“The Draathis, the Iron Children. That’s what they is called. They will track us here,” she said.
“We could take the chance they won’t get here soon,” said Ilona. “The ship knows he’s alive,” she said, pointing at Persin. “They’ll know we’re alive. So whoever is in charge has a reason to come back. The Prince Alfra is fast.”
Persin cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, let us not be too hasty. We cannot assume they’ll be coming for me.”
“Your own men would abandon you?” said Bannord.
“Oh, you should wager they would,” said Mazarine. He clapped his hands onto his elbows and chuckled drily. “Our Captain Croutier is a merciless son of a whore. He’d leave us all to freeze if it saved his own life. I’ll bet he’ll not even rendezvous with Mesire Persin’s other two vessels, but make home at all speed.”
“I paid him fairly,” said Persin angrily.
“You will have lost his respect,” said Mazarine. “He doesn’t know what happened to us in that chamber, but when he saw that pillar of steam and all that magic, it won’t have taken him long to figure out what happened. He never did like the mage.”
More shouting, until Bannord whistled again.
“Please, goodmen,” said Antoninan. “I must appeal for calm. We have to decide what we are going to do.”
“That is, stay or go?” said Bannord.
“We have to go,” said Antoninan. He unrolled a chart that showed an incomplete map of the Sotherwinter coast and hung it from the tent’s central pole. Large segments were dotted lines. Some had been recently filled in, others had been amended, crossed out and redrawn. The continent was roughly circular, and its shape was more or less known, but question marks were everywhere, mostly relating to the extent of the ice shelves piled up by successive great tides around the landmass, and the Sotherwinter interior was entirely blank. No man had ever trodden there. “We have limited supplies. Twelve days of food at full rations, perhaps. Limited fuel. Were it not for our glimmer lamps and stoves, I would not rate our chances highly. The Karsan party has seven ironlock rifles remaining to them, along with Ardovani’s marvellous gun. The eight soldiers in Persin’s employ are all armed, giving us sixteen weapons in total. All except Ardovani’s will do little against our pursuers, but we have an adequate amount of ammunition, so we may hunt. I propose we do that. There is nothing to eat here. There are rookeries of birds and dracon-kind around the coasts,” said Ardovani, “at Sea Drays Bay.”
“This is a joke,” said Ranost. “The bay was shut by ice.”
“The punishment detail I give you will be anything but, Ranost,” said Bannord. “Keep it stowed for later.”
“If it weren’t for our visitors, I would say we make camp there and wait for rescue. Sea Drays Bay is usually accessible from the ocean, it is mapped, and offers the chance to restock our provisions. I have left stores of equipment there. I have not overwintered on the Sotherwinter yet, but I believe it is possible at the bay. That is why I proposed it as our original landing site. There are options open to us there. Sadly, we cannot remain long. We will be caught. We must have another plan.”
“They have not caught us yet,” said Persin. “Who says they will?”
“I saw no conveyances, no sleds, no vehicles of any kind,” said Antoninan. “If they had any of these things, they would have overtaken us already, but we can assume an advantage on their part—that of inhumanity. They may not need to rest. The heat they give out suggests to me that they will have no issue with the cold. When the weather worsens, they will catch us.”
“Alright, Antoninan, stop there. You’re a polar expert, not a mage,” said Bannord. “Ardovani, what do you think?”
“I have never seen anything like them,” said Ardovani from his place in the crowd. “The Draathis were alive. Not machines, though they looked like them. They were surrounded by magic.”
“That is not possible!” said Persin. “An iron man, made by magic? Nonsense!”
“I never said they were made by magic,” said Ardovani. “They are encased in it, as you are. They have the aura of life. We have souls. Souls are, in essence, magical. They can be seen by those who have the skill. These iron men have souls. Who knows how they were made? Perhaps it was magic. Remember that Iron Mages were a myth until last week,” said Ardovani. “We have all seen iron and magic in action together through the mage Shrane. As far as I am concerned, anything is possible.”
“A hundred years ago, the mechanism of glimmer and iron power was unknown to us,” said Ilona. “I suppose if these things come from somewhere else, they could do anything.”
“So they may or may not catch us,” said Bannord.
“We must assume that they will pursue us,” said Antoninan. “Our best chance at survival is to move quickly to the bay, with minimal rest. For the last four days we have used the edge of the ice shelf to travel. They could not follow us there, I believe the heat they make would put them in danger of falling through. They will be forced to go around this inlet.” He pointed out a deep cut into the coastline near to the city of ice. “But from hereon out, the coast curves far into the Sotherwinter sea.” He sketched the line of the coast on the map. “Meaning that we have the greater distance to go if we stick to the ice shelf. If they move directly across the land here, they could intercept us at any point.” He tapped the map. “The rising slopes into the interior give them a perfect view out over the ice. They will cut us off.”
“Then how do we avoid them?” asked Mazarine.
“If we leave the pack ice, and cut across land ourselves from this point,” explained Antoninan, “we can rely on our supplies. We can travel directly east to regain the coast here. Then we must travel north to Sea Drays Bay. The mountains give out there, and the water is clear of ice most of the year, I am sure what we witnessed earlier in the year will be clear soon. Moving on this line will give us an enormous advantage. And we’ve already come most of the way.”
“We can see them coming, but they won’t be able to see us,” said Forfeth. “The steam from the heat they give out. We can see it now. It must fifty leagues from here.”
“Exactly,” said Antoninan.
“You have seen these places, I recall from your last book,” said Persin. “Did you not launch your last attempt to find the land route to the Sotherwinter from Sea Drays Bay?”
“It has been my ambition to find the Sorskian Passage for a long time. Going overland we avoid the territory of the drowned completely, save the souls of our men and avoid his tolls. It is an attractive route for those who would like to exploit the resources of the Sotherwinter. There is great wealth in these lands: metals, meat, dragon ivory, sea dray oil. More. Perhaps even glimmer deposits.”
“I heard something about a rail line,” said Ardovani. “You plan to build a railway?”
“Not I, but I am sponsored by men who would.”
“He has to find the route first,” said Ilona.
“I nearly have,” said Antoninan grandly. “I have mapped both ends of the supposed Sorskian Passage, from Sea Drays Bay here in the south, and from Finewater Bight on the Sorskian coast in the north. If we can find it, and fill in the detail of this central section,” Antoninan indicated a blank part of the map, “we will get home. The country in those parts of Sorksia is inhabited, sparsely, but there are people there. They will aid us. The passage must be here somewhere. It has to be.”
Persin looked at the map. A peninsula poked northward toward the very southernmost kingdoms. A similar, mountainous land mass curled down from the north. The coast either side of the map area was a treacherous maze of islets and shifting ice that extended some way toward the putative link. “To make it to Sorksia, we have to find the land path, which you have failed to discover on three separate occasions, if I recollect. If you can’t find a way through the mountains from the south, and you could not find a land bridge that extended all the way through Winter’s Maze from the north, what chance do we have, searching in
a blind panic? That is assuming this land bridge exists at all, and there is not clear ocean between the Sotherwinter and Sorksia.”
“If we stray from the coast and the iron ship does come for us, then the crew will not be able to find us. We might condemn ourselves,” said Ullfider.
“What if they don’t come? Sea Drays Bay is visited rarely. There is an expedition to the Finewater nearly every year,” said Antoninan. “I have overwintered there before. Even if we are not pursued, we will be safer at Finewater Bight when the weather turns. A few degrees can mean the difference between life and death. We can then make our way overland to the Kingdoms in spring.”
“It’s an idea,” said Bannord.
Persin shook his head. “If we push on so far north we shall exhaust ourselves. These iron beasts will certainly catch us then, and if they don’t they will outpace us. The world may be a little preoccupied with them to be sending jaunts off into the south. You are trying to match our fight for survival with your personal obsession. I say we trust to rescue from my expedition, or the Prince Alfra.”
“It was your obsession that put us here!” said Antoninan in Maceriyan. “We can do it,” he said, switching back to Karsarin. His eyes moved up a long sweep of land whose northern extremities were a cartographer’s best guess of dotted lines, alternative coasts in different colours, and hazards inked in red. “I know it is there somewhere. The Sorkosans and Sorskians have told me of it many times. We have not seen it because we do not dwell there. The water churns with sharp rocks and glimmer-laced whirlpools. No one can sail within eighty leagues of it. No sending works there. It is impossible to sail the Winter’s Maze, but there is a land route. I know it is there somewhere.”
“You’ve already tried. Three times!” said Persin. “Were it not for Valatrice, your third time would have been the last. It’s madness. To get there in the first place, we have to cross these mountains.” He poked the map beyond Sea Drays Bay, making it flutter. “And if I recall your reports from your last, failed attempt, there are more mountains beyond. That’s before we reach the Maze. We’ll all die.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“We move as fast as we can along the lip of the ice to Sea Drays Bay, keeping watch for the Prince Alfra or the remainder of my expedition. If they don’t come, then we find somewhere hidden to camp near to the bay.”
“We can’t stay in the Sotherwinter during winter. It is possible, but we are poorly equipped. The Draathis will catch us. We will die. We must move on to the north,” said Antoninan.
“But my other ships are also out there. They will come looking for me, if Croutier does not.”
“What were your orders to your ships, Persin?” asked Bannord.
Persin looked guilty.
“If I recall right,” said Mazarine, “they were to make their way to the City of Ice and attempt to discover a way through while we held the city.”
“So, they’ll either fail and go home; they’ll succeed, see the enemy and run—assuming we’re dead—or they’ll all die,” said Bannord. “I don’t like this second part of Antoninan’s plan, but I concur with the first part. Heading to Sea Drays Bay seems our best course for now.”
“The odds of finding our way overland to Sorksia are ridiculously low!” said Persin.
“We can argue about that once we get to the bay, but it may not come to that,” said Bannord. “The Prince Alfra might be waiting for us when we arrive. If it isn’t, we will discuss plans again.”
“Well, I er...” said Ullfider. “I am inclined to agree with Mesire Persin.”
“Are you sure? We have to move on anyway, there’s nowhere for the ship to land here. If we wait for rescue, we will die,” said Bannord. “When we get to Sea Drays Bay what happens next depends on which captain is in command upon the iron ship. Is it Croutier, or did Heffi see him off? That’s a big roll of the dice. At least this way, we’re putting ground between us and the enemy, and there is food in Antoninan’s stores there.”
“Um, then perhaps not?” said Ullfider questioningly. He looked to the others for guidance.
“I say we vote now. Council first, all in favour of trying the first part of Antoninan’s overland route,” said Ilona.
Bannord raised his hand, as did Antoninan and, with a little prompting, Ullfider. After some thought, Ilona followed suit.
“For awaiting rescue on the shore close to here,” said Ilona.
Persin held his hand defiantly aloft.
“In favour of waiting for rescue, Persin. We are going to Sea Drays Bay,” said Bannord.
“Lieutenant—” began Persin.
“We’ll reexamine our options once there,” said Bannord.
“Goodmen,” said Antoninan, “we will finish consolidating our supplies, then rest. None of us have rested since the opening of the gate. Try to sleep if you can. Tomorrow, we will drive hard for the east, then the north.”
CHAPTER NINE
Chimes in the Night
FAINT CHIMES WOKE Rel from a dream. In the waking world he heard only the snores of the modalmen. Their hulking forms lay sprawled around the fire, the glow of their markings dull in their sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow, sure he had heard a bell ringing. A garau snorted. The night was totally still, not a breath of wind, and bitingly cold. The rumbling of the sleeping modalmen was locally loud, but devoured by the vast quiets of the desert. It was somewhere out in all that silence that the bell had chimed. He strained his ears until he felt deafened by the rush of his own pulse. When one of his giant companions let out a thunderous roll of flatulence he gave up in disgust.
“A dream,” he said uneasily, not believing his own words. Out in the Black Sands it was as likely not to be a dream, and he settled himself back down into his bed roll certain that the sounds were not a product of his mind.
He shuddered as he burrowed back into his blanket. The ground radiated heat still from the day, so though the air was freezing, he was warm enough; for a while, he ruefully told himself. Hours before dawn the sand would have leached the last of its comfort into the air, and he would wake stiff and aching, as he had for weeks.
He cursed as he always did the circumstances that had him out there at the edge of the known world, not least Goodfellow Dorion’s comely wife.
He drifted off thinking of Goodlady Anellia’s thighs, and what lay between. He smiled. Sometimes he thought it had been worth it.
Memory blended into the precursors of dream. Flashes of false recollection burst colourfully behind his eyes; children playing in the rainbow shadows of crystal domes. He was on the lip of sleep when the bell sounded again.
He sat up sharply.
“That time I definitely heard something,” he muttered.
Darkness surrounded the camp. The fires were duller than the modalmen’s patterns. A single, giant figure sat on watch atop a mound some way off. All others slept, whether hound, modalman or garau. One of Rel’s hands instinctively went to the hilt of his sword lying by his blanket. The other hand went to the stock of his carbine. Quietly, he took up both weapons, and hooked his scabbard to his belt.
With his gun held ready, he ventured away from the ember glow of the fire.
The dying firelight extended only a few yards. His eyes adjusted and the wall of blackness surrounding the camp became a grainy grey. The sky gleamed with millions of stars. In the light of the God’s Road the sand glittered back. The hummocks of rubble hidden by sand were indistinguishable from the lumpen bodies of his hosts.
He heard the chiming again, and the suggestion of distant voices. He followed them out into the sand-choked streets until he was a distance from the camp, too intent on finding the source of the noises to notice how far he was straying. He cast about for a vantage point, choosing a tumbled wall twelve feet in height, and clambered up a ramp of debris and sand to the top. He looked down, and found an unexpected scene.
Superimposed over the shattered walls was a phantasmal image of Losirna when it had been alive.
Whatever era the image depicted, it was the full of day. Gentle skies smiled on a multi-sided plaza of amazing complexity constructed on several levels. Huge buildings of shining crystals wove themselves together high overhead, but though enormous, they were perfectly placed so as not to block the sun. Where they did, they did so purposefully, creating cool shade over places for people to sit. The building glass acted like prisms to split the sun into rainbows, which danced in fountains and dappled the walls with shards of light that were split again, and again, so that the whole square shivered with colour.
Rel’s gun stayed firmly in his hands, he was too cynical and too experienced to let the wondrous overwhelm him, but his jaw slackened nonetheless. There were thousands of people in the vision going about their business, all of them in total ignorance of their city’s ruin. It was clear the people were not human, but such was the habituation of his brain to the human form it took him a few moments to realise that he looked upon a city full of Earth’s past masters. The Morfaan, full of life and beauty. Rel had only ever seen ancient, stylised statues of the Morfaan. In life, they looked different to how he had pictured them.
Down a street he glimpsed a bright market. People ambled in crowds, chatting amiably with each other. The women wore glorious metal clothes and jewellery which covered them from neck to ankle. The men were as finely garbed, but more freely and in looser fabrics, with some openly displaying their smaller, secondary pairs of arms.
Scribes hurried by. Palanquins carrying high-born folk swayed past. Children splashed in the largest of the fountains.
He could hear them speaking quietly, as if heard from very far away. The bell tolled again. He searched it out, finding it atop a modest crystal spire fronted by an inexplicable machine.
He noticed then that there were machines everywhere. What he took for birds or dracon-birds he saw as flying vehicles, beating golden wings to traverse the sky. A being of living brass stalked down a sidestreet. At that, finally, his gun slipped from his grasp to dangle by its strap. In gaps and vents in the machine’s surfaces the tell-tale glow of glimmer shone, but the light was far purer, and the machine far more elegant, than those employed by mankind.
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