Surrender, whispered his pessimistic self.
That was certainly an option. But would the men in grey let him? They might burn him on sight. Roon-Kotke, Ember and Lor-Qui might already be dead… To think of surrendering was to give himself false hope. Damn you sarge, he thought, as if blaming the traitorous caster would make his predicament any less hopeless. He took a deep breath, closed the heavy door. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be something he'd missed.
Roon-Kotke had told him once to focus on the details. See beyond the surface and embrace all possibilities, all ideas, no matter how wild they might be. What do you see? What do you want other people to see? He remembered a night when Roon-Kotke had tried to teach him how to play Acharawan Aces.
“You can win”, he'd said, “even when you’ve been dealt a bad hand. It's not what you have in your hand that matters. It's what your opponent thinks you have and how that affects their thinking.”
“You're talking about bluffing?”
“Yes. But it's more than that. It's misdirection.”
Junn-Kri turned slowly and heaved the door open again. The creature was still there and it snarled as it saw him, loping to the edge of the tower rooftop as if it might spring the gap in a single bound. He ignored it, turning around again to survey the room. What had he missed? What did he have to work with? Quick, Junn. Before they find you. Cells. Creatures. A walkway high above. Tables in the other room. Cupboards. Storage racks. Chains and restraints.
An idea popped into his head.
He dismissed it. Dumb idea.
But in it popped again. Brighter and more insistent. In a heartbeat, Junn examined it this way and that, turning it and tipping it, flipping it around. A crazy idea. Lots of holes. Vast potential for failure. He shrugged off his valise and drew some rope out of it, mindful that time might be against him. It was still a dumb idea. It shouldn't work. Probably wouldn’t work. But if it did… Oh, how Roon-Kotke would be proud.
28. JUST DOING MY DUTY
DAODE KOTKE-KHUNDHAN STEPPED down from Trur-Gem’s cart as soon as the wheels stopped. Thanking the old quartermaster, he hurried towards the entranceway, one hand rooting around in his pocket for his door pass. Even though the disinterested guard recognised him, he wouldn’t let him through the huge iron gates without it.
Pulling out his papers, he held them up, eager to be inside. Satisfied his credentials were in order, the guard nodded and banged on the door with the end of his lance. Daode waited for the huge iron door to open — a two person job if memory served. He heard the two heavy bars on the inside slide away and the clanking of the four separate locks. Come on. Come on… Did it always take this long to open? The news he carried from the Briar couldn’t wait.
When the door was finally hefted open, Daode darted inside, almost running for the stairs that zigzagged down into the old Kajjon facility below. Hand tightly gripping the rail, he descended the stone steps, leaving the sunlight behind for the pale oconic glow of wall-mounted longlamps. His stomach churned as he rehearsed what he’d say to the Captain when he saw him.
“Captain, I have returned with news of Ember Cobb…”
No. That didn’t sound quite right.
“Captain! You’ll never guess what I’ve discovered…”
Too excitable.
“Captain! I bring important news from the Imperial capital…”
Too dramatic.
“Captain, I have that report you wanted…”
Yes. Matter of fact. Respectful. That sounded good.
“Ah, Daode,” the Captain would say. “Welcome back. We missed you…”
He probably wouldn’t say that. But let’s leave it in.
“Welcome back,” the Captain would say, getting up from his chair. “We missed you. Refu Ruka wasn’t the same without you. Sit down, my boy…”
In his chair? Why the Hells not?
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, tell me what you discovered.”
“It wasn’t easy, sir. Nobody wanted to talk. But I knew that you were relying on me. I dug up the truth in the end. An astounding revelation. I had to beat it out of a former guardsman.”
Too much?
Too much.
Where were we? Ah yes…
“I knew you could do it, Daode. Well done. You’ve certainly proved me wrong. I’ll make sure that you get a commendation for your dedication to the cause. Maybe a promotion. You deserve it.”
“Thank you, sir. Just doing my duty. I—”
Daode didn’t see Dai-Min Khundhan, the Sergeant in Rahi-Khun’s squad until he walked smack into him.
“Hey!” Dai pushed Daode backwards, hard enough that he stumbled back against the steps. “Watch where you’re going, you idiot.”
“Sorry,” Daode mumbled. He waited until the Caster-Sergeant had gone past him, muttering obscenities, before continuing his descent.
At the bottom of the steps, he nodded to technician Par-Kri Hrardhan and smiled at one of the mess hall cooks as he headed down the bland corridor to find Zan-Naka Mindhan. He followed the familiar corridors until he stood outside the Captain’s door. He straightened his tunic, ran his fingers through his hair, and straightened his back. Deep breath. “Captain,” he whispered to himself. “I have that report you wanted…” He mouthed the words again, just to be sure. Then he knocked three times and opened the door.
“Captain,” he announced. “I...”
“Daode.” Zan-Naka sat as he always sat, wedged behind his desk, clad in his legion dress uniform, small round optics perched on his nose. He looked more annoyed than usual. “About bloody time you got back. I expected you yesterday. Where have you been?”
“Ah. Sorry, sir.” The Captain’s outburst took him by surprise. What was he supposed to say again? “Uh, Captain, I bring…”
No, that wasn’t it.
“Yes, yes.” Zan-Naka sighed and reached across his desk for a sheet of paper. “Get to the point. What did you discover?
“The point? Yes. Well, it wasn’t easy, sir. Nobody wanted to talk. But I… I mean, what I eventually found was quite interesting and…”
“Out with it, Daode.” The Captain picked up his pen and dipped the nib into the silver inkwell on his desk. “Do you have the information I need to complete my file on Ember Cobb?”
“Yes, sir.” Daode pulled out his notebook and opened it to the first page. “Cobb is a good caster by all accounts,” he began. “Born in Meillo on the Mulai coast. Mother: Bethe. Father: Andreas. Did the Testing in the Briar soon as he came of age. Met Lokke de Calvas there. The two became firm friends.
“They joined the Scarlet Lancers together. He stayed on when Lokke got promoted to the First and The Last after his heroism at Zegoma Beach. Ember rejoined him when Lokke took command of The Old Hundredth. He became his trusted second. Got married to Laney Hallei Lott. Served with distinction at Tut, the Shattered Isles and Sauzza. Poor sod went off the lines when his wife died though. Murdered by the Yafai. Cobb quit the legion and became a mercenary. An unreliable one at that. Last anybody saw of him, he had gone north. It all fits.”
Zan-Naka paused his note-taking. He dunked his pen into the inkwell again.
“You said ‘interesting’, didn’t you? Doesn’t the Mulai have any secrets?”
“He doesn’t.” Daode flicked to the last page of notes he’d written. “Not that I could dig up. But — and this, I believe is the interesting bit — his family does.”
Zan-Naka leaned back in his chair. “Go on.”
“Yes, sir. It appears that the Cobbs have been casters for generations. His father was a caster in the Blackiron Bucks, based out of the Gorah-Tei Greatfort. His grandfather, Orey Cobb served in the Bucks too. But before that, he was a caster in the Bloody Tenth…”
Daode let the words hang there.
“Did you say Bloody Tenth?”
“Yes, sir. I did. That’s what is so interesting. The Mulai have done their best to cover it up, but Orey Cobb was a member of
the legion that committed one of the biggest massacres in Ocosconan history! How’s that for a find?”
Zan-Naka Mindhan leaned back in his chair. “That will do nicely.”
29. I’VE CHANGED MY MIND
STONE DUCKED AS THE WARDEN swung his hairy fist towards him. He felt the bottom of the man’s hand brush his head as he crouched, before he leapt forward to ram a knee into the warden’s groin. Genitals squished and his mother's tormentor doubled up, gurgling with pain. Stone grabbed Fowley by the hair and brought his knee up again. A crunch of bones. A satisfying cry of anguish. The Warden crumpled to the floor. Stone reached down and unhooked the keys from the man’s belt.
“I'll take those...”
That’s what should have happened.
Instead, Stone left Ash House with his fists balled, wanting to stride back in and break his mother out then and there. But while he had the passion of a legendary warrior, he had the courage of a skinny nine year-old who’d recently lost a fight to a green-haired bully. He took one look back at the prison, at the Warden watching through a first-floor window. Perhaps the Yafai would kill Fowley if he asked. After all, that’s what she was good at.
No more wasting time. No more principles. He needed to take advantage of the Yafai. Take her money and free his mother. Her situation was worse than he’d realised. He'd been so caught up in the pursuit of coin that he hadn't seen it. He felt a pang of guilt thinking about it. All this time he'd been crowing about how well he'd been doing, how much money he'd scraped together. But his mother was suffering. She had shielded him from the worst of it. All this time, he thought she was safe. The truth was, she was anything but.
Time then to make his move. Time for the Yafai to pay up and trade for her freedom. Even if he had to drag her out of his home to a counting house. Or back to Old Lanridge Street and the remains of number twelve. He’d get the money. Then the Yafai would leave and he would never need to see her again. Didn’t matter if his home beneath the old stables was no longer secret. He wouldn’t be needing it much longer anyway.
He walked quicker, every moment counted. Down the Blood Road, past the pastel-painted houses, the street hawkers and the school. A route so burned into his brain he could probably walk it with his eyes shut. Into Zahn Street, busy now with warehousemen, waggons and carts; between the Crick warehouse and the stables; through the grating and down through the trapdoor, calling out to the Yafai as he descended the ladder.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I will take your money. The eight hundred crowns you offered. Then you and I can…”
But the bed was empty.
The Yafai was gone.
The leather straps lay undone, the ropes sliced through, Stone's hopes and dreams along with them.
He slumped to the ground, kicking out at his basket on the floor, sending it tumbling across the basement. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, and he sobbed. He found he couldn't stop. As if all the pain he'd endured to this point had suddenly been released, rushing out in a torrent, overwhelming and uncontrollable. His father's stupidity. His cowardice. His mother's strength and dignity, unwavering in the face of a hardship he didn't understand or could even imagine. Every cut, scrape and bruise in the mud. Every night on his own, the toy soldier his only reminder of the life he used to lead.
He wiped his nose with one sleeve, dried his eyes with the other.
He'd climbed so far. He'd been so close. Now he'd fallen back down to the bottom, back where he'd started after the bailiffs took his mother all those months ago and left him on his own.
He took a deep breath.
Hard as stone. That’s what he needed to be. He’d started with nothing before. He could do it again. Raise himself up again. He had to rescue his mother. He crawled over to the wall where he’d hidden his savings, pulling out the loose brick, his hands shaking. He felt a surge of relief when he saw the tin. Untouched. Unopened. He lifted the lid and checked that his money was still inside — one hundred and five crowns plus change. This time he wasn't starting with nothing. Then he remembered the lances. He put the tin down gently and scrambled back across the basement. Both weapons were still there. The Yafai hadn't taken them. Things were not so bleak after all.
Too late to see the Rook now. But if he offered eighty crowns for the two lances, he'd have one hundred and eighty five in cash. Not far from his target. A month's scrapping, a bit of good fortune and he could still make it. He just hoped his mother could last that long. He’d seen a sadness in her eyes that he hadn't noticed before. He dreaded telling her about Mila’s disappearance and how he wouldn’t be rescuing her from Ash House as he’d promised.
But he had hope. This time he was older and wiser, knew enough to make money faster. He retrieved his basket. With luck he might make the foreshore before the evening tide. It was more dangerous to scrap by the river as the sun went down, but it couldn't be helped. Then he would go back to the mud tomorrow. He would work twice as hard. He would never give up. The Yafai had been right about that.
30. CLAN OF SHADOWS
EMBER EBBED AND FLOWED between slippery dreams and a hazy consciousness, like a shipwrecked sailor struggling to stay afloat in an angry sea.
In. Lights. Too bright to see. A buzz of conversation. Unfamiliar voices.
Out. High above the Briar. Tumbling into darkness. Falling from the Watcher’s Eye in a glitter of broken glass. Aarhyn by his side. Holding his hand as the slate rooftops of Perridor Street rushed up to meet them.
In again. A stinging pain on his cheek. Sitting in a chair. A splitting headache, his head feeling as heavy as an old anvil. Blood in his mouth, dribbling down his shirt.
Out. Standing in the middle of an air bridge now, the tinted platform flickering and unravelling, its oconic charge almost spent. Hannar-Ghan laughing at him from below, his eyes shining bright orange, long curving fangs growing from his mouth, a fuzz of grey fur erupting from his skin…
Then in again. Awake with a jolt, his blurred vision clearing with every aching blink.
Where am I?
What happened?
How did I get here?
The thoughts rat-a-tat-tatted through his head, before he was distracted by the blinding pain in his shoulders, felt his arms stretched out behind him, cold metal biting into his wrists, forcing them together. Shackled. Defeated. Betrayed.
Hannar-Ghan had betrayed them.
“This one’s awake too.” An unknown voice. A woman. She spoke the Imperial tongue, but with an accent he couldn’t quite place. “Which one is this?”
“Roon-Kotke. The Corporal.” Hannar-Ghan speaking. His tone clipped and familiar, yet now so unfamiliar.
“Who are you?” he heard Roon-Kotke croak next to him.
“All in good time,” said the unknown voice.
“Not you.” Ember looked sideways. Roon-Kotke was bloodied and battered. He raised his head to look at Hannar-Ghan who stood in front of them, arms behind his back. “You,” he sneered at the Sergeant. “Who are you!? What the Hells is going on here?”
“I'm sorry,” said the big caster quietly.
“Sorry?” Roon-Kotke spat on the floor. “That doesn't answer my question! Who are these people? Why do you stand with them?” The Corporal strained against his shackles. “Why am I tied up in this chair? Answer me, gods-dammit!”
A groan to his left. Lor-Qui was coming round.
“I’m…” Hannar-Ghan sighed and turned away.
“Pah! You always were a man of few words, Han. All of them lies it now appears. I'd like to know why you would do this...”
“Because he's one of us, Roon-Kotke.” The unknown voice again. Ember looked up. A woman in a long black coat stood next to the Sergeant, dark hair straight and loose, curling at the ends, green eyes staring at him. She wore a dark grey peaked cap with a grey feather pinned at the side. The woman draped an arm around Hannar-Ghan’s shoulder. “He has been since I took him in. What is it now? Ten? Eleven years ago? Han might be Ocosconan
on the outside. But he’s pure Mulai-hating Yafai on the inside.”
Yafai? Ember swallowed. Oh, shi—
“You can't be...” Roon-Kotke shook his head in disbelief.
The Yafai held her arms out. “Do you not recognise our colours? No? Come now, gents. Are we so easily forgot? We are the clan of shadows. Wolves of the Empire. Ghosts of the friggin’ night. The world thinks us lost, burned from history by the Mulai at Yafnagar. But we are everywhere — Mulai, Ocoscona, Acharawa, Errechaco, even here. Watching. Waiting. Plotting. But our time in the light is almost come.” The Yafai smiled at that, briefly lost in thought. “Ha! listen to me. Prattling on when I should be questioning you.”
Roon-Kotke spat again, blood flecking his sky-blue tunic. “We won't tell you anything! Not a damn thing!”
“Stay your defiance, Corporal. Thanks to Hannar-Ghan here, I already know who you are, where you've come from and what you're looking for… It's a fool’s errand you know. You won't find another Weapon. I’m afraid there isn’t one to find. Certainly not here. You should have turned around and gone home when your Sergeant suggested so.”
“If you already know everything…” Roon-Kotke coughed. “Why am I still alive?”
The Yafai stepped forward. “Because we are both freedom fighters. We share a common aim: the destruction of the Mulai and the dismantling of its unlawful Empire. You desire independence. We crave revenge against our old enemy. I see you’ve even brought me one… Lokke de Calvas unless I'm very much mistaken. Underneath the beard and the eyepatch, it is you isn’t it? I rarely forget the people who have tried to kill me. How are you, Colonel?”
“Colonel?” Roon-Kotke looked confused.
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