StoneDragon

by Adrian Cross

  Technology might not work in StoneDragon, but that didn’t stop Rhino in preparing for a war that might spill out into the real world. He had bought and stolen weapons from a hundred times and places, until no one knew for sure what he had stashed down here.

  They continued until they reached a flight of stairs leading up to a thick oak door. They passed it and entered a stone corridor in the castle proper. All around, Clay could hear the faint clatter of boots and armor, the bark of shouted commands. Even fainter—but inescapable, like an ocean’s roar—was the moan of voices and clash of steel. The floor trembled slightly. The castle was under siege, as Rose said, and it didn’t feel like things were going well.

  “Well, look what the Fist dragged in,” a voice drawled.

  Clay turned. A slender, fashionably dressed man stood behind him, a feathered cap tipped stylishly over one eye and a purple scarf tied around his bicep. But scorch marks marred the hat’s brim, and the scarf was stained with blood—not his. Evan might look foppish, but he was no dandy, as Clay knew. Knives were tucked into every fold of Evan’s coat, boots, and ruffled sleeves. He was a Fist as well.

  “The lost cowboy returns.”

  Behind Evan was a wall of soldiers. They wore no frilliness in their attire at all, other than matching purple scarves around their left arms. Their uniforms were smoke-grey with simple belts, short swords, and iron-studded boots. They looked grim, capable, and unimpressed as they looked at Clay. They were Rhino’s troops—and they weren’t. Evan had created his own elite squad over the years he’d commanded them. They would do what he told them.

  Rose’s face tightened. “Evan.”

  “My flower.” Evan tipped his hat and then leaned back. A knife appeared in his hand, touching his teeth as he considered Clay’s appearance, the smoke- and ash-streaked skin, and a shirt that was more blood-stain than cotton. Evan lifted an eyebrow at the empty holster. “Lose something?”

  As far as Clay knew, Evan—better known as the Card Shark—was the only Fist who’d been born in StoneDragon, native to the Lost City. He was charismatic, tough, and smart, his mind as quick and restless as his hands. He was talented with both cards and knives. Clay actually quite liked the man, except for one minor character flaw—he desperately wanted to kill Clay.

  “Hello, Evan,” Clay said. “You playing nice?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Evan grinned. With no visible signal, his men spread out, circling Clay and Rose.

  Rose took a step away from Clay, casually but deliberately. Tension showed in her blank face and knotted shoulders. She was a Fist as well, as capable and well-trained as Evan, but the weapon in her hands was a heavy single-shot crossbow, best for long-range work—and Evan’s men were close. The soldiers watched her with calm eyes.

  “What do you want, Evan?” Clay asked. “Doesn’t Rhino have something better for you to do than hang out in hallways?”

  Evan’s knife had disappeared into the folds of his clothes. He took off his hat and turned it in his hands, his expression pensive. “Do you know who cared the most when you left, cowboy?”

  Clay’s gut tightened. He could guess where this was going, no matter what Evan said next. Instead of focusing on Evan, Clay sought the gaze of the men, one at a time. He kept his face cold and hard. Each stiffened, as if brushed by a live wire. They might be seasoned soldiers, but Clay had been Rhino’s front-line muscle for a decade, and they knew it. In battle, any fraction of a second of hesitation could mean the difference between life and death, and Clay might need every advantage he could get. So he made sure they knew: if Clay was going down, it wasn’t alone.

  Evan must have seen what Clay was doing. His smile slipped. Then it returned, colder than before.

  “Rhino. For whatever reason, he thought you were the second coming. Did you know he hit Snake the day you left? When Rhino told us that you’d left, Snake said something along the lines of ‘Good riddance.’” Evan shook his head. “You should have seen Snake’s face afterward. Eyes like frozen death. He has no sense of humor at all.” His lips twitched. “I figure he’ll eventually be the one to kill me—when I’m not looking, of course.”

  “What do you want, Evan?”

  “She hides it well, but you also hurt the dusky beauty at your side by leaving. Maybe that shouldn’t be surprising. Girls do tend to fall, after all, for the broken bad boys. But I have to say it annoyed me.” Under the light humor of his voice, a sharp edge spoke to something darker.

  “Evan,” Rose snapped. “Stop this. It’s crazy. Why are you doing this? There’s a whole army outside the walls for you to fight. Don’t fight each other.”

  “But now you’re back.” Evan circled Clay, slowly.

  Clay turned with the man, unwilling to give him his back.

  “It’s not too late to find out who’s better after all.” Evan often made remarks about Clay’s reputation and his speed—possibly because both were so close to his own. Or maybe those were only covers for why he really wanted to kill Clay. In the end, it didn’t matter.

  “I don’t have my pistol,” Clay said evenly. “It’s hardly going to look impressive to attack me now.”

  “Enough!” Rose said. She swung her crossbow up. She obviously meant to get the drop on Evan before things got too far, but the move was a mistake. The Card Shark was as fast as she was—at least as fast—and smart enough to anticipate her action.

  He did like Rose, though. Clay knew that because, when Evan’s hand flicked out, it didn’t throw a knife, but his hat.

  Instinctively, Rose twisted away, the hat flopping off her shoulder. As she did, Evan’s men tossed a net over her, dragging her down. The crossbow got tangled in her arms.

  “Get off me!” she yelled, thrashing.

  Clay tilted his head. “Do you really want to do this?”

  Evan snorted and lobbed a knife to the floor at Clay’s feet, the blade skittering on marble. “No one else in StoneDragon has a gun either, Clay. Deal with it. The knife’s the best I can do.”

  “Please! Don’t.” Rose’s fingers squeezed white against the mesh of the net. “Evan, don’t make me kill you when this is done.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.” Evan’s mouth twitched. “But life’s a game, Rose; didn’t you know? Why be here if we’re not going to play?” His men backed away, pulling Rose with them and leaving a space around Clay and Evan.

  Clay looked at the knife at his feet. It was a thin blade, a throwing knife. Clay could use it in a pinch, but ducking for it would put him at a disadvantage. Evan wouldn’t have as far to reach his first weapon.

  Evan’s eyes were locked on Clay’s, blue as the desert sky and as flat, quietly waiting.

  Evan probably knew enough about Clay to know he had a sheath and an edged weapon was a possibility. And even if Clay went for the blue dagger, it would take a fraction of a second longer for him to reach it than for Evan to throw his first blade. So Clay had to expect to get hit at least once. But if he twisted as he moved, Evan might miss a vital spot, especially since Clay was wearing his coat. All in all, Clay figured the odds of survival were about even.

  He exhaled slowly. He hadn’t wanted this fight, but he wouldn’t back away from it either. Silence flowed out in a circle, amplifying the scrape of Evan’s boot as he slid it forward, the creak of Clay’s coat as he drew his right shoulder back. Someone swallowed, the knock of their throat as deep and inevitable as a dueling clock.

  “Doesn’t this look like fun?”

  Evan’s head jerked around, searching for the speaker. A knife appeared in his fist. Clay’s hand tightened around the hilt of the blue dagger, but he didn’t draw, not yet. He recognized the voice.

  Snake leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a smile on his thick features. Behind him, a new line of hard-eyed soldiers filled the corridor, crossbows leveled. They outnumbered Evan’s men two to one.

  “What do you want, Snake?” Evan snarled.

  Snake scratched under his third eye. “Why, just
making sure Clay doesn’t get lost on his way to see Rhino. Our old friend does seem to get a bit confused these days.” He looked at the net and raised an eyebrow. “What’d you catch?”

  “Get me out,” Rose shouted.

  Evan’s men looked at their leader, but he simply shrugged, a smile playing around his lips. They dropped the net and backed away.

  Rose surged up. “You bastards, I’ll—”

  Clay caught her elbow.

  Her cheeks were flushed and her jaw clenched as she glared at Evan. “I won’t forget this. Not for a second.”

  Evan tipped his hat, eyes glinting. “Well, I do enjoy your company, my dark flower, so perhaps instead of a prolonged and painful death you might consider rewarding me with a more … equitable exchange? I might enjoy being tied up.” He winked and strode away, coat rippling behind him. His men followed. “Keep the knife, Clay. I’ve got extras.” He disappeared.

  Clay couldn’t help but smile in reluctant admiration. “He does have style.”

  “Arrogant peacock!” Rose snarled. “I’ll pluck him naked one of these days!”

  Clay lifted an eyebrow.

  “Oh, shut up!” She glared at Snake. “And exactly what game are you playing?”

  “No game. Just following orders. After you.” He gestured.

  She looked at Clay. He shrugged. What choice was there?

  The three-eyed Fist led Clay and Rose farther into the castle’s heart, a maze of twisting rooms and hallways. Snake ordered the soldiers away on another mission so it was just the three of them.

  It had been months since Clay had been in the castle, but déjà vu still swept over him. The corridors of Rhino’s stronghold were tall but spare, built with single-minded attention to defense. Wooden walkways extended out of the tops of the outer corridor walls, high overhead, where archers could aim through arrow-slits at the enemy below. Stone blocks were set tight and strong, and even the decoration was practical and military in flavor. Heavy iron lamps cast wavering light over pink-veined marble and carpets—a color scheme that would hide blood quite well indeed—and the only ornaments were old weapons or relics. These shifted periodically, based upon whim or new acquisitions from recent Shifts.

  Clay paused in front of one he hadn’t seen before. It was a slender suit of armor, mounted in a glass stand. The strange jagged look of it made Clay move closer. The armor had pale, jagged blades curving out from shoulders and elbows, a pebbled texture, and a gash over the left breastplate, like the hole a sword thrust would make. Overall, the armor looked subtly futuristic, as if made for some distant war.

  Clay frowned. The casing was so tall and narrow, he couldn’t picture anyone squeezing in. “What’s this?”

  Snake just kept walking. Clay had to hurry to catch up.

  A troop of soldiers stumbled in the other direction, blood spattered and grim. One of the last hung off his comrade’s shoulder, moaning softly. Clay felt his lips tighten. Somewhere in the castle, a heated battle was underway. For all his preparation, Rhino was suffering under the Earth army’s assault.

  They passed the exercise hall, quiet for the moment, the War Room, its massive table runnelled along the edge to carry away wine or blood, whichever applied, and then they reached the base of a wide, marbled stairway. A great wrought-iron skylight pierced the roof overhead, revealing an ominously swirling burgundy sky.

  Rose frowned up the stairs. “His bed chambers. I’m surprised to find him here given the circumstances.”

  Clay nodded. Rhino wasn’t a general who typically led from behind—or slept during a battle. His stomach tightened.

  “He’s expecting you.”

  Clay and Rose climbed cautiously. Snake stayed where he was. Rose stopped in front of the great double doors at the top, putting a hand on one twisted iron handle. She shot a suspicious look at Snake, turned it, and stepped through. Clay followed.

  He found himself in an antechamber, the half-study half-living area that buffered Rhino’s actual bedroom, a place Clay had entered only once, a decade before. Heavy redwood furniture was scattered over a scarred wooden floor. On top of a sprawling mahogany desk was a pile of papers and maps, with a steel knife driven through one offending sheaf. But the most eye-catching feature, something new since Clay’s last visit, was the painting on the ceiling. Its colors and content were as stark and disturbing as a window into hell.

  At the painting’s upper edge, heavy clouds roiled, lightning twisting out of their dark bellies and spilling jagged white light. But the bottom edges of the clouds were stained crimson, as if reflecting a fiery conflagration just over the horizon.

  Dirigibles floated under the clouds, great dark silhouettes without features, except for one depicted alongside a slice of lightning. That harsh light revealed a scarred and stained wooden hull, like an ancient marine explorer. Tattered flags trailed behind, sigils of once mighty twentieth-century nations. A dribble of crimson fire drifted out of the rear of the dirigible, the remnant of some Enemy blow.

  Under the dirigible, the land itself showed scars. Grey plains had been torn open by massive stone shapes thrusting upward, piercing the earth’s surface like ragged blades. Between them gaped black chasms, unhealed wounds. Out of these holes swarmed pale creatures. They were tall and slender, bending in ways not quite human, and lightning reflected off translucent blades. Clay had never seen anything like them.

  He paused. Correction, he’d seen one thing like it, and not long before: the armor in the hall. Could that be the discarded shell of a Creeper? Because the painting was obviously a recreation of the Last Great War.

  “Come on, Clay,” Rose said. “No time.”

  He pulled his gaze downward, the transition disorienting, as if he’d momentarily lost his balance.

  Rose ignored the mural overhead, a ridge of tension in her jaw, and he remembered she’d come from that time as a little girl. It probably wasn’t stirring up good memories. She strode to the massive doors of Rhino’s bedroom and stretched out a hand—

  Just as an axe blade punched through the door.

  25

  Accusations

  The tip of the axe missed Rose’s hand, barely. She jumped back.

  The other door burst open, and a thin man shot out.

  He was there and gone in a flash, leaving an afterimage of a pale panicked expression.

  Clay recognized the man. Doc Tully was Rhino’s pet doctor, probably one of StoneDragon’s most reluctant residents, rescued from an irate mob in some plague-ridden city. Some ideas were too far ahead of their time, he claimed. He served Rhino but didn’t deal well with stress.

  Rose and Clay looked at one other. He guessed she was thinking the same as him. What was going on? Was an intruder in Rhino’s private chambers? Rose lifted her crossbow, and he nodded.

  Clay went in fast, dagger drawn, knowing she’d follow.

  The room on the other side could easily be mistaken for an armory. A massive dragon-wing axe, taller than Rose, hung on the wall. It was flanked by rows of other weapons: single and double bladed axes—even one of smoky glass—braces of knives, textured maces, and brutally simple hammers. Beneath them were racks of swords, from delicate rapiers and blue-steeled katanas to a broadsword long enough to be mistaken for a ship’s prow. It didn’t seem like Rhino had any intention of passing away peacefully in his sleep.

  The vertical arrow slit over the four-posted bed spilled red-tinged light across sheets crumpled and stained with a wide dark crescent, as if someone had sat there bleeding.

  The floor creaked, drawing Clay’s attention to the far corner of the room, which was cloaked in shadow. A figure stood there, his heavily muscled back to them. A glimmer of steel stretched from his hands to the floor. It looked as if the figure leaned on a six-foot sword, as if it were the only thing holding him up.

  “Rhino?” Rose asked.

  Clay remembered that corner of the bedchamber. That was where Rhino had led Clay to a small hidden room, disguised in the thickness of the wal
l. Where he had received a stubby red pistol and belt, without explanation of their origin or why Clay had been chosen. He wondered what was in that room at this point.

  The figure in the shadows turned slowly, breath curling up in a pale stream and eyes glittering with reflected light as the Wall’s glow rolled slowly over him.

  “Dear God,” Rose whispered.

  Rhino was injured. Badly. Blood soaked his left side, turning his grey shirt black, and his boots squelched as he spread his feet. He swayed.

  “Clay.” His voice was deep and rasping. One of his large grey-tinged hands wrapped around a bedpost, and the other lifted the sword until it pointed at Clay. The blade trembled.

  “Traitor.”

  Out of the side of his vision, Clay saw Rose step away from him. He felt cold, as if the blood had drained from his limbs. The air seemed still and brittle.

  “No, Rhino. That’s not true.”

  The floor creaked as Rhino’s weight shifted forward. “Did you come here to finish the job?” The massive sword swayed back and forth. Rhino’s red-sheened eyes burned. “Did you decide to challenge me after all?” His gaze slid to Rose. “Are you in it together?”

  She took another step away from Clay. Probably trying to distance herself from the accusation, but Clay instinctively knew it was the wrong thing to do. Rhino would think she was trying to flank him.

  “Wait!” Clay threw up a hand, too late.

  Rhino surged forward, deceptively fast for his bulk and despite his wounds. He didn’t go for Rose, but Clay. A vice-like grip closed around his neck and lifted.

  Clay rose up and backward, feeling the unclosed door slam into his back. The axe handle in the wood brushed his elbow, and his toes dangled a foot off the floor. A grey shimmer rested under his chin, Rhino’s sword at Clay’s throat.

  Rhino had considered Clay the bigger threat so neutralized him first. Rhino then glared at Rose.

  Clay didn’t move, didn’t blink. It wasn’t time to fight, not yet.

  Rose figured it out. She dropped her crossbow and raised her hands high.