The Legion of Flame

by Anthony Ryan

  “End the trance,” Clay said, taking hold of Kriz’s face, shaking it gently to bring some life into her eyes.

  “Father . . .” she whispered, a glimmer of focus returning to her gaze. She angled her head, once again summoning the shimmering human shape.

  “Forget him!” Clay told her. The trance was crumbling around them as the last few drops of Blue faded. They had only seconds before waking. “None of this is real,” he told her in a gentle murmur. “Just a bad dream and it’s time to wake up . . .”

  • • •

  Clay staggered as the trance vanished, finding himself staring into Loriabeth’s concerned face. He realised he was drenched in sweat, his heart hammering in his chest. “Started to think you’d stay in there forever, cuz,” she said in a voice laden with relief.

  A harsh guttural moan drew his gaze to where Kriz lay, body jerking as it had in the trance, albeit without the blood pouring from her mouth. He crouched to embrace her, holding her until the spasms ceased. “It’s alright,” he said softly, watching her eyelids flutter. “We’re out. Y’gotta wake up now.”

  She gave a plaintive groan, like a child reluctantly roused from sleep, opening her eyes to regard him with a fearful gaze. “Who was that?” she asked in near-perfect Mandinorian.

  “Somebody best forgotten.”

  A loud grinding rumble filled the chamber and Clay looked up to see a thin line had appeared in the egg’s surface. As he watched the line widened into a gap, the grinding growing louder as the four segments that comprised the egg slid apart, unleashing a brief torrent of pale, greyish liquid. Clay helped Kriz to her feet and the four of them backed away. The light emanating from the crystal had altered, becoming more intense whilst also taking on a pronounced flicker. Beneath it the four segments ground to a halt, revealing something small and hunched. The crystal flared even brighter for a second then faded into a soft glow.

  “Father!” Kriz said in her own language, starting forward.

  “Wait.” Clay tried to catch hold of her arm but she was too quick, rushing towards the huddled form on the dais, then drawing up short at the sight that greeted her.

  The hunched figure shuddered and as it did so the damp scales on its back glittered in the light from the crystal.

  “Seer-damn Spoiled!” Loriabeth cursed, pushing Kriz aside and levelling a pistol at the huddled figure.

  “Don’t!” Clay warned, though he had his revolver drawn as he approached the huddled and shivering Spoiled. “Guess this was something else that wasn’t s’posed to happen, huh?” he asked Kriz.

  She said nothing, continuing to stare at the naked Spoiled in dumb shock. Finally she swallowed, blinked tears and said, “Father?”

  The Spoiled’s shudders ceased, freezing in what might have been terror. Or he’s getting ready to spring, Clay thought, half-raising his revolver.

  “Father,” Kriz repeated. “It’s me. It’s Krizelle.”

  The Spoiled issued a low groan and shifted in response, arms unfolding to reveal two long-nailed hands that were more like claws. It raised its hairless, spined head and blinked yellow eyes up at Krizelle. Even by the standards of the Spoiled, Clay had never seen a more deformed face. The once-human features had been completely submerged beneath a thick covering of leathery scales, the brows ridged with gnarled protrusions and a line of twisted, needle-like spines traced back from the forehead to the base of the neck. He could recognise nothing of the man he had seen in Kriz’s memories, but apparently she could.

  “Father . . .” she breathed, sinking to her knees and extending a hand.

  “Best you don’t get too close, hon,” Loriabeth cautioned.

  Kriz ignored the warning, reaching out to touch her fingertips to the Spoiled’s forehead. “I know . . . your eyes,” she said, choking out the words as tears slipped freely down her cheeks.

  Zembi recoiled from her, shaking his spiny head in warning as he shrank back. It was then that Clay saw he had something on a chain around his neck. Something long, shiny and very sharp.

  “Back!” Clay lunged for Krizelle just as Zembi surged upright, the long sharp object clutched in his claws. His deformed features were set in a raging mask and a roar of animalistic fury erupted from his throat. He was fast, the shiny spike in his claw blurring as he stabbed towards Kriz’s chest, but Loriabeth was faster.

  The pistols thundered in her hands, muzzles flaming as she emptied all twelve chambers, displaying a speed and accuracy Clay doubted even the late Miss Foxbine could have matched. Zembi spun as the bullets struck home, blasting holes in his glittering hide and sending spirals of blood across the dais. Kriz screamed as the guns fell silent and he collapsed, spasming on the stones in a spreading pool of blood.

  Kriz rushed to kneel at his side, hands fluttering over his wounds. “How?” she sobbed. “We were supposed to wake . . . to a better world . . .”

  Blood gouted from Zembi’s mouth, his scaled lips twisting over elongated teeth as if in a snarl. Clay stepped forward, ready to put a bullet in the ancient Spoiled’s head should he lunge at Kriz, then saw that Zembi was trying to speak. Kriz leaned closer to catch the faint, sibilant words, each one accompanied by a plume of blood. Clay couldn’t make sense of any of it and quickly realised Zembi was speaking a language different from the one he had learned in the trance, a language Kriz had evidently chosen not to share. Her sobs faded as she listened, her face transforming from grief into a hard angry resolve.

  Zembi fell silent, his clawed hands fumbling for the spike on the chain about his neck. Clay stepped forward, thumbing back the hammer on his revolver, then stopped as Kriz waved him back with a raised hand. Zembi guttered out another word as he held up the spike, which Clay now saw was in fact a narrow shard of crystal. Kriz gave a sombre nod, lifting the chain and crystal over Zembi’s head and placing it around her neck.

  “You were perhaps the greatest man who ever lived,” she said, dropping back into her more familiar tongue as she smoothed a hand over Zembi’s deformed brow. “And the worst.”

  Zembi’s lips formed what might have been a smile as he shuddered for the final time, slumping into death with an inhuman rattle.

  “What language was that?” Clay said as Kriz continued to kneel at Zembi’s side, her fingers twitching on the crystal shard.

  “The ancient tongue,” she murmured, not lifting her gaze from the body.

  “What did he tell you?”

  Kriz didn’t reply, instead raising the crystal shard and staring into its many facets. Clay was about to demand an answer when the floor suddenly shifted beneath his feet. A deep, muted rumble filled the chamber as the tremor continued, the floating crystal taking on a rapid flicker.

  “The fault-line is shifting,” Kriz said as the tremor subsided. “We don’t have long.”

  She gave Zembi a final, damp-eyed glance before wiping her tears away and getting to her feet. “To answer your question,” she said, switching to Mandinorian as she turned to address all three of them, “he told me the way out.”

  She gathered up her pack and moved towards the rear of the chamber, Clay and the others hurrying to follow suit. The tremor rose and fell in intensity as they made their way onto the circle where the plinth lay. Clay noticed how the crystal’s flicker seemed to match the tremor, the stronger it was the dimmer it became.

  “Fluctuations in the energy flow,” Kriz explained, dropping back into her own language as she hurried towards the plinth. “The Philos geologists estimated the fault would remain stable for at least another twenty thousand years.” She winced as an even more powerful tremor shook the chamber and a booming crack came from the shadows. “It seems they were overly optimistic.”

  “What’s she saying, cuz?” Loriabeth asked.

  “We need to get out of here,” Clay replied, side-stepping a stream of powdered rock that came cascading down from above. “And damn quick, by t
he sound of it.”

  Kriz pressed her hand to the crystal embedded in the plinth, which failed to respond with the expected flare of light. Cursing, she tried again, this time the crystal producing a faint, fluttering glow. The stone beneath their feet gave an alarming jerk, the circle revolving as it dislodged itself from the floor and began to ascend.

  “What about the ice?” Clay asked Kriz, peering into the murky heights above.

  “I suspect it’s partially melted,” she said. “However the exit is likely to still be submerged.”

  “So we swim out?”

  Kriz’s expression brought to mind Sigoral’s suspicions about her viewing them as little more than useful savages. “No,” she said after a moment. “We fly.”

  They ascended for what seemed an age, the platform continuing to shake as fresh cascades of dust and grit fell all around. The shaft grew so dark that Sigoral and Loriabeth relit their lanterns, though, when they turned the beams upwards they failed to reveal the top of the shaft.

  “This thing ever gonna stop?” Loriabeth wondered, the lantern swaying as she fought to maintain her balance. The beam alighted on Kriz for a second, Clay noting how her face seemed strangely free of alarm. Instead she wore a preoccupied frown, her hand clutching the crystal shard about her neck.

  “What is that?” he asked, moving closer to touch the shard.

  She stepped away, a sharp scowl of warning on her brow as she gave a terse reply, “Memory.”

  The platform juddered and began to slow, the lanterns revealing a fast-approaching ceiling. It resembled the giant cog-like door on the exterior of the spire, revolving and sending yet more dust down upon them as it slid aside. A great rush of wind whipped around them, Clay feeling himself being partially lifted as air was sucked into the opening above.

  “Another vacuum,” Sigoral shouted above the wind.

  The wind died as the platform rose to fill the opening, leaving them standing in a large darkened chamber. The tremors continued unabated. If anything, Clay sensed an added violence to the shaking, his alarm increasing with every booming crack that echoed through the chamber. This place is coming down soon.

  “There,” Kriz said as Loriabeth’s lantern beam caught the edge of a large curved shape several yards away. She started forward at a run, Clay and the others following.

  “What in the Travail is that?” Loriabeth said as the lanterns revealed more of the shape, the massive elongated ball, the enclosed boat-shaped gondola beneath and the two propelling engines on either side.

  “Aerostat,” Clay said in Kriz’s language which drew only a baffled glance. “A flying machine,” he explained. “Like a balloon, except you can steer it.”

  “And where are we supposed to fly to?” Sigoral asked.

  “To be honest, I ain’t too sure.”

  A clanking sound came from the right, the lanterns swinging towards it to reveal Kriz’s slender form climbing into a hatch in the gondola. After a second her head poked out of the hatch, staring at them with stern impatience. “Well, come on then,” she said before disappearing back inside.

  “Cuz . . .” Loriabeth began with evident unease, then fell silent as another tremor came close to tipping them from their feet.

  “We’re all out of options, Lori,” Clay said, moving to the hatch. He clambered inside, finding Kriz standing before an array of levers and small wheels sprouting from a panel at the front of the gondola. The panel also featured several dials and Clay was surprised to find he could read a good portion of the symbols they displayed.

  “‘Pressure low,’” he said, peering at the largest dial where the arrow-shaped indicator hovered over a red-coloured symbol. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means we’re in for an eventful flight,” Kriz replied, her hands flying from one lever to another with automatic familiarity. “You best secure yourselves.” She jerked her head at the six seats arranged along both sides of the gondola’s interior, each rigged with straps.

  “How do we get out?” he asked, lingering to peer through the window at the darkened chamber beyond. “Can’t see no door.”

  Kriz’s hand darted out to touch a small crystal in the centre of the panel, which immediately lit up with a familiar chime. After a short delay a curving white line appeared in the gloom outside the window, expanding into a gap that flooded the chamber with light. Clay blinked moisture from his eyes at the sudden glare, then found himself squinting at the mountains they had traversed to get here.

  Kriz spun a wheel which caused the arrow on the pressure dial to move away from the red symbol. Clay felt the gondola shift as it lifted from the floor, the widening gap outside tilting to and fro before Kriz took hold of the largest lever. She hauled it into a central position, the craft levelling out in response. “Go sit down,” she ordered, in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Clay nodded and started towards the seats then paused as he saw her expression change, the frown morphing into a surprised grimace. Clay followed her gaze, seeing the expanding light reveal the bulbous form of another aerostat thirty or so yards away.

  “What is it?” he asked Kriz as she continued to stare at the craft.

  “Only one other aerostat,” she said, turning back to the panel. “There were supposed to be two.”

  She gestured impatiently at the seats where Sigoral and Loriabeth were already strapped in. Clay took the nearest seat and buckled on the straps, watching Kriz hesitate as her hand reached for two other levers, both placed in close proximity on the panel presumably so they could be pushed at the same time. She closed her eyes as her hand continued to hover, making Clay wonder at the true scale of the risk they were about to undertake. Whatever qualms she had were overcome when another boom sounded from outside, the loudest so far. Clay saw a large chunk of masonry tumble past the window, quickly followed by several more.

  “I’m thinking it’s time to go!” he called to Kriz, who needed no further encouragement. As she pushed the two levers the aerostat lurched forward, Clay finding himself forced back into his seat by the acceleration. The gap beyond the window widened to fill his field of view, then they were out, the shadows vanished to leave them in the light of the three sun-crystals.

  Clay’s surging relief evaporated when the aerostat promptly tilted forward into a steep dive. The mountain tops disappeared to be replaced by the sight of the rapidly approaching ground. “Kriz . . .” he said, voice suddenly reed thin. Sigoral and Loriabeth were more vocal, both issuing loud and, in Loriabeth’s case, profanity-laden cries as the aerostat plunged towards the earth.

  Clay watched Kriz’s hands dance over the controls, pushing levers and spinning wheels with feverish energy. The aerostat’s descent slowed, much more gradually than Clay would have liked, but within a few seconds the mountain tops swung into view once more as the craft settled into a level flight.

  “The envelope was only six-tenths full,” Kriz explained over her shoulder, pulling back on the central lever to gain altitude. “We’re at full capacity now.”

  Clay unclamped his white-knuckled hands from the edge of his seat, breathing deep as he undid the straps. “So,” he said, moving to stand at her side. “What now?”

  Kriz eased back the two levers that controlled their speed, the aerostat slowing to a lazy drift as the landscape revolved beneath them. Seeing it from this height, Clay was struck by the similarity to Kriz’s crystal model in the trance, the central hub of the mountains surrounded by the vast circle of the artificial sea and the outer ring of dense forest. Much as he longed to be gone from this place, the scale of ambition and achievement it represented was staggering. Kriz’s people had truly lived in an age of wonders.

  The shaft swung into view and Kriz steadied the aerostat into a hover, keeping it in the centre of the window. “We wait,” she said, her gaze fixed on the great monolithic rectangle. It seemed to blur around the edges as the tremors conti
nued to assail it, a growing plume of dust billowing from the opening through which they had made their escape.

  “It’s stood for centuries,” Clay said. “And yet a few tremors can bring it down.”

  “It’s not the tremors,” she said. “The outer shell and the shafts were constructed from a crystal-infused compound. The strongest building material ever created, but reliant on a continual energy source to maintain its integrity. The interruption in the flow of energy from the fault-line has fatally weakened the whole structure.”

  “Clay!” Loriabeth called, voice flat with urgency. He turned to find her and Sigoral staring through the gondola’s port-side windows, both with weapons gripped. “Seer-dammit,” Clay cursed softly, moving to Loriabeth’s side and seeing the dark, rapidly approaching cloud.

  “Gotta be a hundred or more,” Loriabeth said, hefting her repeating rifle.

  “Does this thing have weapons?” Sigoral demanded of Kriz, who shook her head.

  “We never thought we’d need them.”

  “What tremendous foresight your people had, madam,” the Corvantine observed with a bitter sigh.

  Kriz ignored the jibe and pushed the accelerating levers all the way forward, the shaft looming in the window as the aerostat lurched into motion. Kriz angled the large central lever so that the craft swung to the right, steering them around the shaft in a wide circle.

  “They’re still gaining,” Loriabeth reported from the port-side window.

  “We need to open the hatches,” Clay told Kriz. “Can’t shoot ’em otherwise,” he added when she hesitated. Kriz pulled another lever on the panel and the gondola’s hatches all opened at once. There were four in all, two at the front and two at the rear.

  “Lieutenant, take the starboard side,” Clay told Sigoral, having to shout above the sudden torrent of invading air. “Lori, cover the rear.” He hefted his own carbine, taking up position at the forward port-side hatch.