Roon-Kotke felt his anger return. Damn you, Han. Damn you for making me feel this way. He realised he’d never know why the big caster did what he did. Never know the pivotal moment that set him down his traitorous path. And he would hate not knowing why. It would gnaw at him. Just as his father’s cowardly actions as a caster still played on his mind, despite all his attempts to bury them.
What was it the Yafai had said: ‘we are everywhere’. So who do you trust? Maybe nobody. Who really knew what Lor’s dreams were? Or what lengths the Captain would go to in order to realise his ambitions? Even Junn-Kri was a mystery. Who’d have thought the kid had the guts to act the hero? Proof that you never really know people. Not completely. Everyone has their secrets. Nobody can be trusted not to hurt or disappoint you. The only person you can truly rely on is yourself. So why should he feel bad about giving up Lokke? There were twenty-five thousand reasons why it was a good idea.
“Have you got any paper?” he asked Lor-Qui.
“Of course,” the combat-tech replied. Lor swung himself off his cot and opened the wooden chest where he kept his belongings. “If you need any help with your mission report, I’ll be happy to assist you.”
The mission report. Yes, that’s exactly what he should be doing. Sending a letter to the Watcher of Mulai ratting out Lokke was a stupid idea. Selfish and disloyal.
Roon-Kotke crossed over to Lor-Qui and took the sheet of paper. “Thanks,” he said. “What are you going to do after all this, Lor?”
“I’m going to submit my new bindings to the Academy of Logicians. I have a good feeling about my DoubleQuick code. It’s almost perfect. The Academy demands nothing less.”
Roon-Kotke nodded. “Aye, those incantations of yours have saved our necks a couple of times now. The Academy will be lucky to have you.”
Roon-Kotke sat at the table in the centre of the room and laid the paper upon it. He realised he didn’t have a pen.
“What about you, Corporal?” Lor-Qui asked. “What will you do?”
“I haven’t decided. Maybe I’ll—”
“Corporal! Corporal!” Junn-Kri ran into the barracks, stopping breathless in the doorway. “Come quickly!”
“What is it?” Roon-Kotke pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet, glad of the distraction. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Ember… Lokke… The Captain… The gates! We’ve got to do something!”
“Calm down, kid. You’re making no sense. Speak slowly.”
“The Captain,” Junn-Kri repeated. “Attacked Ember…”
“He what!?”
“Dragged him to the Terminus. Out cold, he was. I saw it. I think he’s going to throw him into one of the gates!”
“Junn,” Roon-Kotke placed both hands on the young caster’s shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. “This is important. Which gate?”
***
Lokke awoke in a brick tunnel, on a paved floor, his body aching, skin stinging as if he’d been thrown into a patch of nettles. It was cold. Damp and dim. Rusted longlamps on the walls emitting small puddles of pale oconic light.
This wasn’t good.
Behind him, the blackiron ribs of the gateway clicked, the metal contracting as it cooled. He recognised the sound. The portal had only recently collapsed. The question was: could he fire it up again? There was a barrel-sized oconic capacitor next to the ancient archway, copper pipes connecting them together. A small hourglass sat upon it, dull red sand half-filling the bottom of its two glass bulbs. Letting out a groan, he crawled over and placed his hand upon the capacitor’s casing, hoping to feel the tingle of oca inside.
There wasn’t any.
He hadn’t expected there would be.
What he did find was a sword, curved blade glinting in the fitful light. His sword. He picked it up, gripping the hilt tightly. It felt good to have a weapon.
Now, where in the world was he?
Somewhere underground again. That much was obvious. But wherever he was, he was stranded and probably in danger. He squinted along the tunnel. It was quiet and empty, no sound bar a faint drip-drip of water. Of course he was in danger. Not now, perhaps. But there would undoubtedly be something nasty lurking in the half-light. Why else was he here? Why else would the Captain have given him a sword? Zan-Naka wanted him to die the way his grandfather had — helpless and alone.
But he wasn’t dead yet.
Nor did he plan to be.
Lokke got to his feet and brushed himself down. He wondered which gate Zan-Naka had thrown him into. Roon-Kotke had talked of an old underground fortress in Errechaco and a castle in Tanderu. But he could be anywhere. The Kajjon had built their facilities right across the Empire, from Ocoscona in the north to Sauzza in the south, even over the sea to the Crescent Isle. He might be in the middle of nowhere or deep beneath a bustling city. No way of knowing. He ran his hand across the old brick. No way of digging himself out anyway.
So he started walking, hoping to find something he could use to aid his survival. The longlamps on the walls provided just enough light to see. The sword gave him a way of defending himself. He could still hear water somewhere, dripping through the brick. So at least his short-term survival was assured. But he had no food. No armour and no oconics. Longer-term, his prospects weren’t looking so rosy.
The paved stones around the gate faded to soft earth as he edged forward, quietly, slowly, eyes peering into the darkness. He’d walked a hundred paces or so, when he spotted something on the ground up ahead. It looked like a pile of rags at first glance. Or an old greatcoat, crumpled and forgotten. No, he realised, as he crept closer, it was a bag.
A canvas bag.
Lokke edged closer still, gripping his sword tightly. He poked at the bag with the point of his sabre, the steel blade tapping against something metal hidden inside. Several somethings. Satisfied there was nothing in the bag that was going to bite, claw or sting him, he knelt down and reached into it. His hands closed around a cold metal object, tube-shaped, fat-bottomed, tingling with oca.
A Witching Jar.
Lokke pulled the Jar out of the bag and held it up, frowning at the white swooshes painted on the canister’s blackiron casing, trying to remember what Junn-Kri had said about Kajjon glyphs and wishing he’d paid closer attention.
42. HAN WOULD HAVE LOVED THIS
ROON-KOTKE RAN INTO THE TERMINUS, Junn-Kri and Lor-Qui close behind him. Zan-Naka, Daode and two casters stood in front of the gate as a cluster of technicians hefted the metal seal back into place. The casters aimed their weapons at him as he skidded to a stop.
“Stop right where you are, Corporal,” said the Caster-Captain. “Down on your knees, hands behind your head. Now! Right now!”
“Wait! You don’t understand…”
“I said on your knees!”
“Alright, alright.” Roon-Kotke dropped to his knees and held his hands behind his head. Lor-Qui and Junn followed his lead. “But you’re making a terrible mistake.”
“No. I am correcting an injustice. One that has haunted my family for a hundred years. Orey Cobb killed my grandfather during the Annexation. Burned him alive. The imminent demise of Ember Cobb, his grandson, will serve to finally balance the scales.”
“He’s not Ember Cobb,” Roon-Kotke blurted out.
Zan-Naka laughed. “He lied to you Corporal. Just as he tried to lie to me to escape his fate. That’s what the Mulai do. They lie. They cheat. Besides, I don’t have to explain myself to you. I am in command here and I have judged Ember Cobb guilty of war crimes committed by his grandfather. I have imposed a suitable punishment upon him.”
“Look, Captain. I don’t know what this Orey Cobb is supposed to have done, but you’ve got the wrong man. You have no idea what you’ve done!”
“The matter is closed, Corporal. You would do well to remember your place. For if you continue to protest, I will have no choice but to place you under arrest and clap you in irons. Do you want to face a court martial? Do you want to undo all the
good you have done? Over a Mulai!? One less Mulai in the world is no bad thing. I call it a good start.”
Roon-Kotke took his hands away from behind his head and got to his feet. The two casters stepped forward, lances aimed at his chest.
“Kill me if you must,” said the Corporal, raising his hands. “But if you don’t undo what you have done, your career will be finished”
Zan-Naka scoffed. “What are you talking about?”
“That man you’ve thrown into the gate. He’s not Ember Cobb. Despite what he might have said. He’s really Lokke de Calvas. The High Lord Su-Zo sent him here to hide out after Tydek Mordume hijacked the Mulai election and murdered his wife.”
“That’s not true.” The Captain shook his head. “There was a letter. It confirmed him as Ember Cobb. It bore the High Lord’s seal.”
“I’m telling you, Zan. You’ve just thrown Lokke de Calvas into that gate. He once saved the High Lord’s life. Everybody knows they are close friends. If De Calvas dies by your hand, I suspect your career will be over, your life forfeit, your family name forever tainted.”
“No.” Zan-Naka frowned. “I don’t believe you. He is not—”
“I didn’t believe it either. But the Yafai who took us captive in gate twenty-three, they knew him by sight. They stripped him of his disguise. That’s how I know. He wanted to stay hidden when we returned, so he swore us to secrecy! The real Ember Cobb is already dead!”
“No…”
“Gods man, you’re wasting precious time! Open the gate. You know what’s in there. He won’t stand a chance!”
***
Lokke was pulling another Witching Jar out of the bag when he heard it. A scratching noise. Faint at first. But in the silence of the tunnels, it was loud enough to get his attention.
He stopped, the Jar in his hand, Kajjon lettering scribbled on the middle of the casing. An Ampa. Or a Sanctuary. He was only guessing. Might be neither. Lokke waited. Standing still, so as not to make any more noise. There was the sound again. Not so much a scratching. But a faint tapping. Someone moving across the stone. Or something. He set the Witching Jar down in a line with the others he’d found, then reached for the hilt of his sword.
He watched the tunnel. Waited. Couldn’t see anything at first. Then he spotted movement. A creature scuttled around the corner of the tunnel ahead of him. Small. Multi-legged. Black carapace shiny in the longlamp light. Ember couldn't see much more from this distance. But the creature wasn’t a threat on its own. He could kill it easily. That's why there had to be more of them.
Sure enough, it was joined by another creature. Then another, climbing up the wall, hanging effortlessly from the ceiling. Three became four. Four became seven. Seven became too many to count. Too many to fight. The creatures scuttled forward, slowly at first, as if waiting to see what Lokke would do. He didn't move. There was nowhere to run. This, he decided, was as good a place as any to make his stand.
More creatures appeared, skittering around the corner across the floor, walls and ceiling. He could see them more clearly now.
Spiders. Of course it had to be the bloody spiders.
A fully-armed squad hadn’t been able to beat them. So what was he supposed to do with six Witching Jars and an old cavalry sword?
Lokke was still trying to think of an answer when the spiders charged.
***
Roon-Kotke stood in front of gate seventeen and watched the technicians hurriedly connecting a new capacitor to the ancient blackiron archway.
“Come on, come on!” he shouted, clapping his hands, urging the techs to work faster. “We need that gate opened. Junn! Lor! I want every caster and technician down here ready to help. Round them up. Make sure everyone is armed. Fura charges only. Ones, twos and threes for the experienced casters. Walls and Knockdowns too. Those damned spiders won’t beat us again.”
Junn and Lor-Qui chorused an ‘aye, Corporal’ and ran in opposite directions.
“I didn’t know,” Zan-Naka said as he sat on the floor, head bowed, the technicians working around him. He looked a shadow of his former confident self, dress uniform grubby, collar unbuttoned. His long suffering assistant conveniently absent.
Roon-Kotke stood over him. “Tell me you at least gave him a weapon?”
“He has his sword,” the Captain mumbled.
“That's all?” Roon-Kotke felt like kicking him. “Arano’s balls, Captain! He might as well be carrying a kitchen ladle for all the good a sword will do him in there!”
Zan-Naka stared at the flagstones. “I wanted him to suffer.”
“Let’s hope for your sake, and ours, that he still lives.”
“Why do you care?” The Captain looked up, sneering. There was still some fight in him it seemed. “The Mulai is nothing to you.”
“On the contrary, he’s become a very valuable part of my team. Saved all our lives. More than once. I’ve already lost one caster today. I’m not losing another one.”
“We’re ready,” announced one of the technicians at the gate.
“Then open the seal,” Roon-Kotke said. The technician nodded and set to work on the trio of combination dials.
Junn-Kri returned first, Rahi-Khun Ghandhan and the members of her squad close behind her.
“What the Hells is going on here, caster?” she yelled, fastening the chest strap on her armour. A snarling wolf painted across its overlapping metal plates.
Roon-Kotke sighed with relief. “Corporal. I’m glad you’re here. It’s Lokke…”
Rahi frowned. “Who?”
“No more games, Rahi. You know who. Lokke. Ember. Whatever you want to call him. His secret’s out. He told me you know who he really is.”
Rahi glanced around the growing crowd of Fuerzi-Kri. “Where is he?”
Roon-Kotke gestured towards Zan-Naka sat on the floor. “It seems the Captain here has thrown our favourite Mulai into gate seventeen.”
“He’s done what?!” Rahi looked confused. “Why would—”
“Something about Ember Cobb’s grandfather killing his grandfather during the war. Petty revenge. To be honest, it doesn’t really matter why. What matters is that Lokke’s in there.” Roon-Kotke pointed at the gate. “With the spiders. We’ve got to rescue him. Before it’s too late.”
Rahi-Khun gritted her teeth and rounded on Zan-Naka. “You did this,” she snarled at him, spittle flying. “If Lokke is dead, Su-Zo will be the least of your problems. I’ll kill you myself!”
Zan-Naka straightened. “How dare you speak to me in that fashion, Corporal. I am still in command of this facility and I will be treated with the proper—”
Rahi swung her lance and cracked Zan-Naka over the head. The Caster-Captain slumped sideways. “Not any more you’re not.” She turned to Roon-Kotke. “I’m assuming command. What can we expect to find on the other side?”
Roon-Kotke ran a hand through his hair and then pulled on his helmet. Over Rahi’s shoulder, he spotted Lor Qui leading a rag-tag collection of casters and technicians into the Terminus. Would it be enough to hold back the spiders? Were they already too late?
“Corporal?” Rahi nudged him. “What’s in there?”
“Uh, we’ll enter a long tunnel,” he told Rahi. “Brick. Poorly-lit. Runs for two hundred paces or so before turning sharp right. If there are already spiders in the tunnels, we’ll need to push them back. Fura will burn them easy enough, but we’ve got to be smart about it. There are hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. They won’t stop. They won’t turn back. They almost overwhelmed us last time.”
Rahi-Khun opened a chamber on her lance. She surveyed their hastily-assembled army of casters, technicians, porters and cooks. “Is this everyone?” she said.
“It will have to do,” said Roon-Kotke with a shrug. “Somebody give me a lance.”
“Weapons ready!” Rahi hollered, levelling her lance at the blackiron arch. She nodded once to the technician next to the gate. “Fire it up!”
***
Rahi-Khun char
ged through the humming portal first, followed by the other members of her squad, lances erupting with Fura-2 bolts that blazed down the tunnel, silently exploding in blooms of orange fire.
Roon-Kotke jogged through after them and failed to fire. Seeing the mass of creatures in a mound in the tunnel ahead, knowing that they were swarming around Lokke, ripping him to shreds, he stumbled in his incantation and the fiery binding failed to form. “Gods be damned,” he managed to utter, snapping closed the chamber so as not to waste the oca.
It didn't matter.
They were too late.
There were hundreds of the creatures. So many in one place it looked like they were bubbling up through the ground, an oily-black spring that belched and spat, clicked and snapped. Whatever remained of Lokke de Calvas was somewhere beneath them.
“Fire!” he heard Rahi-Khun yell and those casters or technicians who had a clear shot loosed a volley of flame towards the writhing mass of creatures. Each oconic blast exploded with a dull whump, sucking the air inwards and blowing it back out in a concussive shockwave that shook the tunnel. Creatures sizzled in the oconic fires, the whistle of hot steam escaping cracked chitin.
In a kinder world, that might have been the end of it. But the click-clicking of tiny claws on brick meant more of the damnable arachnids were arriving.
“How many more?” shouted Rahi ahead of him.
Roon-Kotke advanced to stand at her shoulder. “Could be hundreds,” he said as the remains of the spidery horde burned in front of them. “Or thousands. We don’t know… Look, Rahi… I think we’re too late. Lokke couldn’t have survived this. We should go back.”
“No. I’ve got to see for myself...” She paused for a moment, taking in the apocalyptic scene. “Aim for the roof,” she shouted at last. “Bring the tunnel down. Beyond those creatures.” She pointed up the tunnel, into the darkness. “Beyond them! Shoot at the roof. Fura-3 charges if you’ve got ‘em. Let’s do some damage and stop these things in their tracks.”
Once Called Thief Page 28
