by Adrian Cross
“What are you doing here, Clay?”
“I want to see Rhino.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s angry enough to crack you like a wishbone,” she snapped. “You sneak off, leave us behind, and now some mutant army is attacking his castle. You know how paranoid he is. He thinks it’s all connected.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s not, right?”
“Well… that’s a bit complicated.”
“Are you kidding?”
“This is serious, Rose. I have to see him.”
She hissed. For a moment, it looked as if she were going to say something else, but she just jerked her crossbow.
“If you’re determined to go through with this, we might as well get it over with. I’m already late, and nobody’s paying me to play babysitter. Come on.”
She led him toward the castle, albeit at a slight angle, through a battered alley between brick homes. Piles of rubble and debris still smoldered. The end of the alley was a blind, however, as she slipped through a tangle of nail-studded beams and between a narrow zig-zagging crack in the back wall. Clay had to squeeze in sideways, through a tight gap that scraped his coat’s scales like rough claws. When he worked his way out the other side, he gratefully drew a long breath.
They stood in a small cobblestoned square, surrounded by tall windowless brick walls, bordered by a six-foot high iron grate along their bottom edge. Above the grate, the walls were green with scraps of slick-looking moss. He heard muffled sounds of fighting, possibly from inside one of the buildings.
Rose took hold of a grate and flowed up the wall. Clay followed, more awkwardly, putting the toe of one of his boots into the metal curlings of the grate, then dragging himself up by main strength. Past the grate, the climb grew harder. He was forced to rely on shallow, nearly invisible handholds in the stone and hidden under the moss. At one point, his boot slipped, and he scrabbled frantically against the slick stone of the wall before finding his grip. He thought he heard a chuckle above.
But when he reached the roof, Rose’s face was impassive.
He flopped over the uneven archer stones and lay on his back, looking up at Rose.
“We almost there?”
“No.”
She took two easy steps and launched herself to another rooftop.
He grumbled and followed, his stomach clenching each time he leaped out over darkness, landing on ill-lit and uncertain surfaces. It was a dangerous game, begging for a loose stone or misjudged jump to send them crashing to earth. Why didn’t they just take the regular routes? Was she trying to impress him?
“I know you’re a Fist now.” He growled. “But can’t we take the easy way?”
Her lips thinned. “This is the easy way—as easy as it gets. The castle is under attack, Clay. The main gate has a thousand mutants trying to hack it down. A pack of bears tore into the Green Road, until Rhino himself stepped in and sealed it off. The Shadow Way is on fire, the Black Gate broken. There aren’t a lot of choices left. Unless you want to suggest something I’ve missed?”
“Oh.” He felt stupid. And concerned—things were going a lot worse than he’d expected. “Sorry.”
She ignored him and moved to the edge of the roof. She slid down a bent iron pipe and landed at the edge of an alley. He followed.
“The barbershop bolt hole is close,” she whispered. “But so are those things. Come on.”
Together, they eased out on the street.
Just as Latine turned the corner.
The white-pelted Earth goddess was leading a double column of hulking gorilla men—although they might just be regular gorillas, as they didn’t look much different than their wild cousins. Wrinkled muzzles slackened in surprise as they stumbled to a stop.
Clay swore.
“Behind them,” Rose said.
“I see it,” he said. On the other side of Latine and the gorillas was the barber shop, their destination.
For a brittle second, no one moved.
Then Rose snapped up her crossbow and squeezed off a shot, too fast for even Latine to completely avoid it. The goddess twisted sideways though so the bolt drove into her shoulder instead of her head. She staggered back, knocking aside the gorillas behind her and opening a space in their ranks.
Clay threw himself forward, feeling Rose at his shoulder, bursting through the gorillas, powerful fingers sliding across the scales of his coat, then slipping away. Another two strides and the barber shop door was in front of him, open. He slammed it closed behind Rose, then they were hurtling through the front room, dodging stools.
The front window splintered. Latine hurtled through, head first, roaring. Her spear slapped the tiles as she landed, rolling, and then she sprang toward them.
Clay and Rose slid through a narrow door, into a featureless room. The walls were wood and plaster, a dusty carpet thrown over the floor. Together, they threw themselves against the door, which was heavier than it looked and swung closed slowly. It was layered with steel mesh and mahogany, tough enough to stop a bull, but slow to move.
Latine charged the gap.
They strained.
Latine leaped, spear drawn back.
The door clicked closed. Rose pushed an iron bar into its bracket.
Latine’s spear splintered the door and missed Rose’s temple by a finger’s breadth. Rose fell backward. The spear, thick as a wrist, yanked back, disappearing. Clay and Rose scrambled away.
Latine howled. Gorilla howls and hoots accompanied her, and the door shuddered under heavy blows. The spear punched through again.
Clay reached down and jerked up the carpet in the center of the room, lifting a cloud of dust. Underneath was a darker outline, a square with an iron ring in its center. He reached down and lifted the hatch, exposing a black hole beneath. The odor of stale air and cobwebs rose, triggering a flashback of the mine. He shuddered.
“I see you!”
A green eye pressed to a wide hole in the door. It was almost the size of Clay’s fist, the pupil dilated and wild.
“I’m going to kill you. I’ll crack your ribs and suck out your heart!” Latine’s eye disappeared, and her arm replaced it, groping for the bar. “You can’t hide!”
Rose sank a bolt into Latine’s forearm. She bellowed, in rage and pain. Rose dropped into the hole.
“Time to go.”
Clay threw himself after Rose, hearing the door shatter and tear behind him. Latine was enraged. He fell against a hard-packed dirt floor.
Rose dragged the hatch closed, scraping two iron bolts into heavy anchoring slots, bored in the building’s foundation. A new pounding started above them.
“That should hold her for a little while,” he said.
She nodded. “Come on.”
The tunnel they entered next was cramped and dark as a dragon’s gullet. Clay had to hunch forward, his shoulders aching. Occasionally he’d scrape a wall or catch the crown of his head on a low beam. Rose didn’t seem bothered or slow down at his grunts of pain. He suspected she might even be enjoying it.
At one point, the walls grew brighter and red-tinged. He noticed a scattering of small red lights in the ceiling, like bloody perforations. The holes were tubes filled with reflective material, bringing the light of the Wall from above. The floor also became ridged and wavy, with pools of shadow that could have hidden anything.
“Stop or die,” a voice said.
Clay froze. The words echoed off the walls, making it impossible to pinpoint their source—which was probably intentional. If Clay wanted to charge the speaker, he’d be turned into a pincushion by any semi-competent crossbowman before he figured out where anyone was.
Rose kept her weapon pointed at the ground. “Black Rose,” she announced. “Password: intruder.”
Clay shot her a quick look, wondering if she was signaling something bad for him. But her face was impassive and no one rushed him. The code word just appeared to be designed as an unlikely guess for someone trying to sne
ak past. Rhino wasn’t stupid.
“All right. Keep moving.” The soldier’s voice sounded sour. Clay guessed the man recognized him. Rose probably wasn’t the only person upset with his defection.
“Let’s go,” Rose prompted.
Clay followed her forward. They passed four soldiers hunkered in bunkers, hidden by shadows and surrounded by ammunition and food. Clay saw ropes stretching to rings and pulleys. The tunnel was built to allow for strategic cave-ins as needed. They were killing grounds, for quick ambushes and quicker retreats. If Latine got this far, it was unlikely she’d get any farther.
An old soldier spat at Clay’s feet as he passed. The others watched silently, with different degrees of hostility. The message was clear. Clay had no friends here.
He said nothing. He had once been like them.
After several more manned checkpoints, with similar welcomes, Clay smelled fresh air. The tunnel widened and brightened, ending at a short flight of stairs that led up to an iron gate in the wall.
He paused, a weight in his stomach. On the other side was Rhino’s castle. It had taken all Clay’s will and determination to break out of Rhino’s orbit to start with. He hadn’t been completely sure he’d survive the attempt. And he was coming back. Was he crazy?
Rose jabbed the business end of the crossbow into Clay’s coat. “Keep going. Too late for cold feet now.”
He exhaled. She was right; the decision was made. All he could do was see it through.
He put a foot on the stairs.
23
An Unwelcome Friend
After talking to Mama, Bern wanted to set off immediately. But Mama insisted Bern eat and drink first, noting she wasn’t going to be any good to anyone if she fell over, and then Brock found her again, demanding information on what was going on beyond the Lady. Mama disappeared into the tunnels. Bern told Brock what she could, until at last he grunted.
“Fine. Now get back underground.”
“What?”
“Mama’s little escapade is done. You’re part of the Clan again. So get into the lower chambers.”
“I’m still on my Tempering.”
“What?” Brock looked around. “Did I miss Clay? Is he waiting inside?”
She flushed. “He is not here. I’m going to follow him.”
“Follow him? Bern, the city is at war. An army is trying to squash the Clan.” Heat crept into his voice. “Where are your priorities? You have no loyalty to that assassin.”
“He’s not an assassin.”
“How do you know? This city is a cesspit. Monsters playing at being kings. No rules or laws. Nothing here is pure.”
“Pure? Were the Clans that tried to slaughter us pure?” Anger bubbled up. Brock could pretend, but the Code was not the answer to everything.
His face reddened. “You know what I mean. Until we return to our world, we should keep to ourselves. Look after ourselves.”
“Brock, we might not ever see our mountain again. You know that, right?”
A wildness crept into his eyes. “No. Mama may not care, but I have someone checking every Shift. Sooner or later, this city will find its way back. I am told it goes everywhere at least twice, although maybe not in the same time. My job is to keep the Family intact and pure until that happens. We need to reverse the mistake that brought us here.”
Mistake. If they’d stayed, they would have been slaughtered. But Bern looked at Brock’s blazing eyes and wondered if her uncle might consider that the better option.
“I am going after him,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
She turned and left him. When she reached the street corner, she looked back to see him still staring after her.
She shook her head and stepped out of sight. At that point, she hesitated, but then slowly walked east.
She knew she wanted to follow Clay, but that still meant figuring out where he was headed. He still chased Karen, she was sure, and probably believed one of the Bosses had taken her. Which made sense to Bern as well. That tree thing would have been tough to take down by just anyone. But she had to guess which one Clay would have started with.
From the stables, the tree thing had initially been headed east, the way Bern was walking. Technically, it shouldn’t have run into a Boss at all along that path since it would have had a clear route to the Wall, through the slice of Free Zone. But it was a narrow slice, and the stump might have shifted direction to try to throw them off its trail. Which meant it might have run into the forces of Rhino or the Desert Riders.
The Riders had a wall along their border, and they didn’t come out much, so they were probably a lower probability. But Rhino’s motivation for wanting to seize Karen was also a bit muddy. Could one of the other Bosses have been creeping around for reasons of their own? Candiman was often doing that, looking for recruits. Or maybe Karen wasn’t even still in StoneDragon. But Bern had to start somewhere.
Rhino it was. Clay would be familiar with his old Boss, even if they weren’t on good terms. It felt like the right place to start.
She headed northward.
The night was dark and lonely, for all the soldiers and fighting in the distance. Smoke burned her nose and eyes, and she felt small and alone. She missed the Lady, the warmth and buzz of its tunnels, even if she was not often in the heart of the social scene. She was too different, too unlike the classic Clan women. But that didn’t mean she hated the Clan for it. She didn’t even despise StoneDragon. It was what she’d grown up knowing. Her memories of the mountain were few. She couldn’t sympathize with Brock. StoneDragon was her home. Its Wall unveiled periodic worlds of wonder. And it was being attacked, causing a heavy anger to bubble up inside her. She wanted to make the Earth gods regret they’d ever tangled with her City.
She stopped. A dark figure stood in front of her, heavy and still. Flames backlit him, casting deep shadows in the crags of his face, and dented armor clung to his frame. At first, from the size of the man, she thought he was a were-beast, but then she saw the glint of malevolent intelligence in his eyes.
Her axe slid into her hand.
“Who are you?”
Another shadow appeared to her left, then her right, all big and silent. The first figure grinned slowly, showing upward curving fangs.
“I’m Mendonia. A friend of Clay’s.”
A scuff behind her and she tried to spin but wasn’t fast enough. Hands closed on her arms, incredibly strong. The shapes on either side closed in. She struggled but was lifted easily into the air, axes ripped from her grip.
“Well, ‘friend’ might be a bit strong, I admit. But don’t worry. I have plans for you.”
24
The Castle
Clay would never forget the first time he’d met Rhino. It was his first night in StoneDragon. Clay was sitting in a small rundown bar at the edge of Little Italy. The building, unlike when he’d first entered, was silent and empty—the customers had fled, along with the bartender. Only two people were left: Clay, bleeding gently, and Makko, Rhino’s samurai Fist. They shared a stool—in a fashion. Clay sat on top of the stool, his elbows propped on the bar; Makko lay under, his throat pinned by its feet.
Clay didn’t have a lot of patience that day.
His body was scorched from the long walk in the desert sun, his head light from the amount of blood he’d lost. A bullet was lodged in his back. His lips were cracked and burnt. It was all he could do not to keel over from dehydration and pain as he cradled a beer mug in his hands. But he was damned if he’d let the fat man on the floor know that. The elbows on the bar were as much to stop Clay from falling over as anything else.
Heavy steps approached. Clay ignored them, until they paused right behind him. He straightened and turned slowly, wondering how many of the samurai’s friends had shown up to rescue him.
The answer was one—but Clay had never seen anything like him.
Rhino’s body was densely muscled and powerfully animalistic, like some primitive predator. His eyes were brown, rimmed
with red, and they gleamed in shadowed sockets. His grey skin was ridged with cracks, webbing out from the corner of his eyes to a massively thick neck and a stubby horn, centered in Rhino’s forehead. As he leaned forward, his weight made the wooden floor creak in protest. It didn’t take a genius to know it would be a bad idea to have those hands close on you in anger.
But for all the unthinking menace and power in his figure, the man’s eyes shone with intelligence. “I can give your life meaning,” Rhino announced.
The words hit Clay unexpectedly hard. He’d been betrayed by someone he’d trusted, lost the one he loved, and had his entire life stolen from him. The only consolation was an almost unremembered vengeance that still seemed like an unreal blur. Just the smell of blood and flame, then bodies at his feet. Including Sarah’s. Grief swept him again. He felt as dark and dead as a forest swept by fire, upright but waiting to fall.
He frowned at Rhino. “Doing what?”
“Hurting those who deserve it, protecting those who don’t.” Rhino’s eyes fixed on Clay as if nothing else existed. “Saving the world.”
Clay looked at the empty mug in his hand. The words sounded absolutely crazy and equally sincere.
Blood dripped from his elbow onto Makko’s cheek. The fat man glared up at Clay from the floor. The rest of the room seemed fuzzy. It wouldn’t be long before Clay joined Makko on the ground.
Clay grinned. “Sounds good to me.”
“What are you waiting for?” Rose asked. “Keep moving.”
Clay shook himself back to reality. He and Rose stood in a narrow corridor in the basement of the castle, lit with guttering torches. The air was pungent, and moldy straw shifted underfoot. On either side, rusted bars bounded square cells, some dark and empty, others stacked with crates and barrels. One cell held only a single box, its sides covered with stenciled markings.
