by E. M. Hardy
He did, however, continue building a power grid toward Ma’an. 1,000 dolls and 1,000 cow-boxes handled the task, laying down obelisks and power lines at the very edge of his influence. This would allow his walkers and eyeballs to access Ma’an, checking out the condition of the emirate without putting his own pyramid at risk. Construction was slow though, as the constructs did not have a road to travel through. He instead had the dolls hide the power lines under the sand while spreading out their efforts. Instead of building in one direction like he was used to, he spider-webbed those power lines and obelisks. He would be in deep trouble if raiders snuck around his flank and began knocking down obelisks one after another. This was why the network had to be as wide and interconnected as possible so that potential enemies would have to dedicate an obscene amount of manpower to knock out the entire grid if they wanted to cut off his control.
It was slow work, but it was safer—especially since he only had 2,000 walkers guarding the route from Ma’an to the mountains. They were enough to keep scouts away, and were able to beat back attempts by more akinji to harass the dolls and cow-boxes. Thanks to the expanded swarm of eyeballs monitoring the Bashri Desert, the walkers were always in a superior position to catch the raiders before they could do any damage to his efforts to grow his reach.
He still sent the majority of his dolls and cow-boxes toward the desert ruins, though. Unlike the sprawling network to Ma’an, he prioritized speed and built a one-lane network toward the ruins. His focused efforts brought the desert ruins within range of his eyeballs within a matter of days, and he immediately sent a small flock of them to start surveying the area ahead of the walkers. The area was still out of range for the dolls and cow-boxes, which could only operate within a dozen miles of a powered obelisk. His walkers, however, could operate at the same range his eyeballs could—a hundred miles from an active obelisk. This was why he sent a small scouting force of a dozen walkers to check out the ruins.
He thought he had gotten the location wrong at first glance. There was nothing in the area but sand and rocks. Suhaib had warned him that there were constructs guarding the area, ones that would attack those who would dare trespass on the land. There were, however, no signs of constructs in the area. Upon closer inspection though, Martin remarked that the rocks were not actually rocks. They were the same gigantic blocks of granite that formed the walls of his pyramids. These ones, however, were the remains of blocks blasted apart with explosive force rather than worn down by the elements. He even spotted a few blocks that looked like they were melted off, and he gave a figurative shudder as he guessed the amount of energy required to do that much damage.
Martin began digging up the sand as soon as his walkers arrived on-site. They worked far slower than the dolls, which could shape the tools they needed. He did, however, bring shovels and trowels that the dolls had shaped for him. He began marking out the sand surrounding the ruined pyramids, carefully mapping out the location and identifying the outline of the structures buried underneath the sands.
By the time the dolls and cow-boxes arrived on-site, Martin had already uncovered the outlines of twelve ruined pyramids: four large pyramids, eight smaller pyramids. All that remained of them were their foundations, as the once-prominent structures had been blasted into ruins. What were once towering beacons of civilization had been reduced to nothing but piles of rubble. It was no doubt an attempt by the invaders to eliminate whatever progress was left behind by their victims so that the survivors would have to start over from scratch. After all, it was far easier for them to farm livestock that couldn’t fight back.
Martin did not despair, however, and instructed his dolls to begin digging deeper into the sand. Suhaib had mentioned that these ruins were haunted by other constructs, so they had to be coming from somewhere. Unless the local legends were all based off of superstitions, he was bound to find something that he could use with a little bit of study. He just hoped that the invaders hadn’t been too thorough in their demolition.
In any case, his swarm of dolls made quick work of the sand surrounding the ruins of the pyramids. They transformed their hands into huge vacuums to suck up the sand and spit it out on the backs of cow-boxes, which unloaded their payloads into a pile a ways away from the ruins. All of the pyramids, however, were built on solid rock as a foundation. It would take time for the dolls to break through that rock, but Martin didn’t have that time thanks to the threat of the warring emirates. He settled instead for clearing up the sand and rubble to see if he could find something useful underneath the ruins.
The small pyramids yielded nothing of interest; likewise for three of the larger pyramids. They were just as barren as the desert surrounding them. It was a different story for the last remaining pyramid, though. When the dolls cleared out the sand and rubble, they discovered sturdy metallic sliding doors that were sealed shut. These doors lay flush on the ground, and were camouflaged to look like the granite stones around them. The only reason that his dolls found it was a metallic ‘clink’ instead of a solid ‘thud’ when they stepped down with the clay nubs that served as their legs.
Just as Martin sent his walkers to help open up the doors, they unsealed on their own with a hissing sound. A cool mist vented from the doors as they slid open, revealing a darkened tunnel that led deeper underground.
Surprised, the dolls quickly scrambled out of the way while Martin took up defensive positions with his walkers. The 72 walkers formed a loose perimeter, their spears ringing the entrance. Martin sensed the cow-boxes were eager to join the fray, the prospect of ramming new stuff giving them new energy. He needed his dolls and cow-boxes to build more power grids, especially in the coming push to Ma’an, so he held them back in reserve. They complied, even if they were disappointed with the command.
Through his walkers, Martin heard a strange clonking sound coming from deep within the tunnel. The sound grew louder and louder, and Martin tensed his walkers as he prepared to deal with whatever threat came out. He tightened the formation of his walkers and pushed his cow-boxes further back, giving more room for them to disengage if needed.
And through the darkness of the tunnel came a familiar sight: a doll.
However, this doll was not connected with Martin’s consciousness. He could not see through its eyes, nor could he send commands to it like he would his own. The doll also moved far more stiffly than his dolls, with a stilted gait filled with mechanical jerks and pauses. It also ignored all of Martin’s constructs and began inspecting the door, morphing its hand into a welder that began sealing a crack that had formed on the other side of the door. That surprised Martin. His dolls normally worked with clay paste, but this one worked with metals despite being made of clay itself.
He couldn’t help but stare through all the constructs he had on-site. There the little doll was, totally oblivious to all that was going on around it, focusing solely on the task of welding the damaged door.
“Um… hello?” He spoke through one of the walkers beside the doll.
Nothing. The little thing just kept on welding, sparks flying this way and that.
“He-llooooo…”
Again, nothing. The doll finished its weld, and morphed its hand into a disk that ground out the slag into a smoother finish. Looking closer, Martin saw that there were numerous cracks along the door that were previously welded over in the same manner. It was an impressive feat when you considered the door.
Martin ventured closer with one of his walkers and crouched low beside the doll.
“Hey. Anyone in there?” The doll ignored him completely—until he tapped it on the shoulder.
It was like a spark travelled up from the walker’s outstretched finger, surging into the oblivious doll. Martin felt his consciousness tap into something else, something familiar. This something considered his consciousness for the briefest of moments, then raged as soon as it registered his presence.
The doll then whipped out its arm that was morphed into a grinder,
the disk still spinning rapidly, and ground a thick groove into the walker’s arm. Surprised, Martin jumped the walker back as it clutched the damaged arm with a free hand. That wasn’t the end of it, though. Alarms blared inside the tunnel, which soon filled with the sounds of skittering and clattering.
He immediately ordered all of his constructs back, starting with the cow-boxes that had dolls loaded up on their backs followed by the walkers. Not a moment too soon, for the tunnel’s entrance boiled over with dozens upon dozens of strange, six-legged constructs that looked like beetles the size of a dog. All of them had this strange crystal mounted atop their heads—crystals that promptly blasted Martin’s walkers with intense bursts of light.
Martin’s walkers, however, did not burn up as expected. The ceramic base that made up their bodies heated up nicely, but they were ultimately harmless. The lasers, however, did have the undesirable effect of blinding the walkers. Even the eyeballs floating high in the sky saw nothing but bright flashes of light reflecting off of the walkers.
While the lasers from the scarabs did no direct harm to the walkers, the press of bodies overwhelming the walkers was definitely causing damage. Even with the aid of the eyeballs, Martin’s blinded walkers were unable to effectively stem the tide of scarabs pouring out of the entrance. The insectile constructs soon slipped past the effective range of their spears, dogpiling the walkers while slashing away with jagged forelegs as they bore their full weight down upon the hapless constructs. Martin did his best to bat them away with fists and daggers, but there were simply too many of the scarabs for his walkers to deal with. Soon enough, they were reduced to piles of rubble that the scarabs continued slashing and stabbing at.
“Swarm tactics, huh? Well, two can play that game,” Martin mumbled to himself, quickly switching over his attention to the 9,500 walkers that were marching from the Qleb Sierra to the Bashri Desert.
And that was exactly when the Ren Empire betrayed Martin.
Chapter 21
Prince Suhaib Ma’an was bone-tired. The mad rush through the Bashri, then the chillingly lonely trek through the desolate Puruzlu Mountains, and finally the slow slog into the Leizhu Swamp had all taken their toll. And now, barely a week after arriving in this strange new land and doing his damnedest to comprehend Renese, he was going to meet with the Empress in her capital city while doing his best to not butcher the language.
Everywhere the prince of Ma’an and his entourage went, people gawked and pointed. They were escorted by the Empress’ soldiers, but they soon picked up long lines of people who wanted to see more of the dark-skinned, strangely-dressed people who summoned colorful phantoms to follow them. Suhaib and his armsmasters were just as curious about the people. The lands of the Ren were rich and fertile, with nary a grain of sand floating through the air. He was almost overwhelmed by the amount of vegetation that grew around them, and he could spot signs of agriculture virtually everywhere he looked.
At least he had plenty of company to share his misery with. Old Faadi was moaning miserably, doing all he could not to complain about his aching back while absorbing as much Renese as he could. Munjid the armsmaster was constantly scratching his now-unkempt beard and wore a permanent scowl on his face. He even whipped out his daggers to slice apart the itty-bitty, bloodsucking insects that love to hover around his ears and annoy him with the incessant, high-pitched whining of their beating wings. The other guards and armsmasters fared no better, for they were just as grouchy as Munjid. Only their rigid discipline and focus kept them in line.
Suhaib’s jinni, however, seemed to ignore his fatigue. Uhi zipped all over the place, excitedly absorbing all the sights and sounds of the lands beyond the mountains. She stuck her nose in everyone’s affairs, from the meat bun shop belonging to Yao Xiu’s mother to the elaborately-dressed eunuchs littering the Red City. Truth be told, he would be just as excited if every bone and muscle in his body were not screaming in pain. Meeting new peoples, discovering new places, the chance to form new alliances… this was all that the young prince dreamed of.
And then there was the Empress.
The power and the influence to unify the land under one banner was something that generations of Bashri emirs had dreamed of. Even his own father would wistfully consider the idea when he had too much drink and hash. Realistically speaking, however, it was a far-off dream for the peoples of the Bashri. Even the cartels did not have unification in mind. They were criminals, not emirs, and Suhaib knew they would turn on each other as soon as they established control over the emirates.
He just wondered how this Empress managed to do what generations of warring, scheming emirates could not.
He also noticed that the people had a different way of interacting with the Invisible World. They did not have jinn to call forth that power for them, nor did they use the jinn as intermediaries for their bodies to manifest power. Instead, they grabbed that power using their own wills and manifested it through their bodies through what they called Chi. It was an interesting concept, and one that intrigued both him and the armsmasters. Munjid was especially keen on learning how to cultivate Chi when he saw a lumberjack fell trees with his bare hands.
Soon enough, they approached a city with tall walls and guards posted everywhere. The Red City, they called it, and the prince saw right away what they meant. Absolutely everything was red, with gold highlights everywhere. Walls, roads, banners, houses, even the plants that people cultivated—everything was as red and gold as possible. Then there was the Red Throne, a city within a city. Wall after wall blocked the way to the palace, each lined with impeccably-dressed guards standing ramrod straight. Munjid, Faadi, and all the others were told to wait outside the walls while Suhaib relinquished his sword and bow to the guards.
And so he ascended the hundred steps to the Red Throne alone, under the intense scrutiny of guards. At least he was given the opportunity to bathe, sleep on a proper bed, and have his clothes laundered before meeting the Empress. He doubted he would leave a good impression if she could smell him before seeing him.
***
“Empress Zi Li, I am thankful for hospitality, and for graciously inviting us to your court.”
“We hope you have had a pleasant journey through our lands, considering all that you have gone through to get here.” The Empress nodded toward the walker that was designated as Martin’s direct liaison to the court, though Suhaib saw none of it. He kept his head low the whole time, kneeling on one bent knee with one fist flat on the ground as he was taught by Yao Xiu. This self-abasement was not something he was familiar with, as his father’s court was one where people looked each other straight in the eye—not with the eyes averted and the speaker hidden behind a screen. He kept his misgivings to himself though, as this land was not Ma’an. He was a visitor here, and he had to adhere to local custom—no matter how debasing it was for him.
“Your command of Renese is commendable, Prince Suhaib, especially for one who has been learning for a mere week.”
It took Suhaib a moment to process what the Empress had said, and an additional moment to formulate and translate his own response.
“I am thankful, Empress Zi Li. Martin and Yao Xiu were great help, especially Yao Xiu.” He nodded toward the young girl behind him, who further lowered her head at the mention of her name. “She have great… fervor in teaching and learning language. She did a lot to fix differences, put many hours into learning fast.” The Empress remained silent, which unsettled Suhaib. Did he commit a gaffe that he was not aware of? He could only keep his head down low, even when he was sorely tempted to look up and gauge the Empress’ reply.
The Empress nodded from behind her curtain, unseen by Suhaib, and directed it to her personal guard. He rumbled a command in a clear and imposing tone that reached the ears of all who stood in the open-air court of the Empress. “Stand, Prince Suhaib of Ma’an, and show your face to the Daughter of Heaven, She of Ten Thousand Years. Weep with joy, for you have been granted the utmost
privilege of basking upon Her Most Exalted visage.”
Finally, thought Suhaib as he pulled himself up.
And there the Empress sat on her throne, a mere girl whose outline was obscured by a curtain, surrounded by attendants. Beside her was a muscled guard who wore a flat expression on his face, arms crossed and legs spread out in a defensive position. Behind her were three old men, and Suhaib immediately recognized that these were men who were at odds with the Empress they were purported to serve. He saw eyes that were identical to the emissaries sent by the cartels, with matching smiles that were wide enough to hide ambition. The way they stood behind the Empress undermined her position, looming over her throne to emphasize that they were the real power behind the young woman sitting on the throne.
This new information made Suhaib reconsider his earlier observation about the Empress. Perhaps she was just a figurehead for the people to adore—or blame—while the true leaders worked from behind the shadows. If this were the case, then the Empress may have more in common with the puppet emirs that the cartels had bound to their service. The young prince fought back a grimace and instead wore the well-practiced smile he used when he needed to flatter his father or his elder siblings.
The Empress examined Suhaib from behind her curtain, humming to herself as she did so. Suhaib couldn’t see the expression on the Empress’ face, as the damnable curtain separated them from one another. All he had to go on was the stern frown of the Empress’ personal guard and the three elderly advisors who wore haughty, oily expressions on their faces.
