Patris stumbled in the direction where he thought the door was likely to be. He tripped over an obstacle on the floor and fell forward, banging his knee. Cursing, he turned around and saw a body lying face down. He crawled back on hands and knees and turned the motionless form so that he could see the face. His stomach turned over as he recognised Arrogo, a member of his own thief crew. Blood covered the side of the man’s head, and his eyes were fixed open. In the name of all that’s holy, where am I?
He got to his feet and staggered on till he found a wall. He felt along it, coughing as the smoke continued to invade his lungs. Suddenly, a section of wall swung open, and he spilled out onto a cobbled street. He fell to his knees, gasping for air. Smoke billowed into the night air from the windows of the three-story stone building behind him. He stood up, slowly and painfully. The street wound its way downhill, giving him a panoramic view of the town, the wharf and the inky black sea beyond. The town was dotted with fires. They seemed to be raging out of control. Out in the harbour, he could see ships aflame. This was without doubt the Port City of Sakara. His city. And it was being destroyed before his very eyes.
How can I be here? How can all of this be happening? Oliah had been communicating regularly through the Ring that Alondo carried. She had reported that the Prophet’s troops had been consolidating their hold on the city, and that they were doing their best to hunt down Skippers from the Thief Guild, with little or no success. However, there had been no mention of reprisals as yet, and certainly no indication of the widespread destruction he was witnessing. This had to be some sort of a dream–but he could feel the pain in his knee. No, this wasn’t a dream. It was all too vivid…too real.
A shadow moved against the maroon tinged clouds in the night sky and alighted on the street directly in front of him. The pitch-black outfit and flying cloak were unmistakeable. Keltar. Patris took a step backwards as the stranger pushed back the hood to reveal a visage of beautiful severity, framed by long raven tresses. The thief squinted in the dimly reflective light. “Keris?”
The tall woman’s smile held a twist of cruelty. “Patris. So we meet again. I was wondering which corner of this filthy hole you would be cowering in.”
“What’s happening?” Patris demanded. “What are you doing here? Where are the others?”
“Others? …Oh, you must mean Lyall and his band of miscreants. Dead. Or in hiding. It hardly matters. The Prophet now rules everywhere. He is due to arrive here in person shortly. However, it turns out there are rather a lot of vermin in this city. I was asked to do a little…housecleaning, prior to his arrival. What do you think of the results so far?”
“But…you no longer serve the Prophet. You turned your back on all of that and joined Lyall and his party.”
Keris laughed without mirth. “Really, Patris. I thought you were more intelligent than that. You must know that Keltar never leave the service of the Prophet.” Patris’ head was swimming. None of it made sense. Unless…unless this was some twisted vision of the future? Some warning of what would, what could happen. But why? Why was he being shown all of this? The woman looked at the ground, then up at him again. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”
“I…I don’t know,” Patris replied carefully.
“Oh, come now,” she retorted. “Honesty is the key principle of the Thief Guild–you told me as much yourself. You despise the values that I stand for. They are so different from the ideals espoused in your beloved Sakara. Still, that shouldn’t prevent us working together. ‘It’s not the dealer; it’s the deal’. Isn’t that what they say here? Well, I have a proposition for you. But first I thought we might enjoy a little sport. If you survive, I will give you the opportunity to save both yourself and this city. The alternative would be to kill you here and now, but then, where’s the fun in that? So what do you say? Do we have an agreement?”
Patris had never felt more helpless in his life. He nodded.
Keris smiled. “Excellent.” The smile vanished and her eyes blazed, reflecting the fires from the burning buildings. “Now run.”
~
Patris pelted through the city, glancing back over his shoulder for signs of pursuit. The street seemed clear, but he was astute enough to realise that meant nothing. Keris’ flying cloak gave her access to roofs and housetops, alleys and shortcuts. He was like a small rodent running for its life. His only hope was to go to ground. It seemed prudent to assume for now that all of the regular safe houses had been compromised. That meant making it to a sewer entrance or one of the other boltholes that, as a member of the Thief Guild, he had burned into his memory.
It was completely absurd. One moment he had been on an ancient metal platform; the next, he was in a flaming city halfway across the world, fleeing for his life. And yet that was far from the only thing that did not make sense. Patris prided himself that he was a pretty good judge of people. You simply didn’t get to rise to the position of Skipper within the Thief Guild without that particular talent. He had spent more than enough time with Keris to know what made her tick, and there was absolutely no way that she had been secretly serving the Prophet all this time. Which meant that either she was lying, or…or that was not Keris. At least, not the Keris he knew.
However, there was another trait that was absolutely essential in the Thief Guild, and that was an instinct for survival. He knew that whatever this was–this purgatory into which he had suddenly been thrust–it was no illusion. In a very real sense, his life was at stake.
He passed another burning building to his left. The structure was fully ablaze, its windows aflame. One side of the building had fallen in, sending sparks coruscating into the night sky. A wooden cart had been ignited, blocking the route. Next to it were two more broken bodies lying on the cobbles. Patris skirted around them and hurried on. His path was taking him toward the wharf area. A little farther on, a narrow side road branched off to the left. About halfway along, a storm drain led down through a culvert and out through sluice gates to a stone covered beach near the harbour wall. If he could make it there, perhaps find a small boat…?
The fires were like spotlights, picking out his position. Patris did his best to keep to the shadows. His gaze swept over the roofs opposite and his heart sank as he saw a hunched shape on one of the gables, eagerly tracking his movements like a ravenous bird of prey. The dark outline spread its cloak like a single great wing and glided toward street level. Ignoring the pain in his knee, Patris sped on. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the side street he recognised and turned onto it, slipping on the slick cobblestones and falling onto his side. Keris was closing on him. It felt as if she were breathing down his neck. He scrabbled to his feet and stumbled on. Just a few more yards.
In front of him, doors slammed shut and terrified townsfolk watched from behind shuttered windows. Very likely, there was a curfew in operation. It was clear he could expect no help from these people. Finally, he reached the grating. He dropped to his knees and looked back. There was no sign of his pursuer. Patris did not stop to question. He threw back the catch and pulled on the iron ring. Metal grated against stone as the drain cover gave way and he dropped down onto the floor of the cloaca, his boots splashing in the brackish rainwater. He ducked and entered the downward sloping watercourse.
Away from the drain opening, gloominess rapidly descended. he felt his way along the curved damp walls, ignoring the side tunnels that fed into the central channel. If he were evading a mark, following a theft, he would have had his escape route clearly mapped out. He would also have all of the necessary equipment with him, including a knife for protection and a lamp to light his way. Thanks to Lyall, he had been pitched into this situation with none of those things. For the nth time, he cursed the self-styled rebel leader. The city’s foul-smelling runoff swirled around his boots. Something moved in the inky water, then slithered away. He gritted his teeth and sloshed onward. The tunnel widened out into a culvert. He put out his hands to steady himself on the threshold an
d froze. Bobbing lights were moving up the passage toward him, accompanied by raucous shouts. The way to the sea was cut off. How could they know that I would be coming this way?
There was no time for speculation. Patris retreated into the tunnel and hurried back toward the last intersection. He would have to follow the route and climb back up to street level, to find another way around. There was a passage leading off to the right. He kept his head low and swashed along the gently rising conduit. Behind him, he could hear the chasing group growing closer. He surged forward as rapidly as the darkness would permit. At last, he saw a patch of dull red light up ahead, where another drain gave access to the surface. He stood underneath the metal grille and pushed his fingers through the slats to operate the latch. He pushed the cover open and hauled himself to his knees. Panting with exertion, he raised his eyes to see a pair of boots, long legs and a cloaked figure standing before him. Darkwood spun and sliced through the air like a keening wind. He felt the diamond blade at his throat.
“Stand up.”
He obeyed the command. Her blade moved with him, threatening to end his life with a flick of her wrist.
Patris pushed his matted black hair back from his face and met her gaze. Show no fear. “All right, would you like to tell me what’s going on now?”
“What do you mean?”
“How could you know where I would be?” he asked levelly.
A strange look flitted briefly over her face. “Let’s just say that nothing goes on in this city without my being aware of it. I said before that we could work together. But first I needed to demonstrate the futility of your position, and that of the Thief Guild. I apologise if you suffered any discomfort. Still, the truth can be liberating at times, wouldn’t you agree?” She withdrew the staff from his jugular, holding it ready at her side. He glanced around at the street in which they now stood. It was called Tarpeia, and it was only a few yards from the terraced home where he had been born. Behind Keris, Rhomana’s the bakery and confectioners he remembered fondly from his childhood was now on fire, burning freely with no-one attempting to douse the flames. He could only pray that the owner was not inside.
“The Prophet has given me absolute authority over this city,” she continued. “I have effectively quelled any organised resistance. The fate of Sakara and its people are now in my hands. However, I have decided to defer that decision to you.”
Patris had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s simple. I am appointing you as Guild Master. The position is…currently vacant. I believe that you have the skills necessary to unite this city under a new administration–one that will help to convince the people here of the wisdom of acceding to the rule of the Prophet. I need hardly mention that it is an extremely lucrative position.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Patris declared.
Keris raised her eyebrows. “Strange words, from someone who has been conferred with such an honour. I can see that you need a little more persuasion.”
The drain cover behind Patris jerked open with a clank. He turned to see six individuals climb out. Three wore the studded leather armour of the Prophet’s soldiers; the other three were dressed in the bright green livery of the Asoli–the city watch who were supposed to be loyal to the Guilds. Oliah had told them through the Ring that there were rumours of the Asoli having come to an arrangement with the Keltar during the initial takeover of the city. However, being paid to look the other way was one thing; actively co-operating and participating in such devastation and loss of life in the Free Port was quite another. Seeing the two groups working together like this, it was…shocking.
The detachment of soldiers and watchkeepers advanced toward Patris. The soldiers’ hands were on their weapons. Keris made a cutting gesture with her hand and the company stepped back, taking up position at a discreet distance. She was smiling faintly. “Tell me.” She held up her right hand and pointed to the ring on her index finger. “Do you know what this is?”
“It’s one of those Speaker Rings,” he replied.
“Quite correct,” she said. “It is also the means by which I am coordinating the purge of this city. With a single word of command, I can bring the destruction to a halt–order our combined forces to stand down.”
Patris was sceptical. “Why would you do that?”
Keris lowered her hand and shrugged. “Despite what you may have heard from Lyall and his associates, the Keltar are not monsters. Our goal is maintain order and enforce the Prophet’s rule. If you accept the role of Guild Master and pledge your allegiance to the Prophet, then all of this,” she swept her hand expansively, as if to encompass the fire-wracked city, “would become unnecessary.”
Patris put a hand to his head. His home–everything he had ever known–was being burned before his eyes. And as if that were not enough, the entire weight of responsibility–the guilt–over everything that was happening, had suddenly been placed on his shoulders.
“We would assist you with the rebuilding,” Keris was saying. “You would even be allowed to retain your quaint traditions…with one or two exceptions.” He looked up at her, his tongue paralysed by doubt. “Look, I know you, Patris. You have pointed out many times that you care only about this city and its people, not the rest of the world. This is your chance to secure their future.”
Patris’ tongue felt thick in his mouth. “What must I do?”
Her smile grew. “Come. There is someone I would like you to meet.” She put the back of her hand to her mouth and spoke something into the Ring that he could not hear. There was a clattering sound from the other end of the street. A carriage pulled by striped graylesh and flanked by foot soldiers pulled into view. As it drew alongside and came to a stop, Patris saw the emblem on the door of the carriage–three concentric circles; one red, one white, and one yellow, and over them all, the red flame symbol. The Three and the One. A soldier stepped up smartly, opening the door and extending a set of folding steps. A tall figure in a hooded black robe emerged and stepped down from the carriage. The figure turned towards Patris and Keris, face hidden in shadow.
Keris turned slowly, addressing all of those present. “The Prophet has arrived.” She indicated Patris. “Behold the new Guild Master of Sakara. He is to work with the Keltar to free the city of corrupting influences and return its people to the true faith.” She strode up behind Patris and placed a hand on his shoulder. The pressure was firm and insistent, forcing him to one knee. “Swear your allegiance to the Prophet.”
Patris could feel pairs of eyes burning into him like red-hot pokers. On the opposite side of the street, the roof of the bakers collapsed, sending columns of sparks into the night air. Sweat beaded on his brow. At this very moment, the people of Sakara–his people–were suffering. Dying. Only he could make it stop. How many lives was his collaboration worth? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? He raised his head. “I swear.”
Beneath the shadow cast by the cowl, the Prophet’s mouth distorted into a smile. He reached up and pushed back the hood. Patris’ eyes widened and his mouth fell open as he gazed into a face that was familiar. Too familiar. The face was his own.
The world disappeared in a blinding flash of light.
<><><><><>
Chapter 32
Lyall sat on the edge of the Dais, his legs dangling over the vertical drop to the ground below. Off to his right, the Tower of Akalon rose toward a brooding sky. The early downpour had stopped, but patches of mist lingered in depressions on the rolling plain. Rainwater beaded and pooled on the smooth metal surface of the Dais. Waiting. That was the hardest part. Knowing that others were undergoing unnamed hardships, and that you could do nothing to help them or change the outcome. Of course, in the case of Patris, it was he who had cast the thief bodily into the mysterious bank of fog and whatever fate awaited him there. There had been no choice–it had been a simple matter of survival. However, for some reason, that didn’t make him feel any better. Already, Pat
ris had been in there a lot longer than Alondo. He had no idea whether that was a good sign or a bad one. Whatever the outcome, Lyall was quite sure that he would incur the thief’s wrath when he finally emerged. It was a price he was resigned to pay.
He sensed a movement behind him and made to stand. Turning, he saw Shann and Rael waiting for him. The boy was shuffling his feet. Lyall shook off his grey mood and smiled at them warmly. “What can I do for you?”
Shann poked Rael in the side and spoke in hushed tones. “Go on.”
“How is Alondo?” Rael asked.
“He’ll be fine,” Lyall assured them. “He seems tired, mostly.”
“Is he sleeping?” Rael inquired.
“Not when I last saw him,” Lyall returned. “I think he just needs some time to himself. I would suggest leaving him on his own for now. He knows where we are if he needs company.”
“How about–” Rael winced and turned on Shann. “Owww, will you please stop doing that?”
Lyall adopted a bemused expression. “Is there something going on between you two?”
They answered simultaneously. “No,” said Shann; “Yes”, said Rael. They looked at each other.
“No,” Rael assented. “It’s just that…well, Shann and I made a discovery earlier–”
“Well, it was really Rael rather than me,” Shann put in.
“Yes, but it was your reasoning on magnets that gave me the idea of looking at gravity waves.”
“I was just rambling,” she insisted. “I don’t even know what a gravity wave is.”
“Stop.” Lyall held up one hand and shut his eyes. “Look, I have no idea what either of you is talking about.”
“No,” Rael acknowledged. “Look, I’ll start from the beginning. During our journey to meet the Chandara–”
“After we escaped from the tower,” Shann interrupted. The other two looked at her. “Sorry,” she said, lapsing into silence.
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