“Not at the expense of the door!” the Corporal bellowed. “Seven Hells, Han! How are we going to close it? How are we going to keep whatever those things are out there from getting in here? Did you even think of that?!”
“Actually I did.” Hannar-Ghan pointed to Ember’s left, where the buckled and dented metal door now lay. A thin curl of smoke rose up from one of its edges. “Give me a hand with the door. We can—”
Whatever Hannar-Ghan’s idea was, nobody heard it. One moment the Sergeant was standing at the door, the next he was thrown sideways, knocked off his feet by the swipe of a monstrous arm. Roon-Kotke stumbled backwards with a terrified yell as, with a gut-rattling snarl, the creature with the orange eyes muscled its way through the open doorway.
“Kill it!” shouted the Corporal, struggling to open a chamber on his lance.
A crackling arc of Ampa leapt across the room to strike the animal in the chest, wrapping it in a cocoon of paralysing oconic light.
“Got it!” Junn-Kri whooped.
Ember waited for the creature to topple. Or drop to its knees, wracked by the nerve-jangling agony of the Ampa coursing through its body. Yet it didn’t. Didn’t even seem hurt by the attack. Instead, it held its left arm out and watched the blue Ampa flicker across its fur. Fascinated. Like a child watching a ladybug crawl across their palm. Then the beast drew itself up to its full height, head almost brushing the ceiling, beat its massive fists upon its chest and let out a room-shaking roar.
“Oh, sh—” Ember heard Junn say behind him.
Ember met the creature’s gaze, staring into bright orange eyes, pupils slitted like a snake. As it watched him, he realised with a rising horror that he didn’t know where his lance was. He remembered dropping it. Was it still outside? Fat lot of good it would do him if it was. He was two, maybe three steps away from getting his head bitten off. All he could do was draw his sword. He doubted it would do any damage. Chances were, he’d get mauled by the creature’s metal-shredding claws before he had a chance to swing it.
Shuffling backwards on his arse, Ember kept the sabre raised, the blade shaking. A pathetic defence, but better than nothing.
“Ember!” Lor-Qui’s voice. “Stay down!”
The scorch of a focused Fura-2 flashed above his head, the heat of it prickling his skin. The beam of concentrated oconic fire drilled into the raging animal, burning into its shoulder, rocking it back.
But not taking it down.
How was it still standing?
As the thought raced through Ember’s mind, Hannar-Ghan hit the beast from the side, loosing a standard Fura. The fireball burst at the creature’s hip, incinerating grey fur, blistering and charring skin. The force of the impact hammered the beast back and it crunched into the curved stone wall of the tower. The creature yowled and struggled to pull itself up, shaking its head, slobber dripping from its fangs. Then it was moving. Faster than Ember had thought possible for an animal so large. No roar this time. No frightening display of chest-beating strength. It simply charged. Bounding forward. Claws out. Yellowed teeth bared. Straight towards him, eyes on Lor-Qui and Junn standing right behind.
Ember tried to roll out of the way.
Roon-Kotke shouted. Fired a bright jet of thin Fura-2. Missed.
Still the creature advanced.
Lor-Qui unleashed another tightly woven stream of fire.
This time, the creature ducked underneath it, a reaction that might have sealed Ember’s fate. But in doing so, the charging beast lurched face-first into a blazing Fura fired by Junn-Kri, before getting blasted sideways by Hannar-Ghan’s follow-up shot. The creature’s legs gave way and it sank to the ground, fur scorched away, blood spurting, the air pungent with the stench of burnt flesh.
Ember got to his feet and advanced slowly on the downed beast. It lay on its side, chest heaving, face blackened and blistered, one orange eye open, watching him approach. Gritting his teeth, Ember twirled his sword around, held the hilt with both hands and rammed the point down hard as he could, straight through the creature’s head.
The creature shuddered and died.
One Ampa, four Fura and a sabre through the brain. Damn these things were hard to kill.
“We got it,” Lor-Qui said with a sigh of relief.
“This one, yes.” Hannar-Ghan darted over to the broken door. He lifted up one end, straining with the effort. “Help me,” he said. “We need to block the entrance. There will be more of them out there.”
The big caster didn’t need to ask twice. Between them, the Sergeant, Junn-Kri, Ember and Roon-Kotke heaved the metal door back into the empty frame, pushing it closed. Or at least as closed as a buckled and heat-blasted door no longer attached to its hinges was going to get.
“It won't shut.” Roon-Kotke pointed out. “If another one of those things tries to get in, it won’t hold. Junn could probably break it down.”
“I’m not finished.” Hannar-Ghan slid open a chamber on his lance and slammed the end of the weapon down on the ground in front of the door. He muttered what Ember recognised as a Wall binding. The oconic weave sprang into life, expanding a blue-tinted barrier of solid air left, right and up, filling the room, separating them from the outside and wedging the busted door firmly in place.
“That better?” Hannar-Ghan closed the chamber on his lance.
“Yes,” said Roon-Kotke reluctantly. “Although its not going to last long, is it? What did you imagine we'd do after that? Cast another one?”
“No. I hoped we'd run upstairs, Lor would activate the air bridge linking this tower to the fortress, and we’d escape in there. I thought that was the plan?”
“Well, yes.” Roon-Kotke looked sheepish. “That is the plan.”
While Hannar-Ghan and Roon-Kotke argued, Ember took a quick look around the room. The walls were stone, wooden racks pushed up against them. Suits of large, strange armour hanging to his left; a row of long spears with hooked blades stacked to the right. A door in the far wall suggested the ground floor of the tower was split into two separate rooms.
“We should be going,” said Lor-Qui. “I need time to activate the air bridge. That’s if it can be activated…”
“I'll stay here.” Hannar-Ghan sat down on the floor. “Watch the Wall. I'll uncap another one if it unravels before you get the bridge working.”
Roon-Kotke nodded. “How many charges have you got?”
“Four more. After those bloody spiders, I carry spares.” The Sergeant tapped the barrier with the end of his lance, as if to check it was still holding. “I'll be fine here. Go. The bridge is our only route to safety.”
Ember couldn’t argue with Hannar-Ghan’s logic, although his definition of ‘safety’ left much to be desired. They needed somebody to watch the door, somebody to guard against… Ember looked down at the body of the beast they’d killed. What in the world was it? It had ape-like features; the might of three bears squeezed into a single, tough-as-nails body; the eyes of a snake; tusks like a wild hog; and… Were those scales on is back? Arano’s arse! This was nature gone wild. Or nature corrupted. Deliberately and oconically. A Kajjon abomination. The stuff of myth, legend and nightmares.
“Let’s go,” Roon-Kotke said.
Ember retrieved his sword, slowly pulling it free from the creature’s head, trying to ignore the slurping noise as skewered brain matter parted. He wiped the blood away on what remained of the dead beast’s fur, one side of the blade, then the other. The world was much more dangerous than he had realised. The citizens of Mulai slept safe in their beds, thinking themselves masters of the Empire. If only they knew what lurked through the Refu Ruka gates. Terrible things that skittered through the dark passages of forgotten Kajjon castles; magicked monsters that prowled old lands long thought deserted and dead.
“Come on, Cobb. Take point.”
“Yes, sir.” Ember gave the creature one last look and slid the sabre back into its scabbard. As he turned to join the others standing by the inner door, he hoped it was th
e last such beast he’d ever have to face.
Reaching the door, he positioned himself to the right-hand side of it, nearest to the door handle. Lor-Qui stood to the left with Junn and Roon-Kotke in front, lances ready. Ember took a deep breath and pulled down on the handle. It turned easily, with barely a squeak.
He pushed the door wide open.
The room beyond was small and empty. Roon-Kotke advanced through the open door first, followed by Junn-Kri, then Lor-Qui. Ember brought up the rear.
“Where are the bloody stairs?” the Corporal asked.
In any other tower, this room was where the stairs would have been.
In any other tower, it would have been easy to reach the top.
The Kajjon, however, had opted for what looked like an elevator — a vertical shaft, about a waggon’s-width wide, with a wooden platform resting at the bottom of it. A well-worn crank with two handles connected to a rusting chain, which hung down from above. It looked like the only way to operate it. If the paternosters in the Hourglass were the pinnacle of elevator design, this one was quite the opposite.
Lor-Qui pushed his way forwards and peered up the shaft
“Curious,” said Lor-Qui. “It’s easier to put stairs here, yet the Kajjon constructed an elevator system. A basic one at that. I wonder what were they transporting up and down on it?”
“You’re the brains in this outfit,” said Roon-Kotke. “I’m sure you’ve got an idea.”
“That's just it. I haven't seen anything obvious yet. No large crates. No oconic machines or carts.”
Roon-Kotke turned the crank experimentally. “Perhaps those things out there haven't got the smarts to turn a handle. Any fool can climb a few stairs. Or any animal.”
“I hope it's that simple,” said Lor. “But there's a purpose to this structure and we don’t yet know what that is.”
Ember stood on the elevator platform. “Not everything has a dark side, Lor.”
The combat-tech shook his head. “You don't know the Kajjon. They don't do anything without a specific design and they most certainly have a dark side.”
24. A HARD DECISION
“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?”
Mila sat just where Stone had left her. The leather straps binding her ankles were still secure; the rope restraining her hands still held. Even so, Stone kept his distance. The Mulai’s warnings rattled around his head like wasps trapped in a beer bottle.
“It’s nothing,” he said, blood on his face, his coat torn.
“Doesn’t look like nothing. You’re bleeding. Come here. Let me have a look.”
She’s a terrorist...
“I’m fine.” Stone stood his ground, rolling his tongue along his gums. One of his teeth felt loose. “I got robbed that’s all.”
“You lost my money?”
“It was my money. And as I said, it’s nothing. I’ll get it back. I know the bastard what took it. I’ll get even with him. Eventually.”
“That’s the spirit. You’re surprisingly capable for a nine year-old.” Mila flexed her arms behind her back, no doubt trying to get more comfortable. She stared at him intently. “Did you at least deliver my message before you walked into somebody’s fist?”
Stone glanced down at the floor, reluctant to meet the woman’s gaze.
She’s an Enemy of the Empire…
“No,” he said.
“No?” Mila sounded confused. “Uh, ‘no’, you couldn’t find it? ‘No’, you couldn’t be bothered? Which is it? You don’t get your precious money if—”
“No, it isn’t there any more.” Stone let out a breath and looked up at her again. “It’s fire and ash. Raided and burned down by the Mulai before I got there. There was no house to deliver your message to.”
Mila slumped back against the wall, her mouth hanging open, a frown creasing her forehead. It looked like all the fight had suddenly drained out of her. Stone had seen his mother look the same, late at night, when she thought he was asleep. That moment when all hope seemed lost and the weight of the world was greater than her ability to hold it up. He’d experienced it himself since. It was a hollow feeling that could be as brief as a few heartbeats or, he guessed, last as long as a lifetime.
Stone might have felt some sympathy for Mila had Caster Vellar not revealed her true identity. The clothes. The injury… It had to be her.
Blew up a tea house…
Sixteen gone to the After.
“Had they… Had they caught anyone?” Mila’s voice was surprisingly soft, her words only little louder than a whisper. She looked at him expectantly.
Stone shook his head. “Nobody there. Not that I saw. I don’t think anybody could have survived the blast.”
Mila leaned forward, wincing in pain. “Did you see any bodies?”
“No.”
“You're sure? This is important.”
“I didn't see anything. Or anyone.”
Mila slumped back against the wall again. She looked thoughtful. Perhaps even hopeful. “Maybe they weren’t there…”
“Who?”
She ignored him, talking to herself. “Going into the house didn’t matter. Hopefully, somebody was watching…” She nodded, slowly. “You did good, pup. You might even have earned your fee…”
“Who…” Stone felt himself shaking. “Who was in the house?”
“Uh, some friends of mine. Like I said.” Mila frowned at him. “Something wrong?”
“I met a Mulai caster in Old Lanridge Street. He told me they were chasing a Yafai terrorist. A woman…” Mila’s mouth twitched as he said the words. “Long black coat like yours.” Stone pointed at Mila’s side. “Fura wound like yours.”
“You should see to that cut on your lip. It looks nasty…”
“It’s you isn’t it? You’re the ghost they’re chasing.” Stone took a step back. “You’re the Yafai.”
Mila fixed him with with a cold stare. Stone hoped that he’d tied the ropes that bound her tightly enough, hoped the hobbles round her legs were strong enough. “What if I am?” she said. “You still want your money, don't you? Five hundred crowns, remember.”
Stone felt his anger rise. “You’re a damned terrorist!”
Mila shrugged at the suggestion. “That’s a matter of perspective. I prefer freedom fighter...”
“Hells!” Stone kicked at the earthen floor. “I’ve been helping an Enemy of the Empire. That’s what the Mulai called you!”
“Look, calm yourself. Let’s talk about this. I’m no terrorist…”
“There’s a price on your head that says different. Four hundred crowns!”
“Pah! I’m worth far more than that.” Mila stared at him again, no doubt wondering what he was going to do with this new information. “What are you going to do, little Stone? Will you turn me in?”
Stone shuffled uneasily. “Thinking about it.”
“Are you now? Well, ‘tis quite the reward. But not as much as the five hundred I’ve offered you. Shall we make it six hundred crowns for my freedom? You did say you needed the money? For your family wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but I…”
“Six hundred crowns. Think what you could do with that. And you’ll get it from me a damn sight quicker than a payment from the Hall of Justice. There’ll be paperwork to fill out. Approvals to seek. Budgets to be balanced. Your four hundred crowns might be tied up in the bureaucracy of Empire for weeks. Or someone might swindle you out of it along the way. The Mulai are hardly trustworthy.”
“And you are? You’ve lied to me ever since you got here.”
“Not entirely. Besides, would you have helped me if you’d known the truth?”
“No I bloody wouldn’t!” Stone spun on his heels and turned away. “Gods! Why did you have to come here? Why did you have to mess up my life? It’s messed up enough as it is! This isn’t fair.”
“War ain’t fair, pup. And I’m fighting a war. Where anything goes.”
“Well, I don’t want to be involved in your war.”
“You’re harbouring a fugitive. You're already involved, whether you want to be or not. Your life is forever changed. Can’t change it back. Now, do you want your money or not?”
Sometimes you have to make a hard decision, his mother had said. It’s a brave man who chooses what’s right over what’s easy. What’s good over what’s convenient. It’s a brave man who won’t compromise the values he believes in. The values that have shaped him. It’s why Stone said what he said, although it pained him greatly to speak the words.
“I don’t want your money.”
His refusal took Mila by surprise. She frowned at him, her confusion evident.
“I thought you needed it.”
“I won’t be a part of your dirty war.”
“Dirty? Is that what you believe?”
“It’s what I’ve seen. With my own eyes! I was there. Opposite the tea house… That was you, wasn’t it? There were innocent people inside. The Mulai said sixteen went to the After. You murdered them.”
“They were off duty Mulai casters and merchantmen for the most part. Our occupiers and oppressors.”
“That don't make it right.”
“As I said, it’s a matter of perspective. You're Ocosconan. You must know how it feels to be downtrodden and ruled by an invading force. The Mulai took your lands as they did mine. They infest your cities. They impose their laws and taxes upon you. They dominate and control you.”
“I don't know any different.”
“No. I suppose you don't. Been over ninety years since the Annexation. It's why there is no appetite for change here. You are content to be subjugated; to be told what you can and cannot do.”
“Not all of us are.”
“Ah, do I detect a hint of rebellion?”
“No. I don’t like the Mulai. But I won't break the law. I won’t help you. I can’t. It’s not how I’ve been brought up. It’s not… right.”
“What does a nine year-old boy know about what’s right? I’m fighting for what’s right.” Mila’s anger boiled over and she strained against her bonds. “It is history that casts me villain. Me and countless others. But tell me pup, who wrote that history? Through whose lens is the past now viewed? Long ago, the Mulai span lies into truths, and shaped truths into lies. Do you know what happened at Yafnagar?”
Once Called Thief Page 16
