently mollified. Raskos, purple robe rustling, gestured to a sweeping wooden stairway, and the pack-bearing footmen trooped up it in formation. Tanax strolled along behind them, with Maya and the others following in his wake.

  “You’ll be summoned this evening,” Raskos said. “Until then, please ask if you require anything at all.”

  He remained at the bottom of the stairs as the servants led them away. When they reached the second-floor landing, Maya exchanged a look with Varo, then made sure Tanax was several steps ahead.

  “Is this… normal?” she muttered, in a low voice. “All the bowing and scraping.”

  Varo shrugged. “You’re the centarch.”

  “I usually slept in a cart beside the road, or in bed with three other people at some cheap inn.” The servants were leading them down a corridor now, and Maya looked around at the polished woodwork, thick scarlet carpets, and sunstones in cut-glass sconces. “This is all new to me.”

  “Me too,” Beq said, fiddling with her spectacles as she peered up at the ceiling. “I think this is a later part of the structure. The construction is all wrong for a Chosen building.”

  “I know one thing,” Varo said. “The dux didn’t look happy to see that letter.”

  “He didn’t, did he?” Maya said. “I’d love to know what it said. Maybe then we’d have some idea what we’re supposed to be doing here.”

  “It’ll be ciphered,” Beq put in. “Until the dux uses his copy of the key to write it out, it’d just look like gibberish.”

  Tanax looked around, and the three of them quieted. They followed the footmen through several twists and turns until Maya was thoroughly lost, ending up in a corridor with blue carpet instead of red and a line of elaborately inlaid doors on one side.

  “Here we are,” one of the footmen said. Struggling under the weight of Beq’s enormous pack, he opened the first door. The room beyond could have swallowed Kaiura’s entire house from Litnin, with high ceilings and a broad expanse of carpet. Bookshelves lined the walls, full of matching leather-bound volumes, and broad-paned windows looked out across the city. Several more doors led off, presumably into the rest of a suite.

  “I imagine we’ll fit,” Maya muttered, a little shocked.

  “Oh, this is for Agathios Tanax,” the footman said. “Agathios Maya, if you’ll follow me? Jonathon, take the others, please.”

  It turned out he wasn’t joking, as Maya had initially assumed. There was another suite next door, just as luxuriantly appointed, which was apparently reserved for her exclusive use. Two more sets of rooms on the other side of the hall, only slightly less princely, were for Varo and Beq. After sorting out whose packs went where and demonstrating the discreet bellpull that would summon someone to attend to their needs, the footmen bowed and departed, leaving the four of them in the corridor.

  “Okay,” Maya said. “This can’t be normal. Who treats a pair of agathia like visiting royalty?”

  “We’re her
e at the Council’s request,” Tanax said. “By honoring us, he honors them in turn. He’s eager to demonstrate his loyalty.”

  “Maybe a little too eager,” Varo muttered.

  “As I said, the dux is a valued ally,” Tanax intoned frostily. “You will treat him with courtesy. Is that understood?”

  “It would be easier for us to help him if we knew why we were here,” Maya said. “He wasn’t exactly forthcoming.”

  “He’s hardly going to explain everything in front of the servants,” Tanax said. “I’m sure we’ll find out when it’s necessary. Until then, it’s not our concern.”

  He gave them a firm nod and turned away. Maya exchanged looks with the others, then went into her room. The size of it was still shocking—she’d considered her assigned space in the Forge generous, but compared to this suite it was barely a monk’s cell. Opening one of the side doors let her into a bedroom nearly as big as the sitting room, with a bed that could have slept a dozen. It did look invitingly soft, however, and a glance into the attached bathroom showed that the Spike had not only running water but private baths, which made up for a multitude of sins.

  Another door, she found, led out to a small balcony. It overlooked a set of opulent gardens, riotous with colorful flowers in neat beds, well-trimmed trees marking the edge of the grounds. Past that, more grand houses rose, each sitting in its own square of gardened perfection. The horizon was defined by a set of colossal mountain peaks, rising like the broken teeth in Raskos’ smile, as though they were at the bottom of an enormous bowl.

  Most striking of all, though, was the view to the west. She could see the city of Deepfire, block after block of warehouses, tenements, and office buildings, built mostly of stone and slate and presenting a dour facade of gray and brown. Lying between the Spike and this more urban part of the city was an enormous scar on the landscape, where the ground simply fell away in a dizzying chasm that extended a considerable distance north and south. Islands of rock hung far out into the emptiness, supported by slender columns. Plumes of white smoke drifted skyward, all up and down its length, illuminated by a crimson glow.