“Everybody knows.”
“No, they know the story as the Mulai tell it. That we rebelled after the Battle of Lanridge and tried to kill the Sentinel… But that’s not what really happened. Hierin Mulai wasn’t given the Great Weapon after the Oconic War. He stole it. The Kajjon and the Yafai tried to take it back, but the Mulai unleashed it against us both. What did we get for doing what was ‘right’? Thousands burned away in an instant, murdered in the most violent way you can imagine. So I fight for all those people we lost... For the once great city that now lies in ruins… For a chance to set the record straight...”
Stone shuffled uneasily. Was that all true? Or merely a desperate rant from a woman who fears her chances of escape have suddenly faded?
She’s a trickster. Say anything to get what she wants…
“I’m sorry about your home,” Stone said. “But it’s not my fight.”
“Then what are you fighting for? Because everyone is fighting for something. Even if it's just survival. You fight the tides. You fight the odds stacked against you finding anything in the mud. Not much of a life, I’ll wager. Lesser souls might think it their lot in life. Those with a bit more vision, and I think you are one such, they want more. They want to be more. Those people do something about it. They fight.”
“But you’ve killed people. Innocent people.”
“That’s what happens in a war, pup. It’s regrettable that civilians died at the tea house today. The Mulai legionnaires were our target. They will be our target until Yafai lands are returned and my people are once again free. We cannot meet the Imperial legions on the battlefield — we are too few. So we must take them down wherever we can, chipping away at their Empire a piece at a time.”
“Even so, you can't hope to win. Mulai is too powerful. You'd have better luck trying to stop the tides rising on the Eene.”
“So I should just give up? Because it’s too hard? That’s how oppressors win, lad. If you choose to give up your freedom, they win. If you choose to ignore injustice for an easy life and a fat belly, then they win. Somebody has to fight. Somebody has to step forward to oppose greed and tyranny. For freedom brings progress, opportunity, and happiness. Its absence brings stagnation, suffering and desperation. Look at you… Hiding away beneath a broken building. Plucking junk from the mud day after day. You’re working for something. The world seems against you, but you haven’t given up.”
“I have dreams…”
“I see something in you, Stone. A fiery stubbornness. A lack of fear. You yearn for something more, don’t you? A purpose. So hows about I help you get out of this place? Join us. Be a part of something bigger. Help me bring down the Empire and free your countrymen. Don't you see? We should all be free to carve out our own destiny. Not left to dangle on the end of Mulai strings, dancing for their amusement and their profit. Or do you want to spend the rest of your days alone, scavenging for scraps in the muck?”
“I’m not on my own. I have family.”
“That’s what you want the money for isn’t it?” Mila cocked her head, giving him a look of sympathy. “What happened? Why are you on your own?”
Don’t talk to her. She’s dangerous…
“None of your damned business.”
“Hey, I’m trying to help you…”
“You’re trying to trick me! Stop talking. I don’t need your help. I don’t want to fight your stupid war. I just want my mother back and I’ll do it on my own.” Stone pulled off Mila’s cap and tossed it towards her. “I can get four hundred crowns for turning you in. More for selling your lance. Maybe those boots you’re wearing… It will be enough.”
“How about seven hundred crowns for you and your mother?”
“No. Shut up!”
“Eight hundred?”
“No.” Stone balled his fists and sneered at the Yafai. “You probably don’t even have any money. The Yafai are liars. Tricksters. Everybody knows it. I wouldn’t take a thousand crowns from you! It’s dirty money.”
Stone turned around and headed towards the ladder.
“Stone? Wait! Where are you going?”
“To see my mother.” Stone started to climb the ladder. “I’m already late.”
“Are you going to give me up?” Mila shouted after him. “Hey! Pup! Stone! Are you going to tell the Justices?! I bet you won’t be able to. Because you need my money, Stone. Do you hear me? You need my money!”
25. A PLACE OF TORTURE
THEY CRANKED THE ELEVATOR platform up the shaft. Slowly. Steadily. Chain rattling and clanking. Ember turning one handle, Junn-Kri the other.
Lor-Qui and Roon-Kotke stood with their lances aimed upwards, chambers open, oca primed, ready to fight if anyone (or anything) attacked them from above. Nobody talked and Ember found himself glad of the peace. When the platform finally clunked to a stop at the top of the shaft, the four of them filed out, lances lowered, Ember’s sword drawn.
The room was slightly smaller than the one on the ground floor, the space limited by the tower’s tapering walls. A line of barrel-sized oconic capacitors were stacked along the curving outer wall, a low handcart seemingly abandoned in front of them. Another metal door looked the only way out, notable for the thick pipe looping around its frame, one end connected to the nearest capacitor, the other disappearing through a small hole in the ancient stone. There was a button next to it, big and round, fashioned from iron.
“There,” said Lor-Qui, pointing at the cart. “This is why they needed an elevator. They needed to hoist this cart up and down. See the restraints?”
Actually, no. Ember hadn’t noticed the restraints. But he saw them now. Fat iron manacles attached to thick chains. Built to imprison something strong. And judging by the spacing of them, something big.
“We’ve seen something like this before,” said Lor.
“More Kajjon experiments?” asked Roon-Kotke. “Do you think they’ve been experimenting on those creatures?”
“Or the creatures are the experiment. I imagine we’ll know more when we get into the fortress. We should be wary.”
“I’m always bloody wary, Lor. As you should be.” Roon-Kotke marched over to the door. “Now let’s hope this goes where we think it does.”
The metal door opened out to a sheer drop and a view across the trees towards the fortress. Unlike the last air bridge that Ember had encountered, this one sprang into existence at the first time of casting. Lor-Qui pressed the button, which activated the capacitor. Suddenly, the air between tower and fortress blazed, thickened, light and air woven together in patterns too fast and complex to follow.
“Is it safe?” Ember asked when the light had faded and the bridge had formed.
Lor-Qui simply smiled and strode across the oconic crossing, trusting completely in the binding. Junn started to follow him, seemingly unaffected by the fact he was stepping onto a thin slab of air twenty paces above the ground.
“You coming?” the boy asked.
Ember stood nervously at the edge, stomach churning as he looked down. Technically, the drop wasn’t that great. A caster might survive it if the bridge suddenly collapsed. He wasn’t afraid of heights per se. It was depths that gave him the fear. Now it was depths and those orange-eyed monsters. But thankfully, there was no sign of them below. With the door blocked by Hannar-Ghan’s Wall, Ember hoped that they had given up and disappeared back into the forest.
“Doesn’t take three of us to open a door,” Ember said, stepping back.
Roon-Kotke tapped him on the shoulder. “Then why don’t you go and get Han? Tell him it’s time to go.”
***
Lokke cranked the elevator platform down and found Hannar-Ghan sat cross-legged on the floor, cleaning his lance with a cloth, a discarded Wall canister in front of him.
“Well?” the Sergeant said, without looking up.
“Is the Wall holding?” Ember asked.
“What do you think?”
Lokke could see the blue tint to the air, rendering the cr
ack in the door beyond slightly misty, as if he was looking through frost-covered glass. Hannar-Ghan put away the cleaning cloth and stood, sliding his lance into the valise on his back.
Ember peered at the buckled door. “Has anything tried to get through?”
Hannar-Ghan shook his head. “Lor get the bridge working?”
“He has. They’re opening the door into the fortress now.” Ember gestured towards the elevator platform. “So it’s time to go.”
Hannar-Ghan grunted and made a point of brushing past Ember with his shoulder on the way to the elevator shaft. Not hard enough to jolt the ex-Colonel, but firm enough for Ember to know that it was deliberate. Petty and childish.
“I get it.” Ember trailed Hannar-Ghan to the platform, where the big caster stood waiting by the handle. “You don’t like me. I’m everything you hate about the Empire.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me,” Hannar-Ghan replied, starting to turn the handle. Ember grabbed onto the second handle and began to crank. The elevator platform shuddered as it started to rise.
“You must be conflicted,” Ember said.
“No, Mulai. I simply don’t like you.”
“But it’s not that simple is it? Roon-Kotke told you didn’t he? Told you I saved your life back on the wall? You would have died up there if I hadn’t cut you loose from the cart. You— ”
Hannar-Ghan interrupted. “You speak of a blood debt? You are not Ocosconan. I owe you nothing. Now turn.”
“Ocosconan or not,” Ember argued. “I know enough about your blood debts to know that it doesn’t matter where I come from. Lord Su-Zo owed me once. Didn’t matter that I wasn’t Ocosconan. So you owe me...”
“I said,” Hannar-Ghan almost spat at him through gritted teeth. “Turn!”
“You know I’m right. You owe me a life.”
“I’d rather see you die. One less Mulai in the world.”
“My death wouldn’t change anything. It won’t give Ocoscona its freedom.”
“It would be a good start.”
“Agh! You’re infuriating. We’re supposed to be a team. If a caster of mine acted this way to a fellow squad member, I’d—”
“You’d what, Mulai? You’re just a caster yourself… Aren't you?”
“Forget it,” said Ember. “Just turn.”
“I know you're hiding something, Mulai. We’re all hiding something. The others might not be able to see it. But I am not so easily fooled. You are not who you appear to be.”
“And what about you?” Ember asked, swiftly changing the subject. “What are you hiding?”
“Pray you never find out,” replied the big caster. “Now turn.”
***
Ember tried not to look down as he trailed Hannar-Ghan across the air bridge. He kept his eyes firmly focused on the metal door that led into the fortress.
He tried not to think about walking on a plank of thickened air. Tried not to worry about how much oca might be left in the capacitor that kept it conjured. Tried not to imagine the bridge flickering and failing when he was halfway across it, sending him tumbling down into the forest below. Because if the fall didn’t kill him, one of those orange-eyed creatures that skulked in the trees surely would.
An unknown number of stomach-churning steps later, Ember reached the door. Lor-Qui beckoned him inside.
“Come on,” the combat-tech said. “I need to dispel the bridge. Stop anyone following us across. Can’t do that while you’re stood on it!”
Ember gladly stepped through the door, finding himself in a passageway, high-ceilinged, cold like a cave. Five longlamps, all weak and dim, illuminated five metal doors set into the stone — two on each side, one at the far end. Then the smell hit him. Wet straw, shit and piss. If he didn’t know better, he’d have guessed they were in a stable. A badly-run, poorly-ventilated, barely-cleaned stable at that.
Ember was just about to comment on it when he noticed that everyone had their weapons drawn.
Behind him, Lor-Qui pressed the button that controlled the air bridge and swung the fortress door closed.
“What’s going on?” Ember whispered.
“More creatures.” The combat tech pointed to one of the doors. “Several of them. Two or three locked in each cell, far as we can see.”
Ember stepped back. An involuntary reaction. After all, the doors looked more than sturdy. The grilles set into them had bars thick as his arm.
“We’re quite safe.” Junn-Kri banged on one of the doors with his lance and one of the beasts snarled from the shadows within. “They can’t get out. See?”
“Junn!” Roon-Kotke snapped. “Stop that!”
Ember edged forward towards the nearest cell. Judging by the depth of the grille, the iron door was about a hand-span thick, secured by a prison-grade lock. Not one, but two metal cross bars reinforced it. He could hear a low growl emanating from inside the cell.
“Why keep them in here?” Junn asked. “How would you even catch one?”
Ember turned away from the door. “It wouldn’t be a problem for the Kajjon.”
“Do you think the Kajjon captured these? That there might be Kajjon here?” Junn sounded excited by the prospect. “Really?”
“I sincerely doubt it,” said Lor-Qui, staring up at the high ceiling. “Only Cobb claims to have seen one. History tells us they abandoned this world long ago.”
Ember huffed. “I know what I saw.”
“Regardless,” Lor continued. “I believe something else is at work here. Look…” The combat-tech jabbed a finger towards a metal ladder fixed to the wall near the door. Then he looked up at the ceiling again. “That ladder leads up to some sort of walkway up above the cells. See it?” Ember didn’t. “Hard to see in this light,” Lor muttered. “But it’s there.”
Junn-Kri took it upon himself to examine the ladder.
“It moves,” the young caster said, rattling the metal. The gromes howled at the sound of it. “You can pull it up. Stop anyone from climbing it.”
Lor nodded. “Yes. A safety measure, I’d imagine. I believe someone was studying these creatures. Watching them. Maybe they still are.”
“About that.” Ember glanced at the far door. “Anybody else wondering what happened to our attackers from earlier? Or is it just me…? Han? You’re uncharacteristically quiet. No call to retreat?”
The big caster shrugged. “We’re here now. No going back.”
“That’s the spirit!” Roon-Kotke slapped the Sergeant on the shoulder. “I knew you’d come around.”
***
Ember followed the squad through the only door that, as far as they knew, didn’t have an angry, orange-eyed monster lurking behind it.
It led into a much larger room, one with all the hallmarks of a workhouse dining hall — three rows of long, low tables, wide as Ember was tall, arranged end to end. Yet no workhouse dining hall he’d ever seen had chains hanging from the ceiling, thick iron restraints on the walls and blood spatter on the floor. This was a place of torture. Of death. And on a considerable scale.
“This place just keeps getting stranger,” said Lor-Qui.
“Strange isn’t the word I’d use,” Junn mumbled.
They each took an aisle. Ember kept to the edge of the room, sword drawn, advancing slowly past wooden crates pushed up against the wall. No telling what was stored in them. A freestanding cupboard ahead stood with its doors wide open, the empty space inside large enough to stand in. Beyond it, a collection of tall clay jars lined a high shelf. Some had toppled and fallen, lying smashed and scattered across the floor. The fragments crunched underneath Ember’s boots.
Roon-Kotke whistled. Pointed. “There’s something on the table up ahead…”
Something dark and huge.
Ember crept towards it, hand gripping his sabre tightly.
Junn-Kri levelled his lance and clicked open a chamber. “Another one of those creatures?” There was more than a hint of nervousness in the kid’s voice.
“Doesn’t look like it,” said Ember as he drew nearer. “Not big enough.”
“This place gives me the creeps,” Junn-Kri grumbled.
Ember edged closer to the table and the creature sprawled upon it. “It’s a… It’s a bird,” he said. But a bird unlike anything he had ever seen. An evil-looking thing with a horned head and a razor sharp beak long as his arm, its body covered in grey and black feathers. He tried to imagine how big it might be if it wasn’t lying on the table. Definitely taller than he was. Another Kajjon nightmare, no doubt. This wild land was seemingly chock full of them.
“Nasty.” Roon-Kotke said as he drew level. “Is it dead?”
Ember leaned closer. “Smells like it.” He prodded at the bird with his sword, lifting up the feathers on its body. It revealed a long cut across the animal’s belly, guts oozing out of the wound.
“Hells.” Roon-Kotke coughed. “No wonder the Kajjon built their roads high up. I wouldn’t want to be down on the ground if these things are running around too. Makes you wonder what else lives in the forest. I’m glad you talked me out of hiking through it.”
“Let’s just hope we don’t find something worse in here,” said Ember. “We still don’t know who attacked us.”
“True. But they used oca. So I’ll wager next week’s wages that they’re not monsters, but men. And men we can handle.”
Roon-Kotke waved Ember forward. When they reached the end of the room, where another door presumably led deeper into the fortress, Roon-Kotke gathered them together.
“Find anything, Han?”
The big caster shook his head.
“Watch the door. Lor? What about you?”
“One Witching Jar.” The combat-tech held up the blackiron canister, its casing daubed with a Kajjon symbol that looked to Ember like a lopsided tent with arrows sticking out of it.
“A Sanctuary,” Junn-Kri pointed out.
Once Called Thief Page 17
