Sins of a Sovereignty (Amernia Fallen Book 1)

by Plague Jack

  Queen’s tits, I’m thirsty. “Fuck you,” said Shrike before drinking from Evrill’s bottle.

  “Look at this,” said Mordigan, grabbing the attention of the other Huntsmen. “Shrike needs to be fed like a little baby!” A roar of laughter went up from the onlookers. “Drink from mommy’s bottle, baby man!”

  “Salus, are these chains necessary?” asked Evrill. “Surely he doesn’t deserve this.”

  The big elf wore armor painted with green arrows, and he wore it proudly. “I’m afraid so. Mr. O’Connor here is ex-special forces, so we can’t trust handcuffs alone. The more iron he’s wrapped in, the better.”

  “Then let him ride with me or in one of our carts?” asked Evrill.

  “No,” said Salus as they traversed up the Copper Road. “Plenty of my men have to walk. So, too, shall our prisoner. I think bearing the weight of that chain may do Mr. O’Connor some good. Don’t you agree?”

  “I do not,” said Evrill. “At least let him rest in a cart periodically, or else I fear you may march him to death.”

  The handsome elf pondered the Duchess’s words. “All right, Evrill, you’ve appealed to my soft side. Mr. O’Connor may ride in the cart at two-hour intervals every six hours.”

  “Here, Evrill,” said Shrike, just as Evrill was about to leave. “Come close.”

  “Yes, Shrike?” asked Evrill, leaning in.

  “Don’t give them an inch,” he whispered. “I’ve spent my life dealing with men like Salus. He’s going to turn on you first chance he gets.”

  Evrill shook her head. “Please give me a little credit, Shrike; I know my way around politics. Try not to be so pessimistic.”

  I don’t understand how someone so smart could be so stupid, but I suppose a thank-you should be in order, thought Shrike, riding in the back of a bouncing cart. There had been no opportunity to say his obliged thank-yous, since Evrill hadn’t spoken to him since. Instead she preferred the company of Doctor Hemlin, and the pair were engaged in a deep conversation about the possibility of creating an artificial heart valve. Mordigan still trod behind the cart, glaring at him while he held Shrike’s iron leash. Shrike smiled back. There’s nothing I can do now, he thought. Nothing but wait and hope that the sprite delivers my message in time. Listening to Evrill and Hemlin prattle on reminded him of an old academic he had known long ago in another life.

  “Class dismissed,” said Professor Tumson, his wispy white beard draped over the edge of his desk. Professor Tumson had taught human studies at Jeweled Anvil, Morheim’s only college. “Not you, Mr. O’Connor,” said the old dwarf when Shrike had tried to stand. “You stay right here.”

  “Is there a problem, Professor?” He wasn’t Shrike back then, just Harper.

  “I wouldn’t say… problem,” said Tumson. “But we need to have a chat. Come up to my office,” he ordered, scooping up armfuls of papers before ascending the iron staircase behind him.

  Harper followed, his boots clanging on the metal staircase as he climbed. The professor’s office was a large stone room cluttered with stacks of paper and piles of books reaching halfway to the ceiling. Professor Tumson uncorked a bottle. “Brandy?” he asked.

  “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

  Tumson laughed. “What do you mean you don’t drink, boy? You’re a dwarf, aren’t you? Dwarfs are supposed to drink. It’s your cultural heritage.”

  Technically, thought Harper. “I’ve spent too much time around drunks to ever try the poison.”

  “I bet you have,” said the professor, taking a drink. “The orphanage was not kind to you, was it?”

  Harper shrugged. “It had its good times and its bad,” he said. “And the bad times brought whippings.”

  “But you got out, didn’t you? Worked hard enough to get into college. Must have taken quite a lot of work, did it not?”

  “Yes, professor,” said Harper. “I worked very hard to be here.”

  “I respect that. Half of my students got in here on birthright alone, and they know it. They fail to appreciate the golden opportunity that’s been given to them. Not like you; your marks have been spectacular,” said the Professor, going through a folder with Harper’s name on it. He looked up from behind bushy eyebrows. “In fact, that’s the problem.”

  “What’s the problem, professor?” asked Harper, worried. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

  The professor laughed. “No, I don’t think you’re cheating. I just think you’re too clever. Come here, to the window with me,” said Tumson, ushering Harper forward. “Look up and tell me what you see.”

  The grand window looked out onto Morheim, the city lit by aqueducts of lava that were built overhead in the canyonesque halls. The many buildings of the Jeweled Anvil College bustled below with students and teachers. Each building was decorated with gems the size of dragon eggs. “I see the great machine,” said Harper, looking up at the cogs above them. They were built into the ceiling as they spun, a different cog for each of the four guilds. Their interlocking teeth churned as their weight heaved and groaned. Tumson nodded at him expectantly and Harper continued. “The iron cog represents the Breakers, who mine the deep and guard us with hammer and axe. The gold cog is for the Elders, who guide us in our time of need. Silver represents the builders, who tend to the stone and work the metal. The brass cog symbolizes our artists, who embody and immortalize the dwarven spirit. Finally, there’s the obsidian cog, which represents our elf and human allies. In order for the Great Machine to turn, every cog must perform its duty. If a cog were to break or fracture, the Great Machine would cease spinning. That’s why we all must do our duty and obey without question and happily inside our mandated roles. Or else the Breakers break us.”

  “Very good,” said the professor. “You’ve memorized the propaganda. But that’s not the Harper to whom I’ve been giving top marks. Speak freely, boy. There are no Breakers here to beat you down.”

  “Speak freely?” asked Harper uncomfortably. Why not? “I think that this Great Machine philosophy that Edgar’s shoved so eagerly down our throats is the physical manifestation of an old man’s desire to maintain control. I think it encourages xenophobic anti-human sentiments that are unwarranted and, frankly, dangerous to Amernia. And the only reason Edgar can get away with it is because Morheim is so remote. If he ever tried to force his oppressive ideology on the humans King Gabriel would crush him.”

  “My oh my…” said the professor. “That little speech could get you killed, Harper.”

  “You asked me to speak freely professor, and I did.”

  The old dwarf nodded. “That you did, boy,” he said, leaning against the window. “There’s no place for you in the Great Machine, boy. There’s no space for freethinkers.”

  “I know,” said Harper. “But if I keep my head low and do my work I can still get by. Maybe I’ll rise high enough in the bureaucracy that I can hide from my problems behind a pile of money.”

  “What if there’s another use for you?” asked the professor.

  “What do you mean? Where?”

  The professor turned, his eyes gray and serious. “Have you ever heard of the special forces?”

  The Wild Hunt arrived at Teryn’s Landing as the wind blasted their armor with snow and frost and sent their green cloaks waving. The door to Harpy’s Point opened with a slow grind, and out strutted fifty human guards led by a three-plumed knight in shining plate. “The Wild Hunt?” he said when he saw their green cloaks. “Ready your crossbows, men!” he shouted as his forty men wound and loaded their weapons.

  Just shoot them please, thought Shrike, figuring he had a pretty good chance of surviving the arrow storm from where he was standing. Whatever you do, don’t let them in the city. “They’re going to try to kill you all!” shouted Shrike from the crowd. In retaliation Mordigan struck him so hard Shrike’s vision swarmed with black spots.

  The crossbowmen were getting twitchy and eager to fire. “Which one of you said that?” snapped the guard commander.
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  Salus rode forward. “Ignore him,” he said, pushing his blond hair aside. “My name is Salus. I am the leader of the Wild Hunt. We mean you no harm.”

  “Harpy’s Point wants nothing to do with cutthroats like you,” said the commander. “Put down your weapons and submit to arrest or leave now.” Evrill dismounted and walked into the space between the two groups as the harpy statue glared down from the mountainside. “Evrill, is that you?” said the commander in disbelief. “You said you were going to be in Sinstolke.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir Parcinon,” the Duchess began. “That was a lie.” A murmur went up from the guardsmen, and Shrike could have sworn he heard accusations of betrayal. “Instead I visited the Wild Hunt, not to join their cause but to serve as a mediator. Queen Roselock has been invited to join Salus and me here for a peace summit. She should be here within a week.”

  “My good sir,” interjected Salus. “If my men’s presence troubles you we would be more than willing to camp outside, provided we were given the necessary provisions. Our food supply is running low, although we expect nothing for free and we have the coin to trade.”

  Sir Parcinon’s eyes were narrow through the slits in his helm. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “Your men are nothing we can’t handle. Just remember we outnumber you scoundrels twenty-to-one.”

  “Understood, commander,” said Salus with a courteous nod. “You heard him, men! Be on your best behavior. We are guests here,” he ordered as the guards in violet parted to allow the Wild Hunt to enter through the gate under snowy rock. The sky in the city under the mountain shone blue with worm light as they entered. “By the gods, I’ve heard tales of this city’s living stars, but they don’t do Harpy’s Point justice.”

  “Thank you, Salus,” said Evrill as they crossed the hill over the Crystal River beneath them. “I am proud to call her home.”

  Sir Parcinon joined them. “Excuse me, Evrill,” he interrupted, “but there is a dwarf amongst you who is being led in chains. Is he property of yours or should he be escorted to the jail?”

  “He is with us,” said Evrill before turning her attention back to Salus. “If you wouldn’t mind I would like to keep Shrike at my sanctuary.”

  “Not without guards,” said Salus. “Is the Wild Hunt welcome to accompany you? I’m sure you understand Mr. O’Connor’s importance to us. He is an asset we need, for the valuable information he possesses and as a potential bargaining chip during the peace summit. I’m sure the Queen would like him back.”

  That “valuable bargaining chip” was not having a good time of it, although being in the city, and out of the cold, offered him some comfort. Shrike could feel a bruise forming under his hair where Mordigan had hit him. The first of many, he thought as his gilnoid captor led him through the city streets. They attracted all sorts of looks as they walked through Harpy’s Point. A few daring elfkin even cheered, much to the guard’s dismay. The glowing mushrooms and worms that shared the damp cavern provided them with light as they marched. Shrike had no idea where he was going until he saw the sanctuary tower that stood over the river’s clear waters.

  “Not the sanctuary,” Shrike said aloud to anyone who cared to listen. Anywhere but the bloody sanctuary. Harpy’s Point had no castle. It didn’t need one; the whole city was a fortress. A pair of guards stood beside the bridge. “Arrest us here and I will pay you one hundred gold!” said Shrike.

  “A hundred gold it doesn’t look like you have. Not on your life,” said the guard, laughing and shaking his head.

  “But I will. I will have it! Two hundred, then? Do you want to be a rich man?”

  “Shut up, you,” said Mordigan, yanking on Shrike’s chain.

  The greatest mistake anyone in this world ever made was ignoring me, thought Shrike as Sir Parcinon, Salus, and Evrill spoke in front of the sanctuary’s doors, too far away to be heard. “What do you think of this tower, Mordigan?” he asked.

  “It a right fine tower, if I do say so,” said the gilnoid, his eyes gazing upward at the building’s five stories.

  “Indeed it is. Almost a bit out of place in such an already well-defended city. Of course Salus would take us here. I know his plan, Mordigan. Figuring out other people’s plans was my job for twenty years.”

  “Shut up,” said the gilnoid, once again pushing the dwarf forward. “He got no plan. Just here to negotiate is all.”

  “Of course, just to negotiate. There is one bridge in, no other way out, and it’s surrounded on four sides with water. Were someone to capture Evrill’s sanctuary it would be impenetrable.”

  Mordigan’s lidless, noseless, lipless face was curled in an ugly grimace. “Who told ye?” he asked. “Keep yer mouth shut, little dwarf,” he said, leaning forward and kneeling to get in Shrike’s face.

  “Fuck off,” said Shrike, landing a head-butt into Mordigan’s teeth. They didn’t break, but Mordigan let out a howl of pain and dropped the chain leash that held Shrike. The dwarf leapt over the side of the bridge and flew towards the serene water’s surface.

  The chain around his chest and arms crunched his bones together tightly. Shrike heard a snap as a rib broke. He screamed from the pain as he hung suspended above the water, and the Wild Hunt mocked him from above. Mordigan pulled him slowly upward, back over the side of the bridge. “Did you think you could escape?” said the gilnoid, growling as he picked Shrike up and held him at eye level with one hand. “I’m gonna make you bleed for that.”

  “Mordigan, please put Mr. O’Connor down,” said Salus from the sanctuary’s doors. “In fact, if you could both come up here, that would be wonderful.” Mordigan hesitantly put Shrike down and led him through the leering Huntsmen crowding the bridge. “I was just telling Evrill and Sir Parcinon here how excited we are to begin the peace talks with Queen Roselock,” said Salus. “It will be some time until Roselock responds, however,” he continued. “In the meantime a few of us will be taking shelter here. You included, Mr. O’Connor. We wouldn’t want you running off with your secrets, now, would we?”

  Shrike ignored Salus and instead turned to Sir Parcinon. “Do you really want to let the Wild Hunt into Harpy’s Point’s most defensible structure?” said Shrike. “What happens if the Queen bitch arrives with an army and demands their deaths? How long do you think it will take for the Hunt to turn on you?”

  “That will not happen,” said Evrill. “I’m more than capable of dealing with Minerva. She’s temperamental but not mad. She will see reason.”

  Sir Parcinon rubbed his beard. “Your pet dwarf is right,” he said after much deliberation. “Let no more than five Huntsmen into the tower, and board the rest at inns.”

  Evrill sighed. “I’m sorry, Salus, but Sir Parcinon has a point. Choose which five you want to take with you and send the rest elsewhere. I would like to keep the spare rooms open for the sick, anyhow.”

  Salus looked down at his feet for a moment. “Very well,” he said, looking back up, his eyes meeting Mordigan’s. Salus nodded, and the gilnoid drew his maul and crushed Sir Parcinon’s breastplate with a mighty blow. The knight gasped in pain as the force of the hammer blow knocked him over the rail and sent him tumbling into the river. He sank under the weight of his armor and drowned on the bottom of the riverbed. The catfish feasted.

  Shrike lunged forward at Salus but there was only so much he could do with his hands tied. The elf’s gauntlet smashed Shrike hard in the gut, and he felt his stomach churn from the impact. “Sorry,” Salus said to Evrill.

  “We had a deal, Salus!” said Evrill. “You promised that you would negotiate peace!”

  “I lied, bitch,” he snapped, slapping Evrill across the face The Duchess fell to the ground, holding a bloody lip. “Huntsmen!” he shouted, unsheathing his claymore as arrows found their marks in the surrounding guards. “Storm this tower. I want you to overturn its every inch. I want you to drag the patients from every bed and the physicians from every office. I don’t care if they’re sick. I don’t care if they are bleeding,
or if they have plague. I don’t care if you have to slit throats, you get them out of my tower.”

  By the gods, he’s strong for an elf, thought Shrike, vomiting at Salus’s feet. “I told you this was coming,” Shrike said to Evrill, who held her face. “I warned you.”

  The Duchess was shocked. Her hair was disheveled. Strands came loose from the tight bun she wore it in, and a lens in her half-moon glasses was cracked down the middle. “I thought he wanted to be diplomatic…” she said as elfkin stormed her sanctuary. “I thought we shared a vision.”

  “You and I share nothing, human,” said Salus, pulling Shrike off the ground with his chain. “But you have a purpose. I’m far from done with the pair of you.”

  Shrike was stuffed into a room on the sanctuary’s fifth floor, its tiny window overlooking the city. A dwarf came and removed his chains. Finally, he thought as he stretched his arms for the first time in weeks. He made his way to the opening in the wall and looked out. It was all he could do as the building that had once provided shelter to the sick and the needy was ravished from the inside out.

  “Can you walk?” he heard a voice say through the door.

  “No… no, I can’t,” said another voice, this one old and feeble. “I’m sorry, there was an accident—a cart fell on me and broke my legs. I can hardly move them and the pain is terrible.”

  “I don’t want to have to take this one down the stairs,” said the first voice. “And the lift ain’t workin’.”

  “Let’s just kill him,” said a third voice.

  Mordigan.

  “No, no, please!” pleaded the old man. “I can walk, I can!”

  Shrike flinched. There was no need for him to be brave in private. He heard the dull heavy thud of Mordigan’s maul, followed by muffled laughter.

  Below Shrike’s cell the Wild Hunt tore through the sanctuary, expelling patients and scavenging desks and chairs to build a barricade in front of the tower’s doors. Some of the patients, the ones who could walk, ran out screaming in fear as the Wild Hunt swarmed the building. Others shouted and courageously stood up to the Huntsmen. They were the first to be put down. Those who couldn’t walk were dragged flailing and screaming from their beds, beaten into submission, and then thrown out onto the bridge.