People of the City

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Let’s be about it,” Asti said. “Like I said—”

  “Focus on the job,” Dayne said. He put that in his head. Innocents needed him. He would do whatever it took to save them. No matter the cost.

  Amaya did not remember falling asleep.

  But she woke up with her face flat on a wooden floor. Immediately she startled to her feet, checking her surroundings. She had been locked in the room in the lower tunnels of the opera house. Locked in there with Kemmer, who had been dazed. Clobbered over the head.

  But then what had happened? It was a blur. Someone taunted her through a door? She had a vague memory of that.

  She was surrounded by light now. Great burning torches all around, with a grand lens focusing their light upon her. And seats. Rows and rows of seats.

  She was on the opera house stage.

  She turned around and almost vomited. Dead bodies were strewn out on the floor around her. Six of them, with Kemmer tied up in a chair in the center.

  “What happened?” she asked, taking a heavy step forward.

  Heavy.

  She was in a mail shirt, full uniform. Shield strapped to her arm, sword at her belt. She definitely was not dressed that way when she arrived last night.

  “It looks like you happened, Miss Tyrell,” a woman’s voice echoed around her. “It looks like this intrepid young man discovered your dark secret, and so you killed him, as well as your co-conspirators, in order to avoid further consequences.”

  “My what?” Amaya had no idea what was going on. “I don’t have a dark secret.”

  “I didn’t say what it was,” the voice said. “I said what it looked like. This will very much look like there was a Grand Ten, undermining the interests of the city and the crown, meeting in secret in this opera hall to discuss their nefarious plans.”

  “What?” she called out.

  “And it looks like the Grand Ten will be revealed in their death. Behold, The Man of the People—former City Alderman Willman Strephen.”

  One of the lights swept over to one of the bodies on the floor. Amaya realized he had been stabbed several times. The light swung around, illuminating the other bodies.

  “The Lady: Baroness Kitranna. The Lord: Earl Estminton. The Priest: The Archbishop of Sauriya. The Soldier: General Dougal Moorin. The Mage: Larian Amelie.”

  The light swung onto Amaya.

  “And The Warrior: Amaya Tyrell. The young woman whose strange and rapid rise in the Tarian Order is explained so easily now. She had powerful friends who facilitated her ascension. Gave her a step up so she could aid them. Unfortunately, you all were discovered by this Kemmer fellow.”

  “None of this is true!” Amaya shouted, not sure where she should be shouting it to. There was no source to the voice, no body she could aim her anger at.

  “I didn’t say it was true,” the voice said. “I just said . . . that’s what it looked like. And when Mister Kemmer does not report to his friends today, they will bring his findings—these findings—to several newssheets. And when the marshals discover this definitive proof of this conspiracy, the newssheets will accept it. The people will believe it.”

  The direction of the voice coalesced to Amaya’s left. She turned to face it, sword drawn. Colonel Altarn stepped out of the shadows.

  “It will become truth.”

  “How dare—” Amaya started.

  “Of course,” Altarn said, holding up a hand that was charged with light. “Such a tale will require a bit of verisimilitude to make it easy to accept. We were able to alter some of Mister Kemmer’s findings, but he had already discovered too much truth, shared that with his colleagues, that some choices were unavoidable.”

  Voices came from the other direction. Amaya turned to see two older men and a regal-looking woman walk onto the stage.

  The woman was speaking, clearly incensed. “I don’t understand why we’ve returned here, or what was so urg—”

  Her diatribe was cut short by a sword quickly depriving her of her head. Grandmaster Orren came out of the shadows.

  “But what—” one of the men managed before the sword found a home in his heart.

  The last old man looked about, his eyes finding Altarn. “How dare you!” he shouted. “I created this, and you would be noth—”

  His last thoughts would not be heard, as Grandmaster Orren’s fast sword took his life.

  “Leighton, Pin, and Millerson. Necessary sacrifices,” Altarn said. “But not hard ones.”

  Amaya ignored her, focusing all her rage on the Grandmaster. His face was completely neutral, devoid of emotion. “How could you, sir? Whatever made you think you could be a part of this?”

  “I do what is best for the Order,” he said, his voice with that same empty flatness as before. “I accept the damnation upon me, but the Order will survive.”

  “On a foundation of blood,” Amaya said. “Built with deceit.”

  “But,” he said, “it will survive.”

  Amaya extended her sword, crouched in a defensive stance. “I’d rather it burns down in truth than survive like this.”

  “Such are the ideals of youth,” Orren said, walking around the dead bodies calmly. “I wish I still had such righteous fury. The burdens of command, of responsibility . . . I wish you understood, Amaya. I wish Master Denbar had understood.”

  “He would never—”

  “Indeed. Which is why he had to go. And now you.”

  “Not easily,” Amaya said, raising up her blade.

  “Oh, she wants to fight,” Altarn said. “This will be spirited.”

  “I don’t want to kill you,” the Grandmaster said. “But I will, as that’s what needs to be.”

  Amaya understood the odds. She knew her opponents, how dangerous they were. She didn’t have much of a chance, so she had to act quickly. She launched herself at Orren, looking to clock him with her shield. But as he moved to defend himself, Amaya spun hard and launched her shield into Altarn’s sternum, knocking the mage back, hard and heavy.

  It wouldn’t kill her. In probably wouldn’t even slow her for long. Amaya knew that. But she also knew, if she hoped to walk out of here alive, she had to stop Colonel Altarn.

  Whatever it would take.

  Chapter 19

  MINOX WAS GLAD HE HAD not told his mother not to worry. He said it was his intention to come home, and that had not happened. That was, barring a miracle, unlikely to happen. He would probably not see the sunlit sky again.

  She would lose two children in a month. He hoped she would be able to bear it. He hoped that Oren would step up and be what she needed. Jace would be there for her. So would all the aunts and uncles. She had been a constable’s wife, she knew what it meant to go out for the last ride.

  Bound with mage shackles, hood over his face, told he was going to be used for an experiment of obscenity, it was clear: this was his.

  But if he was to die today, he would do his best to deal a wound to the Brotherhood in the process.

  “The time is ripe. Let’s see what he can do.”

  Minox was dragged along and then put on his knees before the hood was removed. Ithaniel Senek loomed over him, and behind him: the machine. This horror that was reminiscent of Sholiar’s gearbox devices, but even grander in scope than the one in the Parliament. Of all the frightening details, one jumped out above all the others: seven of the magic-draining spikes Nerrish Plum had used in his mage-killing spree. One of those had catalyzed the process that altered his hand.

  “I won’t do anything for you,” Minox said to Senek. “Consider yourself bound by law. Charges will be laid against you. They will include, and not be limited to, kidnap and abduction, in multiple counts, and grave harm and mischief to the body, in multiple counts.”

  “That’s quite a mouthful, my friend,” Senek said. He took Minox’s hand and lifted it up. It sta
rted to give off a faint blue glow, despite Minox’s current inability to channel any magic through it at the moment. “Fascinating that you achieved Lord Sirath’s dream here. How did you manage?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Minox said. “Untrained. Uncircled.”

  “Incredible. You have no idea what you have here. It’s as if a blind toddler scribbled wildly and wrote all the plays of Darren Whit.”

  “Take off the shackle and I’ll show you what I can do,” Minox said.

  “The fact that the shackle stops you at all shows me how unworthy you are.”

  “Maybe so,” Minox said. “But this will not end with me. This city will stand up against you.”

  “You are a fool,” Senek said. “I wish you knew how easily this city has fallen into our pocket.”

  “The corruption may be deep,” Minox said. “But I will fight you to my end. And so will so many others. Whatever your evil, you will not succeed. This I promise you.”

  “Very bold, very foolish words.”

  “You’re wasting time, Ithaniel,” Crenaxin said. “Mister Welling here does not care one bit about what you think.”

  “Fine,” Senek said. “Gurond! Put him in place.”

  The giant Gurond picked Minox up and put him in a spot on the machine beneath one of the jade statues, and forced Minox’s hand into the hole designed for the spike.

  To Minox’s horror, his hand shifted and flowed, like water, to fit into the hole perfectly. Like he was a key that just unlocked something. The gears of the machine began to move. Magical energy began to pour out of Minox, like he had never experienced before in his life. Flooding and rushing, more than he could ever hope to control.

  The power to destroy the city.

  It was too much, more than he could bear, and all he could do was look around, hoping to see something that he could use, something he could do, that would sabotage the plans of Ithaniel Senek and the Brotherhood.

  The room was full of members of the Brotherhood, both the robed men and the transformed grotesques. Easily a hundred of them, if not more.

  “Stop, please!”

  Lin Shartien, the mage reporter from The Veracity Press, also in mage shackles. Had she come down with Dayne? Where was he? Had he truly been turned by the dark power of Crenaxin?

  And if Crenaxin could do that, and the machine was to give him the power of the Nine . . . what did that mean for Maradaine?

  Minox looked up. In the brass cages, several children had been bound, and Maresh Niol, Veracity’s artist, was shackled to a platform.

  The magical energy was whirling through the machine, through Minox, out of the children, up onto the platform. Into Maresh. Magic and more, things Minox had no name for.

  I still have my mind, Minox thought. I will find a way.

  But as the magic curled and coalesced around Maresh Niol, Minox realized he was almost out of time.

  Maresh screamed, with a voice that was in no way human.

  “Yes!” Senek shouted. “It’s working!”

  “The worthy vessel!” Crenaxin said. “It can be done!”

  Purple smoke erupted from one side of the room. Then the other. Then a burst of sickly yellow smoke erupted around Gurond.

  Minox looked up in time to see a flash of crimson race by, and the crack of wood against bone. The magical energy flooding through Minox suddenly stopped, leaving him breathless and drained.

  But still, a smile came.

  Veranix Calbert—the Thorn—was standing over Senek, cloak flowing, staff in hand.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You’re all out of bed after curfew, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to issue demerits.”

  Dayne took Asti out of the encampment, through the side hallways to the cells. Dayne remembered having gone down here before with Crenaxin; he remembered being happy about that. He could still feel that, and it repulsed him.

  “Rynax,” he said. “How did you stay free from Crenaxin?”

  “Honestly, I’m not, entirely,” Asti said. “I mean, I’m in control of myself, but . . .”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Asti paused. “I’ve already had my brain shattered by Poasian telepaths, who . . . put something in my head that was designed to serve the Brotherhood.”

  “What?” Dayne asked.

  “But I’ve got it . . . locked away, kept in place by the other broken part of my brain. I’m shattered. And I’ve . . . I’ve learned how to live with being shattered because . . . what choice do I have?”

  “How?” Dayne asked. “How do you do that?”

  “Day to day, hour to hour,” Asti said. “It’s still a part of you, isn’t it?”

  Dayne wasn’t sure. He remembered being the man that Crenaxin turned him into, wanting to serve the Brotherhood, fulfill their destiny through the tap and becoming grand, worthy vessels of the Nine. He had no desire for those things now, no secret wish to be back to being that man. But still, the memory was there with him.

  “There’s going to be anger,” Asti said. “I don’t know if that’ll help, but I use it.”

  They came upon a closed gate. When they came before, Crenaxin called to the faithful, who opened it from somewhere else. But there were no controls here. “Maybe I can—” Dayne grabbed hold of the bars, straining to pull it open. The steel bars didn’t budge. “I can’t get through here.”

  “Fortunately, I’m much smaller,” Asti said. He climbed up the gate to an opening on the top and squeezed his small frame through it. He pointed down the hallway, to the several sets of doors. “All kids? Any guards?”

  “There were faithful . . . zealots in those two rooms,” Dayne whispered, pointing to the first two. “Then the children chained up in the next two.”

  Asti nodded. “Like I said, there’s going to be anger. And I use it.”

  “Asti,” Dayne didn’t want to yell. “What are you going to do?”

  Asti went to the first door, placing his hand on it, and then listened at it for a moment. He stepped back for a moment, and then exploded with a violent kick that knocked the door open, drew out two knives, and jumped into the room.

  The door slammed shut.

  Sounds of a fight echoed through the hall. Blows and punches and shouts. The door on the other side of the hallway opened up and two men came out, looking confused, and two more in the doorway.

  Dayne wanted to cry out, warn Asti, but before he could, the door flew open, one zealot falling out onto the floor. One of the men from the second room came over to him, to be greeted by a chair flying out of the first room, knocking him in the head.

  Asti flew out right behind it, landing a punch, followed by a slash of his knife. Without even looking, Asti slammed one foot onto the chest of the man on the ground, and then shoved the man he was engaged with into the one behind him. They both went down, but Asti didn’t even stop. Two slashes of his knife, he put them both down, moaning and bleeding, as he pivoted into the two standing in the doorway.

  It was horrifying and beautiful, watching Asti fight. It was the most visceral, violent, ruthless he had ever seen a man be. Animalistic. But at the same time, it had the purity of an animal, a wildcat with its prey.

  The other men took their shots, landing blows on Asti, but it was like the man didn’t even care. He accepted their punches, taking the opportunity to land two back, slice open their bellies.

  As he made quick work of the last men in the second room, one stumbled out of the first room, blood pouring out of his throat and belly and he fruitlessly tried to hold it in. He made it three steps before he fell.

  Then quiet.

  Then the sound of a wheel being turned, and the gate opened.

  Dayne wasn’t sure if he could take a step forward.

  Asti stumbled out, blood on his face and hands, his eyes sparked
with madness and joy. Keys in his hand.

  He went to other doors and opened them.

  “Free, free!” he shouted, dropping to his knees. “All free!”

  Then he started laughing. He laughed as Dayne approached, and as he let Dayne take the keys, his laughter turned to tears. Dayne glanced in the cells. Each of them had at least ten children, maybe more, shackled to the walls.

  “All free,” Asti said, staring at his hands. “A gift from God.”

  “Come on, Rynax,” Dayne said. “Let’s get these children out of here.”

  Asti nodded, getting to his feet. In a moment, he had regained his composure. “Right. Job’s not done.”

  “Gentlemen,” the Thorn said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You’re all out of bed after curfew, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to issue demerits.”

  Jerinne had thought him absurdly cocky, to the point of annoyance, but she had to admit the Thorn knew how to stage a distraction. All the attention was on him, and with the machine chamber half filled with smoke, none of the zealots of the Brotherhood of the Nine were going to be noticing her slipping around the edge of the wall.

  The Thorn moved like a rabbit, knocking the zealots with his staff, never still for a second. Even still, she knew he couldn’t hold his own against all of them for long. Time to do her job.

  She rushed through the smoke, shield first, toward Lin. Free Lin first—her magic made her an asset in the fight. Then Welling, then up on the platform for Maresh. She charged through, knocking zealots out of her way. Almost to Lin.

  The Thorn leaped high, landing in the mouth of one of the high overlook tunnels. From that vantage, he loosed more arrows into the crowd.

  “You pest!” Senek shouted. “I will eat your liver!”

  “Promises, promises,” Thorn said. “Come have a taste.”

  Jerinne pushed through, reaching Lin, clocking her guard with the shield. She grabbed Lin’s shoulder, and at first Lin swung her shackled fists at Jerinne.

  “Lin,” she said, grabbing her arm mid-swing. “It’s me.”