“Fine. I’ll spare you from much further exertion. Next two out of three touches? I wouldn’t want you to slip and hurt yourself, old man.” Sianna set her sword atop a barrel and swung her arms in circles, loosening her shoulders up. She tried not to look too pleased by the old knight’s praise. Her friend and sometimes training partner Rafe had really grown in skill since he’d joined the guard as a green recruit a couple months past. However, she still managed as often as not to hold her own against the big man, many times through sheer stubbornness and determination alone, she suspected.
“Aye. This shan’t take long.” Colm grinned at her and backed away, taking up a fighting stance.
Sianna picked up her sword once more. She cautiously advanced and touched her sword against Colm’s. With that, the two exchanged blows, neither scoring a hit for a few moments, Sianna dodging and ducking more than parrying, using her youth, quickness, and small size to her advantage. That was until she got too involved in the rhythm of the exchange and fell for Colm’s feint. He smacked her with the blade on the left shoulder when she went to parry the stab that wasn’t there.
Colm smiled at her again. “I can taste that mulled wine already, lass. Make your move.”
Sianna immediately lunged low, feeling the knight’s blade scrape against her leather sparring helm. Her own blade thumped against his thigh before he could dodge. Unfortunately, before she could celebrate, she lost her footing and landed on her rear in the snow. She quickly scrambled back to her feet, but now her backside was wet and cold.
“Lucky strike, that,” Colm muttered.
“Tied up,” she announced. “One strike for the valiant Sir Colm, and one for the spoiled princess. Who shall prevail?”
The snow was falling heavier by then, the snowflakes coming down in thick clumps. She blinked a flake away when it settled on her eyelashes.
Colm gave a grunt of amusement but otherwise didn’t reply.
Sianna took the offensive. Her cautious footsteps sloshed in the wet snow, and her arm felt the impact of Colm’s heavy blows as she parried. The knight’s breath puffed in the air as he worked his sword forms. He stabbed low, but Sianna saw it coming. She sidestepped and parried his blade downward then lunged at him, sword whipping up high toward his neck.
Colm’s eyes widened in mild surprise at her swift strike. He stepped back, what would’ve been an easy evasion, but this time, it was he who lost his footing. His heavy boot slipped in the slush, sending him reeling back.
His guard was open in that moment, and Sianna tapped him in the belly with the point of her sword. The old knight lurched up against a stack of barrels, eyebrows raised.
“I did it! First time I’ve bested you, Sir Colm.” Her chapped lip split from her wide grin, but she barely noticed the sting.
“Well done, lass.” Rather than making an excuse, his eyes shone with pride. “Way to use your quickness to your advantage.” He held out his hand to collect her training blade.
“Go get your mulled wine, Sir Colm. I can put these away.”
He looked about to protest but then shrugged and handed his blade over. “Your father would be very proud.” He clapped her on the shoulder before heading off toward the keep.
Sianna beamed for a moment. That was high praise indeed, coming from the old knight. She knew the only reason she’d prevailed was due to her youthful reflexes in the inclement weather conditions, but that didn’t detract much from her elation. She walked across the training yard to return the gear. Nobody else was about in the weather, unsurprisingly, save a handful of guards on the walls.
She spotted her friend Rafe, warming his hands over a brazier on the wall overhead, and called out a greeting.
“Your Highness! How was sparring today?” He had a wistful expression as he looked down, likely wishing he could be training with her rather than standing around in the snow and cold.
“You won’t believe this, but I beat Sir Colm for the first time!” She savored the look of shock on his face.
“Truly?”
“Well, he did slip on that last exchange, but a good swordswoman knows how to use the weather and terrain to her advantage, right?”
“Aye, ’tis so, Highness. I’d best watch out next time we train together.”
A shout from the castle gates drew Rafe’s attention for a moment.
“I’ll let you get back to your guarding, Rafe. See you around.”
“Bye, Princess.” He smiled and waved but was obviously distracted by the shouts from the gate.
Sianna had just placed the training swords back in the armory locker when she heard a horse come galloping through the main gate. The animal was blowing clouds of steam in the air, foam covering its flanks. The rider shouted something to the surprised stableboy and leaped from its back.
Her blood ran cold at the man’s haggard face. He looked as though he’d ridden hard for days, if not weeks, and bore grim news. His eyes were dull with fatigue and his mouth twisted into a grimace.
“I bear urgent news for the queen,” the rider called to the pair of guards posted before the keep’s doors.
Sianna slammed the locker shut and ran toward the keep, paying no heed to how she looked, muddy and cold and dressed in clothing unsuitable for a lady. Whatever the news was, she had to hear it.
One of the guards saw her coming and reopened the door so she could race inside. Across the hall, Sir Colm had met the rider, and the two men were heading toward the queen’s private audience chamber on the second floor. Queen Marillee preferred that room to the drafty great hall for conducting business with her husband at war.
“Princess!” Cece, the matronly head cook, stepped into the corridor to offer her a goblet of mulled wine, but she ignored it, racing for the stairs instead.
She caught up to Colm and the messenger just as they stepped into Queen Marillee’s audience chamber. Sianna’s chest was tight, and she was having trouble breathing, but that was from an anxious dread, not fatigue.
The clearly exhausted messenger fell to his knees. “Your Majesty, I bring dire news from the war. The Ketanian army was dealt a devastating defeat on the field of Brockburn. King Atreus was slain in single combat with the enemy warlord.” The messenger paused and swallowed nervously, as if unsure if he should continue. When the queen only stared in shock, he spoke the rest of his ill news in a rush as if he couldn’t wait to get it out. “During that same battle, Prince Jerard rode out beside the king to reinforce the line, but alas, he also was tragically claimed in battle. Prince Dorian went missing in action days earlier and, it is assumed, was either slain or captured by the enemy.”
Sianna stood stunned. This can’t be happening. Father promised they’d be back in but a few months… How could it have all gone wrong? She fought down a sob, but her legs suddenly couldn’t support her, and she slumped to her knees, one hand braced against a pillar so she wouldn’t fall over.
Her mother admirably managed to maintain her regal composure although her voice was unsteady. “What of the rest of the army? Who has command?”
“The army’s remnants were retreating toward Carran after heavy losses. Lord Lanthas survived the battle and ordered the retreat, Your Majesty.”
Sianna barely heard the last part. Father is dead? And both my brothers? She simply couldn’t imagine it—her father was such a hale and towering figure.
“Thank you, sir, for your news, ill though these tidings may be.” Queen Marillee gestured the chamberlain forward, who had been hovering beside her. “Chamberlain Kelthos will see to it that you have a hot meal, quarters, and a bath drawn.”
The messenger rose to his feet and bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I regret the ill news.” He glanced over curiously at Sianna, not recognizing her, most likely, then followed the chamberlain out.
A sudden thought struck Sianna. “Sir, what of Sir Edwin? Has he fallen in battle?”
“Nay, miss. Sir Edwin is among the survivors. At least, he was when I departed six days past.” He nodded and
followed the chamberlain down the hall.
The knowledge that Sir Edwin yet lived was a small balm against the heartbreaking knowledge of her father and brothers’ deaths.
“Sianna.” Her mother was regarding her as though she’d just noticed she was there. “Come here, dear.”
Sianna wobbled getting to her feet, and Sir Colm was there, with a strong hand gripping her arm to steady her. A moment later, she was in her mother’s arms.
The tears burst free despite her best attempt to hold them at bay, and her mother stroked her hair as she had when she was a child. Tears glimmered in Marillee’s eyes as well, but she maintained enough composure to not start sobbing.
“What does this mean, Mother? Will the Nebaran Empire conquer all of Ketania?”
“Not yet, dear. You heard the man—there are still brave men like Lord Lanthas and Sir Edwin who will lead our troops. They shall fight and make the invaders pay for every inch of ground they take.” She paused, and her face was solemn as she regarded Sianna. “You must realize that this means you are heir to the throne now, my dear.”
Those words held no meaning at first. Then, after a long moment, they sank in. “Heir to… but you’re queen, Mother! I can’t…” It was all too much. Her world was crumbling around her, and she was on the verge of panic.
“Shhh. Yes, I’m queen, but I won’t always be here, dear. You must start acting and thinking like the next queen. The people will need someone young and strong and inspiring to look up to now.”
Sianna didn’t know what to say. All her life, she’d been the third child, a daughter destined to marry some lord or knight to cement a political alliance. She’d never contemplated what it would be like to inherit the throne and be responsible for an entire kingdom.
And now that the army was destroyed, she didn’t even know that a throne to inherit would exist much longer, let alone a kingdom to lead.
Chapter 14
With both hands, Nesnys gripped a thick metal wheel mounted on a strange hatch and turned it. The rusty mechanism resisted her at first, and the muscles of her arms flexed as she put more force behind it. With an ear-piercing squeal, the wheel broke its rusty grip and spun. She gave it a powerful heave and let go, the wheel gyrating of its own accord. When it slammed to a stop, she shoved on the hatch.
Stale air wafted out as the seal was broken and a dark chamber was revealed. With her darkvision, she surveyed a cubical room, about seven or eight paces to a side. A dirty window filled the left wall, and before it stood a contraption with all kinds of levers and knobs on it. Across the room was a dust-covered metal table with curled scraps of parchment poking up through the coating of grime. A suit of armor stood motionless in the exact center of the room.
She knew this chamber was important, for the placard beside the door designated it as the Control Room. She was determined to unlock its secrets.
The orange crystals in the walls flared to life with their cool light when she stepped inside. As she did so, the suit of armor shuddered and emanated a ticking sound. With a series of clicks and whirs, it turned to face her. A pair of red crystal eyes flickered a few times before illuminating steadily.
A hollow voice issued from within the automaton. “Where are the artificers? What are our directives?” Its face was a blank metal mask with a slot for a mouth. It took a step toward her.
Nesnys put her hand on Willbreaker’s pommel reflexively. A pair of beetles scurried across the floor as Taananzu made its way inside the room behind her.
“I seek Overseer Lenantos,” she told the construct, recalling a memory she’d had earlier upon entering the underground facility.
It clicked for a moment before responding. “Overseer Lenantos issued the order to shutter this facility following the assault and defend it against intruders. He evacuated with the remaining Artificers through the portal.”
“Where is he now?”
“Whereabouts unknown. All stands ready—we await our directives.”
“Instruct me as to the purpose of this facility,” she said.
“Authenticating artificer identities.” The automaton began clicking ominously. “State the countersign, Masters. You have ten seconds to comply. Nine… eight…”
Nesnys sighed. “I don’t know what fool countersign they might have used. Will this suffice?” She held up the black metal ring she had found adorning one of the skeletons’ fingers during her search of the hall over the past few hours.
“Five…” The automaton paused, something grinding within its carapace a moment. “Identity confirmed. Welcome, Master. What are our directives?”
“I already told you—instruct me as to the purpose of this facility. I want a complete overview. Spare nothing.”
“Yes, Master. You stand in the control room for the transfiguration chamber. When activated, the chamber can transmute organic matter into a clockwork construct of equivalent form and volume as the matter input.”
Nesnys thought of the manner in which the door to the adjoining chamber had been wrenched from its hinges by some tremendous force and wondered if the mageling had done that or if it had been broken off previously.
Has the boy discovered the secrets of this hall? That thought made her uneasy.
“So it generates machines like yourself?” she said.
“Yes, Master. Factotum to serve the artificers.”
“Show me,” she commanded, intrigued by the possibility.
“The transfiguration chamber requires organic matter to function.”
“Taananzu. Fetch one of those soldiers from outside.”
The fiend disappeared in a swirl of green tendrils of magic. Moments later, it reappeared with a stunned soldier. The man’s face had gone the color of spoiled milk.
“W-warlord, h-how may I serve?”
“Here’s your organic matter,” she told the automaton, ignoring the terrified mortal.
“It must be placed in the transfiguration chamber.”
Nesnys pointed through the window to the chamber with the strange metal spike angling from the floor and concentric rings around it. “Go stand in there and do nothing until I say so.”
“At once, Warlord.” The young man scurried out the door and into the adjoining chamber.
She thought it amusing that his relief at being away from her and Taananzu’s presence outweighed any fear or caution he might have of the unknown chamber. “Make sure the mortal stays in there,” she told Taananzu.
The fiend glided out of the room and took up position outside the other room.
“Organic matter detected in transfiguration chamber,” the construct said.
“Do it,” she said.
“Activating transmutation sequence.” The construct’s joints squealed, and it lumbered over to the mechanism with the levers and switches. It adjusted a knob and wrenched a brass lever down. The entire transfiguration chamber began humming with a basso rumble. A brilliant light bloomed from the metal spire in the floor.
The soldier in the outer room looked as though he would bolt, but he must’ve been more terrified of Taananzu blocking the way.
“Transmutation commencing.”
What at first appeared to be a swarm of insects poured from the vents in the transfiguration chamber. But as she watched, she saw they were much smaller—some type of minute particles released by the machine, like black sand. The particles swirled and roiled around, then descended on the Nebaran soldier with a fury. He screamed as he was cocooned in the black sand, eventually crumpling to the floor and lying still after several intense minutes. The chamber fell silent, the light extinguished, the black particles falling to lie inert on the floor.
Nesnys looked at the automaton, wondering if the contraption had failed.
“Transmutation complete.”
The sand was sucked into slots in the floor, and within moments, the chamber was clear save for a metal figure lying motionless.
“What now?” she asked the construct.
“A master mus
t activate the factotum with an artificer’s key.”
“This?” She held up the ring.
“Yes, Master.”
The ring transformed into a key when brought into close proximity with the construct. Once it was wound up, the clockwork soldier clambered to its feet, much quieter and smoother than the dilapidated automaton in the control room.
“Your orders, Master?” it asked.
Nesnys looked to Taananzu and nodded, well pleased. Possibilities began to fill her head.
I like this very much. With time and patience, I can create an army of these things. They will not require sustenance or sleep. But first, I shall discover what other secrets the Hall of the Artificers holds.
***
Several hours later, after receiving a detailed overview of the facility, Nesnys stood contemplating a bizarre portal-generating device before her. Two of the names on the control panel meant nothing to her. Ammon Nor Prime was obvious, for it led to the surface somewhere nearby. Shirak Research Station and Kaejax Outpost she knew nothing of. The last was Voshoth. A faint memory nagged at the back of her mind, of the last time she had been free of the Abyss, during the Planar War two millennia ago…
The war had been going poorly. Worlds were burning, others lay in ruins, and the Engineer’s legions were nearly decimated. The Architect and his forces were incredibly strong and unrelenting. Even though the Engineer had allied himself with the Abyss, his bid to claim control of the Nexus of the Planes was nearing its bitter end after the Planar War had stretched on for many years.
A hastily convened war council had been called, and Nesnys held a place at the long table along with the Engineer, his close confidant Fellraven, Overseer Lenantos of the Order of Artificers, and other generals and advisors. The meeting had devolved into bickering, and she had lost interest in the proceedings. Talk and planning had their place, but swords won wars, and she was a weapon that needed to be wielded. Instead, she sat idle, unused.
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