by Clayton Wood
“Sorry kiddo,” she shouted back, stopping to wait for him. “I keep forgetting how weak and pathetic you are.”
“Yeah,” he shot back, catching up to her. “Well I’m sorry if I haven’t been hanging around mountain goats,” he panted, “…absorbing their mountaineering skills.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble,” she retorted, “…but this,” she added, gesturing at her lower half, “…is all me.”
“Uh huh.”
“That’s why I’m better than those jokers at the Guild of Seekers,” she explained, continuing forward, matching his pace. “I don’t just hang around artifacts absorbing other people’s skills.”
“That’s what the Seekers do?”
“Mostly,” she confirmed. “That’s their training. They get all their skills handed to them.” She shook her head, a disgusted look on her face. “All their fighting skills end up being reflexes,” she continued. “A knee-jerk reaction. They never really understand why they’re doing what they’re doing. They have no strategy.”
“So you could beat Thorius?” he asked. What he wouldn’t give to see that fight.
“Wow,” she muttered, shooting him a glare. “I’m insulted you even asked that.”
“So what do you do that makes you better?” he pressed.
“I practice every fucking day,” she replied. “And I work constantly. Hell, I bet Thorius hasn’t even wiped his ass as many times as I’ve been in fights.”
“Thanks for the visual.”
“Point is,” she continued, “…I don’t rely on other peoples’ skills to survive. I use artifacts and Ossae to learn from them. I think of it as getting taught by the best instructors the world has ever seen. I spend time absorbing their skills, then use them to see how they work for me. If they don’t, I discard them. If they do, I keep them and use them.”
They reached the top of the hill, and the terrain leveled out again, giving them an unfettered view of what lay beyond. And what Hunter saw made his eyes widen. For there, hundreds of yards away, the great wall of Tykus towered above the landscape, the great city on the hill rising far above it.
“All right!” Hunter exclaimed, feeling a burst of energy come over him. He felt renewed vigor in his legs, and strode toward the gate in the distance eagerly. Not so eagerly that Vi couldn’t easily match his pace, of course.
“Calm down kiddo,” she warned. “They might not be so happy to see you, remember?”
He glanced at her, realizing she was right. If Thorius had sent him out into the Fringe to kill him, then it stood to reason that the guy would still want him dead. He slowed his pace, glancing at the city in the distance.
“Wait, am I going to be safe there?” he asked, feeling suddenly uneasy.
“I’ll put in a word for you,” Vi promised.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll be sure to have a little talk with Thorius when we get there,” she explained.
Suddenly Hunter heard a shout from above.
He glanced up, seeing men standing at the edge of the King’s Road, waving their arms and pointing behind Vi and Hunter. Hunter felt Vi grab his shoulder.
“Shit,” she swore.
“What?”
“Run!” she ordered, bolting forward. Hunter broke out into a run after her, glancing back. In the distance, maybe a half-mile away, dozens of dark shapes were moving across the Deadlands toward them.
Fast.
He ran faster, struggling to catch up with Vi. But she was far too quick, the distance between them growing by the second. He pumped his legs as hard as he could, his calves beginning to burn. He glanced back again, seeing the dark shapes gaining on them. There was no mistaking what was chasing after them.
Ironclad!
Arrows shot outward from the King’s Road, flying into the group of Ironclad. But they had no effect, deflected by the Ironclads’ armor. The creatures bounded forward with terrifying speed, now only a quarter-mile away.
Hunter turned forward, seeing Vi over a hundred feet ahead…and the great wall of Tykus a few hundred feet away from her. She waved her arms wildly at the two guards posted before the gate.
“Open the gate!” she shouted. “Open the gate!”
She ran even faster, pulling away from Hunter as if he weren’t even moving. He struggled to keep up, his lungs burning, his legs on fire. Glancing back, he saw another volley of arrows fly into the Ironclad, again to no effect. They were closing in with terrifying speed, one Ironclad breaking away from the group, sprinting right toward him. It was only a few hundred feet from Hunter now.
“Open the fucking gate!” Vi screamed, sliding to a stop in front of the guards. They froze, spotting the Ironclad, then waved their arms madly at the wall. Moments later, the gate began to rise, dust falling from it. She turned to Hunter, who was still a hundred feet away. “Come on!” she shouted.
He struggled, his breath coming in short gasps, sweat pouring down his body. His legs felt like jelly underneath him, and it took everything he had to stay on his feet. Behind him, that single Ironclad sprinted at breakneck speed, closing the distance between them rapidly. It was only a few dozen feet away now…and the gate was still opening, rising as if in slow motion. He stumbled toward Vi and the guards, reaching them at last. Vi grabbed him, pulling him bodily toward the gate.
“Go!” she commanded.
The lone Ironclad ran right up to them, leaping at Vi. She spun around, her mace somehow already in hand, swinging it at the thing’s grotesque head. It slammed into the Ironclad’s temple just as it smashed into her, throwing her backward onto the dirt. She somersaulted backward, on her feet again before the Ironclad had even stopped sliding on its belly on the dirt, unconscious.
The other Ironclad lumbered toward them, a hundred feet away and closing fast.
“Go!” Vi repeated, turning back to the gate and running at it. She dropped to her back at the last second, sliding underneath the still-rising gate, barely clearing the spikes at the bottom of it. Hunter ducked through moments later, one of the spikes scraping his back painfully as he went. The two guards followed, screaming at the guards in the tunnel.
“Lower it! Lower the gate!”
Vi grabbed Hunter, pulling him all the way through the gate. Dozens of guards stood ready in the tunnel, their warhammers in their hands.
“Ready the trap!” another guard shouted.
And then the first of the Ironclad slid under the gate, its legs slamming into Hunter’s. He fell right on top of it, his head bouncing off its armored chest. He felt its powerful arms wrap around him, crushing the breath out of his lungs. He grabbed its armored fingers, trying desperately to pry them from him, but he might as well have tried moving a statue.
Vi walked right up to the thing, swinging her mace down in a vicious arc. It smashed into the creature’s face with a sickening crunch, sinking inward. Hunter felt the arms around him spasm, then go limp. Vi grabbed his arm, hauling him bodily to his feet…just as more Ironclad began spilling into the tunnel through the still-opening gate.
“Close the fucking gate!” a guard shouted.
“Not yet!” another cried. “The trap is ready!”
The guards scrambled back from the gate, and Vi pulled Hunter back with them. Hunter watched in horror as dozens of Ironclad swarmed into the tunnel, stopping to face the guards with their black, glittering eyes.
“Trap away!” a guard shouted.
Suddenly, a massive log swung down from the ceiling, suspended by huge chains. It cleared Hunter’s head by a few feet, swinging right at the group of Ironclad. It plowed into them, launching them backward through the gate. They flew through the air like rag dolls, landing on the hard dirt of the Deadlands beyond.
“Emergency closure, now!” a guard yelled.
There was a loud clunk, and then the gate dropped with alarming speed, slamming shut. A boom rocked the tunnel, pain lancing through Hunter’s eardrums. He doubled over, covering his ears with his hands, crying out agai
nst the sudden pain.
He looked up then, his ears ringing loudly, and saw the closed gate, and the lone body of the Ironclad that Vi had killed. The rest of the Ironclad had been thrown clear of the tunnel.
They were safe.
“You okay?” he heard someone ask. He turned, seeing Vi looking at him. Her voice was muffled, but he could still hear her. He nodded.
“Yeah, I think so,” he answered.
“Let’s not do that again,” she stated. Hunter nodded, not even having the energy to smirk. He looked down at the motionless body of the Ironclad that had almost gotten him, imagining what it might have done to him if Vi hadn’t acted so quickly…if he’d been hauled away. There would’ve been no saving him then. He shuddered, turning back to Vi, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought.
“You sure you’re okay?” Vi pressed.
“I will be,” Hunter replied. He gave her a weak smile. “Thanks for saving my life,” he added. “Again.”
Chapter 26
Dominus sat at his desk in his suite, eyeing Axio, who was standing before him. He’d asked for Axio, realizing it’d been far too long since he’d instructed the boy. Dominus’s duties had made it difficult to spend time with his new heir…and he couldn’t afford to neglect the future Duke of Wexford any longer. The rot slowly climbing up his leg was a constant reminder of his mortality; he could not assume that he would have much more time to groom the boy.
It would be, of course, a much smoother transition than his son was currently going through. For one, Axio’s will was weaker than Conlan’s, making him more susceptible to Dominus’s will, but still powerful enough to resist the influence of the other dukes, who would undoubtedly attempt to take advantage of Axio as soon as he assumed the Duchy. Secondly, the boy was not nearly as obstinate and egotistical as Conlan, so the transition would be far less difficult…even if Dominus was not around to see it to its finish.
Dominus felt uneasy then, knowing that time was against him. He had to keep Axio at his side as much as possible from now on, so that he could bend the boy to his will, infusing his very person into the boy. It was as his own father had done to him, and his grandfather before that…an unbroken chain identical to that of the kings who carried Tykus’s will. Well, nearly identical. He, nor any other Duke of Wexford, had ever been a Legend. He could not hope to fully dominate the boy, to turn Axio into himself. But enough of him would survive to ensure that his vision for the kingdom remained…so that the next Duke of Wexford would work tirelessly to maintain the greatness of their race. To ensure that their great people endured forever.
“Please, sit down,” Dominus urged, gesturing for Axio to grab a seat. The boy did so, carrying it to the front of the desk and sitting down. “I wanted to speak to you about the Duchy.”
Axio said nothing, waiting patiently for Dominus to continue. Dominus smiled inwardly, feeling suddenly wistful.
If only Conlan could have been like this, he thought. He had been, at least until he’d turned fourteen. That had been when his rebellious streak had reared its ugly head.
“The Duke of Wexford,” he stated, “…has many duties. Chief among them are the preservation of our people.”
“I understand, your Grace.”
“But not just our people,” Dominus continued. “We must also ensure the integrity of humanity itself.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My first loyalty is to my people,” Dominus explained. “To the kingdom…those that represent the ideal man, in the image of Tykus and the other great men – scholars, leaders, generals, philosophers – who have shown themselves to be pillars of intellect and virtue.”
“Yes your Grace.”
“Secondly, I must ensure the pacification and loyalty of the common folk,” Dominus continued. “For they provide for the kingdom with their labor.” He leaned back in his chair. “Recall the beehive, Axio.”
“What of them?”
“I maintain the integrity of the hive,” Dominus explained. “First by ensuring a strong queen, one that will give rise to all of the other bees within the hive. All of the same bloodline, their qualities a reflection of hers.”
Axio nodded.
“Secondly, I ensure that the honey – the fruit of the labors of the lesser bees – is collected, not merely wasted by allowing the lesser bees to feed upon it, or for eggs to be laid upon it to produce more workers. No, the honey must be collected, while leaving just enough for the hive to continue its labors.”
“And what of the honey you collect, your Grace?”
“That,” Dominus replied, “…is the obvious question.” He smiled. “I ensure the survival and integrity of the hive, and in return I collect the fruits of the hive’s labor. This is the role of any government.”
“You’re referring to taxes?”
“Not just taxes,” Dominus corrected. “Tell me…what do most of the peasants do when they’re paid?” Axio considered this for a moment.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“They spend it,” Dominus answered. “Tell me…do they save what they’ve earned, to increase their wealth slowly?”
“No, your Grace?”
“Most often not,” Dominus agreed. “They live for the moment, falling prey to their impulses. Then they bemoan their fates, cursing the wealthy for being ‘luckier’ than they are…when in fact it is their lack of wisdom that curses them. The wealthy understand the importance of investment…of deferring gratification for a much greater return in the future.”
“As I’ve learned, your Grace.”
“I’m sure you’ve been taught well in this regard,” Dominus agreed. “But the peasants have weak wills, and cannot resist gratification. Tell me…what would these peasants do if the Acropolis were destroyed? Would they create a government as sophisticated and just as that which we have created?”
“Of course not, your Grace.”
“Indeed,” Dominus agreed. “We know very well what happens when men of poor insight and character rise to lead. They form governments marked by corruption. Flagrant abuses of power. Disrespect for the rule of law. They become despots and dictators.”
He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table.
“Tell me Axio…is a son much like his father?”
“Undoubtedly so, your Grace.”
“We say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Dominus agreed. “Men of superior character tend to produce men of superior character. Men of poor character – addicts, the melancholy, the stupid, the violent and brutish, those tortured by needless anxiety and delusions – tend to produce children in their image. Thus a man’s heritage – his bloodline – most often dictates his destiny.”
“As it did for you,” Axio stated. Dominus nodded.
“We are blessed that these qualities are transferrable,” he agreed. “That being in the company of greater men will elevate one’s soul. But in the same vein, being in the company of lesser men will taint one’s soul. That,” he added, “…is why the Acropolis must always remain isolated from the rest of the city. Why the nobles must never mingle with the poor.”
“To allow such a thing would steer mankind to mediocrity,” Axio agreed.
“Precisely,” Dominus replied, leaning back in his chair again. “Proper governments extract the goods of the common man’s labor, concentrating them so that the leaders – the wealthy, the politicians – may redistribute them wisely for the good of the country. But one must be careful; give the common man too little reward for their labor, and they revolt.”
“I understand, your Grace.”
“The wealthy deserve the greatest reward, as they maintain the systems that generate wealth within the kingdom,” Dominus continued. “Philosophers, politicians, scholars, businessmen – they provide the most good for the kingdom…they create and maintain it. The common man provides relatively little but the sweat of their labor, while benefiting from the gifts of wise leadership and a safe and stable government,
and therefore deserves the smallest reward.”
“Undoubtedly,” Axio concurred.
“So, as I said,” Dominus stated, “…my first loyalty as Duke is to the Acropolis – to the ideal men who maintain the government. But I must also ensure the pacification of the common folk, so that they continue to provide their labor.” He leaned forward, eyeing Axio critically. “My third duty is to humanity itself.”
“How so, your Grace?”
Just then, Dominus heard a knock on the door. He grimaced, irritated at the interruption.
“Come in,” he ordered.
The door opened, and a man appeared…one of the royal messengers. He bowed.
“My Duke,” he greeted. “A visitor has arrived in Hightown, and is requesting your presence.”
“A visitor?” Dominus pressed. The messenger hesitated, then nodded.
“They said you called for them,” he clarified. “An urgent matter regarding an Ironclad attack on a convoy passing through the Fringe.”
“Ah,” Dominus stated, leaning back in his chair. “Prepare a carriage to Hightown,” he ordered. The messenger nodded, leaving quickly. Dominus sighed, turning to Axio. “More on this later,” he stated, standing up with some difficulty. “I have business to attend to.”
* * *
“Take care Hunter,” Ekrin stated as Hunter stood from his chair, walking toward the exit. “And…it’s good to have you back.”
Hunter gave an obligatory smile, then left the small room, closing the door behind him. He navigated the hallways until he reached the inner gate in the large tunnel within the wall, waiting for it to open, then walking through. The long street between the two tall walls greeted him, and beyond that, the seemingly infinite stairway leading up to the Acropolis far above.
He sighed, trudging forward, feeling suddenly exhausted.
After he’d separated from Vi, he’d had a meeting with Ekrin. Or rather, an interrogation. First a Seeker had tested him for corruption…a test he must have passed, because the Seeker had left soon afterward. Ekrin had held him for over an hour, asking question after question about what had happened to him. From the journey to the Fringe to the battle with the Ironclad, to Vi rescuing him. Hunter had skipped the part about Vi training him, of course, but did mention that dozens of Ironclad had tried to kill them, and that they’d barely escaped, camping in the woods for over a week before making the long journey back through the forest to return to the kingdom. It was a lie Vi had come up with during their trek through the Deadlands, so that they’d both tell the same story when they were asked. Once again, Vi had thought of everything.
